In which Dave jabbers like Carrie Bradshaw

Kudos where kudos are due, Russ.  The Pixie Princess Post has really got me thinking, although I haven’t yet put together a coherent response.

While we’re speaking of coherence (or the lack thereof)…  I’m a little behind on this one, but I’ve been thinking about both letter-writing and Betty Draper’s fainting couch this week.

Why, do you ask?  Well, being dense, I hadn’t given enough thought to the relationship between its antiquity and her interest in Henry Francis.  And, no, this isn’t just about his being So Old (daddy issues, obvs).  I’ve been thinking about the way that her relationship with him seems very pre-mid-20th century, in the sense that she’s really thrilled by the idea of an epistolary romance/affair of the heart, but ultimately disgusted by the tawdriness of working out the details of a physical affair.  Of course, you, Russ, are really the expert here, what with all your book-learning and whatnot.

Love in the digital age is not exactly a fresh topic, lord knows, but doesn’t it seem like Betty’s fainting-couch fantasies of romantic love are another way in which Mad Men is Really All About Us Right Now? Is this moment of the blog crush and the Facebook stalker a little bit about people just wanting a chance to enjoy a crack at unconsummated romance in the grand old-fashioned tradition without feeling like weirdos?

Even if, uh, that doesn’t always work out the way it’s supposed to?

I’m asking you because you know about these things.

And finally:  Yes.  All Hail The English Beat.