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[tv-kitchen]

Why Fleabag Season 2 Keeps Sticking with Me (And It's Not Just the Hot Priest)

This post is for people who have watched both seasons of Fleabag on Amazon Prime Video and contains spoilers.

If you've had a conversation with me in the past two weeks--online or in real life--I have inevitably brought up Fleabag. This elicits one of two responses:

           "Uh, Fleabag? What is that? Sounds gross."

           "OMG FLEABAG!!!"

For the latter camp, there's an immediate bond in the knowledge that this show is something special. And while much of the attention is on Andrew Scott's Hot Priest (who is, as Claire points out, quite hot) there's something more here. Other shows have had charming actors or sharp writing or an original voice, and Fleabag is undoubtedly a rare combination of all three.

But still, there's something else.

Here are a few of my guesses on what creator Phoebe Waller-Bridge has done that's resonating so strongly with the people who love, and are in love, with this show.

1. It's about forgiveness.

When people talk about the divisiveness of today's politics and general cultural landscape, I think what they're really mourning is the loss of forgiveness. Nobody can make a mistake, and if they do, they're cast out from the conversation, from existence, almost. Everyone is on edge, scared they'll be the next to screw up, sometimes in ways they didn't even know they could.

About a year ago, I made a comment online about the NFL national anthem protests that I phrased badly. I immediately got a condescending rebuke from someone I've known for nearly 20 years. Because of this history, I asked this person to consider my comment in the context of what they know about me. The response? That what this person knew about me is that I'm a writer and I choose my words very carefully. In other words, that it was impossible I could have made a mistake. I was swiftly unfriended.

This confirmed my worst perfectionist fears: One misstep means you've messed it up for good. So the safe route? Stay hidden. Don't try. It's not worth the risk.

Season 1 of Fleabag is primarily about Fleabag's inability to forgive herself for what we discover was her role in Boo's death. To get there, she benefits from the forgiveness of others. She remembers Boo reminding her that pencils have erasers because people make mistakes. This same sentiment is echoed by the Bank Manager as he approves her loan, after earning his own forgiveness from Fleabag at the silent retreat.

In season 2, Fleabag and the Priest connect through a clear history of shared flaws. They've each tried to numb these issues through an approach to sex--she has lots of it, he chooses to have none--and ultimately, they're each looking for someone to tell them they're good people.

As funny as it is when the Priest overhears Fleabag's salacious conversation with the Hot Misogynist at the door of her apartment, and when he later opens her coat to see she's only got underwear on underneath, there's also an undercurrent of forgiveness and acceptance to the scene. A lesser script would have him walk out in judgment ("I think I've made a mistake") but he shushes her attempts to explain. He knows exactly what was happening--and he accepts her anyway, because he takes it in the context of everything else he knows about her.

2. It portrays people who are good at their jobs.

This is a less philosophical observation, but so much of modern comedy finds humor in incompetence. With Fleabag driving the show from her very specific point of view, it would be easy to portray her as smarter than everyone else, rolling her eyes at the dummies who come in and out of her life. (Think Veep.) But instead, Waller-Bridge lets Fleabag learn from people who are older, wiser, and skilled in their work.

The therapist scene starts with one of the series' funniest throwaway lines--"I have dry forearms"--but as the conversation progresses, we see she's a good therapist. Fleabag thinks she can coast her way through with jokes and psychological buzzwords, but the session ultimately helps her.

In that same vein, Fleabag's father was right to give her the voucher for the session. It's played for an awkward moment at the dinner table that he thought it was a suitable birthday present, but it was actually some good parenting, that. She was struggling, and he was brave enough to guide her toward the help she needed.

Even the Priest--our hot, hot Priest--is shown to actually be a good priest. Yes, he has alcoholic tendencies and he's, as he says, really fucking lonely, but he likes his job. In such a tightly scripted series, I've wondered why Waller-Bridge spends so many lines on the Priest going through the notices at the end of Mass. But it's to show that he's good at this, and his parishioners recognize it.

The scene in the confessional--inspirer of sexy gifs that it is--also is about him helping her acknowledge the vulnerability she's been hiding up to that point. (I'm convinced this is when he truly falls in love with her.) She hints at being burned in the past ("I tell you my secrets so you can use them to trap and control me"), but he asserts himself as someone she can trust ("You tell me what's weighing on your heart and I listen without judgment"). He's doing what the good parts of religion are supposed to do.

3. Phoebe Waller-Bridge channels a certain smart, funny American woman.

I'm talking, of course, about Brené Brown.

Yes, people have compared Waller-Bridge to Tina Fey; British GQ even had Fey interview her. But as I watched Fleabag, I got the sense I'd heard these themes before, about shame and imperfection and the courage of vulnerability to make real human connections.

Then I remembered I had just recently watched Brown's The Call to Courage on Netflix. The special summarizes the messages in her many books, particularly Daring Greatly, her 2012 breakout based on a now famous Teddy Roosevelt quote about achievement being in the willingness to fight, and not in criticizing those who try. Brown talks about the concept of "wholehearted" living, which can only happen when you're willing to be vulnerable and fail, but fail by daring greatly.

In The Call to Courage, she also explains the difference between belonging and fitting in. The latter is actually the opposite of the former, Brown says. Fitting in is changing who you are to be accepted, versus being accepted for exactly who you are. In Fleabag, we see characters consistently trying to adapt themselves in an attempt to be more like the person they think has it better.

This is perhaps most noticeable in Claire, who consistently takes on external changes that make her more like Fleabag--funky trainers, short haircut--and laments that she can be funny and interesting, too. It's no coincidence the person she ends up loving shares her name. She's finally learned to love herself.

Fleabag herself is trying to be a grown-up by exercising, eating pine nuts in her salad, and laughing with a group of people we know are not really her friends. But it's not until she opens herself up to being loved (to paraphrase the old Finnish expression) and to loving someone else, even when she stands to gain nothing from it, that she truly matures. By the final scene, she's become wholehearted.

There's been a lot of talk about how the Priest is the only person who "sees" Fleabag in his ability to notice her breaking the fourth wall. And at the wedding, he talks about how loving someone gives you hope. I think what's striking such a nerve for fans of Fleabag is that it's about the doubts and fears and imperfections we all feel inside, but never share. It feels like Waller-Bridge sees us, and that gives us hope that we're not alone.

4. The Priest is hot.

OK, OK, there's also that. What can I say? I'm not made of wood.

[tv-kitchen]

Note to Self

One of my favorite segments on CBS This Morning is their beautifully produced series "Note to Self," in which prominent people write essays to a younger version of themselves. Even when it's a person I don't necessarily relate to, the pieces never fail to make me cry, because the concepts of time, nostalgia and introspection ring true for all of us.

And almost always, the person breaks down as they read their words out loud, because the exercise is really about the person they are today, and the challenges, heartbreaks and successes that connect them to that younger self.

This week marks 20 years since I moved to Atlanta. Twenty years! Since before the year 2000. Almost half my life. My entire adult life.

All of these facts astonish the current me. So I thought I'd take the opportunity to write a note to the young Chrissie who arrived here two decades ago.

-------

Dear 1998 Chrissie,

Oh, Chrissie. Let me hug you. You are so scared.

You've been dreading this day since about 8th grade. That's when you became aware this moment was coming, when you would have to leave home, be an adult, start your life.

It's also the first day you've had without a plan. Before, you knew junior high was next, then high school, then college. It was all laid out for you.

Now, you've come to Atlanta to start an internship program, but that's only going to get you through the next 10 months. You're not sure what comes after that, and that terrifies you.

Orientation week tour of what was then the new Turner Field.

As you and your parents reach the city limits after a two-day drive, checking printed-out directions to the exit that will take you to your apartment complex, your stomach drops. You're here. It's starting.

The next day, you sit dazed in the backseat as your mom and dad navigate foreign streets to find a Bed, Bath and Beyond. Your mom comments that you look tired and should take a nap when you get home. But you don't even know where home is right now.

The moment eventually arrives when they drive off. You will realize later they are just as sad as you are, maybe more. You close the door in tears. Now what?

Your plan is to just get through these next 10 months in this strange new city, this beige apartment, this crowded commute to an overwhelming office campus. Even your clothes are new, and you feel like you're playing the part of a professional adult.

You can't wait until it's over so you can go home to Chicago. Back to comfort, to your family, to the place where you are you. But what you don't know right now, Chrissie--what seems impossible to imagine--is that you need Atlanta.

You need its distance. It will force you to be yourself, and not just who you think your parents want you to be. One day, when your sadness and homesickness are constant, you decide to talk to a counselor. You tell her your problem is being away from home, and that you need to go back.

She tells you in some cases, homesickness is actually a manifestation of guilt for enjoying being away from home. She forces you to see what you appreciate about where you are. And she makes you realize you don't want to go back to Chicago, you want to go back to your childhood. And that, my sweet girl, is not possible.

I know, let it out. It's hard.

You need Atlanta's diversity. You grew up in an Illinois suburb that was 99% white. Your images of black people came from Chicago local news, from daily images of gang violence and housing projects. At restaurants, your grandmother would notify the table when a black family came in. Your mom was nervous about you moving to Atlanta because she heard a TV character once refer to it as a "chocolate city." If she saw a black man with a beard and tattoos, she'd gently nudge you to cross to the other side of the street.

Atlanta will surround you with people different from you, and you will revel in its normalcy. In some work meetings, LGBTQ people are the majority. You go to malls, restaurants, grocery stores where you are the minority in the room. You feel the history of slavery and racism and civil rights seeping into your pores with the Southern humidity, and it changes you for the better. You still have a lot to learn, but for the first time in your life, you realize you still have a lot to learn.

One day you will remark to your husband how thankful you are that your son is being raised with this diversity as his default. You take a moment to recognize that one of your son's teachers is a black man with a beard and tattoos, and he is one of the kindest people you'll ever meet. Your son has no fear, no hint of why there would be fear. Instead, he smiles and runs to give him a big hug when he gets to class.

Oh, that's right. You'll have a husband and a son. This seems completely preposterous to you right now. And I can tell you even now, at 42, it sometimes still feels completely preposterous.

But it happens because you need the people you will meet in Atlanta. You need the coworkers and managers who recognize your potential before you do. They will gently guide you toward where you need to go.

You need the rooms of funny people you will find yourself in, laughing harder and louder than you thought possible. They will energize you with their embrace of what you thought made you different and weird.

You need the friends who see you unconditionally, who somehow innately understand where you came from and will support you wherever you're going.

You need the friends who grew up here, who infuse you with their own love for Atlanta, for Georgia, and for the South.

You need the friends who are religious, who bring you into their churches and synagogues and feed your belly and your soul.

You need the friends who are fellow transplants, who are taking in the newness of this place right alongside you.

You even need the people who don't become friends, or whose friendships are temporary. You need the bad dates and wrong boyfriends. They teach you to appreciate true connections, that interest is not the same as caring, niceness is not the same as kindness, attraction is not the same as love.

And most of all, you need to meet Alan. You're not really one for dating. You seem to think the right guy will just walk into your life. And lucky for you, one day he does. When the two of you have Archie, you will be convinced fate brought you to Atlanta solely so you could meet this magical boy.

You realize you weren't meant to go back home to your family. You came to Atlanta to move toward your family.

The years before then will become a blur, seen through tears shed over tragedies both real and imagined. But the clouds will clear, young Chrissie. Or maybe, more importantly, you will learn to live with the clouds. You will no longer believe that happiness is the result of perfection.

You will realize your problems, fears, insecurities, vulnerabilities, doubts and failures do not make you unique. They actually make you exactly like everyone else, and that realization will liberate you from the paralysis of your own expectations.

You are loved more than you know. What the people around you want more than anything is for you to love yourself as much as they love you. Your independence is not a betrayal, it is a celebration of what your parents taught you. Your success is not vanity, it's an expression of gratitude to the people who believed in you. Your age is not a loss of childhood, it's a gift of power and perspective for what adulthood allows you to do.

Give me another hug. It's going to be OK, because you have the tools you need to make it OK.

I love you, and always will.

Sincerely,

2018 Chrissie

[tv-kitchen]

My TV Childhood: Channel 9 (WGN)

When I would make my way around the analog dial as a kid, the first three channels I'd hit were the big three networks: 2 (CBS), 5 (NBC) and 7 (ABC). If nothing there caught my fancy, I'd enter the mysterious world beyond network television--the uncharted territory of… local channels. And no channel got much more local than Chicago's Very Own, channel 9 (WGN).

Even though it was one of the original "superstations" broadcast to cable subscribers nationwide, WGN was unmistakably a Chicago brand through and through. The call letters drew inspiration from the Chicago Tribune, aka the World's Greatest Newspaper, whose then parent company, Tribune Media, also owns WGN--for now, at least. (The newspaper today falls under a spinoff company called tronc; it's all sort of a mess.)

But as WGN falls prey to the current trends and tragedies of modern media, the brand for me will always be a gateway into the past, a fulcrum of my nostalgia not just for how I was introduced to television, but to the city of Chicago itself.

Looking back, I can trace many milestones of my pop culture perspective to shows and moments that ran on channel 9.

The Bozo Show

For the children of Chicagoland, being in the audience for a taping of The Bozo Show was the grade school equivalent of getting tickets to Saturday Night Live. The wait list for The Bozo Show was eight years long. Eight years! The demand was so high that when a couple learned they were expecting a baby, their first step wasn't to create a registry, but to send away for tickets to The Bozo Show.

My grandmother had done just that when my mom was pregnant with me, and a few years later, her foresight paid off. We would always watch The Bozo Show before school while we ate breakfast, eagerly awaiting the day we'd be in that audience, and now the day had arrived. We were going to The Bozo Show! I think I was around 7, which would put my brother around 3. My mom drove us into the city to the WGN studio, which was probably even smaller and cheaper than I remember.

I do vividly recall my mom commenting on how funny it was to see the actor who played Bozo, Bob Bell, smoking a cigarette in full costume during commercial breaks. (The voice of Krusty the Clown, by Chicago native Dan Castellaneta, was based on Bell.)

We sat on wooden bleachers and hoped we'd get picked to play the show's highlight segment, the Grand Prize Game. It's funny to think back on how legitimately thrilling it was to watch 6-year-olds throw Ping-Pong balls into buckets. But it was all in the hopes of winning childhood's version of "The Price Is Right" pulling the curtain back on a new car. If you hit bucket number 6, you would win… A NEW BIKE!

Nobody won the grand prize that day, and the rest of the show was largely forgettable. But that didn't dampen the excitement that we had been there live, which also meant WE WERE GOING TO BE ON TV. They told the parents what date the show would air, and we started counting down. Because the studio was so tiny, we knew we got on camera at some point.

The morning arrived. The show started. We didn't see ourselves, so we kept watching. Then the Grand Prize game started. Wait, these aren't the same kids. Then one of the contestants won the bike. Our kid didn't win the bike.

This wasn't our show.

Did we have the date wrong? Maybe? My mom called the station.

She hung up furious. They told her there was a mix-up at the station, and our episode got taped over. Which meant it was gone. Forever.

We of course were crushed, but I think my mom took the news the hardest. And now as a parent, I understand why. This was a moment she'd been anticipating for years, to give her children a memory of a unique, growing-up-in-Chicago experience. And now because of a mundane clerical error, she could never get that moment back.

The experience became family lore for decades to come. And in a way, that probably made it more special than if we'd actually seen our episode. My mom never quite gave up her grudge with WGN, but fortunately for me, they quickly won me back over.

Cubs Baseball

Throughout my childhood, WGN was the exclusive local TV and radio home of the Chicago Cubs. Harry Caray and Steve Stone narrated many of my summers, calling the games in their trademark styles: Harry with his bombastic, drunk enthusiasm and Steve with his nasal voice of reason.

My Cubs fandom hit its peak in 1989, when the team won the NL Central division. I was between 7th and 8th grade, which meant I was too young to have a summer job, but I was too old to be out riding my bike around the neighborhood. As a result, I spent many bright, sunny afternoons parked in front of the TV watching the Cubs.

Looking up WGN's opening titles from that season on YouTube took me right back to my old family room, an awkward preteen putting off the complex and inevitable task of growing up by immersing myself in the simplicity and structure of baseball.

"It Sounded Like a Freight Train"

Midwestern children in the '80s were taught to fear two things: strangers and tornadoes. For the latter, our schools would subject us to twice-yearly drills, sending us into the hallways to crouch among the dusty spiderwebs under our coat racks. We were well-versed in the difference between a tornado watch (conditions are right for a possible tornado) and a tornado warning (a funnel has been spotted). And, of course, we had seen the classic meteorology documentary The Wizard of Oz.

Once we got cable and had access to this remarkable new concept called The Weather Channel, my brother, Drew, became fascinated with weather. Specifically, weather videos. He would watch any coverage of storm chasers, hurricane trackers, you name it. So when WGN produced a whole hour just about tornadoes, Drew set the VCR. Which is why for a few weeks in 1991, I became very well acquainted with “It Sounded Like a Freight Train.” The show was hosted by WGN's--and arguably Chicago's--most respected meteorologist, Tom Skilling. I think at one point Drew basically wanted to be Tom Skilling when he grew up.

Skilling is still working and a few years ago, Drew submitted a question to his Chicago Tribune weather column. Skilling published it with his answer and I think for Drew it's pretty much been downhill from there.

WGN Movies

One of the great legacies of local stations is the hours and hours of airtime they filled by running old movies. I'm sure I watched countless movies on WGN over the years, but two will always stand out.

If I had to trace my interest in comedy to one moment, it would be the night my dad and I were flipping channels and found Airplane! on channel 9. "Oh, this movie's so funny. Have you seen it?" I hadn't, so we stopped and watched. It was right in the middle of this scene, when the flight attendant plays a song and keeps knocking out a sick girl's IV as she swings her guitar. It had just started, and I remember my dad starting to laugh anticipating the joke, and when that first swing hit I was right there with him. Even once I knew the joke was going to repeat, the scene is so expertly timed and performed that by the end, I was crying laughing.

To this day, Airplane! is one of my all-time favorite movies, in large part because it triggers such a happy memory of sharing that moment with my dad, the type of happy accident that's quickly fading from the way we all watch TV today.

On the far less humorous side, WGN used to have an annual showing of Amadeus. As a young piano student, I had learned about Mozart and thought it'd be fun to watch a movie about him. Of course, Amadeus is a dark, dramatic portrayal of Mozart and his rivalry with Salieri--and it quickly became my favorite movie. You know, like most 10-year-olds.

I taped the movie one year and watched it so many times that if I come across the full version now, I know exactly where WGN inserted their commercial breaks. (I'm super fun at parties.)

SCTV

When I became interested in obsessed with Second City around 1990, I was thrilled to find out WGN ran repeats of SCTV. The catch: They were filler, so they ran at odd times overnight. So every week when we'd get our new TV Guide, I would scour each night's listings for channel 9 to find exactly when SCTV was running that week. Then I'd set the VCR--MANUALLY, mind you--for each night's episode.

Nick at Nite also occasionally ran SCTV, but for some reason I had a stronger connection with those WGN reruns. I think it's not only the Chicago connection, but because SCTV was about a low-budget local station, not too dissimilar from WGN. The show poked fun at local programming and personalities and satirized many of the old movies and movie stars I saw first on channel 9.

Which brings me to…

The Jerry Lewis MDA Labor Day Telethon

As a kid, I was introduced to Jerry Lewis two ways: 1) Martin Short's impression of him on SCTV and 2) the Jerry Lewis MDA Labor Day Telethon.

I had no idea who Jerry Lewis was. I thought he was just a guy who hosted this telethon each year. And being such a huge fan of The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson, I thought Ed McMahon's presence on the telethon each year was a really good get. This event must be really special if they got Ed McMahon.

In truth, it was a really special event. Despite Lewis' not-so-amicable split with the telethon in 2011, the decades he spent prior hosting--many years for the full 20+ hours--make up a remarkable philanthropic legacy. I remember getting legitimately choked up when they would do a leaderboard tally and reveal a new record-setting amount of money raised. My mom usually gave in when Jerry himself got emotional every year during his trademark "You'll Never Walk Alone" closing song.

Back during the '80s, it wasn't common to see children with special needs on TV. Because of the Jerry Lewis telethon, I realized how many families were living with incredible challenges and how very lucky I was. While he will be remembered first and foremost for his comedy, I'm thankful to Jerry Lewis for introducing me to caring and compassion.

Today, social media has made disability awareness and charity fundraising part of daily life. The Jerry Lewis MDA Labor Day Telethon was simultaneously a throwback to the old days and ahead of its time. This Labor Day weekend, the first since Lewis' death on August 20, I'll be remembering both his legacy of giving and the experience of watching the telethon on channel 9 with my family. It was another moment when I had a touchpoint to my parents' youth, watching a star they grew up watching, too. I sense there won't be many moments like that with Archie, many more entertainers like Jerry Lewis, or many more stations like WGN. Unlike any other number on the dial, channel 9 helped shape who I am, both in the programming and in how it connected me more deeply to the people around me: my parents, my brother, my city. WGN is part of the reason that no matter where I live or how far I am from home, I'll always be one of Chicago's very own.

[tv-kitchen]

We Saw 'Saturday Night Live' in Person. Any Questions??

Whoa, you went to SNL?! How did you get tickets?

Every year, throughout the month of August, NBC opens the ticket lottery for Saturday Night Live. And every year, my husband and I enter it with fingers crossed that we’ll finally be able to check this experience off our bucket list.

Then, three weeks ago, I was at work showing someone a video of our son on my phone when I saw an email notification drop down. Subject line: “RESERVATION CONFIRMED: SNL582609.” At first glance, I thought to myself, “Reservation? I haven’t booked any flights.” Then the SNL part registered and I blurted out “Oh my god!” I totally forgot about the cuteness of the video I had just seconds ago been so proud to share and yelled for anyone to hear:

“I THINK I JUST GOT TICKETS TO SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE!!!”

Heads popped up from cubicles to see what was going on. I literally jumped up and down. I couldn’t believe it!

I opened the email and processed the information as quickly as I could: 11:30 p.m.–not rehearsal, the live show! October 22–that was only two weeks away!

My husband and I scrambled to find someone who could watch our son for the weekend and planned our last-minute trip to New York. We still didn’t know who the host and musical guest would be, but we knew we’d see Alec Baldwin play Trump. That alone would be amazing!

Then over lunch with a friend, I decided to check online to see if the host had been announced yet. I saw the names and dropped my phone onto the table like it was an exploding Galaxy Note 7. TOM HANKS. LADY GAGA. We scored the jackpot!

I mean, seriously, wow, SNL! You’ve wanted to do that forever!

I know, right? It wasn’t until we were physically at Rockefeller Center that it started to hit me. After 35 years of watching the show almost every week, I was about to be inside Studio 8H. Coincidentally, I had also spent 35 years as a Cubs fan, and as we waited in line at NBC, they were winning Game 6 of the NLCS to advance to the World Series. And the reason I missed it is because I was about to be in the audience for Saturday Night Live. My 14-year-old self would never have believed that two of her life dreams would come true on the same night.

So… how was it?! Was it AMAZING?

It was amazing…ish. Unfortunately, as with most dreams, reality didn’t quite live up. The Cubs are down 3-1 in the Series, and our “SNL” experience was ultimately disappointing, as much as it pains me to say it.

Oh no, why?

When we arrived at 30 Rock, it became clear there was a caste system among the audience members. After being given our tickets and wristbands (and being instructed to take no photos), we were told to go to the middle room of the Peacock Lounge.

What’s the Peacock Lounge?

  So then what?

After about a half-hour, a woman’s voice came on the PA. “OK, if your ticket envelope has the letter ‘S,’ the letters ‘TH’ or a star, we’re ready for you now.” We looked down. Our envelope had the number 2.

A few minutes later: “OK, if you have a green wristband, we’re ready for you now.” Our wristbands were black.

Finally, with only a few of us left: “OK, everyone with a black wristband, please come to the front.” As we all stood in the elevator, I said, “We’re assuming they saved the best for last,” and the group laughed. But it was that “Heh, we know we’re all screwed” laugh.

When we walked into the studio, we could see it all. There was home base! And the band! And that’s where Lady Gaga will be! Then, like a flight attendant closing the curtain between coach and first class, an NBC page pointed to our right and said, “OK, I need you to go all the way down to the end there.”

How were your seats?

Bad.

Actually, the worst. The literal worst. We couldn’t see the band. We wouldn’t be able to see Lady Gaga. What we could see was blocked by lights and monitors. It was a real bummer. This was what we had dropped everything for? This was our reward for a lifetime of fandom? We definitely felt like a couple of number 2’s.

Oh no, that sucks! But at least you were there, right?

Sure.

Ha, ha. So then what?

Around 11:15, Michael Che came out to warm up the audience, which is tough to do when you act like you’re way too cool for the room. We've been lucky enough to attend tapings of Conan, Live! With Kelly and Michael and Late Night with Jimmy Fallon, and at each of those, the warm-up guy knew he had one job: make the audience feel special. Acknowledge that it’s exciting for them to be at a TV show. Let them know you really, really appreciate having them there, and remind them that they are an essential part of the show.

Che, on the other hand, casually pointed out the exits and half-heartedly reminded us not to take pictures. He brought no energy to the room, and worse, seemed to chastise the audience for not being more excited. It felt like he couldn’t get off stage fast enough.

Fortunately, he turned it over to Kenan Thompson, who came out in a suit with Vanessa Bayer, Kate McKinnon and Sasheer Zamata in sequined black dresses as his back-up singers. They got the crowd going with “Gimme Some Lovin’,” and Sasheer had the presence of mind to turn and wave to the audience, including us corner dwellers. As they left the stage, the crew immediately began setting up home base for the first debate sketch. As it got close to showtime, we could see Baldwin and McKinnon in the wings.

Then the studio got dark and the stage manager announced “30 seconds to air!”

Sometimes, when the cold open starts at home, you can hear some residual giggling from the crowd. What are they laughing at?

At the end of the countdown, the stage manager calmly says “Ten seconds!” Then he yells “FIVE SECONDS!!” as if he’s suddenly in a panic. He must do it every week, and it got a good laugh from the crowd.

So then the show started!

Yes! That was exciting, knowing they were now on the air LIVE. We were surprised to see Tom Hanks in the cold open on the monitor and couldn’t place where he was on the stage. Then Alan noticed he was right below us.

Does the crowd applaud through the opening titles?

Yes, but we realized at home that you don’t hear any actual crowd noise on the broadcast. In the studio, there was a swell with every cast member name that you don’t hear on TV. We think any applause you hear in the open is pre-recorded as part of the audio mix.

Were the sketches funnier in person?

Yes and no. I was definitely laughing out loud more at jokes than I would at home. But whenever I’ve been at other TV tapings, I’ve made a concerted effort not to simply watch the show on the monitors. After all, I can do that at home! If I’m in the studio, I want to take advantage of that experience and watch the real people, not the TVs.

But I found for SNL, that didn’t quite work. The sketches were all funnier when I watched them at home because I could see the nuance of a facial expression or the timing of a cutaway on a punchline. In the studio, I found myself reading ahead on the cue cards and becoming more engrossed in the production than in the sketches themselves.

Oh, the cue cards–did you know SNL uses cue cards? So many cue cards! It seriously is the most critical job on the show, to be the person holding the words people are saying on live television. And it’s a six-person job! All three cameras have someone holding cards above them, which all include the full script of the sketch. Next to the person holding the cards is another person whose job it is to be handed the cards as they’re used. (I guess I had always assumed they just dropped them on the floor?) And the first person can only hold so many cards at a time, so there are actually several separate groups of cards on a table next to each camera. SHOW BUSINESS.

Where in the studio do they do the sketches?

I’ve always assumed they had dedicated spaces just for sketches, and for some reason I always thought Weekend Update had its own permanent mini-set. But they really sort of use whatever space there is on the floor around those lucky VIP bastards who get the floor seats. It seems like they use home base as much as they can.

Most importantly, where did they do David S. Pumpkins?

Some people will remember where they were when man walked on the moon or when Barack Obama was elected President. Us, we’ll always remember that we were in Studio 8H on the night the world met David S. Pumpkins.

This was a sketch nobody in the audience could see, because it was tucked under the main balcony.

I’m sure this was intentional, since the final punchline relied on the element of surprise, and it got a huge laugh in the studio. At the time, we thought it was one of the funnier sketches of the night, so silly in its randomness, but we had no idea it would become the viral hit it did. My husband managed to get one of the last suits for his Halloween costume before they sold out, and when non-SNL fans at parties ask who he is, he simply replies, “My own thing!”

Which sketches could you see?

We had a decent view of Hanks coming out after the intro, but couldn’t really see his “Dad Talk” monologue. “Black Jeopardy!” was set up across from us on the other side of the studio, so we had a decent view of that.

We couldn’t really see the “Sully” sketch, which was on home base inside two set pieces that joined together to form the cockpit, so our view was only of the outside of the “plane.”

We had a slightly better view of “America’s Funniest Pets,” which was also on home base, but that one depended on video clips, so we ended up mostly watching it on the monitors.

Omg, how was Lady Gaga??

Well, she sounded great. But because we were even with the proscenium, we couldn’t see her at all. At one point, she did a kick and we briefly saw her foot. Which was incredibly unique and eclectic and just so “Gaga,” you know?

What happens during the commercials?

It was fascinating to see how quickly the crew turns over sets for the next sketch. After “Black Jeopardy!” ended, we saw Leslie and Tom dash off set the second the camera light went off. They (along with Kenan) were in the next sketch, the “Block Party” one that was kind of a dud. I noticed both of the first sketches had sets that were already set up before the show, and both were more dressed than some of the others. For example, the “Block Party” one had fake trees you could see through the window, and that was about the only thing we could see from our seats. (We did get a good view of Melissa Villaseñor at the top of stairs before she entered, since she was up at our eye level.)

What do you see when they’re playing the video segments?

They have monitors all throughout the studio, and the lights are all down while the video plays. Both video pieces were definitely placed strategically within the show structure to give the cast time for costume changes and the crew a chance to move sets.

What happens after the goodnights? Does the cast just hang out and chat onstage?

Nope. As soon as the cameras were off, someone came up to escort Lady Gaga off first, then Hanks, then the cast walked off single file. The audience is then corralled out through the gift shop (which was open late just for us because NBC knows we’re suckers who will pay $34 for a T-shirt at one o’clock in the morning).

Side note: On the way down from the studio, we were in the elevator with New York Times columnist Maureen Dowd. I had just recently seen her on Real Time with Bill Maher, so I recognized her voice immediately when she asked the man with her, “Do we need tickets or what?” He answered, “I know where to go,” so we assume they were headed to the after-party.

As we walked out of the elevator, I heard my mom’s voice in my head: Tell her you’re a writer, too! Maybe she’ll invite you to the party!

So did you get to see anyone from the cast after the show?

We had been told by one of our seatmates to go out on the 50th Street side across from Radio City Music Hall to see the cast members as they leave the building. We saw a line of limos, but no crowd of people, and we assumed we’d missed everyone. But then Lorne came out!

As we waited a few more minutes, one of the security guards turned to us and said, “You guys waiting for the cast? They’re over on the other side!” Sure enough, on 49th Street there were barricades set up for the crowd of about 50 or so waiting for people to leave. As we heard the chatter, we quickly realized they were all 20-somethings desperate for a glimpse of Lady Gaga. But alas, she never emerged, nor did Hanks, which makes me think we were better off on the 50th Street side. After all, if that’s where Lorne leaves, it’s probably where the other A-listers go, too.

BUT I did get pics with Sasheer and Colin Jost, who both came over to the barricades. I loved how neither of them pretended anybody wanted to talk to them, and instead just opened with, “Anybody want a picture?”

Did you guys get on TV? I looked for you!

What, you didn’t see us??

So are you glad you did it? Because this post is really long and detailed for someone who claims to have been disappointed.

Oh, we definitely are thrilled to have had the opportunity, and I don’t mean to sound ungrateful for it. We said it’s probably a case of “Don’t meet your heroes,” because our expectations were always going to be impossibly high. Like so many people, I grew up watching SNL, to the point that being inside the studio in a way felt like going home. And the chance to be at a show with Tom Hanks and Alec Baldwin–two of the best hosts in SNL history–made the night extra special.

But overall, the trip also reminded me that it’s just a show. For these cast and crew members, it’s a job. Their office happens to be a TV studio. Even for Lorne, it’s all in a week’s work. I had gone in thinking my lifelong fandom had entitled me to an unforgettable, once-in-a-lifetime experience, when in reality that night was simply another 90 minutes for these guys to crank out before starting all over again on the next episode.

While some of the magic might be gone, I do have a renewed appreciation for the level of comedy that team produces in just six days. SNL has given me hundreds, maybe thousands, of laughs over the years, and I know I can rely on it for many more laughs to come. The way the Cubs are playing right now, lord knows I’m going to need them.

[tv-kitchen]

My TV Childhood: Channel 11

Like almost every American child, my first exposure to TV was via PBS. Locally, our station was channel 11 (WTTW). It was my Window to the World, and to the city of Chicago.

As you’d expect, mornings started with Sesame Street. Maria was always my favorite, and I imagined myself being like her when I grew up. And of course I loved all the Muppets. But for some reason, when I think back on the show, one of the first things that comes to mind was a filmed segment about how crayons are made. I remember loving it and thinking to myself, "This is a cool show." Thanks to the modern wonder of YouTube, I was able to time-machine myself right back to it:

Then of course there was Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood, which, it so happens, also had a segment about how crayons are made. (Apparently, as a child I was endlessly fascinated by the process of crayon production.) I didn't just love Mr. Rogers, I also loved his house.

The stoplight, the trolley, Picture Picture? I imagined myself living in one like it someday. That is, until I started watching 3-2-1 Contact and looked forward to the day I'd reside in some sort of half-house, half-science lab in the middle of a forest, making a living doing important experiments. (We are house hunting, so keep me posted on any hot leads.)

3-2-1 Contact also included The Bloodhound Gang, a show within the show that I never liked quite as much as its theme song, which, listening to it now, is actually not that good.

A much better PBS theme song? The classic opening to Reading Rainbow, but I loved the rest of the show, too. I remember going with my mom to our town's tiny library each week and picking out a stack of books to read together at night. Archie has quickly gravitated to books--he grabs one as soon as his feet hit the floor in the morning--and I look forward to introducing him to Reading Rainbow (and the library) someday.

When my dad bought us our first computer, a blazin'-fast IBM 386 PC, one of our first games was "Where in the World Is Carmen Sandiego?" My brother and I could always tell when we had caught Carmen because the computer would pause and click as it loaded the capture animation (and I use that word loosely). So we both loved the TV version on PBS, another show that benefited from a catchy and clever theme song. Do it, Rockapella!

As I moved into high school, I became a fan of a locally produced WTTW show, Wild Chicago. Hosted (during the time I watched) by Will Clinger, Wild Chicago had a team of correspondents who would profile offbeat or unique places and people in the city. It had a quick pace and smart sense of humor, and didn't feel like a typical stodgy PBS show.

For a teenager like me out in the suburbs, Wild Chicago was my peek into adult life downtown, and I imagined spending Saturday afternoons and weekend nights in these eclectic neighborhoods, shops and clubs when I was grown up and living in the city. Ultimately, that city turned out to be Atlanta, and I now spend my weekends in my living room blogging about old TV shows, but I still enjoy the nostalgia of living vicariously through Wild Chicago.

Finally, my experience with channel 11 peaked in college when I got an internship at the station, working for Sneak Previews. This was the original home of Gene Siskel and Roger Ebert, before they launched their nationally syndicated show At the Movies. But WTTW continued Sneak Previews, and at the time it was being hosted by Jeffrey Lyons and Michael Medved.

I logged press kit video tapes, ran copies of scripts, and mostly kept my eye out for Will Clinger or anyone else associated with Wild Chicago. But I also felt like I had come full circle, and it was genuinely touching to be working in the home of the shows that introduced me to television. The production facilities were not cutting-edge. The producers made it clear they were not paid exceptionally well. The offices were nondescript and could just as easily have housed an accounting firm. But you could tell everyone there loved their jobs, loved making TV, and loved connecting with the community of Chicago. Many of them are still there, more than 20 years later. And who knows--maybe if Atlanta hadn't beckoned, I still would be, too.

[tv-kitchen]

My TV Childhood: Intro

“Do you let Archie watch any TV?”

Now that we’re coming up on 18 months with our little guy, we’re getting this question more and more. You’d think two people who grew up on television would have already introduced Archie to the medium we love so much. But we’re also two by-the-book nerds, and so far we’re trying to follow the official recommendation to avoid screen time until age 2.

That’s not to say we don’t ever have the TV on when Archie is in the room. Heck, there’s actually a TV in his nursery, a remnant from the room’s days as Alan’s man cave that came in pretty darn handy during those blurry 3 a.m. feedings. So far, though, we haven’t really sat him in front of anything meant exclusively for him. Instead, he’s drafting off what we’re watching, which is why you’ll see him shake his head to the theme from “Real Time with Bill Maher” or grin at the sound of someone hitting the Daily Double on “Jeopardy!”

As I’ve started to think about transitioning Archie into his first shows over the next few months, I’ve found myself feeling an unexpected twinge of sadness. And it’s because I’m realizing his TV childhood will be nothing like mine. Like, almost literally not at all the same.

It’s no secret that I loved watching television as a kid, but deep down, what I really loved was being home. And not in the introverted “indoor kid” sort of way. If I was watching TV, it meant Mom was in the kitchen making lunch, or Dad was out mowing the lawn, or my brother was on the other couch, or the whole family was in for the night. TV meant everything was safe, secure, settled.

For a long time, I’ve looked forward to having my own child and creating that same sense of warmth around the shared experience of watching television. But now I’m wondering if the constantly evolving technology of TV–as convenient as it is–may keep that from happening.

This doesn’t solely speak to the fact that I'm… what’s that word… old, but to the radical shift of the television business over just the past few years. Even though as a child I was watching TV a good 30 years after my parents did as kids (I was born in 1976), our experience was essentially the same. The shows were different, the picture quality was better–and the sound was in STEREO, no less–but I still had three main networks and a couple of local stations to choose from. Classic Hollywood stars were still making regular appearances. I still had to sit in front of a piece of furniture and watch shows when they were on–and only then.

Archie… who knows how Archie will be watching TV in five years. Two, even. (“Mommy! I want Thomas on left eyelid and Dora on right eyelid!”) So I decided to chronicle my own TV childhood growing up in Chicago. Partly so Archie might one day be able to read this on his newly installed center eyelid, and partly so I can get a better sense of the real-life context around my TV milestones. I realize now it’s in the fond family memories where my television nostalgia truly has its nucleus. By mining my past for those moments and those emotions, I hope in the future I can create the same sense of solace for Archie–whether all varieties of screen are on or off.

I’m going to start in roughly chronological order, so next time, we’ll tune in to my local PBS station, channel 11 (WTTW).

[tv-kitchen]

And Baby Makes Three…in the Morning a Great Time to Watch TV

I know it's been a while since I've posted here, but there's a very good reason for that: I had a baby!

There's lots I could write about the emotional ups and downs of new motherhood, but I'll save that for my blog about Real Stuff. Here, let's focus on the most important question at hand: How much TV am I still watching?

The answer is quite a bit, actually, especially in the middle of the night when I've been roused from a deep slumber to feed the baby and need the electronic caffeine of the TV set to keep me from collapsing onto the floor next to his crib*.

*Yes, we have a TV in the nursery. It's a legacy of the room's former function as my husband's man cave, and also, let's face it, the kid might as well get used to being around one.

That said, we obviously don’t have nearly as much time for shows as we used to, so we've had to make some tough choices. It doesn't help that with the new year, we're now in the THICK of new TV, and great new TV at that. (I don't know how anyone raised kids before DVRs. What'd they, like, MISS shows altogether? Blasphemy.)

We're doing the best we can to keep up, and many of these will downshift when I go back to work, but for now here's what I'm watching--and what I'm not:

Must Watch

Broad City (Comedy Central) -- Our No. 1 watch-it-together show. Love these two. The series was already fully formed from episode one and just keeps getting stronger.

Brooklyn Nine-Nine (Fox) -- I see zero buzz around this show within my social media world, but it consistently delivers solid laughs each week with sharp, specific writing. My current favorite line, coming from a character who punishes a nemesis with tickets to a traveling production of Wicked: "Have fun watching some chubby Chenoweth knockoff warble her way through 'Popular.'"

Girls (HBO) -- Used to hate it, because I didn't like any of the characters. Then, once I realized you're not supposed to like any of the characters, I decided Lena Dunham is a genius and I love her.

Downton Abbey (PBS) -- I had dropped season 4 but now I'm back in. Easy background TV while I'm doing other things.

Togetherness (HBO) -- Catapulted to the top of my list by the end of the pilot. Clear, simple, honest writing and characters I already feel like I've known forever.

The Good Wife (CBS) -- THE BEST SHOW. I know it's not at all cool to say this if you're under 60, but it's easily my favorite hour of the week. As much as I loved Will Gardner (Josh Charles), the series is humming along pretty smoothly without him. Losing Archie Panjabi's Kalinda at the end of this season won't be quite so easy.

The Walking Dead (AMC) -- Duh.

Episodes (Showtime) -- I had already been a fan before I reviewed last season for Paste magazine, and this season is keeping pace. A smart bit of whimsy, perfect for bleary-eyed late night viewing.

The Eric Andre Show (Adult Swim) -- Back when it first premiered, I thought this was yet another tired deconstruction of the talk show format and another misguided attempt at Adult Swim eccentricity. But it's actually an expertly crafted theater of the absurd. Never fails me to make me laugh out loud.

The Daily Show with Jon Stewart (Comedy Central) -- Perfect bite-size chunks for when I don't have time for a full episode of something else.

Parks and Recreation (NBC) -- The season premiere, which oriented us in this new 2017 world of Parks, was jump-the-shark awful. But the following episodes have rebounded, and I'll gladly see the show through this bonus, but probably unnecessary, final half-season.

Hindsight (VH1) -- A little sleeper of a show that's won me over, about a woman who travels back in time 20 years to see what would happen if she'd made different life choices. Who knew we were ready for mid-'90s nostalgia? And who else is terrified to realize it's been 20 years since the mid-'90s? Either way, it's light and fun and perfect for Saturday afternoon, there's-nothing-else-on viewing.

Real Time with Bill Maher (HBO) -- I don't agree with all of Maher's politics, but I think he's vastly underrated as a host and moderator. Yes, he too often stacks the deck with like-minded panelists and plays to what Seth Meyers calls "clapter" from the audience, but he's willing to ask provocative questions that jar his guests out of their standard talking points. And if you miss Johnny Carson as much as I do, you can still catch hints of his influence during Maher's weekly monologue.

CBS News Sunday Morning (CBS) -- Enjoying some of its best ratings ever right now, and for good reason. But a tip to watch it only on DVR, since its success means it's packed to the gills with commercials.

Better Call Saul (AMC) -- Was skeptical when it was announced, but the same was true of Fargo (which also featured Bob Odenkirk), and that turned out to be my favorite show of last year. Eager to see tonight's premiere.

The Late Late Show (CBS) -- I was never even an occasional viewer of Craig Ferguson, but I love how CBS is handling the interim weeks between his departure and the debut of new host James Corden on March 23. Each week has featured a variety of eclectic and surprising guest hosts--including Jim Gaffigan, Whitney Cummings, Judd Apatow, Sean Hayes and John Mayer--who are basically inviting their friends on as guests and spending the hour hanging out together. The January 30 episode in particular, hosted by former Happy Endings costar Adam Pally, stood out for being kind of a mess--but a hilariously watchable one.

In addition to showcasing some fresh faces behind the desk, this lame-duck version of The Late Late Show is something you rarely see on TV anymore: a show so far under the radar that the on-camera talent are free to basically wing it. It only works because the network knows nobody is watching, which makes me want to watch it all the more.

If There's Time

Galavant (ABC) -- Loved this when it premiered if only for its originality, but it's admittedly slipped down in priority over the past few weeks.

Marry Me (NBC) -- If we can't have Happy Endings, I'll take this.

The Soup (E!) -- Hit or miss, but very funny when it hits.

Kroll Show (Comedy Central) -- Underrated, even though Kroll is understandably polarizing.

Modern Family (ABC) -- Still consistently makes us laugh, even if it's feeling long in the tooth.

@midnight with Chris Hardwick (Comedy Central) -- Love the show, just hard to keep up with four episodes a week.

It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia (FXX) -- These are stacking up. Also showing its age and probably needs to wrap up soon.

Pretty Much Dropped

Portlandia (IFC) -- We have a bunch of these, and I'm surprised I haven't been chomping at the bit to watch them. Let me know if this season is worth checking out, but for now it feels like the show has become exactly the kind of indie hipster darling it set out to make fun of.

Archer (FX) -- Used to be a watch-it-together priority, but I'm conceding that my husband is the bigger fan.

House of Lies (Showtime) -- We both love the cast, particularly Kristen Bell, but there's just too much other stuff.

The Nightly Show with Larry Wilmore (Comedy Central) -- I gave this a two-week trial and liked Wilmore a bunch, but not enough to keep watching on, ahem, a nightly basis.

Cougar Town (TBS) -- Better than people think and always good for at least a chuckle, but also a victim of Too Much Else. Still recording just to catch the series finale.

The "Someday" List (aka "We Know, We Know, WE KNOW!")

Friday Night Lights

House of Cards

The Wire (we're on season 3)

Justified

Sons of Anarchy

…and like 20 other shows you can't believe we've never seen.

Some people would say TV isn't everything, and that these years with a young child go very, very fast. And to that I say: We completely agree. I promise you we spend just as much time these days with the TV turned off. Sure, our little boy's plot lines are simplistic, his timing is all over the place, and his dialogue makes absolutely NO sense. But if you ask us, he's the one show we literally could watch all day.

[tv-kitchen]

As we watched this scene, I said out loud, "There better be a gif of this."

[tv-kitchen]

The Writing Process Blog Hop

When I left my job at Cartoon Network last year, I joked with many people that I was now legally required to start a blog. Even though I wasn’t entirely sure what I really wanted to say, I went ahead and launched this little TV Kitchen thing here, picking a name that combines two things I love (and that frequently go together): TV and food.

I had also set out to write a spec script to apply for a couple of TV writing workshops, so the name had the added connotation of creative things I was cooking up. Then I remembered puns are terrible and I almost gave up on writing altogether.

A couple of weeks ago, one of my favorite bloggers, David Striepe, invited me to take part in a Writing Process Blog Hop. (More on Dave below.) He was generous enough to highlight me on his blog, Timid Futures, and now it's my turn to answer a few questions and talk about some creative folks I really like.

1) What am I working on/writing?

Like any writer, I always wish I was working on more. Now that I have a full-time job, I'm focused mostly on writing weekly TV reviews for Paste magazine. My current show is Drunk History on Comedy Central. Paste has been a great opportunity to gain some experience and exposure, and it's always fun to get paid for something you're already doing.

In addition to TV Kitchen, I'm looking to start a separate blog that's not focused on pop culture. Given some of the big life events I've been through over the past couple of years--leaving a job, losing my mother, expecting a baby--I've had an itch to write more about Real Stuff. I've benefited greatly from the connections you gain by expressing yourself honestly to people, and I'm hoping this new blog can be an outlet to do that.

I also have a script for a TV pilot in my files that I want to revisit. All of these plans should fit nicely into all the free time I'll have after the baby is born.

2) How does my work/writing differ from others of its genre?

I'll apply this to my TV Kitchen posts, since those most directly reflect my personal voice. There's no way I can compete with the myriad TV blogs and websites out there that do news updates or straightforward reviews. The unique aspect I can bring to my writing is my own experience and voice. Bill Hicks' first rule of comedy is, "If you can be yourself on stage, nobody else can be you and you have the law of supply and demand covered." I try to take that same approach with my posts, recalling a favorite show of my youth or talking about a current show that's striking a chord with me and why. And I love when that personal element resonates with someone who shares that experience.

3) Why do I write what I do?

Simple answer: I love television, and I love people who love television, and I love connecting with people who love television through our shared love of television.

4) How does my writing process work?

I tend to be one of those wait-until-an-idea-strikes writers, which every book and tutorial will tell you is the wrong way to go. But generally once an observation hits, I'll start composing sentences in my head, almost as if I'm reading an article that's already been written. Because I have a form of OCD (a future topic for the Real Stuff blog), I find myself able to repeat and hang on to those sentences until I can get to my computer. From there, I'll kind of just type everything out, then go back and read it out loud in my head. I'll spot words that could be stronger and swap them out, or I'll hear the rhythm of the copy in my head and realize the beats are off, so I'll make a tweak to set it back on track. I could probably stand to be more ruthless in my editing or let a piece sit for a couple of days before revisiting it, but I tend to be impatient and opt for just getting it out there, I think because I care less about the writing itself and more about connecting with the people who read it.

Speaking of people, here are a few of my favorite ones. Even if their blogs aren't specifically writing-focused, I wanted to include them because I stand in slack-jawed admiration of their endless creativity and discipline in bringing their ideas to life.

David Striepe | Timid Futures

I worked with Dave at Cartoon Network for about 10 years or, as Dave would say, for 19 Kidz Bops. He's one of the wittiest, smartest voices at CN, with the added bonus of being super friendly and helpful, too. On Facebook, he's the guy who can come in on a comment thread with the perfect, low-key zinger that makes me legitimately LOL. Dave shares my love for an '80s childhood, so every Monday I look forward to his "Five Things" feature on his blog, Timid Futures. Each week, Dave finds a fascinating collection of old videogame ads, toy commercials, celebrity PSAs, you name it. All presented with a sincere fondness that transcends the typical detached irony so often found in online nostalgia.

Dave's bio:

David Striepe lives in Atlanta, Georgia among cats, flowers and smog. He writes poetry and short stories, and has published three books of poems: miniature ships, distant friends, and arizona. He loves fixing things, gardening, games, and music. He is married to a crafty genius, Becky Striepe, and they have one son.

Becky Striepe | Glue and Glitter

Photo credit: Bonnie J. Heath Photography

I'm not vegan. I don't know how to craft. I've barely managed to grow a single basil leaf on my window ledge. But I love love love Becky's blog about vegan eats and green crafts. She makes her topics relatable to all audiences, writing in a friendly, isn't-this-cool? sort of way that's never judgmental or condescending. Most impressive is Becky's sheer industriousness. Not only does she post consistently to her blog, with gorgeous photos and adorable packaging, she's a full-time freelance writer and editor, and oh yeah--she's also mom to a toddler. (His dad is that Dave guy.) I really don't know how she does it.

Becky's bio:

My name is Becky Striepe ("stree-pee," like "sleepy"), and I am a crafts and food writer from Atlanta, Georgia with a passion for making our planet a healthier, happier, and more compassionate place to live.

My mission is to make vegan food and crafts accessible to everyone, even if you're just looking to dip a toe in. I believe that vegan food can be easy, delicious, and inexpensive to prepare, and I believe in treating yourself to a fancy cocktail after a busy week. You can find me on Pinterest, Twitter, and Facebook. I share vegan recipes and tutorials on my own site, write and co-edit at Crafting a Green World and Eat Drink Better, and contribute articles at Care2, Inhabitots, Feelgood Style, and Dollar Store Crafts.

elisa ann lindstrom

Elisa is married to one of my best friends from college, James. Anyone who was at their wedding still recalls the beautiful speech James gave about his bride, talking about how dedicated Elisa was to her then-job as a social worker, but that her real passion was art. Over the years since then, we've all been able to witness this for ourselves through the work Elisa continues to create. I really value Elisa's commitment to simplicity, both in her pieces and in her life. Her posts always have a calming effect on me, especially when she's willing to showcase a work in progress. It reminds me all good creative work comes piece by piece, one simple step at a time.

Elisa's bio:

elisa ann lindstrom is an artist, wife, mom, ex-therapist and a bit of a tea addict. When she's not doing all of that, she's also a part time library clerk and a virtual assistant. Her favorite time of the day is when she gets a moment in the studio. elisa’s artwork focuses on the simplest elements of nature. Whether it is as a quiet landscape or a flower on a blank canvas, her art becomes a break from the everyday.

Stephanie Fisher | Glitter and Goat Cheese

I met Stephanie when I hired her as a writing intern for Cartoon Network Digital way back in the day. She really ruined us after that, because very few interns could match her level of skill, smarts and discipline. Plus, she was just a fun, energetic person to have in the office. When I discovered her fantastic blog, Glitter and Goat Cheese, I was excited for the chance to continue reading her writing, but then I was blown away by Stephanie's incredible talent for interior design. Her site is like Pinterest if Pinterest were written by the smartest person you know. And even more impressive--the pictures are filled with stuff she herself has actually made. Frankly, I'm a little scared of Stephanie, because I think she may have superhuman powers.

Stephanie's bio:

Stephanie Fisher began blogging nearly 15 years ago on a platform called Teen Open Diary, driven by a burning need to share her thoughts on marching band politics, pop punk and slushie flavors. Now, she explores design, DIY and other worthwhile pursuits at Glitter & Goat Cheese, a lifestyle blog she's been writing since 2011.

An Atlanta-based web content manager by day, Stephanie fills her nights and weekends with spray paint, staple guns and poorly-written CSS code. To catch up with her latest project (and the ensuing craftermath), you can also find her on Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, and Pinterest.

[tv-kitchen]

8 Things I'll Miss About Comic-Con This Year

As some of you may recall, I spent much of last year's Comic-Con not having a very good time. It was my first year attending as a non-employee of Cartoon Network, and the crowds were so obscene I couldn't get into any of the panels I wanted to attend. Together, those two factors were a successful formula for one generally grumpy Chrissie.

Still, there are small moments I treasure from each year's Comic-Con that I'll miss over the next few days. As I started listing them out in my head, I realized most have nothing to do with the celebrities, the sneak preview clips, the exclusive screenings or the free stuff. Amidst all the sweaty masses and gimme-gimme stampedes, there's an alchemy at Comic-Con that transcends the annoyances. For a pop culture fan, real life is suspended for four days and your full-time job is being surrounded by everything you love. In San Diego weather.

Here are a few of the moments I'll be pining for this week, from afar:

1) Arriving to the departure gate at Hartsfield. I know this seems lame, but seeing "SAN DIEGO" on the board and seats filled with people in comic-book T-shirts, many carrying poster tubes, can signal only one thing: WE'RE GOING TO COMIC-CON.

2) The first breeze that hits your face when you exit the airport in San Diego. The weather there is nice.

3) Shopping for lunch groceries at Ralph's.

For the past few years, we've been lucky enough to book a room at the Residence Inn, which features a kitchenette and refrigerator. So instead of buying $8 pretzels for lunch at the convention center, we would walk over to Ralph's on Wednesday afternoon and buy the makings for a week's worth of PB&Js. We also got a kick out of calling it "Malph's," which was the parody name of the grocery store on The Powerpuff Girls.

4) Walking into the convention center after getting our badges. It's such a hassle to get into Comic-Con that even if you've registered successfully, it feels like until you're physically in the building someone's going to come up and say, "Sorry, there's been a mistake." So after you've stood in your first long line, shuffling toward the badge pick-up entrance ("Are we in the right line?"), and the woman hits the Print button and hands you a lanyard and points you toward the giant bag that's now ALL YOURS, you take a deep breath of air conditioning and it's official: WE'RE IN!

5) The exhibit floor on Preview Night.

The air is still fresh. The merchandise is still crisp. The booth workers still have color in their faces. So much possibility (read: spending) lies ahead.

6) Late night sundaes at Ghirardelli.

When my husband and I first attended Comic-Con together--but only as coworkers, before we were dating--we chatted over giant dishes of ice cream and hot fudge after an exhausting day of panels. Since then, it's been an annual tradition to end at least one night under the bright lights of Ghirardelli, in line behind a Stormtrooper or Halo soldier, waiting to drown ourselves in delicious chocolate.

7) Running into my favorite people all over the place. Over my years at Cartoon Network, I got to meet some of the funniest, smartest, most talented people you can imagine--and they all go to Comic-Con. It was also a locked-in chance to catch up with a few college friends: Preview Night dinner with one who covers the convention each year and Sunday breakfast with two who live in San Diego. Maybe this year we can Skype over a bowl of queso fundido and a stack of pancakes.

8) Sunday night after Comic-Con is over.

In the last few times we've gone, as the Sunday lineup became more robust, we decided to stay the extra day and fly back Monday morning. Not only did we get to see a few more panels, but we also got to witness Comic-Con's most fascinating event: teams of hired workers pulling down the barrage of marketing messages that have blanketed the city for the past five days. It's like seeing Miss America after the evening gown competition, changing back into sweats and a T-shirt. All of the PowerPoint decks, all of the budget allotments, all of the Gantt charts that were pored over by media teams for months--it's all over. Literally in the garbage.

Plus, with the crowds departed, we can walk peacefully around the convention center, over toward the water, enjoying the quiet. It's almost unfathomable that 150,000 could have possibly congregated in this one space (probably because it is unfathomable). The calm lulls you and your tired bones into immediate anticipation for next year, instantly ready for more.

This year, I'll be in that same position above, only this time on a couch, reading all the blogs and live tweets and Facebook posts from the people who are there. I'll wish I was there with them, and then I'll take a nice, long nap.

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Salt and Pepper Shakers (And Other Stuff) For Sale

Florida Oranges ($5)  SOLD

Wooden Salty/Peppy ($10)

Mr. Peanut ($20)  SOLD

S & P Wood Blocks ($3)  SOLD

Victory Bombs ($15)

Mickey Mouse ($5)

Pillsbury Dough Boy ($5)

Chemistry ($5)  SOLD

Palm Beach Boat ($5)

Corn Cobs ($3)

Cabin in the Woods ($5)

Moccasins ($5)

Earth / Star Chair ($3)

Plastic Stove ($10)

Metal Toaster ($15)

Piano Keys ($3)

London Bus ($3)

Sun and Moon ($3)

Whatever These Are ($5)

Dice ($3)

Beatles ($8)  SOLD

Laundromat Dryers ($15)  SOLD

Kissing Dogs ($5)

Kissing Hot Dogs ($5)

Dancing Couple ($5)

Wooden Colonial Bells ($10)

Horse-Drawn Wagon ($15)

Genie Lamps ($3)

Puerto Rico Dolphins ($3)

Salt/Pepper/Sugar on Wood Tray ($8)

Mittens ($3)

Mailman and Dog ($5)

Pig on Scale ($5)

Archie McPhee Monster Women ($8)

Split-Level Side Table ($10)

Vintage 7Up Print Ad ($15)

Coca-Cola Tin ($5)

Vintage Popsicle Ad, Mounted to Wood ($15)

Vintage Hot Dog/Diner Ad Print, Framed ($30)

Jasper Johns Flag Print, Framed ($25)

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What Mom Watched

I lost my mom on April 20, Easter Sunday, three and a half years after she was diagnosed with lung cancer.

In her last months and weeks, we watched a lot of TV together. Partly because it was all she was physically able to do, but also because television was one of the central bonds between my mother and me. Sitcoms, dramas, movies, awards shows, daytime talk, late night comedy--we loved it all. We were live-snarking the Oscars before the Internet was even a thing. I was always envious that she grew up during the early days of television and got to experience the Golden Age as it aired. She was a TV kid. I had no choice but to become one myself.

She would tell me about the shows she watched as a girl. She'd race home after school to watch Howdy Doody. She remembered seeing Elvis and the Beatles on The Ed Sullivan Show. The Phil Silvers Show was a favorite. The first fan letter she ever wrote was to Robert Culp. (He never replied.)

Later, after she'd met my dad, they would stay home on Saturday nights to watch The Carol Burnett Show. Mom's all-time favorite movie was Gone with the Wind, so each time she watched a replay of the classic sketch with Burnett as Scarlett O'Hara wearing her curtain-rod dress ("I saw it in the window and I just couldn't resist it"), she would laugh just as hard as the first time she saw it.

Mom loved comedy. A quick wit herself, she was an early fan of stand-ups like Robert Klein, David Steinberg, Garry Shandling, Jay Leno, Paul Reiser, Carol Leifer and David Letterman. Oh, David Letterman. Like me, when Mom had a celebrity crush, she fell hard. She felt she had a kindred spirit in Dave. They were both from the Midwest, they were born just 10 days apart in 1947 (Mom on April 2, Dave on April 12), and they shared the same wry, no-bullshit sense of humor that dared to speak out loud what everyone else was secretly thinking.

She had been a fan of Letterman's short-lived morning show and stayed up past everyone's else's bedtime to watch his original Late Night. On Friday nights, I was allowed to stay up, too, and together we'd laugh as he dropped watermelons off a five-story building, Velcroed himself to walls and shopped for light bulbs at Just Bulbs. ("Could you buy shades here?" "No. Maybe go to a place called Just Shades.")

After I graduated college and moved away, Letterman became a tradition of my holiday visits home. At Thanksgiving, we'd watch him call his mom to guess what kinds of pies she baked; in December, we never missed Darlene Love's annual performance of "Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)." It's fitting that Dave announced his retirement just a few weeks before my mom passed away, because for me, the two of them will be forever connected.

A lifelong Chicago girl, my mom was a frequent audience member at The Second City, so watching shows like Saturday Night Live and SCTV was like hanging out with old friends. Other kids were always surprised I was allowed to watch SNL, but for our family it was practically church. After the dormant years of the early '80s, I remember my parents embracing the arrival of cast members like Billy Crystal, Christopher Guest and Harry Shearer. Up through recent years, my mom would still quote the night watchmen sketch in which Crystal and Guest would detail outlandishly painful, self-imposed scenarios with the punchline, "I hate when that happens."

Each night after dinner, from kindergarten through high school, we'd sit down together and turn on the TV. "What's tonight, Tuesday?" my mom would say to herself as we figured out what was on the schedule. She of course loved the '80s NBC classics--The Cosby Show, Family Ties, Cheers, Hill Street Blues--but she had a broad range of tastes over the years: Kate & Allie, Roseanne, Lonesome Dove, Newhart, Wings, Dream On, Twin Peaks, America's Funniest Home Videos, Seinfeld, Six Feet Under, Curb Your Enthusiasm, among many more.

I very clearly remember one weekend morning when we were eating breakfast, and she told us about this hilarious Chris Rock HBO special she'd watched the night before. "We have to see when it's on again." It was Rock's pivotal Bring the Pain show, and by the time it blew up into the mainstream, I felt like I'd been privy to insider intel courtesy of my mom's early "discovery."

As she got older, her tastes grew more conservative, often opting for Fox News or real-crime stories on shows like 48 Hours Mystery, Dateline NBC or 20/20. But she was no prude. She was a devoted fan of The Sopranos, Sex and the City, 24, Mad Men and other boundary-pushing shows. Her most recent TV crush was Seth MacFarlane. She was on board with Masters of Sex. At the end of the day, she just liked good TV.

When the cancer started taking its toll, and she was confined to her chair in the family room, she relied on TV to get her through the day. As we cared for her, the same line-up played behind us like clockwork: 9 a.m. Live! with Kelly and Michael ("I'm so glad they picked him. He's such a nice man and, as they say, easy on the eyes.")

10 a.m. The View, or let's see who's on Rachael Ray

11 a.m. Windy City Live, a local Chicago news/talk show

Noon The Chew (My dad: "This show actually isn't that bad.")

1 p.m. Maury

Now here's where she lost us. Everything up to then was pretty tolerable, enjoyable even, but Maury is truly one of the worst shows on television. Just no nutritional value whatsoever. But Mom was entertained by the spectacle of it. "Can you believe these people?" she'd say. I wondered if there was a little armchair psychology behind this. When you're in a terrible situation yourself, do you seek out images of people who theoretically have it worse? Sure, I may have cancer, but at least my family's not like that? Who knows. We soldiered through it because Mom liked it, and that's all that mattered to us. 2 p.m. Inside Edition

2:30 p.m. Jeopardy!, a daily staple in our house for as long as I can remember. Often enjoyed on DVR in the evening with a martini in hand.

3 p.m. Dr. Phil, unless Ellen had someone she liked

4 p.m. Judge Judy

Oh man, Mom watched her some Judge Judy. "She is such a bitch, I love her," she would declare with almost every episode. If Maury convinced my mom the world was going to hell in a handbasket, Judge Judy gave her hope there were still people around to whip those losers into shape. If the plaintiffs and defendants had been able to hear my mom's commentary, their cases would have been the least of their problems. "Look at that hair." "Oh, nice tattoo." "Ever hear of an orthodontist?" "Of all the shirts she had in her closet, that's the one she chose to wear on television." She and Judy would have really hit it off.

During Mom's final days, the television in my parents' living room stayed dark. It was the ultimate indication that our life was about to become very different, because watching television together was such a cornerstone of our family experience. Rather than providing a mindless distraction, it connected us in laughter, tears and memories. I already miss picking up the phone to ask my mom what she thought of that big twist on The Good Wife or whether she'll be watching the Tonys tonight. (She would be, though she'd rather have Neil Patrick Harris hosting. He's so talented, isn't he?)

On the surface, remembering my mom through TV seems trivial. But my mental archive of the shows and jokes and actors and stories we both loved will keep her with me forever. I'll always be able to conjure up her laugh, her smile, her voice by remembering and rewatching those moments. I miss her every day, but I smile imagining she's now at the world's best backstage party, meeting all of her childhood TV heroes--and maybe finally getting that reply from Robert Culp.

[tv-kitchen]

'Inside Amy Schumer' Season 2 Reviews at Paste

Hey! I'm still here! Been a lot going on, both personally and professionally. But in between all that, I've been reviewing the phenomenal sophomore season of Comedy Central's Inside Amy Schumer for Paste Magazine. Fun! Schumer has been one of my favorite comedians since breaking out on The Comedy Central Roast of Charlie Sheen in 2011. It's easy to brand her as another Cute Girl Who Says Naughty Things, but Schumer is much sharper and more layered than that. For all the talk about the sneak-attack feminism in her sketches and her "chick who can hang" appeal to male viewers, the facts are these: Amy Schumer is just really fucking funny.

The season finale of Inside Amy Schumer airs this Tuesday, June 3, at 10:30p (e/p), and previous episodes are available on the Comedy Central app. You can catch up on my reviews right here, minus the one week I had to miss: Inside Amy Schumer: "Would You Bang Her?" (Episode 201) Inside Amy Schumer: "I'm So Bad" (Episode 202) Inside Amy Schumer: "A Chick Who Can Hang" (Episode 203) Inside Amy Schumer: "Boner Doctor" (Episode 204) Inside Amy Schumer: "Down for Whatever" (Episode 206) Inside Amy Schumer: "Slow Your Roll" (Episode 207) Inside Amy Schumer: "Tyler Perry's Episode 208" (Episode 208) Inside Amy Schumer: "Raise a Glass" (Episode 209)

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Before leaving Saturday Night Live, the cast and crew gave Kristen Wiig something to remember her many roles by.

[tv-kitchen]

Cliff Robertson and his wife Dina Merrill invite you into their fantastic mid-’70s kitchen!

(from a 1975 print ad for Gaffers & Sattler gas appliances)

[tv-kitchen]

My 2014 Late Night Writers Workshop Packet

The NBCUniversal Late Night Writers Workshop is a program focused on exposing talented joke, sketch and comedy writers to NBCUniversal's late-night & alternative lineup and readying them for a staff writer position. We are looking for writers who are "almost there" but need that final bit of preparation and exposure to key industry players. We particularly encourage female writers and those of diverse backgrounds to apply.

I have the lady parts, so I was particularly encouraged to apply. Alas, I heard nothing. It was worth a shot. I'm a Cubs fan, so I'm more than familiar with waiting for next year.

Turns out, they moved up the 2014 submission period to January, so I put together a new packet. Here's what was required:

1-2 pages of topical monologue jokes. If you think it helps us, please indicate which host's voice you have in mind (can be but does not have to be NBC host). Topical news jokes and pop culture jokes should make up the bulk of your material.

1-2 pages of original ideas for refillable late night “desk bits”. These can be ideas for elements like Jimmy Fallon’s “Thank You Notes”, pre-taped correspondent bits like “Jaywalking” or multimedia bits. For this portion, please provide descriptions of the bits and not scripts.

2 SNL-style sketches (no more than 5 pages EACH).  One sketch should introduce an original character and one should be topical (something newsworthy or pop culture-based).

If you're interested, you can view my packet here.

And here's the good news: They called me for an interview! I had a Skype chat last Friday with two of the women who run the program. It was pretty mind-blowing to be talking NBC late night TV with people who actually work at NBC, and I'm sure my nerves came through. I ended up not advancing to the workshop, which was obviously a letdown, but the whole experience gave me a much-needed confidence boost. I feel re-energized to keep applying to other writing programs, both at NBC and elsewhere.

Thanks to everyone who's given me unwavering support with this whole writing thing over the past year, including any of you who take the time to read this blog. It means more than you know. Or The More You Know. One of those. In any event: thank you.

[tv-kitchen]

Exterior of NBC’s new office and sound stages in Burbank, California. Photo by Ed Clark for Life, November 18, 1952.