After roughly two months of ignoring this blog…yay, I'm back! For now, anyway. The past two months have been good, and the transition of moving has gotten better by the day. I have also identified since my last post that I have roughly 3 hormonal settings: (1) depressed/anxious, (2) ANGRY, and (3) euphoric. When the first two show up, I just ride the wave. It saves me a lot of the effort previously spent trying to figure out why I'm feeling this or that way. Seriously, I have no idea and I don't even care. It passes quickly. And the euphoria part is fun. All is well.
I had a fun little observation the other day. It turns out that in this household, we generally watch or record Saturday Night Live. A few weeks ago, we were discussing whether to save the recording. I asked who the host was, and we both agreed that, nah, we weren’t that interested in watching. There’s something I love about the fact that the identity of the week’s SNL host has become so iconic that it is a common thread that binds us—something we can discuss in shorthand because everyone in the conversation gets it.
I had a fun little observation the other day. It turns out that in this household, we generally watch or record Saturday Night Live. A few weeks ago, we were discussing whether to save the recording. I asked who the host was, and we both agreed that, nah, we weren’t that interested in watching. There’s something I love about the fact that the identity of the week’s SNL host has become so iconic that it is a common thread that binds us—something we can discuss in shorthand because everyone in the conversation gets it.
It
took me back about 35 years to when I was a little girl picking up on
conversations my mom and dad had about SNL. I knew they loved it. I knew they
mimicked it. I knew it was not for kids
(so, of course, I had to find out what this thing was). I heard them imitate and laugh about Roseanne-Roseannadanna,
Chevy Chase’s antics, and the Coneheads. One night when I was probably about 6, I remember positioning my pillow
and my door so I could just barely see the TV from my bed. I willed myself to stay awake so I could
witness this most important of phenomena. All I really remember is the intro with Chevy Chase bumbling up the
stairs, but I felt like I had triumphed! I had stayed awake and watched this most amazing thing that I was not
supposed to see! Now I was part of the
circle! (Never mind that I really had no
more understanding of SNL than I’d had the day before.)
Over
the years, I came to love SNL on my own. I watched Buckwheat and the Church Lady and Will Farrell's endlessly funny characters. I laughed and mimicked my
favorites. And it occurred to me the
other night as we were discussing the simple subject of that week’s SNL host,
that my daughter will hear us talk about SNL the same way I heard my parents. Not much about my daughter’s life will be the
same as mine. She will be living in a
different time. I grew up on a farm, and
she’ll probably grow up in a city. My parents had
me at age 22. I will have Baby J at age
42. This baby will likely grow up with more
money than I did. There are not a lot of
common threads. But, across all those
lines and years, she will hear us talk about SNL the same way I heard my
parents talk about it.
It's a strange commonality, and I found it a little disconcerting that, of all things, SNL came to my mind as
the common thread between my upbringing and my daughter’s. But then…it’s kind
of cool. SNL fails A LOT, but it keeps going, and when it hits the mark, it’s gold. It’s had tremendous longevity. It is creative and irreverent and fearless
and aware and relevant. Best of all, it makes me laugh. I think these things may turn out to be some pretty fantastic common threads after all.
