That 70’s Show

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I’ve heard it said that fashion is cyclical. What was once in style is sure to become fashionable again— if you just wait long enough. While I’m not sure if that’s always the case, I think the cliché is more true than not.

I’ve noticed that over the last few years that the color palette of the 1970s seems to be creeping back in vogue. While I wasn’t alive during that decade, I’ve seen enough of my parents’ Technicolor photographs to verify this as accurate. You know those little square Kodak photos with rounded edges featuring your relatives with well-coiffed hair and bright floral outfits?

Yeah, those things.

I’ve been seeing lots of clothes and decor with those colors recently. And in places where, frankly, I’d prefer they weren’t. For example, a couple of years ago, I lamented a paint job that had been completed at my doctor’s office here in Patterson. When I told my doctor that the color of his building resembled the shade you’d find inside a baby’s diaper, he told me that he had no part in selecting that particular color palette. While this reassured me of his decision-making ability, that hasn’t stopped me from having to look at those colors each time I go for a flu shot.

I regret to say that this 1970s color invasion has claimed another victim. Today, I had a few errands, so I had to stop by the bank. I hadn’t been inside the bank in quite some time, so I was too busy saying hello to the nice ladies that work there to notice that the interior had undergone a redecoration. Once I was in line for the teller, I looked up and felt my nose instantly wrinkle in dislike.

My beloved bank had been painted a shade of yellow that, if seen in a toilet bowl, Dr. Oz warns us is a sure sign of dehydration.

I mulled on this revelation for a few minutes— looking around the walls as if expecting to feel differently about the color. Once it was my turn at the teller, I nearly asked her about it, but I stopped myself because I didn’t want to make the staff feel bad for having to work at a place that resembled a urinary tract infection.

However, since they are probably reading this column right now, it’s too late for me to worry about that at this point.

In conclusion, I’d like to add the following: I am not the most fashionable person. My sense of style is highly circumspect— just like my ability to walk, which is decidedly nonexistent. So, I’d take my fashion opinions with a hefty grain of salt— just as you would all the things that come out of Donald Trump’s mouth.

I’m sure these buildings and these 1970s colors are super chic— and I’m sure real, honest-to-goodness designers made the color choice. I’m also quite sure that many people must like them.

BIMG_4228ut, definitely not me.

Messy Drawers, Cassette Tapes & Vladimir Putin

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There’s no right or wrong time to clean out a messy drawer, or that one cabinet that hasn’t been touched since audio cassette tapes were still a thing that people actually used. Don’t mistake this as a diss on cassettes— nothing could be further than the truth. I used to love to rock out to Michael Jackson’s Thriller album on my mint green boom box. In fact, I eventually wore the cassette tape out and had to use some of my piggy bank money to buy a fresh copy at the mall. This was a time when you had to actually drive to the store to buy music— so it was a serious commitment. You had to really want something if you were willing to make your mom drive you 40 minutes to the Vintage Faire Mall to get it. After all, in the 1980’s, the only thing you could download from a Cloud was some rain.

Cleaning out an old drawer or shelf can be a therapeutic experience. I know I always feel better, lighter, and calmer when I can de-clutter something. That’s a fact. Unloading possessions is deeply cathartic. While I know that some people get the same feeling from yoga and meditation, I suspect Vladimir Putin gets a similar zing of excitement when he invades Ukraine and polishes his knife collection.

Sorting through old stuff can yield surprising results, too. Once I found a $20 bill in a nylon fanny pack at the bottom of my dresser. Remember fanny packs? Yeah, I wish I didn’t, either. Aside from being horrified that I actually wore the damn thing, I instantly felt like I had won a prize by discovering the twenty bucks inside. It didn’t seem to matter that it was actually my own money, I was still a Powerball winner in my mind.

A few days ago, I cleaned out an old drawer in my bathroom. Inside, next to a crusty bottle of Johnson & Johnson Baby Powder, and in front of a curling iron that hadn’t been used in over a decade, I found a little box. Inside? My high school class ring! I hadn’t seen the ring in years, in fact, I had forgotten all about it. But, alas, here it was in my hand, smelling slightly of old talc, yet none the worse for wear. It was like finding a $20 bill, only way better. Vladimir Putin probably gets the same feeling when he imprisons dissidents and runs around the Kremlin naked.

So, the moral of the story is this: don’t wait to clean out that one messy drawer in your house. While you may only find old buttons, some matchbooks, and a few dried-up pens, there’s a chance you could discover something awesome. Like a $20 bill, your high school class ring, or— if you’re Vladimir Putin—your secret stash of Soviet-era nuclear weapons.

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If only everyone could be so lucky.