Some­day some­one will dis­cover the gene sequence for a desire to live in a tele­vi­sion apartment–specifically, Mary Tyler Moore’s. (The sequence MTM? I totally have it, it’s located some­where around MM, the abil­ity to eat one-pound bags of choco­late candy and then three-course meals.) There’s a post-off about TV décor over at Shel­ter­rific, and this has led me to dis­cover an actual blue­print of MTM’s awe­some pad here. So awe­some. All the love for the sunken liv­ing room reminds me of my first single-girl res­i­dence, a sweet and chic stu­dio at the Kens­ing­ton House, chron­i­cled once by the New York Times in a studio-centric piece.

My kitchen sink was so wee that I had to fill my stock pot in the bath­tub, and my clos­ets left a lot to be desired, but I had the glo­ri­ous sunken liv­ing space. No door­man named Carl­ton, how­ever, which reminds me–hey, that was on “Rhoda”!