The idea of writing this column scared me a bit. I don’t know much about life — despite being a ‘90s kid on a technicality, I don’t even remember a time before “American Idol” was on the air. So, yeah, I don’t have a ton of profound wisdom to share.
Instead, I will write about what I do know: the American sitcom.
I grew up on network television. I used to wait all week for Wednesday nights, when my parents, siblings and I would watch “The Middle,” take a 30-minute break (I have no idea what was on at 8:30) and then tune back in for “Modern Family.”
But what I loved the most were sitcoms that aired long before I was born. “Family Matters,” “Family Ties,” “Cheers.” And none stood out more than “The Mary Tyler Moore Show.”
Centered around a young woman living on her own in Minneapolis and working in a newsroom, I can’t in good conscience say this show didn’t have an impact on my dream of being a journalist. In fact, I’d say Mary Richards and Kit Kittredge both played an outsize role, but that’s a rabbit hole for another day.
Mary Richards was everything I wanted to be. She loved her job and charmed even her most curmudgeonly coworkers. She had an awesome apartment with an M on the wall (yes, you read this right! This is the first letter of my name, too, reader!). She had a bustling social life and got to be best friends with Rhoda Morgenstern, one of the most iconic characters to ever grace the screen.
So, you see, stepping foot in The Daily Tar Heel newsroom for the first time was a huge thrill for my 18-year-old self. There were no typewriters or powder-blue blazers, but there was a certain subtle Lou Grant-ish charm to the place. I felt, quite possibly, more Mary Richards than I ever had before.
Fast-forward to three years later, and that bustling, WJM-esque newsroom was no longer possible with COVID-19. I moved back to Maryland with my parents to finish my junior year, and when I returned to Chapel Hill for my senior year, my interactions were limited for social distancing.
I was living in a bottle episode.
