So, this past week I have been living in the 1960′s. In all its booze-y, smoke-y, American Dream-y, white picket fence with 2.5 kids-y glory.
Alas, it’s all been vicarious living courtesy of one Mr. Stephen King and one Mr. Jon Hamm, but still, the other day I caught myself saying “Golly!” so it at least felt pretty real.
Yes, I’m about 100 pages shy of finishing King’s newest novel “11/22/63″ which is all about a man from 2011 traveling back in time in an effort to prevent Kennedy from being assassinated. Kickass book, by the way, but what I love most about it is the descriptions from that era. Like most people of my generation, in our we’re-all-hipsters-who-make-fun-of-hipsters culture, I love any and all things vintage (that’s why we all “ironically” download “vintage” camera apps for our cell phones).
But I’ve always considered myself more of a 1920′s gal. Flappers were my icons, not Doris Day (who I’ve always kind of wanted to slap).
But King got me thinking that maybe I had dismissed idolizing the 50′s and early 60′s too soon. This was especially evident when I also started watching “Mad Men” on Netflix as well (only five years behind everyone else!). I mean, sure, that whole “women getting back to the kitchen” thing makes me want to stab an innocent apron to death. But that time period does still have its charm.
But could I really do it? Could I really live in the past like the novel’s main character and give up all that modern life (Red Bull! Crackle nail polish! Googling Ryan Reynold’s abs!) has to offer…?
Reasons I think I could live in the 1960′s:
Guys like Don Draper existed.
Newspapers were thriving (not to mention, the delicious sound of typewriters).
Birthday parties for kids included booze. Hell, pretty much every occasion called for booze. Including pregnancy.
You could smoke anywhere. At any time. Without vegan health nuts passing by and giving you the stink eye.
TV channel options majorly sucked so there was more time to do things like read…or drink and smoke.
Butter was a GOOD thing to eat.
Everything was an event. Even making a telephone call was an event. One, because with those rotary phones, it took nine minutes just to dial so you pretty much had to really commit to it. But there was also the cord which made it impossible to move much beyond the kitchen or the living room or wherever the phone happened to be. So there was none of that talking on your cell phone while driving, putting on mascara and eating a cheeseburger all at once.
Records! (And music that mentions nothing about “doing it on the floor”!)
It’d be another half a century before Crocs were invented.
Reasons why I couldn’t live in the 1960′s:
Guys like Don Draper existed.
Racism.
Job options for women consisted of Getting Coffee Then Slapped on the Ass or Housewife.
You were expected to eat copious amounts of aspics (that’s jellied meat, people…JELLIED. MEAT.)
It was much more difficult to get your hands on porn.
Bra technology was downright primitive.
You couldn’t automatically delete a bad photo of yourself and immediately take 25 more photos until you got that one angle that made you look 10 pounds slimmer.
People actually said “Gee whiz!” and without a hint of sarcasm (hell, I’m not even sure sarcasm existed back then).
The inside of every house had that hideous fake wood paneling on the walls and carpets that looked like they were made from murdered muppets.
Hmm…yeah…no, think I’m just going to drink a Scotch while reading “Valley of the Dolls” for awhile and then go Google Ryan Reynold’s abs. Viva la 2012!
