Weekend Update:
City Life

Huzzah! Hooray! The fourth season of Mad Men is over! I loved it, but it’s over, and now I don’t have to watch television again until July!

This season — well, the novelty had worn off, of course. Mad Men was great, but the fact that it was, after all, a TV show began to obtrude. We had to be in our seats on time. We had to wait a week to find out what happened next. We had to sit through commercials for BMW and Hotels.com. I won’t miss any of that.

And Rubicon is over, too. Everything about the show was great, except for the writing, which was Grade X melodramatic garbage. A telenovela would be more surprising. People said the most inane things on tonight’s final episode, things like “It’ll be all right,” and “You can trust me, I promise.” The combination of great production values and dreckulacious dialogue convinced me that the Koch brothers are at the bottom of Atlas International. As if I didn’t know!

***

I took Will for a walk yesterday. It was our second Saturday walk. The second of many more, I hope. We walked all the way over to the St Mark Bookshop, on Third Avenue. I wanted to acquaint Will with Theory at an early, pre-impressionable age. A lovely young woman tried very hard not to show that the two of us (me and Will) struck her as a very cute couple, but she failed; I caught the last of an involuntary wistful smile. I hadn’t been to the store since before Megan and Ryan were married, I realized. I used to stop there on my way to have dinner with Megan at Jules. I used to think that it was a really cool bookstore. Then I was introduced to McNally Jackson.

(And nowI hear that McNally and Jackson are getting divorced. Another name-change party? I’m up for it!)

The contentment that I feel when I am carrying Will on my chest is the most complete pleasure that I have ever known. As a documented besotted grandfather, I need say no more on this subject. (If I do, Fossil Darling will have to pretend that he skimmed through it.) Will seems to have a good time, too. Mostly he looks out at the world from his perch. Every now and then he vocalizes, I never can figure out why. But for the most part he is quiet and almost grave. My attempts at cajoling him to look up at me are dismal failures. Every once in a while, he throws his head back, looking always to the side, and when I tickle his neck he smiles faintly, as if doling out a treat for the old man. But he enjoys the ride. If he didn’t, we’d all know.  

If I had grown up with people who knew me as well as Will and his mother know me, and as well as their knowing me has helped me to know myself, there would have been a lot less ennui and indigestion in my early life.

***

Three and a half of last week’s allotment of five days were preoccupied by household matters. Largely home improvement, but also that dead modem thing. I’m cautiously optimistic that the coming week will be different, although already there’s a big conflict on the horizon. I intend to deal with it by resorting to a technique that is not really part of my toolkit: sleight of hand. Yes, I shall seem to be in two places at once. In one of them, though, Will will really be sitting on my chest.

Why does anyone who lives in this amazing city watch television?