I miss the Seventies…
…on a regular basis and with alarming frequency
“Where the hell are my hookers?”
For instance when I see Broadway Joe wearing his pimpin’ big mink coat. That’s when it all comes back to me — the dry look, curly perms, leisure suits, ABBA.
Joe Willy Namath, back in Jersey and still looking mighty fly.
Photo courtesy USA Today
And then I really miss the Seventies.
Posted on February 2, 2014, in Sports and tagged alarming frequency, Broadway Joe, Joe Namath, mink coat, Super Bowl. Bookmark the permalink. 13 Comments.
Kitchen Slattern 
Ahhh yes! I miss them, too… Sunday nights alternating between Mc Millan & Wife, Colombo and McCloud, while Nancy Walker peddled Bounty paper towels (“The quicker picker-upper”). In fact, I believe I spent most of the 70’s in front of TV, surrounded by the warmth of macrame plant hangers, shag rugs, burnt orange, avocado green and harvest gold tones… and plenty of cigarette smoke… I DO miss them…
Every. Single. Day.
Although I was mostly unconscious and swaddled in diapers for part of the 70s – an occurrence that will undoubtedly repeat itself in another 30 years, every Tuesday after bingo night at the Elks Lodge – I, too, miss the 70s. Who doesn’t love a polyester paisley number that clings to every orifice of our flabby untoned bodies and sagging non-existent breasts?
Incidentally, Joe Namath bears a striking resemblance to Maury Povitch in his most recent pic. They must have the same stylist.
Go Hawks!
Life was easier when expectations for breasts were lower.
I also want to add that Amy Adams had no boobies in “American Hustle”, which made her perfect for the part.
That’s the magic of double-sided tape. my friend.
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Kind of don’t remember the Seventies, too much beer followed by Jack and maybe soe herbal thingies. I don’t know. Joe Willie came out this weekend saying he had problems after being concussed a few times.Watching the Super Bowl and wondering why. 43 to 8 Seattle.
Kind of a sad non-event. The game, I mean.
Yeah, kinda like my participation in the Seventies. Rock and Roll, true Rock and Roll ended in 1970. ABBA makes me wince and my blood sugar spikes.
Then you must see the movie ‘American Hustle.’ Plunging necklines, bad comb-overs, and 70’s perms galore…
It was all I could do not to turn around after the movie and walk right back in for a second show.