It’s no wonder folks fetishize postwar Americaâ€”the anteplaystation yearsâ€”while now grown men sit together in front of some giant screen (all those years donating plasma finally pay off), back in ’47 we were Men, and we had drinking parties. (Weâ€™ll ignore the homorerotic overtones within the Timesâ€™ use of the phrase â€œdrinking companionâ€ and Mrs. Hepnerâ€™s account that the two were â€œplaying pretty rough.â€)
In any event. The drinking party: you drink, you get drunk, somebody dies. That‘s a party, you computerized pansy.