I’m sick of high tech whatnot and whozit. I am so “over” Palm Pilots, pagers, and cell phones. Cars that talk back, give directions, and flip pancakes. Breast implants. TiVo, mp3s. Even speakerphones are too much for me. Actually, with the exception of my beloved computer, blow-dryer, and flatiron, I’m not too enamored of all of this gadgetry, even though I do think it’s “neat”. (Hello, have you seen Potsie around?) I think pacemakers are pretty cool, and artificial hearts, and really life-like prosthetics, and plastic surgery that can restore a face or body that has been horribly disfigured. But for the most part, I really prefer the old stuff.

I like rotary phones. Gas ranges. Stairs that actually require people to use their legs. Record players. Pencil sharpeners and can openers that are operated by hand. Cars without turbo or sassy reminders to close my door, and with push-button non-LCD tinny-sounding radio. I want things back the way they were before I was born, damn it — but of course with me already born and old enough to appreciate all of it, while wearing pedal pushers and strewn across an overstuffed chair talking to my kooky friends on my Princess phone without Call Waiting. I want to be so far removed from the year 2002 that my only conception of it is as a time far in the future when everyone will be wearing sleek silvery spacesuits, travelling either by cars that hover over the surface of our fun new planet Mars, or by jetpack. But most of all, I want one of these so I can obsessively press labels on all my good ol’ stuff.