When I set out to learn about my mother's bridge club, the Jewish octogenarians behind the matching outfits and accessories, I never expected to fall in love with them. This is the story of the ladies, their game, their gen, and the ragged path that led me back to my mother.
I can’t tell a lie: I’m trying to write this post during the commercial breaks in AMC’s season premier of Mad Men.I’d give my left testicle to be a writer on the show. Guys, I’m feeling really sorry for myself tonight for no good reason except I’m in the all too familiar hell of waiting to hear from someone about my blah blah blah. I’d like to be the Silver Fox with his insouciance and never ending cigarette. Or even a secretary with a paper dress and colorful cardigan draped across my slim shoulders. I’d like to put Brill Cream all over my body and fuck somebody standing up. I want to be Betty Draper, skittish and angry and girdled. Or Joan, post-partum Joan. I want to be one of the kids on the creative team yukking it up in the coffee room. I’m a jealous son of a bitch. I hate everyone.
Who do you hate?
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Betsy Lerner 
I’ve never watched an episode of Mad Men. I’m saving it for some particularly dire set of circumstances, like when my dog dies or my husband leaves me. I watched Six Feet Under that way, in one long ecstatic binge that probably saved me from whatever unspeakable drama was flooding my psyche at the time.
Who do I hate? Hahahahahaha. You know we can’t really discuss that here in the fishbowl. But suffice it to say that the object of my hatred is THIN and POPULAR and REVERED and I loathe her with the white-hot fire of a blast furnace. And I’m sure she hasn’t thought about me in years. Just sitting around drinking the poison and waiting for her to die.
On the West Coast so my hating is still an hour off. It’s building momentum though. I can feel my lust, my screaming want, forming those bubbles that happen just before the rolling boil.
um, everyone who ignores me, which feels like the entire population. at least i have my small fan base of readers, the ones who actually take the time…
I hate that 50 Shades of Grey bitch quite a lot right now, but I’ll get over it.
I’m with you on that one–thought about rewriting my main character as a big old pussy hound just to sell it……then I started hating myself….ugh!
I know. It’s tempting to hate her, but I kind of envy her more. It’s yet another example of how readers & writers are controlling the market and their destinies, not publishers, agents or editors. Still… I hate the scary power of the Internet.
I don’t really hate her. I just waned to call her a bitch because I thought she’d enjoy that.
but you are the most fantastic lit agent whom many would give both testies to be.
i cant think of anyone i hate at the moment but yes. man, i do LOVE mad men. went w my roomate to the suburbs to watch it tonight. he made cocktails w his dad’s vintage cocktail equipment. the countertops in his mom’s kitchen are bright orange.
is don gonna end up w joanie?
which character is gonna grow his hair long first? (or be the 1st one to stop using Brill Cream?)
which one is goin to woodstock or gonna be the gay one?
genius tv show.
I love your misspelling of testes, Cupcakes. I am not being sarcastic. Very cute.
phil. i hate phil. misogynistic as hell and bashes gays at every opportunity. he’s only 40 so he’s got no excuse for being such as asshat. even thinking about him makes me mad.
this yoga isn’t working for me, is it?
don draper’s 40?!
since when? did we know this before now? not that i’m trying to turn this into a mad men fanfare of sorts, but c’mon. 40?
why did they have to give him an age anyway? couldn’t he just be this mystically wise, hot guy who may or may not be in his 50s?
now he is just one more person i get to judge my total lack of accomplishments against.
i fucking hate don draper being 40.
I don’t hate anyone, I contend with them. I hold grudges, I get jealous, but that’s not the same thing. A good rivalry is a tonic. I would kill anyone who hurt my husband.
Right now it’s the 9 year old who made my daughter cry. I know it can’t be true but it feels like I’ve never hated anyone more in my life.
Up here (where it just started snowing!) it’s the 68-year-old who made my son cry. And I am absolutely sure I’ve never hated anyone more in my life.
Nothing brings out my inner Samuel L. Jackson like someone messing with my kids.
I’m not feeling so fond of the Marietta cop who yelled at my son who right after he’d been hit by another driver. Hate might be too strong, but ready to report the asshole bullying behavior isn’t.
I do get jealous, but it doesn’t lead to hate. The only people I truly hate are people who have harmed me in the past, but that comes in short waves and I have been trying to free myself.
That said, when my first book reviews come out it might be another story.
Yes. Book reviews will help you get in touch with your hate.
But in a fun way! Hate the (critical) reviews, love the reviewer.
I lived in Park Forest , IL in the 60’s. (The Man in the Grey Flannel Suit) At least three guys in our court worked in the loop at ad agencies and took the IC to work. I was friends with Paulette next door and everyone was talking about the cute girl her husband was lunching with. Mad Men makes me nervous.
The girl who made me cry at work 15 years ago. Can’t even remember her name.
Am hating Vintage for giving the moronic woman who scribbled 50 Shades of Grey an obscene advance. Feeling sad for all the writers who struggle to find just the right word much less representation or support for their work. Fuck publishers. Agents blow, too.
I was going to say I don’t hate anybody but that would be wrong.
I hate the powerful money-men and women who manipulate the markets and all things financial which have sent the world into a tailspin. I hate that they sit back, count their shares and smile with martini glasses balancing on their fat bellies. I hate that because they donate their blood-money to politicians no one has the balls to stand with the multitudes affected by their greed.
And you know what I really hate, that we, the protestors of the 60’s, the ones who helped register black voters, the fire-hosed, the anti-war protestors the ones who swore we’d make a change, sold out for the little house on the corner and gave birth to the children of todays greed.
I should say I’m going to go buy a tarp and join the 99 but I like my indoor plumbing too much. To think I’ve sold out for a comfy crapper shows you how shallow I really am.
Jeez Betsy, it’s Monday, never ask that kind of question on a Monday.
“[T]hey donate their blood-money to politicians”.
Umm… no. No, those are not donations. Those are purchases.
The 99% here is the 1% for much of the rest of the world. Can you imagine what would happen if everyone on the planet had a flush toilet?
Or access to a washer and dryer?
I’ve got one of these: http://bit.ly/HbVfsc
And one of these: http://bit.ly/HbVfsc
No room for a washer/dryer, no matter how small. Plenty of sunshine and clothesline, though.
I live in a hole and only eat worms (consensually). Only one person has cause to complain about inequity, because everyone else is relatively better off.
I used to live in a place where we collected rain off the roof to flush, drink it never. We’d brush our teeth and rinse with warm Coke. I am so freaking lucky now I sweat thanks. But still, while speculators speculate we fill our tanks with gas soaked dollar bills. The whole system stinks worse than an outhouse stink-pile.
Those who represent corporate idealogy and have abandoned thinking for themselves. It’s not so much pursuing the long green — I’ve been broke, down and out often enough to know the value of a dollar — but passionless greed and unwillingness to question the most ridiculous directive just to keep the paychecks rolling in. I hate that.
(Okay, I admit it — took my kid to see “The Lorax” this weekend. Fast paced and well made, encouraging conversations on the ride home; the only non-animated trees hurt while making this film were the ones harvested to print dollar signs on.).
I don’t hate anyone. Hate is heavy and I have a bad back. I can’t even lift hate, much less carry it around.
That being said, don’t think for a moment that if I don’t hate anyone, that means I do love everyone, for I do not. Love is nowhere near as heavy as hate–in truth, it is light as song–but it’s a slippery sumbitch and constantly sliding away.
Hate is easy to hold on to–the best models are even made with handholds for easier grip–but squeeze your grasp down tight on love and watch it just shoot away. Singing as it goes. Something in a minor key.
Love these words.
I hate anyone who uses the “R” word, ever. Pox on their bodies & houses…
My hate list is a bit short–no one on it. My boss is jumping high she can, grabbing at the bottom of the damn thing so she can crawl on. Aren’t there better choices than Brill Cream?
Truly evil people. They were born without souls.
You know what’s really disturbing? When you learn you’re related to one. Know what’s even more frightening? When you realize there’s actually two and both come from different sides of the family tree.
I’m lucky in that respect. My family genes only foster crazy.
Mine foster fat cells.
That bitch in the carpool who refused to drive my daughter home because our street is a left turn off the bypass not a right and would take her 2/3 of a mile’s worth of 30 mph extra time to get her own kid home and now she’s too cowardly to even look me in the eye.
Reminds me of the cow who needed me to drive her son to school for a week because the other son had the flu. I had to go in the opposite direction to get him. The next week I called her and told her my youngest had a fever and I didn’t want to have to take her out. She told me that was too bad. She hoped she felt better soon.
Me, for not have the ovaries twenty years ago to say, “Fuck it, I’m doing it, if i fail, I fail,” and having climb the mountain the long, hard way instead.
But I’ll get over it eventually.
Standing up is good. So is lying down, on all fours, side by side, in the pool, in a chair, in a swing . . . .
There’s plenty of hate and strife to go around without me adding to it.
I control nothing except, now and then, me. I can’t make anyone do anything, or stop them. But who and what I like, respect, and love, how I spend my time, and with whom, that’s all up to me, and that’s enough. If I don’t like you, I’ll leave you alone, as politely as I can. You may never know or care why, and I don’t need or wish to explain.
Such wise words! Exactly the ones I needed today. Thank you, Frank..
Frank, I think you’re missing out on a lot of fun. To hate well is to be happy forever.
Vivian, you may be on to something, but for a guy who’s motto is
“Nap early, nap often”, it seems a little like work. maybe I used to try too hard, I dunno……
Naps are one of the greatest inventions of thinkers.
You’re right, Frank. Yesterday I walked away from hate. I felt like the most powerful and graceful person in the world.
**This is just a test to see if the follow-up notification function from this blog is working for me. I’ve been having some issues with it.**
I hate that.
When follow ups don’t happen and we second our own precious eminence.
Nothing to hate today as Mad Men is back! I love that show, and I love checking Tom and Lorenzo’s blog the following day to find out what I missed.
This was interesting. I seriously thought about it and realized I can’t think of a particular person that I really hate. Carry a grudge against, oh yeah, bet on it, I love my grudges. But really hate? I guess I come up with two generic groups — truly evil people and anyone who willfully and purposely harms a child. Come to think of it, that’s just one group.
I got a short list of true hate: a. the former boss who was finally fired for sexual harassment (it was quite a deposition with 8 maligned women and our lawyers), but not before he ruined my career path at that company and b. the nasty little piece of work who bullied her way into another company in those crazed, early post-Katrina years only to systematically bring it to financial ruin and stiff me for 5-figures worth of consulting fees.
As for Mad Men – I only want to sew/wear the dresses. ‘Found several patterns from that era (never used!) at an estate sale; now I’m searching for the right fabric to bring the pattern tissue to life.
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*chuckle*
I hate that I’m the only one who doesn’t know what Mad Men is. I’m such a tool.
What do you mean by “tool?
doofus, geek, etc.
Well, *that* fell flat. I was joking that I am so uncool that I don’t even know what a “tool” is. Or trying to make a joke. Now I feel like a tool too. 😛
The glass-is-half-empty side of me hates myself for taking a year to finish a rewrite which should have been done nine months ago. The glass-half-full side says, Hey, babe, at least you’re almost there now.