KAREN'S PAGE.

One of the more bizarre things that happens when you become the editor of a magazine is that you invariably end up on the other side of the tape recorder. Instead of you interviewing people, people start interviewing you. And the last thing any writer wants to be thought of as is a bad interview. Or, in my case, a stupid interview. I really should have seen a question like this coming. It's certainly one of the more predictable ones. And I should have had a better answer prepared.

"So when you were growing up," the reporter innocently asked, "who were your role models?" I'm sure she was looking for me to answer the answer I wish I'd thought of. "Oh, you know, Helen Keller, Amelia Earhart, Madame Curie." Instead I blurted out, "Charlie's Angels!" The reporter gave me the same look Regis Philbin gave the guy who thought Abraham Lincoln was our first president.

Part of me wishes she had asked if that was my final answer. But here's the awful truth: I want to be one of Charlie's Angels.

While many see cable TV as an opportunity to a) bring down the monopoly of networks, b) provide local programming to the masses, c) allow creative freedom for people who like to say swear words and d) present life stories of aging former drug addict metal-heads, I see cable as a chance for a new generation of girls to be exposed to the women who were the defining influences in my life.

For those of you who actually enjoy sleeping vs. watching 2 a.m. reruns, let me explain. The Angels were three women who attended the police academy. They were each assigned very hazardous duties, like writing parking tickets, typing and being a crossing guard--until one day, an anonymous man took them away from all that. His name was Charlie.

Well, that's what the voiceover that started every show said anyway. In reality, the Angels were three gorgeous actresses who found themselves busting capers set in locations that gave the producers a cheap excuse to show them off in swimsuits and what used to be called evening wear. While the Angels did pack guns, they evidently never applied for a bra permit. Charlie's Angels was the first show ever to be dubbed "jiggle TV"--just in case you thought Pamela Anderson invented it.

But none of that mattered to me at all. While my mother couldn't believe I could be transfixed by such trash, I saw a whole lot more than just bad acting and string bikinis. To me, Charlie's Angels was a trio of girls who went out in the world and had adventures. They could flip guys over their shoulders! They could plant bugs! They could fling potato sacks off the back of a truck and force the bad guys off the road, causing their car to blow to bits and bask their beautiful faces in a flattering orange glow!

While I was stuck in fifth grade, the Angels were going undercover to fight crime. They infiltrated the scary netherworlds of beauty pageants, fashion shoots and ice shows. They were beautiful, smart, and they saved the day. And they did it all without the help of a man (no, Bosley, their loyal cohort, doesn't count).

Which to me was the best part of Charlie's Angels. While feminists found nothing but fault with the show, I thought the Angels had it all. I loved that they were gorgeous. I loved that they had great outfits. But most of all, I loved the fact that they always stuck together, and used their brains and bravado to solve the mystery. They were the first women I ever saw with guts and great hair.

Charlie's Angels was definitely fantasy material for a lot of the guys in fifth grade. But the show fueled a lot of my fantasies, too. Charlie's Angels showed me that women could be in charge and kick some butt. That women could be a team and get the job done. That hip-huggers could be considered sensible work wear.

Of course, my real life as a magazine editor turned out to be a lot less exciting. My biggest work hazard--save sounding stupid in interviews--is the potential for a paper cut. But every once in a while, I imagine myself running out to my White Cobra II, my trusty Barretta in my shoulder bag, ready to solve the crime with my two best friends, making the world a better, safer place for one more week.

Karen Bokram