Saw this in a magazine today:
Really? Gee, pal, sorry about your bad luck, but don’t be harshing on my little slice of heaven.
It must be rough for anyone who has such an impoverished inner life that being in his or her own home and own company on a Saturday night could be considered grounds for self-destruction in itself. I write this as I sit quite happily in my comfy little suburban home on a Saturday night feeling pretty pleased with myself and not the least bit self-destructive. I got a lot done around the house and in the office today while a delicious meal simmered away in the Crock Pot, and now that the dogs and I are walked and fed, we’re all going to curl up on the couch to watch a movie. No crowd, no party, no music, no cocktails, no cigarettes, nothing more daring or dangerous on hand than some chocolate-covered cinnamon bears. This is our idea of a good time–it costs nothing, it doesn’t involve any risky or unhealthy activities (as long as I don’t eat too many of those cinnamon bears), and we are all together.
I don’t watch television (just movies on DVD) so I’ve never seen “Mad Men” and I don’t ever plan to. I can only imagine from the few clips I’ve seen online what kind of constant stimulation and shenanigans must be required to keep a guy like Don Draper adequately entertained and consistently motivated not to put a gun to his head. Probably the kind that would make me consider blowing my brains out if I were ever expected to participate. I feel fortunate to be able to find both entertainment and purpose in my time alone. I enjoy my quiet life here in suburbia, far from the madding crowd and out of the swim.