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AMEN– the writer’s strike is over! I was getting desperate. I was willing to sit through another episode of Lipstick Jungle with my wife, just because it was new. No offense– it’s a good show, but dang– I just couldn’t get all jazzed about sassy ladies in Manhattan again. That’s what reruns of Sex in the City are for.
While I was waiting for the studio execs to get their heads out of their . . . afterparts, I watched every episode of Barney Miller. Every single one. It was a simpler time. Everyone was entitled to have an Afro, and the rotary phone. . . my god. . . I’m dating myself, but I’d give just about anything to call someone on a rotary phone. The time it takes to dial a number . . . time to plan what you were going to say when you finally ask Angela Zaterinski on a date to the roller rink. Ahh young, zitty-love. I got so homesick for the 70s that I bought a devil’s food cake red polyester suit. And these outrageously cool salt and pepper shakers made from authentic, vintage, ANTIQUE, 1970s phone receivers (NEVER used. . . ew). I love these things made by some Dutch genius names Henk Stallinga. Ivory white phone pieces with clear bottoms so you know what’s shakin’. Sometimes I take them to work to break up the monotony of the modern world– they’re so, I Spy!
