On Sunday, Lindsay and I joined the roughly 7.9 million people in the former colonies in welcoming the return of Downton Abbey and the fact that no one still likes Lady Edith, even the 90-year-old Sir Anthony Strallan because he too knows that he is WAY TOO DAMN OLD FOR HER, and I’m one of those people who fully endorses the 70-year age gap marriage for money idea.
Lady Edith’s existence aside, there’s something about this British export that has completely captivated us here on this side of the pond. It’s almost ironic to think that so many people in this country are fascinated with a show that celebrates the idea of good manners, being proper and social order despite us living in a world that has increasingly rejected all of these things.
More interesting, though, is the fact that in a world in which the Kardashians have become global superstars because their oldest daughter made a sex tape with a rapper and her family mother chose to celebrate it, we’re captivated by a show that has had, until this past Sunday, only THREE romance scenes in two seasons (and two don’t really count because Anna & Bates are only shown the morning after and then Ethel & Major Bryant get caught, ending anything inappropriate immediately).
That said, I’m so glad it’s back. Nothing makes me happier than seeing the Dowager Countess and Mr. Carson fighting back the ever-changing world outside of Downton. The only thing better than Mr. Carson comparing Mrs. Levinson’s idea of having an indoor picnic to the “chaos of Gomorrah” was Lindsay’s reaction to every scene of the two-hour season premiere; she even cried just watching Laura Linney introduce the episode! Here now, just some of Lindsay’s comments from last Sunday’s premiere:
Sybil is stinking up my screen.
MATTHEW AND MARY JUST STOP IT I AM THROWING MYSELF OFF A BRIDGE MY LIFE WILL NEVER MATCH UP
“I’m looking forward to all sorts of things.”-Matthew Crawley, God’s gift to me that I merely have to share with Mary.
“Can I kiss you, because I need to.”-Matthew Crawley, as I scream into my pillow out of sheer need to be with this engaged fictional character.
“I’m so happy, so very happy, I feel my chest will explode.” I. AM. DYING.
Shirley MacLaine serenading the Dowager Countess. I cackled.
Lindsay, please know that I’m looking forward to another six weeks of this.
Now can we please talk about how annoying Lady Edith and Branson are? Lindsay and I hate them; we have hated them since Season One. We know you don’t like the aristocracy and “British oppression” over the people of Ireland and all that fun stuff, Branson, but just SHUT UP! Also, you’re the son-in-law of an Earl so even though you don’t believe in any of their traditions, but you need to get over all of that and wear a set of tails to dinner!
Speaking of appropriate attire in certain settings, there was an article in last Friday’s Wall Street Journal about how in Silicon Valley, the same place that gave us that awful movement we call Casual Friday (or Casual Everyday in most places now), the youngest members of the tech set are swapping their hoodies and dungarees for suits and bow ties on Fridays because they want to be different.
It makes sense to be honest. I read somewhere last week that men are trying to dress more like their grandfathers and less like their father who are to blame for all of this casual work clothing and the book I received for Hanukkah, The Gentry Man: A Guide For The Civilized Male, came out just in time for this to occur.
This collection of articles from what had to have been the greatest magazine you’ve never heard of, because it only lasted from 1951-1957, is the new inspiration for my life. In addition to being told that ascots were very much so “in” during the magazine’s six-year run, I learned how to build my own golf course (because we all have eight acres of cleared land just lying around) and how to carve a turkey in eleven easy steps, which should be very useful when I recreate that Norman Rockwell painting of Thanksgiving.
Also, believe it or not, English country homes owned by bachelors have the best-run houses and “have no trouble getting servants. Probably it is because a man does not chivvy the servants in the same way a woman does.” This is an actual sentence. If any magazine published a sentence like that today, it would be deemed extremely sexist. We lived in much simpler times back then.
There is, sadly, one thing I can’t follow according to Gentry and that is what they suggest for a round-the-world trip. They claim I can do it with only 88lbs of stuff. I can’t even travel for a week and a half without nearly 50lbs of luggage. The philosophy that one should be packed for any situation is the same regardless of the decade.
It does have some surprisingly useful information, though, like proper times for grilling and broiling every type of food imaginable, even mutton chops. There’s also an eleven-page guide to drinking; did y’all know there are four different types of Scotch whiskey? Neither did I. And apparently, if you drink coffee, tea or tomato juice before a meal, you can prevent yourself from scarfing down all the food on the table, including the food on the plates of other people, because one should never go hungry to the table.
I even learned how to play “new tennis” in proper tennis whites, of course, and watch a football game, which could have been useful when I was still at school because Grace and I had NO damn clue what we were watching. But most important, I read a full page article by Robert Paul Smith entitled “In Praise of Booze.” It’s probably the epitome of the 1950s stereotype of the three-hour, six-martini lunch that will only come back in movies and at the homes of WASPS who still summer in Newport, but it’s still wonderful to read, specifically the line:
It [booze] has made me friend, it has made me brave, it has made me gentle and comic and kind of loose-lipped and maudlin. It is a product of civilization, and it civilizes me.
This book is probably the best $20 anyone ever spent on me and I highly recommend it to anyone who longs for the 1950s.
Well until next time, when I will have hopefully left 1953 and entered this still “new” year…
JD
The Yapper 