Do you remember when the world felt safe? And everything was getting better and better. When life had a sheen to it and all things were within reach.
Those days were good. Just out of reach and just before I was born. They probably died with Kennedy in the back of that car (and that car is now parked in the basement of a downtown Beirut garage, permanent and unseen pride of a private collector’s auto-porn) on that bright November day in Dallas when I was just a five month foetus. Like I said: so nearly there.
Sinatra was king of the heap; Deano worked hard and professionally at being laconic; Marilyn serenaded the President; Johnny Carson settled America down every night; Cyd and Fred brought slick dance to the big screen; Hollywood was glamour; Jackie trumped even the studio Sirens. My, it was yaaar.
I miss the elegance. I miss the surety. I miss the confidence we had in the future and the knowledge that the future would only get better. I miss smart. I miss the way things were. I miss song and dance guys and gals who made it all seem so effortless. I miss smoking. And all the accoutrements that went with it. I miss elegance. I miss men dressing nattily. I miss ladies in ballgowns and cocktail dresses and those nightclubs with small tables near the band stand. I miss knowing we were right. And that the proof was all around us.
Ms. Monroe – every woman’s fantasy
