While waiting for Battlestar Galactica to return in January, I've become obsessed with another cable show that, on the surface, also appears to take place in a completely alien universe. Mad Men is set on the Madison Avenue of the early 1960's, and the creator, designers and producers go to impressive lengths to ensure that the show remains firmly rooted in the past: every crystal decanter, every Wheel-O children's toy, every Chip 'n Dip are carefully chosen for period accuracy. This throwback world is ruled by huffing, puffing, slick-talking suits and their harems of pencil-skirted secretaries (at the Sterling Cooper ad agency), coiffed wives (at home) and sultry mistresses (everywhere else). Beneath the cloud of cigarette smoke and the haze of 11am martinis lies a pervasive chauvinism and near-misogyny.

It can be easy for modern career gals like me to dismiss the craven office politics of Mad Men as an anachronistic blast from the past, and to breath a sigh of relief that the show's blatant and infuriating sexism belong to bygone days. But while I may be lucky enough to work at a women's magazine where the male-female ratio of top execs is the inverse of Sterling Cooper's, it's still a mad, mad world out there in the industries of law, finance, science and yes, advertising.

I was reminded of this the other night while listening to some of the Mad Men behind-the-scenes commentary for Episode 6: Babylon (that's one of the nice things about watching a show for the first time on DVD: you can totally gorge on the special features). This episode, in which several characters reveal a secret longing for some unattainable conquest (Don for Rachel, Rachel and Betty for Don, everyone for personal fulfillment) while the agency pursues an account with the Israeli Tourism Bureau (hence the beautifully metaphoric title), was written by the husband-and-wife team of André and Maria Jacquemetton.

During the writers' voiceover, Maria Jacquemetton provided historical context and led us on a tour of the gender landscape of the time. "Women were forced back into the home largely by advertising," she said. She explained that advertising made women feel like they had to be the perfect housewife, with the perfect house and the perfect children, and still be able to "cook dinner in a crinoline skirt." She blamed the 60's for forcing women back into the straightjacket role of homemaker. Jacquemetton then went on to observe that what was happening in the 60's "is very similar to what is going on today."

Cradle Robber?
Women aren't supposed to think about the childbearing decision as an economic one. But how does a young couple factor the cost of a kid into an already paycheck-to-paycheck existence? One would-be mother stares down the crib sheet.

I’m everlastingly grateful to my wonderful family (especially my mom) and my fiancée, K.O., for encouraging me to write honestly about my experiences -- and for being so supportive and understanding when I went ahead and did just that.

Curious to hear reactions to this one...

UPDATE: My story is now available online at elle.com
http://www.elle.com/featurefullstory/14629/cradle-robber-rising-childbearing-costs.html

The event began with a one-hour press Q&A with the men responsible for Battlestar, Ronald D. Moore and David Eick, Sci Fi's head of programming, Mark Stern, and all of the major stars of the show. We scored great seats, and were eye-level with Katee Sackoff (Starbuck), Mary McDonnell (President Laura Roslin), Tricia Helfer (Number Six), Grace Park (Boomer/Athena), Edward James Olmos (Admiral Adama), Jamie Bamber (Apollo), James Callis (Gaius Baltar), Michael Hogan (Colonel Tigh) and Aaron Douglas (Chief Tyrol). Bestill my heart!

After taking a little while to get comfortable (the reporters seemed as nervous as the stars wriggling awkwardly in their director's chairs), there was a comfortable back-and-forth. Most of these actors, save for McDonnell and Olmos, were basically unknown before Battlestar. That means they haven't yet had time to develop celebrity-sized egos and still seem like really nice, down-to-earth people. They're also genuinely (and justifiably) proud of their work on the show –- they don't take this for granted. As they sat there on stage answering questions about the fourth and last season of BG, which starts April 4, you could tell that they've all enjoyed working on such a smart, progressive show, and they're going to miss the experience. Edward James Olmos was pretty frank about what a "helluva ride" it's been, and expressed how emotional it will be when the season draws to a close –- whenever that will be (the writer's strike means that there are still about ten unfinished episodes).

The big news of the night for hardcore fans was that Sci Fi has green-lighted a BG spin-off prequel called Caprica that take place 50 years before the period covered in Battlestar. Caprica, which is the name of now-destroyed planet, will explain the creation of the Cylon robots, will focus on the struggles and conflicts of two important families. Ronald Moore compared Caprica to a sci-fi version of Dallas -- a good, if unconscious, hook for female viewers (and Sci Fi could certainly use more of us).

After the Q&A, members of the press (and our VIP Guests) headed upstairs to join the crowds of advertisers and execs to eat, drink and mingle. There were more announcements about other new Sci Fi shows, one involving anime, and something about a tech web site called dvice.com (sorry, I wasn't really listening to this, as I was too busy worshipping Mary McDonnell from across the room). After the suits had left the stage, the stars were let loose to pose for photo ops and chat with everyone. The cast of one of Sci Fi's other shows, Eureka were also there, working the room. When I asked Mark Stern and Sci Fi/USA president Bonnie Hammer if they had any other programs that might appeal to women, they reflexively mentioned Eureka. However, I haven't had a chance to check it out, and at the upfront, I only had eyes for the Battlestar crew. My conversations from that night:

Mary McDonnell: It's hard not to get chills watching Mary McDonnell play Laura Roslin, former schoolteacher turned Leader of the Free Universe. Any aspiring candidate, black or white, male or female, could learn a lot from President Roslin's pragmatism, humanity, and ability to make tough decisions quickly and decisively. During the Q&A, a reporter asked Mary if Barack Obama had asked her to be his running mate. "Actually," she responded with a twinkle in her eye, "Hillary has." Can you imagine a Clinton-McDonnell ticket? Talk about experience: Mary's been doing the job for four years)! And, Mary's wit and charisma would be a nice balance for Hillary's aggressive opportunism. Later that night, Mary admitted to me that she was actually a fan of both candidates, but that Hillary was the "right candidate for right now." "She could "pave the way for Obama," she said. Time will tell if "President Roslin" has paved the way for "President Clinton"… In the meantime, wish I had a "Clinton/McDonnell '08" T-shirt.

Katee Sackhoff: In her role as Starbuck, the fastest, toughest and possibly craziest fight pilot in the Galactica fleet, this woman can make a drab cotton racer-back tank (part of the pilot's standard uniform) look sexier than a black lace g-string. She's fit, she's sassy, she's gorgeous, she completely fearless -- she's my hero. Sounds like I'm not the only woman who has a crush on Katee, though: she told me at the party that she "keeps getting offers from The L-Word." I personally think that with her up-for-anything grin and confident swagger, she could give slutty Shane a run for her money...but Katee said that while she has nothing against the L-Word, she wants to convince audiences that she's without-a-doubt straight (proof: she's got a director boyfriend in New Orleans), and fears that her roles in Battlestar and Bionic Woman may have given them the wrong idea. I don't get this, as everyone knows Starbuck has slept with just about every dude on the ship (she's never dating less than two men at a time) and is as hetero as they come. In person, Katee is beautiful and feminine: she was wearing a cute sleeveless black trapeze dress with gold patent stilettos, and her makeup looked great. I guess some people automatically assume that short hair + shameless sexuality + muscles = lesbian. What a shame. I also think it's a bit of a shame that Katee is growing out her hair, as it's still a little unusual to see sexually powerful women on TV or in the movies with short hair. Anyway, Katee was really fun to talk to, and devoted a lot of her time to us. The only time she tried to break away was to grab her dad (!) and ask him to tell her mom (!!) that Mrs. Sackhoff simply must try one of the little chocolate dessert tarts because she'd really like them. I love Katee -- platonically speaking, of course.

Tricia Helfer: Stunning (and tall -- she towered over me) Tricia had a successful career as a model before switching over to acting. In fact, she's posed for ELLE many times, and one of her covers from the mid-90's is still hanging in our main hallway. I look at her every time I walk down to our executive editor's office. She has caramel-colored hair in that photo, but has since gone white-hot-blond for her role as a cyber-babe Number Six, and is almost always shown wearing skimpy little outfits that look like they came from Victoria's Secret "Space Angels" collection. Honestly, Tricia is almost too gorgeous for her own good. Every time I've heard her speak (on last year's ComicCon panel, in interviews), she comes across as exceptionally sharp and pragmatic. Even dressed in the kind of second-skin minidress she was wearing Tuesday (my Spanx covers more surface area), she's also cool and likable, the kind of girl you'd totally want to get drinks with -- if only she didn't attract so much unwanted male attention. I was absorbed in our conversation at the upfront, and thus didn't realize that no fewer than five men were circling around the two of us like pinstriped sharks. Tricia chatted with me about how female viewers seem to really appreciate the complexities of her character (a robot with a preternaturally developed sense of morality, also surprisingly spiritual and empathetic. She sympathizes with the humans even though she is programmed to destroy them). However, Tricia said, men don't seem to pick up on that as much, and see Number Six as more of a sex object. Sigh. I'm not surprised, but I am a little dejected. Six is a profoundly conflicted character, and I think Tricia expresses that very well, with subtle facial expressions and anguished glances. I do hope that more producers and directors take note of her work on the show. I asked Tricia what else she had coming up, and she told me that one of her recent projects was a direct-to-DVD movie called Walk All Over Me. Tricia starred alongside Leelee Sobieski (cool!), but played a dominatrix (boo!). She sounded pretty excited about it (was it genuine?), but I'd love to see her in a role that makes takes more advantage of her acting talents than her model figure. She's had enough of that kind of exposure already. Tricia informed me that she looks a little more regular-girl and a little less blond in this season of BG, so perhaps that will be a little less distracting for the guys.

I also spoke briefly with Jamie Bamber (this Brit's dad is from Detroit, and that's why he's able to nail Apollo's American accent) and fawned over Ronald Moore (that man is brilliant. I could listen to him talk about writing for television forever). Such a great group. I'm looking forward to watching them in this season of Battlestar, and beyond.

As homework, I just started reading the novel on which the film is based. It’s a surprisingly modern feminist fairy tale about a dowdy, down-trodden spinster who shrugs off the bonds of virtue and propriety for one day in order to experience how the other, non-virtuous, half lives. Miss Pettigrew finds herself suddenly thrust into a world she thought only existed in the movies, involving lots of indiscriminately jolly sex, cocaine, seedy nightclubs, dangerous gentlemen, foxy ladies, and dubious cocktails with names like “Snake’s Venom.” Acting as a de facto lady-in-waiting to a glamorous starlet named Delysia LaFosse, Miss Pettigrew gambols about London to the tune of lines like this one: "She was a gentlewoman ranker out on the spree, and, oh shades of a monotonous past, would she spree!" But beneath the candy floss, this novel contains golden nuggets of wisdom concerning the beauty of female solidarity and the importance of self-actualization. Simply irresistible!

My friend Priya Jain recently wrote an interesting feature for Film in Focus about the story behind the story behind the movie. In it, she explains that the author of Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day, Winifred Watson, was popular English chick-lit writer who wrote just six books about love and marriage (sound familiar?). Miss Pettigrew (published in 1938) was a bit of a departure for Watson, and its representation of life in London's fast lane made it almost scandalously racy for its time. When her publisher balked, Watson swore that the book would be a winner (she also agreed to churn out another of her standard bodice-rippers as collateral). She was right, and the book's charms endure today. Unfortunately, Watson's writing career was one of the many casualties of WWII, and these six books (and now this one movie) are all that remain of her legacy.

I’m off to finish the book. I’m lapping it up, "as the vulgar say, with eager gulps!”

What a beautiful gift from K.O.! This print was designed by Stuart Kolakovic, a young British illustrator who creates these whimsical folklore-inspired scenes. They remind me of dioramas and Russian marionettes (I used to have one with a kerchief and round specs. I named her Olga... wish I still had her). We discovered Stuart through a group blog that K.O. participates in, called Invisible Man. I hear he's working on a graphic novel about two brothers growing up in Serbia during World War II (Stuart's Serbian grandfather fought in Yugoslavia). His style really lends itself to fable and narrative, so I'm looking forward to checking out the book.

I've been noticing a lot of unabashed, in-your-face cleavage on prime-time television lately. There's Tina Fey as Liz Lemon in her unbuttoned button-downs and plunging V-neck sweaters on "30 Rock"; Kristin Chenoweth and Anna Friel in low-cut frocks and push-up bras on "Pushing Daisies" (Friel recently acknowledged this to "People" magazine: "There's a lot of attention drawn to [costar] Kristin [Chenoweth's] and my breasts as the season goes on"); Julia Louis-Dreyfus in partially-unwrapped wrap dresses in "The New Adventures of Old Christine." On just about every channel, the ladies are busting out.

Stylists and wardrobe consultants have always tried to draw the viewer's eye to their clients' best assets, of course, but in the past, breasts were visual shorthand: Cleavage = bimbo. If the character was supposed to be smart and sexy, then maybe she'd reveal some leg, or the curve of a derrière in snug slacks, but she'd strive to remain brainy above the belt. This was especially true in the T&A-era of the late seventies: Sexy, spazzy Chrissy Snow pratfalled in tight T's and halter tops on "Three's Company" while sensible Janet stuck to collared polos, and the most clever of "Charlie's Angels," Sabrina Duncan, was far less likely to be karate-chopping in a bikini than co-angels Jill Monroe and Kelly Garrett. More recently, girl-"Friends" Rachel and Monica occasionally gave viewers an eyeful, but in the course of their daily squabbles, breakdowns, frolics and fantasies, they preferred to keep all eyes at hair-level. They were sophisticated, professional Manhattanites, after all.

The interesting thing about today's TV women is that they're baring more, but viewers are ogling less. All of this plunging, pushing and revealing seems to be flying under the radar. No one is making a big deal about breasts –- unless, of course, they're unavoidably enormous and patently fake, like the parting-shot pneumatic globes that belong to Michael Scott's girlfriend Jan on "The Office". But for most other characters, breasts have become irrelevant.

They certainly don't signify sexual prowess in the way that they used to. Christine's cleavage and Lemon's cantaloupes (I mean, check out the cleavage in this video) haven't been able to secure either of them a satisfactory partner. In an odd bait-and-switch (or a bad casting decision), Christine's supposedly sexy nemesis, "New Christine", is more covered-up than she is! Christine's ex-husband's new partner--a classic bimbette-- is often shown in sack-like shirts that reveal little more than a clavicle, while funny, take-charge "Old Christine" is practically popping out of her sweaters as she bops from her son's school, to her office at the gym, to (often disappointing) dates out at night. Christine is a stunning woman, but she doesn't use her looks or her figure to her advantage. Hmmm...maybe she should!

The same goes for Liz Lemon, the brilliantly funny and extremely capable TV producer on "30 Rock." Her wit and sass have made her top-dog on the set of her show, but not even her killer curves can get her a date with a decent guy. Listening to Liz's coworkers mock her looks, her age, and her semi-pathetic singleness makes us want to shake some sense into them. The woman is hardly mockable. She is smokin' hot! Am I the only one to notice this?

Over on "Pushing Daisies," cleavage is practically part of the uniform for women at The Pie Hole bakery, but the ladies aren't getting any bonuses for it. Waitress Olive Snook is constantly overlooked by her true love, Ned, despite her lovely, prominently-displayed wares (and I'm not talking about the pies). For Olive's sartorial sister and romantic rival, Charlotte "Chuck" Charles, those cute, low-cut dresses and snug cardigans pay off -- sort of. She got the guy, but he'll never be able to lay a hand on any part of her body (if he touches her, she dies). All that wasted décolleté!

These characters don't seem to have to worry about whether their sexy clothing choices will compromise their credibility or detract from their intelligence. In fact, Liz Lemon was recently shown wearing a loose-fitting but extremely low-cut J. Crew dress that I happen to own. I'm afraid to wear it to my casual office without a tank underneath, but Lemon wore it to NBC with pride, sans tank and sans bra. Instead of showing Liz in her cute, figure-flattering ensembles partying it up after work, the show makes a big point of telling us that Liz usually goes home alone, with only a meatball sub ("extra bread") as her companion. A nice rack doesn't hurt these women at the office (hooray for that!), but, unfortunately, it doesn't seem to be helping them much outside the office, either (what's up with that?).

It's almost as if cleavage has been de-sexualized -- on TV at least. Or maybe it's more that breasts have been put in their proper place, and are no longer the clues or props they once were. Producers and stylists have finally realized that women can be brainy and buxom, they can be sarcastic and sexy, they can be neurotic and nicely put-together, they can be voluptuous and...lonely. Or not. One thing is certain: you can't judge a woman by her cleavage. Today's female TV characters are more than the sum of their parts.

"Like Moonlighting," writes Christian, "Pushing Daisies knows that screwball means more than just snappy banter and sexual tension: it means having the discipline to be in constant pursuit of the good part of the story — the chase, the flirt, the best joke at hand — then move on to the next thing with giddy momentum."

I was initially wary that the show, with its saturated colorscapes, flouncy frocks, sweetly chaste lovers and CG sets would send my internal Quirk-o-Meter into spasms. But like Christian, I was lured in by the soothing, Potter-y baritone of venerable British actor Jim Dale, and charmed by the moony green eyes and expressive eyebrows of American actor Lee Pace. I'm still occasionally irked by the "Gilmore-ish" dialogue (add that to the Gen Y lexicon), but I'm really enjoying the bizarre weekly mysteries and the Chuck-Ned-Olive love triangle -- and Olive herself, played with lots of sass and cleavage by Kristin Chenoweth.

"Moonlighting's" ratings plummeted after Maddie and David finally slept together. Lucky for "Pushing Daisies," sex will never be an option for Ned and Chuck (if he touches her, she dies). So as long as the characters keep their libidos and their quirkiness in check, we'll be able to have a satisfying and fulfilling relationship.

(Photo credit: Christopher Lane for the New York Times.)

Not long afterwards, an article about female runners appeared in the New York Times. But instead of follow the media trend and focusing on how many women are running, health writer Gina Kolata focused on how women are running. About two years ago, Kolata, a longtime jogger, realized that she’d been running without a purpose (just running to run), and decided to train for a 5k race. The experience apparently jump-started Kolata’s mojo and unleashed her inner Flo-Jo, encouraging her to become a more committed runner. At the races she now regularly attends, Kolata has been surprised to discover that unlike men, women seem to get faster as the age. “At a recent five-kilometer race in Pine Beach, N.J., which drew nearly 1,000 runners,” she noted, “the fastest man was 24 years old and the men’s times increased with each five-year age group. But the women were different — their times were all over the place with older women beating younger women in almost every age category.” Kolata looked at the results for a bunch of other US races, and found that older female runners were outpacing the younger ones. She says that results like this got her to thinking, “Are women really trying in these races and, if they are, why are older women beating younger women?”

In another example of character behaving against their best interests, on Monday we saw Claire Bennett, the Indestructible Cheerleader, do a back-tuck off a three-story tower just to prove that she could -- even though her only hope to avoid discovery (and certain death!) is to avoid attracting attention through stupid stunts exactly like this one. Kind of reminds me of how, last season, doomed person after doomed person would wander unsuspectingly into empty artist’s studios and dark, ransacked apartments, refusing to read the writing on the wall (or the blood on the wall, as was the case). Sometimes it feels like Sylar has tampered with everyone's brains... or at least their common sense.

At the end of this season’s first episode, as Claire's mom cooed at her pitiful pup (after all her memory-replacement treatments, shouldn't this woman be effectively lobotomized by now?), and Claire’s dad shot a soap-opera-caliber “portentous look” at his daughter; as Matt "The Mindreader" Parkman cradled the precocious Molly in his arms (I'm sorry, but this kid drives me nuts); as Hiro was left standing in the middle of a field "somewhere outside Kyoto", conversing with a blond, British samurai (okay, I'll admit I'm curious to see where this storyline goes), I was left wondering, why the heck am I still watching this silly show?

Well, after some reflection, I've come up with a few reasons:

Back in the 1990's (my salad days), I used to be a semi-serious runner. I trained for four marathons, and finished three of them in respectable times, once qualifying for Boston with several minutes to spare. I wasn't an elite athlete by any standard, but I was decent. I was also dedicated, averaging two road races a month in the summer. These mass running convocations tended to be dominated by men --- teeming, steaming masses of broad, hairy men with sneakers the length of my tibia. Even with my cropped hair and boyish figure, I always felt conspicuous at the starting line. The female runners stood out like poodle skirts at a drag race, especially in the faster groups like mine. This made it easy to find female training buddies: once you found a woman who could keep your pace, you kept her contact info. It also made it easy to meet men. All I had to do was open my mouth and say something during the race ("Whoa, it's hot out today" worked fine). Chances were likely that the person who heard me--and responded to me--would be a guy.

As I approached 30 and entered the pizza-and-prosciutto phase of my life, my competitive spirit fizzled as individual body parts snapped, crackled and popped. I took a long hiatus from long-distance running, forsaking road races in order to tend to other hobbies, like watching television and reading comic books.

A few months ago, my boyfriend (who was also a fanatic runner in his twenties –- in fact, that's how we met) and I started feeling old and puffy, so we decided to see what we had left. We signed up for the Manhattan Half-Marathon, and committed to a fairly regimented 9-week training program.

Today we ran our first competitive race in six years. A lot has changed!

But it's also fundamentally flawed in a way that nagged at me all the way home, even as I recited my favorite lines and chortled over the funniest scenes. And the more I think about it, the more annoyed and disappointed I feel.