There isn't an artist, living or dead, who ever frustrated, confused and inspired me as much as Jack Kerouac did. Yes, I crossed paths with him precisely when I needed to, as a disaffected youth obsessed with consuming words and creating meaning. Yes, the passage of time has tempered my feelings for him, and given me a more realistic perspective. But, still, that fascination and affection - it lingers. It always will.
It may seem that Peggy - the smart, upstart secretary working her way up the career ladder in an era when it was almost unheard of for a woman to do so - is the dominant feminist story among the inhabitants of this world. Or you could make an argument for that role belonging to the pre-Betty Friedman Betty Draper Francis, who languished as an unhappy suburban housewife and is now making a new life for herself as a remarried political wife. But even though both these women - and pretty much every other woman we encounter - has something important to contribute to the feminist examination of modern American women, the most fascinating, complex and, by turns, both triumphant and depressing example of it is Joan Holloway Harris. At the beginning of this chapter, we’re thrust directly into the middle of that with Joan’s gynecologist visit.
There are two lines said during the 1964 holiday season that essentially characterize this Christmas for Don Draper and those surrounding him. They are, in chronological order, "I don’t hate Christmas. I hate this Christmas;" and "It all comes down to what I want versus what's expected of me." For just about every case in which these themes, especially the latter, make themselves felt, the ending is unsatisfying. And while none of the endings are dramatically final, their uneasy resolutions will likely create rumblings or possible explosions throughout the characters' lives in the coming new year.
As many of you may know, I do a lot of critical thinking and scientific literacy activism under the label of "skepticism" and for the past couple of years have been involved in building an organization to that effect in my own city of Columbus, Ohio. Recently, I shared some of the things I've learned in effort to help other like-minded folks create similar groups in their areas by way of a workshop at the GenCon convention in Indianapolis, Indiana. Since I thought it might be of interest to both skeptics and those wondering what the hell skepticism is in the first place, I've embedded my presentation slides after the jump.
“Who is Don Draper?” People have been wondering that for years, not excluding Don himself, but no one has expected such a straightforward answer as the journalist from Advertising Age looking for material for his article on Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce’s superstar creative director. Like many before him who have asked in one way or another, he doesn’t get an answer. Don is not only still guarded and reluctant to hand out details, but seems genuinely mystified why anyone would care about him apart from his work. But Don’s life and work has changed over the past year, and this episode of his life is about him learning to understand what’s happened and how to change with it.
For some time now, I’ve felt there’s an uncomfortable fact lurking in the corners of fandom that no one has yet brought out into open discussion, and I’ve decided it’s time we face its probably unpopular reality. I’m sorry to have to break the news to you if you’ve so far lived in blissful ignorance, but here it is: almost all, if not every one, of Princess Leia’s hairstyles are impossible to pull off in real life.
I know it’s hard to process. Perhaps you’re a young man who persists in the hope you may one day meet a nice lady proficient in foreign galactic braiding techniques. Perhaps you’re a grown woman with fond memories of bobby-pinning rolls of hair to the side of your head and a secret conviction it looked awesome. But, alas, it’s time we embrace the truth. It just doesn’t work, and I’m going to explain exactly why.
Commemorating the life and work of an individual by carrying around a towel for a day is a little bizarre. But an individual who leaves behind such a unique legacy deserves no less a unique tribute. Which is why Towel Day seems well-suited to honoring the memory of the late Douglas Adams.
Adams, the author of several books including The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, died quite suddenly in 2001 at the age of fifty. At that time, I was not much more than a geeky fan saddened that the man who had written books I had treasured since I was thirteen had so prematurely departed the world. As the years pass, however, I gain a deeper understanding of what was really lost - namely, a vibrant, exploring, creative mind dedicated to technological optimism, the power of science, education and ideas, and the capacity for and responsibility to human progress.
In 1941's Citizen Kane, journalist Thompson is on a quest to discover what the last uttered word of recently deceased media magnate and American cultural giant Charles Foster Kane means in the context of Kane's entire life. That final word, as breathlessly reported by newspapers and newsreels, is "Rosebud." However, Thompson's own employer believes the word itself is meaningless unless they can report and understand to what it refers. So Thompson interviews all of Kane's living associates, combs through the diaries of those who are not living, and doggedly pursues the key that he believes will unlock the secret of Kane himself: who, or what, was Rosebud? At the end of the film, even though all of the film's characters are still and will remain in the dark, the audience is let in on the secret. Rosebud - spoiler alert! - is Kane's childhood sled.
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