Archive for the ‘mad men series’ Category
Posted in mad men series, prose poem, tagged madmen; don draper; the beatles; childhood; gender; joan; peggy; advertising; selling; television; 1960's on July 1, 2013 | 2 Comments »
When Don puts on the Revolver LP it is like I’m back in my childhood bedroom asserting that it is not the 1990’s. When the Beatles terrorize his penthouse apartment, I wish I could sit on his lap and sing to him. Don says, “Having a dream is admirable.”
He can drink all he wants, as long as when “And Your Bird Can Sing” comes on he promises to dance. Whiskey could do the trick. Those Drapers are pretty predictable. Drapers do whatever they want. Even if Don is an “ideas man,” he knows better than to say no to a woman.
Don says, “I was raised in the 30’s. My dream was indoor plumbing."
Megan says, “Don, You’re everything I dreamed you’d be and more!”
Let’s not talk about my dreams…
I thought I’d hate Don, like everyone else, but I don’t. I long for him the way kids long for the turning of the Ice Cream Man. I hear that elevator door DING and I rise on up.
Sure, he’s troubled like the rest of them, but beneath that designer suit is a good, strong man. He’s a warrior. He treats Joan like she came out of that goddamn Trojan Horse with the soldiers, all woman, all beauty and all power-hungry as hell. She’s everything a man is and more. Don can’t plead with Joan; she’s a woman who’s ready to kill her darlings.
I know advertising is based on moments, but so is life. Don has changed this moment for me.
When Don falls asleep on Peggy’s lap, you can feel the continents shift. He almost tells her she’s beautiful, but doesn’t, which is good, because she doesn’t need that from him. When her number’s called, she gets gone.
When she gives her notice, he takes her hand like she is royalty. He is tender and sensual. It is almost erotic in the way he lingers there in the twilight of her moment. She is rejecting him and he won’t let go of her hand. She feels his lips, not on her face, but on the top of her hand; her fingers; and her nails.
He is proud of her; she’s her own glory now. She’s got the guns and the ammo, but inside, I bet he’s thinking: I’ve created a monster.
Peggy resists all the clichés and wraps herself in strength. She takes Don on in a way that children learn how to fight back tears.
This is tough-love at its finest.
It’s a man’s world, but not for all of us.
© Umansky 2013
Posted in mad men series, tagged madmen; gender; women; selling; advertising; dream; on March 21, 2013 | Leave a Comment »
The purchasing is natural.
People buy things to realize
what they value,
and what they don’t .
Sometimes, people buy things to realize
the value of their aspirations.
Some aspirations are more valuable than others.
She knows her worth, and yours.
She wears her wealth on her sleeve
But, Don. Don, doesn’t have aspirations.
He’s his own engineer.
He lives the dream.
Everyone is late for everything,
but Don is exactly where he wants to be.
Now, you’ll ruin your makeup. Pull yourself together.
There, there. He can’t please every woman,
but, that sure would be swell.
© Umansky 2013
“Love is just an advertisement that men made to sell advertising”
I want this. I must do thus to obtain this. I will hence do this. Ergo, I shall get what I want. Stupid girl. You will never win anyone through pity. You must create the right kind of dream, the sober, adult kind of magic: Illusion born from disillusion.
–The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
It’s a madmadmadmad world.
Everything can be manufactured, sold and bought, but love, love is the mold.
You sure could have a lot of fun with this.
In the material world, objects are marked up from face value.
The confusion of client services is merely based on articles, like he and she.
You can find anything on the internet: even beauty.
Advertising is based on happiness. Be happy.
© Umansky 2013
You can’t be a man
so, be a woman
It’s Versailles, baby.
If you never had the urge to gulp cold milk,
Women already have their fantasies.
Women want to see themselves the way men do.
It’s desperate but when you’re in their country…
learn to speak their language
Here, take this cape,
and this hide.
Enter the frontier.
Upon entering the frontier,
Put on your history.
Your North might be South.
Dirty up, man.
Side your ways, and gallop.
Come here, son.
Invite a little mystery.
I never said she was a harlequin.
I never said, harlequin.
This is for when you get there.
There are finite natures in life.
Every woman wants both sides of the order:
the short and the long.
I’m going to give it to you straight and gold-like:
people buy things to realize the value of their
I don’t. I buy things so you can realize the value
of what was once in your grip.
I can stop dressing it up anytime, but you
you’re still pretending to be a cowboy.
Pick something and saddle it.
Confidence kills the butterflies.
© Umansky 2013
You’ll like this poem, because you should. Because we all fight for the underdog. It has a nice ring to it, jewess. Draper invents their dichotomy, but I, I imagine their kiss is sweet, like an apple halved. Fresh, yet sour, and of course, verdant. Very verdant.
[which is close to virgin].
She reminds him of ofofof something pure, and of value and charm. An antique. A throw-back to a day of glory and grain, a day of the humble and pain. She is something unseeming, or appears to be so, until he lays his paws on her. She wants to love him, but he grows clingy and pale, recoiling from what she is: jewess.Her kiss is both a mother and a smother. Her wild heathenness beckons and stirs, beckons and purrs, and then, look what the cat drags in:
In her, he sees nostalgia. He sees what is sundogged, dawned and near-death.He sees pennies and scrapes and his scraping-by but also sees clarity and calm. In him, she sees his goishe American ways. They are Napoleonic, bionic, and myopic. They could take over the world, but, she, she is a businesswoman. Her guards [and garters] rise to his touch. If he wants to invest, he will need to earn his shares just like everyone else. She is the Empress of Fifth Avenue. She is a rose, and he is a hornet.
[ Now, who’s the one with horns?]
He abandons his life. In her, he sees how the other side lives, but he forgets she is a proprietor. She knows what she values and manhood is golden. The Jewess does not get what she wants, but either does the Don. He’s got nothing. Zilch.
© Umansky 2013
The most important word is N-E-W !! And, in the face of optimism
It’s all about getting things done. You need to feel something –
That’s what sells. That’s what steals over you, across your face,
Down the back of your neck; into the flush. It’s the selling.
Some part wanders off and actually likes the remembering.
The remembering of being told what you like and what you don’t.
It is almost-precious the way the back of the head is both cushion and
Target [and I’m aiming]. You can feel after it, but the reality of the sale
Is there: you want to be told. Your personal territory is harvested
[Some would argue deforested] but remember the feeling
Right before you put your finger on it; right before you knew
What it meant to want. It was delicious. It was savory. It was:
Pure. Now. Quickly now. Go brush away those crumbs –
That remembering. [or are you saving those for later?]
© Umansky 2012