Growing older is a very interesting thing.
Lots of things change: the color of our hair, the ability to read fine print, how much sleep we need at night...as well as how we view the world.
Case in point: The intro to Saturday Night Live, the weekly live TV institution enjoyed by generations every weekend, used to make me feel awful about myself. About my very life. About my disconnection from a world where cool, fun, hip people do cool, fun, hip things in New York City after dark.
You know what I'm talking about. The fast-paced montage that week after week, year after year made me believe that if didn't play chess in a city park wearing a cocktail dress, I had not lived.
Their version of New York nightlife, included hilarity at Gray's Papaya, searching for vintage record albums, watching sword swallowers or the twirls of a break dancer while standing around with sexy people fiddling with the stems of their martini glasses while making conspiratorial eye contact with no one in particular.
Please remember that when I started watching SNL, I was a kid. A teenager who, in her private delusion and naivete, assumed that her life was destined to be cool, fun and hip. And, while there certainly was fun (nerdy as it was), in reality, I did not live then, or ever, in a personal orbit where cool and hip were even a remote possibility. And that damn SNL intro rubbed it in. Every week.
|Just look how much fun Andy Samberg is having!|
|Back then, seeing this on the|
Subway was a good thing.
Today, Times Square is a tourist mecca packed with police. Back then it was home to prostitutes, nodding drug addicts, porn theaters and other scary stuff for a young woman to navigate on the way home from her journalism seminar at the New York Times.
So, I went between home and school on the subway, making sure not to travel too late, to always sit near the conductor and, basically, to watch my ass.
Between attending college and working, there wouldn't even have been time for chess games in the park or laughing uproariously with my trendy, chic friends....of whom I had none. My friends were all as busy, and non-trendy as I.
My point is that, for decades, the SNL intro made me feel lousy every time I saw it. I was either missing the fun or, once I settled into the contented life of a wife and mom, had totally missed the excitement that everyone else (read that as a small number of paid performers put into staged situations with lights and music) was surely experiencing.
|Or this? Feh.|
This went on for years. The cast members of SNL came and went but the bones of the intro stayed the same as did my vague restlessness every Saturday night at 11:30. This feeling remained anchored in the small section of my heart with "Bitter" written on the door even I knew how foolish I was. But, recently, it changed. Finally.
It took long enough.
Just last week I was watching the new season of SNL, fully expecting -- as the familiar music swelled to open the show -- that customary tug. But there was none.
I was liberated.
Their in-on-a-secret smiles, high heels and martini glasses did not make me feel a thing except happy to be exactly where I was---on the couch with Buzzy on my lap, next to Seth whose head was tilted back in slumber, mouth open wide enough for the B train to roll right in like it used to, depositing me on the subway platform of my stop, in Brooklyn.
I realized that I had finally gotten past my youthful fantasies of a world that, if it ever existed at all, resided primarily in my imagination.