M. is all up in the American history. Has been since I met him. He likes to talk about James Madison, Madisonian ideals (whatever the hell they are, although I hear tell that once upon a time there was such a thing as “checks and balances”) and mention the Federalist Papers in normal (well kind of) conversation.

He knows who was hanging at the first Continental Congress and even without the citizenship exam, he knew his Articles and Amendments to the Constitution of these United States. I myself have a vague notion about each of them, could probably nail the Bill of Rights, but I’m shitty on the number keeping. Like I know about prohibition, but number was that 57 maybe give or take 39.

So imagine the joy, when HBO started rocking the John Adams show, based on David McCullough’s stuff. I think maybe M.’s desire for a traditional Sunday dinner is his way to ease into a night’s history watching. Nothing like a 1950s America callback to lead into the 1700s.

I do realize the history of contention and speaking out for which J.A. was famous is what they are portraying. It ain’t everyone who could pull off defending the Brits after the Boston Massacre and then end up not to long after fighting with Quakers in Philly. But, personally, still and all, I think Paul Giamatti’s J.A. is a bit too douche-y.

In Paris, you’re kind of routing for Ben Franklin to get John the hooker hook up, syphilis and all, just to lighten the mood a bit.

Sure, French royalty was creepy, dirty and more interested in food, tits, wine and fucking over the Brits compared to helping the U.S. war effort, and J.A. was bummed. On the feminist side of the family values ticket, you got Adams loving his wife, respecting her, swapping letters like emails, compared to Franklin leaving his wife and daughter in relative poverty while he galavanted around Europe. You just know Adams is the better, more righteous man, who you’d be better off living with and calling a friend. Insufferably prudish, though, and kind of annoying. I keep wanting to slug him.

Although, in this week’s episode, I got to call back to my roots. I grew up a few miles from the Adams Homestead. It’s not a farm any more. My childhood dentist’s office was literally a few short blocks away. I had a friend from out of town who got in trouble with National Park personnel by picnicking on the historic Adams lawn.

I’ve even been to the family’s church and gone down in the basement, leastways I think it was the basement, and saw John’s and Abigail’s side by side tombs. Sure all the history is in Quincy now, but back in the day that was Braintree, damn-it.

So, in episode 4, Abby and John are back together again after he’s been to Paris and the Netherlands, pissed people off and coughed up a lot of phlegm, while she worked the farm, raised the kids and let a doctor stab her with a quill full of chicken pox. Naturally, he bangs her like the Braintree chick she was. Rock on suburban, proto-feminist Abigail, hooking up way, way, way, way before the South Shore Plaza Shopping Mall was even thought up.

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