It's felt like decades since Mad Men left us in Season Three, so for Sunday night's premiere, I decided to make dinner and invite my MM die-hards over for a viewing. I got a new couch, after all, and hadn't hosted one of my Sunday dinners since quitting the sauce. Big Chris has been urging me to cook him chicken for months now, and as I finally conceded, he texted, "Drunk Beth was a great cook so new and improved sober Beth should be a gourmet! Mad Men rules."
I don't know why I was afraid to entertain without a bottle of wine at my side. Brock and I opened up the dining room table, lit votives all over the house, piled roses in vases and basted all afternoon. Voila! This is just as fun sipping Diet Coke out of stemware.
Some friends headed over and we all sat down to a moderately-themed meal before the big event. I even made a jello mold, the most complex cooking process I've ever experienced. It's a three person job.
It's weird what people end up discussing around the dinner table, and we engaged in several heated debates. The main argument of the night:
Who's crazier: Mel Gibson or Tom Cruise?
Sub-question: Which of the two has better movies?
You'd have thought we were debating the meaning of life, or which parent we loved more. People were screaming, angry and oddly convincing. I was going back and forth. But I stick by my argument that Mel Gibson is a horrible person and Tom Cruise is mentally ill.
Jackson maintains that Cruise's entire life in the spotlight, plus the Scientology thing, is why he's so weird. Alex swears up and down that Mel Gibson's work in Braveheart trumps any phone conversation. And Tara's big argument in favor of Tom Cruise was Magnolia.
It's also hard to pay attention to Mad Men watching with nine people, by the way. But when that hooker slapped Don Draper, the place went nuts. And I got drunk on happiness that my house was full and I have less problems than Mel Gibson...