Reuniting the Beatles.


#100BM Day 19 (maybe?)

Read this piece about Lorne Michaels commenting publicly (!!!) that, yeah  this past season of ‘Saturday Night Live was pretty weak.

I can hardly comment*, because I haven’t watched regularly, well, in this century, probably.

But that wasn’t always the case.

I would pay good money to see the passionate, multiple-paged critique-cum-revitalisation plan I mailed to Lorne Michaels as an embittered 12-year-old, who was (Satanically?) concerned  about the overuse of the Church Lady, and who demanded more of the then-newbie Mike Myers, as well as more Weekend Update segments by Al Franken and A. Whitney Brown.

This was in 1989. 25 years ago.

New York, 1989. I knew everything about everything, clearly.

I think I wrote the first draft in a hotel in New York. Not the Chelsea or the Waldorf, but a Ramada in a sketchy bit of Midtown while on a family vacation.

Remember Samantha Smith, the little girl who wrote letters of peace to Andropov and Reagan, asking for nuclear disarmament? Her story used to make me cry from the sheer impact and influence.

Then Gorbachev came in and I didn’t fear being blown up as much, so I pursued loftier goals. Like thinking I would be made an SNL exec before I hit puberty.

What a cheeky little shit.

But I bet the letter is comedy gold. I hope it made at least one person laugh before it was crumpled up and thrown in with the other 900 crackpot missives they got that day.

* Insert ubiquitous/hacky aside that it just isn’t as good as the 1996/1975/Crusade-era cast.

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