As the self-appointed president of the "Maniacs for Mad Men" club, I'm always on the lookout for a worthy successor. I don't want to get too excited yet, but I must say that one (not-yet picked-up) Amazon pilot, "The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel," looks awfully promising.
The young white interviewer-dude sports the black glasses and follicularly robust beard of your basic Brooklyn hipster. But rather than favoring a tight black T-shirt for flexing his tat-covered bicep muscles -- developed by salvaging industrial metals -- he's dressed in the tweedy wool jacket and cotton-checked shirt of a traditional academic (sans bow tie.) Thus, the mystery of this TD Ameritrade commercial begins. In what universe does a financial consultant look like this?
Humans might continue to argue about the need for 51% of the population to celebrate A Day Without a Woman, as part of International Women's Day, or even to require a Women's History Month. But one timeless piece of advertising created to honor the strength and power of women, individually and collectively, has overridden any possible division to garner universal praise.
Jimmy Kimmel was on cruise control, generally killin' it at the Oscars. All was surprisingly unpolitical and stellar, until the Dolby Theater tour bus crashed.
A funny thing happened en route to the Oscars' move toward cultural irrelevance. OK, let's not go crazy. This Sunday evening, we will no doubt still have to endure the stilted banter and embarrassing production numbers that are endemic to the broadcast.
Andy Puzder, we hardly knew ye. That is, before he withdrew his nomination as Secretary of Labor this week, we kinda/sorta knew him as the hard-charging Hardee's and Carl's Jr. guy.
If you will indulge me, I'm going to go back to that ridiculous orgy of advertising that accompanied the football game last Sunday. I know many critics found the spots disappointing, lackluster, disconnected from the brand, etc. These are complaints we hear every year. Many of the protests this year said the ads were too political. Still, in all of the hashover, nobody seems to have noticed one breakthrough: No stupid sexist spots! Not a one!
You'd think the Super Bowl, with its powerfully muscled teams of gargantuas pounding on each other, might provide the perfect diversion from the nonstop provocation of The Trump Show. That both sides would be eager for just such an escape. But if the lead-up to the Big Game this year is any indication, we just can't quit the divide.
As thousands of impassioned, personal and emotional memorials pour in, we can agree that Mary Richards was much more than a sitcom character. She was a mirror and a walking Rorschach test (with a great set of L'Eggs) for one generation of TV-focused Americans -- and the next
I wanted to write a lighthearted column about the pomp and ceremony of Trump's Inauguration Day -- you know, the clothes, the gaffes, the memes.