While many of you suppose that my absence from the blogosphere has been prompted by an inundation of senior-related stress, I must confess that there is an additional culprit, and his name is Don Draper. He is the quintessential bad boy you love to hate and hate to love. He will knowingly and deliberately cheat on you countless of times, but the minute he flashes those pearly whites… Moses, have mercy.
Hence, this morning when Twitter greeted me with the following words: “DonDraper has requested to follow you,” I engaged in a 45-minute happy dance session worthy of some incredibly awkward youtube video. Being that it is Monday, the start to an inevitably long and challenging week, I have learned to take my thrills where I can find them, which in this case is an AMC show about hot men and their hot messes.
Since viewing the show, I have started to crave things I have never craved before. For example, the typewriter. Upon dissecting the anatomy of the AMC drama, I realized that in 1964 the typewriter was the defining feature of an independent woman on the rise. As a 2010 version of said woman (I hope!), I believed it was time for me to engage the technological antique. Given the rarity and expense of an actual typewriter, though, I recently settled on the Anthropologie equivalent, featured below:
It is my literary inspiration. Each night, when I tackle some of that senior-related stress, I adorn the t-shirt and get into my Mad Men frame of mind, minus the chain smoking and vodka breaks. Instead, I settle for espressos and vente lattes, much healthier and cheaper substitutions, or so I rationalize. Then I assume the role of student and engage in dense academic analysis on the role of water in 1960s neo-realist Italian cinema, as well as the value of post-modernism in contemporary political debate regarding the positioning of women.
In between these academic endeavors, I take breaks, and by breaks, I mean I stalk the twitters of the fictional characters on my favorite show. I even retweet the most memorable or controversial, and watch as those tweets ignite a series of 144 character debates amongst my friends online. But now it is time for me to return to my home base, and rechannel that creative/mindless cyber-energy towards maintaining a blog that fulfills its duty to chronicle my love affair with Starbucks and the caffeinated drinks they supply every day, multiple times a day.
A controversial Calvin Klein ad once read, “Nothing comes between me and my jeans.” I would like to reappropriate that expression now: “Nothing comes between me and my grande skinny vanilla latte.”