{"id":30379,"date":"2012-04-25T16:14:42","date_gmt":"2012-04-25T20:14:42","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=30379"},"modified":"2012-04-26T00:07:15","modified_gmt":"2012-04-26T04:07:15","slug":"dear-peggy-olson-nice-to-meet-you","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2012\/04\/25\/dear-peggy-olson-nice-to-meet-you\/","title":{"rendered":"Dear Peggy Olson, Nice to Meet You"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a><\/strong>Dear Peggy Olson,<\/p>\n

I haven\u2019t heard back from Don, so I thought I\u2019d try you instead. Draper might be a lost cause anyway, hormonal and unhinged, prone to mood swings and irrational behavior. One minute he\u2019s weeping with wussy regret, and the next he\u2019s attacking Megan with the cold-eyed ferocity of a grizzly bear or a Law and Order<\/em> villain. I don\u2019t know what\u2019s gotten into the guy, but I suspect it might be my fault, these missives from the future fucking up his fragile worldview.<\/p>\n

He\u2019s starting to remind me of this basketball player, Ron Artest. Artest was a baller for a while and a tough bastard, fighting fans in the stands and whatnot. Then he went through a spiritual awakening, did Dancing with the Stars<\/em>, and legally changed his name to World Peace. A new man, or so we all thought. Until Sunday, when he elbowed some dude in the face just for having a sweet Mohawk. Maybe Heraclitus was right about character being fate.<\/p>\n

As for you, Peg, I\u2019ve been meaning to get in touch. I could use a bit of feminine wisdom. Like, what am I supposed to make of stories like this<\/a> one? Women hooked up to feeding tubes to get thin for their weddings? Was all that bra burning for naught?<\/p>\n

Still, I\u2019m sure it\u2019s the fault of our supposedly postsexist society, in which National Magazine Awards all go to men and presidential candidates want to ban Planned Parenthood. Clearly, we\u2019re trying to shut women\u2019s lips\u2014both sets\u2014or what the poet Anne Carson calls, \u201cthe leaky jar of female sexuality.\u201d But your jar won\u2019t be closed, Peg. I\u2019m proud the way you unleashed on those assholes from Heinz!<\/p>\n

Things aren\u2019t all bad in the future. It\u2019s true, you can\u2019t smoke joints in movie theaters anymore or give hand jobs in movie theaters (without at least a coat on top) or even watch nature documentaries in movie theaters. But the good news is that now you can do all those things from the comfort of your living room.<\/p>\n

Also, there\u2019s this show Girls <\/em>I\u2019ve been digging, even if the bottom line is that men are still jerks. They prod and degrade you, and even when they offer you Gatorade after sex they don\u2019t have any of the good flavors! Where\u2019s the lemon-lime, huh?<\/p>\n

I\u2019m not sure what you\u2019d make of these girls, Pegosauraus. On the one hand, they\u2019re a little vulgar for your tastes, eating cupcakes in bathtubs and making rape jokes at job interviews. And they\u2019re not much for the work ethic either, not like you anyway. And yet, they\u2019re fighting the good fight, boot to concrete. Because it\u2019s all about friendship in the end, and owning your AIDS fantasies. It\u2019s their First Amendment right to make viewers uncomfortable, and I applaud them for doing it with aplomb. I can\u2019t say as much for the rest of Hollywood, especially with the casting of Taylor Swift to play a young Joni Mitchell. Do you know Joni\u2019s music? I think you\u2019ll dig her. She\u2019s a blonde-haired Canadian with a gift for lyrics and a songbird voice that swims down through your ears in a straight path to the heart. When she sings, \u201cI wish I had a river I could skate away on,\u201d I can actually see that river laid out before me, shining opulent white under winter sun. I\u2019m skating, Peggy, I\u2019m teaching my feet to fly away!<\/p>\n

It\u2019s like your pal Ginsberg pretending he\u2019s from Mars. We don\u2019t want to face our problems, so we wish ourselves to sleep. But Joni\u2019s got some advice for you, too. Take her lyrics to heart: make a lot of money, then quit this crazy scene. Robert Downey Jr. once did a cover of that song for the Christmas episode of Ally McBeal<\/em>. He\u2019d just gotten out of jail, and there was this hurt in his voice, Peg, a lifetime of pain. In that show, men and women shared a bathroom. It never really caught on in real life. Separate may not be equal, but when it comes to bathrooms, it\u2019s also a little less gross.<\/p>\n

You know who else is skating away? Roger Sterling. I mean, that acid trip\u2014pretty hilarious. The thing with the trumpet when he was smoking his cigarette; that woman crawling around on all fours. Sterling was onto something with the whole \u201cask wife for divorce while blissfully tripping\u201d concept. That\u2019s some real Larry David shit right there. As for you, Peggy, I\u2019m glad we talked. You\u2019re a good listener, unlike Don. I feel like you get me. I feel like we could be friends. And then you could introduce me to Joan! If you see Don, give him a message for me. Just say, \u201cDude\u2026\u201d But say it in that voice. You know, the \u201cDude\u2026\u201d voice. He\u2019ll know what I mean.<\/p>\n

Until next week, Olson<\/p>\n

from your humble Nostradamus,<\/p>\n

Adam<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam Wilson is the author of Flatscreen: A Novel.<\/a><\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Dear Peggy Olson, I haven\u2019t heard back from Don, so I thought I\u2019d try you instead. Draper might be a lost cause anyway, hormonal and unhinged, prone to mood swings and irrational behavior. 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