Is it possible to get lung cancer from a TV show?

For the past 72 hours or so, I've been watching Mad Men, AMC's period drama that is a critical darling. I am utterly addicted to it.

Not only is it a drama that, despite a pace only slightly faster than plant growth, maintains interest and keeps you guessing, it is also a drama that has actual characters. This is not a drama of stereotypes; it is a first rate ensemble cast with each character having their own story, and each story intertwines. And yet, every single character, for the most part, isn't likeable. There's Don Draper, a creative genius who isn't faithful to his wife. Pete Campbell, who was given everything and is more sexist than the rest. Roger Sterling, who broke up his marriage of 25 years. And yet I cannot resist watching their stories unfold.

In addition to the writing and acting, Mad Men is a true period drama. But where some shows pander to cheap nostalgia and make fun of the era, this show is a stickler for detail. There are no anachronistic pieces, and no anachronistic situations. This is the era of the three martini lunch and a perpetual cloud of cigarette smoke around the office. Secretaries were skirts to be lifted, and infidelity was the norm. These "Mad Men," men of Madison Avenue who worked advertising magic, had gritty undersides, once you get past the chrome.

I also appreciate the fashion of the show. Men looked sharp in suits, and women looked put together and finished. Fedoras were everywhere. An era of skirts and heels and suits with skinny ties. As much as the social conventions of the era disgust me, I will say it was nice to see an age where people tried to look put together once again.

And so I hope like mad that the fedora comes back.