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Rewatching Mad Men. Matt Weiner, creator and showrunner as well as EP spoke about the period accuracy he charged his tea...
28/05/2026

Rewatching Mad Men. Matt Weiner, creator and showrunner as well as EP spoke about the period accuracy he charged his team with. There was a scene where Don‘s son was to play with an Etch A Sketch. Matt said no, the toy wasn’t released until July of that year, and the scene took place earlier in the year, by four months. That’s the level of detail that kept us all interested. We knew we were watching something authentic. If you get a chance restart the series. It’s especially fun to have a wandering eye to check out what’s on the desks and on the bar carts.

In 1964, decades before Seinfeld’s Elaine cut the rug, there was Betsy Martin. Betsy didn’t dance so much as bully Marty...
14/05/2026

In 1964, decades before Seinfeld’s Elaine cut the rug, there was Betsy Martin.
Betsy didn’t dance so much as bully Marty’s apartment—heels jabbing, skirt snapping, one leg flying out like it had a personal vendetta against every shin within a three-foot radius—a complete dancepocalypse.

Men choked on their cocktails, women side-eyed through tight smiles, silently thinking “who dis bitch,” —and Marty quietly relocating anything delicate, including his last good nerve.

Every kick came a little too close, every spin a little too wild, like she was flirting with disaster and hoping it flirted back harder.
And then there was the sound nobody heard—soft at first, then unmistakable to her.
Yeah, man, she’d done this before.

It was a long, slow scrape beneath the sultry sounds of Brigitte Bardot, like something expensive losing its dignity—inch by inch.

Betsy finished with a final, unapologetic kick, hurling her shoe across the room into the kitchen.
She smoothed her dress, stood stiff, smiled and beamed out the door with humility and dignity, knowing she just demonstrated her sexpertise and complete groovestation.

Only after she left did Marty notice the deep, ugly scratch carved straight across the brand-new Magnavox hi-fi cabinet, and the two inch heel-hole in his chest.

Betsy hadn’t been dancing ON the floor so much as hu***ng against everything in the room that couldn’t get out of her way.
Marty was exhausted, spent in a sort of “did I just get dirty-dance-assaulted by my neighbor?”

He sat down and had a smoke—unfortunately, so did the Magnavox.

There’s something cool about a spring evening like this in Chappaqua, back when the air felt softer and the world, at le...
13/05/2026

There’s something cool about a spring evening like this in Chappaqua, back when the air felt softer and the world, at least for a spell, seemed to mind its manners. The patio glows under those smart little lamps, cocktails sweating gently in good company, and the hum of quiet conversation drifts out across the lawn like a favorite tune on the radio.

You can almost hear the clink of ice and the low chuckle of a neighbor who’s wandered over unannounced—because that’s what one did back in those times, right?
No grand invitations, no social media invite, no fuss.
Just a “come on by” and suddenly the night feels fuller, warmer, as if the whole business of living were meant to be shared under one sky.

I think, as a social media guy, the real trick we’ve let slip through our fingers somewhere along the line is kindness in real life. Not just words but actions. Folks didn’t always see eye to eye back then either—don’t let anyone sell you that fairy tale.

Anyway…there’s most assuredly a quiet kind of courage in that, in choosing to be decent when it might be easier to be distant. If we could borrow a page from nights like this—invite the neighbor whose opinions make us bristle, offer a drink, listen a little longer—we might just find that kindness has a way of smoothing the rough edges.

Not changing minds with a hammer, but with a handshake, a laugh, and maybe one more round as the fireflies get ready come out.

I’m a bit of a romantic that way.

Reposted from Modernist Collection. In 1952, two talented architecture students at USC started a firm with one of their ...
07/05/2026

Reposted from Modernist Collection.
In 1952, two talented architecture students at USC started a firm with one of their professors and created Buff, Straub & Hensman. The Modernist trio went on to design hundreds of contemporary homes during the postwar housing boom in Southern California. Pictured here is the post-and-beam Thomson House, built on a Pasadena hillside in 1957. (Photos: Julius Shulman, 1949; © J. Paul Getty Trust. Getty Research Institute; restoration by Modernist Collection)
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Betsy leaned in close to her new husband Brett, her smile fixed while her whisper did all the real work. “See my Uncle J...
06/05/2026

Betsy leaned in close to her new husband Brett, her smile fixed while her whisper did all the real work. “See my Uncle Jerry on the couch?” she said. “He’s currently telling everyone he’s a traveling Kirby vacuum cleaner salesman. ‘Top-of-the-line machines, lots of attachments,’ blah blah—he’s been selling that story since Eisenhower.” Across the room, Jerry gestured broadly, like a man describing both suction power and the American dream. Brett nodded, and Betsy squeezed his arm. “Come outside. You deserve the deluxe demonstration.”

They slipped into the driveway, and Betsy popped the trunk with the a twisted sense of delight.
Inside: no vacuums. No hoses. No chrome canisters. Just a meticulously organized, velvet-lined inventory of… let’s call them “enthusiast-grade accessories,” each boxed like it belonged in a department store that definitely doesn’t exist in Scarsdale.

Brett blinked. “So the attachments——are not for carpets,” Betsy finished.
From inside, Jerry’s voice floated out, “ladies, you’ll just love the variety of hoses we have this month.”
Betsy closed the trunk gently. “He’s speaking in code. Half the women in there have his number memorized.
He’s like the Avon-Lady, but more like the strap-on man.”

Brett glanced back at the party, suddenly noticing how excitedly the gals were smiling.
“Wait,” he said, “so everyone—?” Betsy nodded. “Yep, repeat customers.”

They stood there a beat, the realization landing. Then Betsy looked Brett up and down, a slow, satisfied appraisal. “Huh,” she said. “We might be the only ones he never pitched.”
Brett raised an eyebrow.
Betsy smirked, taking his hand as they headed back inside. “Don’t take it personally,” she added.
“I married you because you have all the attachments a gal could ever want. Plus, I don’t think they make anything close to your size.”

Brett smirked proudly, “Yeah, I guess I’m happy with the nozzle God gave me!”

03/05/2026

.vintage in West Hartford Connecticut is the place to visit for exceptionally curated mid-century modern pieces. These people really know the period and understand how to find the most unique pieces for your home. Visit them the next chance you get. Check their page for hours of operation.

So, where has Bobbie been? Let’s see— in the last two months we’ve been busy house training our newest edition, Wally! T...
30/04/2026

So, where has Bobbie been? Let’s see— in the last two months we’ve been busy house training our newest edition, Wally! That has been quite a bit of work because he does whatever he wants, even though we’ve tried to keep him away from anything valuable, but he’s integrating into the entire home now rather well. I’ve been baking my famous coffee cakes, which are a hit in my neighborhood. I make those every week on Thursdays. Timothy has taken on more complicated baking in the kitchen and tackling croissants. Which takes quite a bit of technique and patience and on two occasions he’s essentially nailed it. We’ve been going away on weekends and visiting friends and our last trip was to nearby Hudson, New York for a day of frolicking, great lunches, and teas. We set up an art show in a café in Salisbury, Connecticut, hometown of Meryl Streep. Maybe she’ll buy one of Timothy’s paintings?? And I’ve been learning to make shrimp dumplings, which are so incredibly addictive. You can’t just eat five! A bear visited one of our cars recently likely smelling the stash of chocolate. I keep in a Christmas peppermint candy tin. It warmed up quite a bit last week and we caught this bear on the passenger side ready to rip the door off. Who knew Goldberg‘s peanut chews were bringing all the bears to the yard. And finally a newest edition to my friend Jon and Lisa‘s home, is little Lily. She is so incredibly adorable. We just had to take numerous photos of every move for one day write a book about cats and grief. Actually, I’ve started that book. This weekend we are in New York City for the annual spring book fair on Park Avenue. See I wasn’t kidding when I said I was busy! I’ll get to a new story soon, I promise!

Back in 1963, Marian’s Saturday was a high-stakes heist disguised as a cookout. To win the “Palm Springs Poultry Pageant...
11/04/2026

Back in 1963, Marian’s Saturday was a high-stakes heist disguised as a cookout. To win the “Palm Springs Poultry Pageant,” she’d bypassed the local butcher and commissioned a taxidermist to hollow out a prize-winning bird and stretch it over a state-of-the-art animatronic frame. While her neighbors slaved over actual charcoal, Marian just hit “Play” on a remote tucked into her fuchsia bodice, causing the mechanical gobbler to baste itself with a series of pre-programmed, realistic tremors.

Stupidly, she’d accidentally synced the turkey to her neighbor’s new remote garage door opener. Every time Mr. Henderson pressed his clicker to get his gardening supplies, the turkey performed a vigorous, hip-thrusting samba on the rotisserie. As the judges approached, the bird suddenly lurched into a full “Bossanova,” shedding its golden-brown skin to reveal a blinking motherboard and a nest of AA batteries. Undeterred, Marian flashed her terrifyingly static smile and thrust a forkful of wires at the head judge. “It’s molecular gastronomy, darling,” she hissed, “it’s supposed to have a metallic finish.

Marian was screwed, and would never be allowed to enter the contest again, but she’ll likely enroll in the upcoming “Dry Heat” Stare-Down: Competitors must stand in full 1950s wool suits under the 115°F sun without breaking a single bead of sweat. Good luck, hon.

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