When I was a young kid in the late 1900s, I used to think that Saturday Night Live was the most grown-up thing imaginable. It was cool. It was on the cutting-edge of show business. It was risqué. It was late at night. I thought I was the coolest kid around when my parents would let me stay up and watch. Ever since then, SNL has been one of my favorite shows, and I have always admired its smart comedy and featured talent, from Wayne’s World to Norm MacDonald to Tina Fey.
Then, when I got a little older and started writing and performing music, in my wildest dreams I would envision myself one day getting famous enough to play as the musical guest on SNL.
However, life caught up with me and I found my calling not as a songwriter, but as a father and a student of psychology. So I abandoned my dream of ever being on that stage, and now I’m just raising my family and working hard at my master’s thesis.
Then again, I have been reading some of the history of Saturday Night Live, and once again came across the fact that way back in Season 3, a few years before I was born, you had a contest called “Anyone Can Host,” in which Miskel Spillman, aged 80 years old, won and was given the opportunity of a lifetime. Based on what was likely the rousing success of that show, you never had a contest like that again.
I’m writing this blog post to help you revisit that idea. Let me host your show.
I know what you’re thinking, and I understand. Maybe I don’t have any “qualifications” or “acting talent.” Maybe I actually know very little about how shows are “filmed” and “produced.” It’s possible that I would be a kind of ratings “wild card,” and maybe it’s likely that I would just “embarrass myself.” And who knows, maybe I haven’t really been “watching” the show since I got Netflix and can’t afford cable. Perhaps I’m actually not willing to put any “work” into this or “follow this through.”
And you know, it’s possible that I “freeze up” around anyone remotely famous, and feel like I want to “vomit.” Maybe I turned into a “babbling idiot” the day I met Michael Wilton‘s wife (yes, the Michael Wilton’s wife) at their kid’s soccer game in Seattle. Maybe the one time I met Alan Sparhawk, the lead singer and guitarist of the underground indie band Low, I “made my wife talk for me.” Maybe when I saw King’s X play at a festival in Cincinnati a few years ago, and got the band to sign my guitar, I saw them play again a few months later and Doug Pinnick pointed out that he “didn’t remember me” (yes, the Doug Pinnick didn’t remember me).
Maybe my religious upbringing would cause me to feel “uncomfortable” saying bad words, discussing adult topics, or drinking or smoking on the air, causing me to be somewhat “limited” in what skits I would feel comfortable being in. Maybe the only two “outcomes” out of this would be 1) I completely fail and do so in front of millions of people, or 2) do moderately well and become “Joe the Plumber” famous, causing me to forfeit my hard work in graduate school only to sink into obscurity empty-handed a year later with only a short Wikipedia stub to comfort me.
And so what if my only “acting experience” was a play in high school, where I “forgot my lines” and quit theater because I kept “forgetting my lines.” Maybe I have very little “comedic timing” or the ability to “empathize” with characters. Maybe I have no “room” in my “schedule” for the time off to be on SNL. Maybe I haven’t really “thought this out entirely,” or I’m just writing this open letter because I’m “avoiding” doing work on my master’s thesis, which is only halfway done.
And hey – it’s possible that the reason I quit performing music and never landed anything remotely like a record deal, is that I was only “local musician” good and not “actually” good. Maybe my voice is, as my close friends say, “pitchy.” Maybe during the few moments in my career when I actually got somewhat close to what I thought could be a break, I “lost my grip on reality” so to speak. And perhaps being on television would send me “plummeting over the edge” and “wishing I could have my innocence back.” And maybe I’m stretching the already-thin premise of this blog post tissue-paper thin because, as I said before, I really need to be working on my master’s thesis and this is helping to distract me from writing my master’s thesis.
But let’s face it – this is the new face of celebrity, right here. We both know that this is how it works these days: someone without qualifications or talent does something derivative but mildly funny (not LMAO funny, but sort of heh funny) on the Internet, on a blog nobody reads (check), and then suddenly a bunch of people share it on social networks and Twitter and what not, and it goes viral and then Reddit does something and then the networks take notice, and finally I do whatever I want. That’s how it works. I don’t need talent, I just need a bunch of robotic minions to take five seconds out of their busy schedules full of internet pornography and petitions for their state to secede from the US, and arbitrarily click share. I don’t even have to be funny or talented – I just have to be so deluded that I really think I deserve this.
Because I do. I do deserve this.