The 50s Aint What They Used to Be

I just found out Patrick Dempsey is 50.  You might know him as Dr. McDreamy from Grey's Anatomy. He's the very definition of hot.

John Stamos and Rob Lowe are in their 50s. So is David Duchovny. Hot, hot, and hot.

Yes, there are well known sexy women in their 50s too, but I don't think about them as much. Ok, I am very close in age to Sarah Jessica Parker and when I reflect on which one of the Sex in the City characters I am, I believe myself to be a Carrie. Or possibly an Amanda.

50 doesn't look like it used to. Lew Parker, who played Marlo Thomas's father on the 1960s sit com, That Girl, was only 50 towards the end of that series. I would have put him at least at 65. Ed Asner, who played Lou Grant on the 1970s sit com, The Mary Tyler Moore Show, was only in his 40s at the time. I'd have guessed him at about 60.

I guess men didn't age as well back then. But they had to grow up faster than we did. They'd been through the Great Depression and World War II. They smoked more. They drank martinis at lunch. They didn't exercise. They wore black socks with everything.

Why is this on my mind? Because my birthday is this month. I will be 54.

I'm not saying I'm as hot as Patrick, John, or Rob, but they project good images to which one might aspire. Like, if I really tried, I COULD look as good as they do.

So am I more of a Rob Lowe or a Lew Parker?

On one hand, I show definite signs of age. I've been bald on top for quite some time. Gray hair is finally showing up around the edges. I sometimes groan when I rise from the couch. I have to hold my prescription bottles further away from my eyes in order to read them. I prefer the radio station that plays good music - from the 1980s. I listen to the radio.

On the other hand, many things that were true about me in my 20s are still true today. I wear shorts whenever I can get away with it. When I have to dress up I wear jeans. I don't own a suit. I never iron anything. I put off haircuts until I'm really shaggy. When I listen to music alone in the car (admittedly mostly 80s music), I turn the volume way up and sing along as loud as I can (when Like a Prayer comes on, I nearly drive off the road). I still don't know for sure what I want to be when I grow up.

I suppose around the mid-21st century, if the birthdays keep coming, millennial relatives who care enough to visit will find me confined to a rocking chair, blind as a bat, but still wearing shorts and listening to Madonna.

Mindi Lahiri is Today's That Girl!

Of the tens of thousands of movies and TV shows on Netflix, I've seen every single one. At least clicking through the content leads me to believe so.

Browsing through suggested offerings created by algorithms especially for me (categories such as Gay Romantic Comedies, Disaster Documentaries,  and Dramatic TV Series Featuring a Strong Female Lead), I find myself saying out loud, "Seen it. Seen it. Seen it."

It briefly occurs to me that I could spend less time staring at the big screen in our living room, but then what would I do during dinner? The coffee table, where we eat, is right in front of the TV. The dining room table is too covered with mail, books, laundry, and other assorted junk to use for dining, except twice a year at Thanksgiving and Easter when we clear it off.

Premium cable complete with "On Demand" doesn't help much. Even with our multi-channel DVR, there are limitations to the available programming we can watch. For example, I can't record the current season of Grey's Anatomy because Clyde and I are only on season 7 in Netflix. Plus, it's frustrating to have to wait a whole week before the next Scandal or Madame Secretary airs (note: dramas featuring strong female leads).

I need a new source of programming to feed my binge watching addiction.

So I signed up for Hulu, one more paid TV subscription. And I sprung for the higher priced, commercial free version.

Hulu has a lot of stuff that Netflix and cable don't, particularly in the category of classic TV. Through the magic of Hulu, for example, I've rediscovered the 1960s sitcom, That Girl, starring a bright young Marlo Thomas who plays the bubbly Ann Marie. I used to watch it as a little boy and dream I'd grow up to live in my own apartment in the big city, complete with a boyfriend like her Donald. I can still hum the theme song. Of course it's very dated and corny, but when you think back to 1966, it was pretty gutsy to show a single young woman living alone in big old New York City. Sure, she had a boyfriend to get her out of the worst jams, but she paid her own rent.

Another series I'm enjoying on Hulu is more contemporary, The Mindy Project. Mindy Kaling plays another "single gal," Mindi Lahiri, also in New York City.

It's fun to note the similarities between the two. Both feature independent career women who live alone, at least initially. Both women get into a silly new situation in every episode. Both are a bit shallow: Mindy is obsessed with celebrity gossip; Ann because, well, that's just how young women were portrayed in those days.

The differences are also notable. With 50 years between them, Mindy is a little freer than Ann. While Ann and Donald date for years, there is absolutely no hint that they ever have sex. Mindy, on the other hand, openly sleeps with a succession of boyfriends, usually on the first date. Ann's career options seem limited - she wants to be an actress but often works as a waitress and retail clerk. Mindy is a full blown medical doctor, an OB-GYN. While Ann and Donald are about as white as you can be, Mindy is of Indian descent, though she is thoroughly American. When someone asks her religion, she thinks she might be Hindu but she's not sure.  Ann and Donald don't discuss religion.

It might be interesting to discuss whether television influences or reflects who we are. What can we learn about 1966 from watching That Girl? What does The Mindy Project tell us about our own times, 50 years later? All I know is that I learned from Ann Marie that happiness means getting your own place in the city and having your very own boyfriend. Poof! Here I am. Speaking of my boyfriend, while I watch my stories, Clyde spends his free evenings reading, mostly, though he's just as hooked on Grey's Anatomy as I am.