Dreaming of Don

Last night, my oldest friend and I celebrated Mad Men's gazillion Emmy nominations by watching several episodes from the Season 2 DVD. We ate thin crust pizza, chugged Coke, and laughed a lot.

I could rhapsodize about how good this show is, because it is. The writing ... the attention to period detail ... how well it reveals some timeless truths about advertising, and therefore American culture. I could talk about how eerily incidents on the show reflect things that have happened in my own career. (Some day I must share the story about how my "big break" was a result of my boss' being out of the office on family leave, and how conflicted I felt about benefiting from his absence.)

All that would be true.

But most of our enjoyment came from drooling over Don Draper. I've known my friend since the first grade, and over all those years we have sighed and swooned together over an amazing collection of men: from the Beatles to the Monkees to the Men from UNCLE to ball players (both foot and base) to Johnny Depp and Jon Hamm (aka Don Draper). Today life hasn't afforded either of us the smoothest ride. Giggling with a good friend over a great looking guy ... Trust me, it's a time-tested escape.