Live...From New York!

Saturday Night Live (1990)

In 1990, wanting to open my brother and me to all types of culture, my parents decided to take the family to New York City on vacation. I was ecstatic; New York was the home of Woody Allen, Saturday Night Live and fake Rolexes. We stayed in a hotel on 11th Street, two blocks away from the theater where Cats was enjoying an extended run. Every night, I fell asleep to the heavenly calamity of Manhattan traffic.

While I was in the city that never sleeps, I was determined to see Saturday Night Live. I was a massive fan of the show, and would beg my dad to let me stay up late on Saturdays to see it, and religiously watch the reruns from the 1970s every Sunday night on one of our local stations.



Unfortunately, getting tickets was not as simple as we had hoped. In our naivety, we didn't realize one had to order tickets many months in advance if you wanted to be guaranteed entry. But...there was a plan B – The Hard Way. We decided to camp out overnight on the hard green marble floor of Rockefeller Center with many other hopefuls, with the final prize, a chance to get free tickets to that Saturday night's show. With all that's happened in this world since 1990, I'm not certain if they even allow this any longer, but it was the best chance we had at the time to see the show.

It was a long night, and Manhattan was unnaturally hot that March. We were tired, cranky, and sweltering. Sleep was impossible. Line mentality started around 2am and we all became fast friends. Out of everywhere in the world, we were lined up beside two guys from Medicine Hat, Alberta. We bonded with these fellow Canadians who had made the pilgrimage, and exchanged jokes and addresses.

Some played cards, some slept. I wrote everything I could on the small scraps of paper in my pockets for posterity. Around 9am, the NBC ushers hustled us into a makeshift line and we were confronted with what we had waited for all night–a shot at getting in. There was a choice to go to the dress rehearsal or the live show. The dress, as the "regulars" told us was more relaxed and creative, and after watching, you can go home and see what they decided to cut or leave in. You're more of a "test audience" in the dress, since your laughter determines whether a sketch will hit or miss. (Not sure if they still do this, either.)

We chose the live show, since I wanted to see everything as it happened.


Again with the blue glasses...and what's with my hair?

If you walk through Rockefeller Center and just loiter, you're bound to see some stars. I was very fortunate and met my hero at the time, Dana Carvey. He was very sweet and kind (even though in her excitement, my mother called him “Church Lady”(!) as she took this photo). I still remember the feel of his thin back and his silky black baseball jacket when I put my arm around him.

After receiving our makeshift blue square tickets, the four of us bid our line mates farewell and went back to the hotel to sleep. I fell into an instant coma and dreamt of standing in a neverending line, that stretched as far as I could see, waiting for what seemed like forever.

A short rest later, we ventured back into the NBC building for the daily tour. During the tour (which I recommend highly!) we got to see the SNL cast doing a run-through of that night’s show. The whole tour literally halted so people could press their noses against the large glass panel that looked into the studio to watch Dana Carvey rehearsing a sketch with a George Bush doll that had extremely large genitalia. When we went that night, the sketch had been cut. Behold the power of the dress rehearsal. Or the censors...


I only still have this ticket because one of our friends decided not to go. The black marks on the ticket are from magic marker ink bearing our number in line on the other side.

The evening of the show, we arrived at 30 Rock at six o’clock sharp. After we flashed our precious blue entry tickets, we were whisked quickly past the security guards. Written in bold print on the tickets was the warning that no one under sixteen years of age was allowed entry to the show. My younger brother John was not yet thirteen and small for his age. (He's since outgrown us all.) And I was still under the legal line at fifteen. As we dashed into the studio, one of the guards at the door called after us, "How old is that boy?" Without missing a beat, my mother hollered, "Sixteen!" at him and kept moving. And with that, we both became illegal SNL stowaways. (Sorry, Lorne!)

Our backs pressed against the 8H's far wall, we squeezed together, trying to get as comfortable as possible in the tight space. There was no other choice–these were the “nosebleed” tickets we mere spontaneous mortals were allowed. Right in front of us were the large, complicated control panels that put the chyron wording on all the television screens. We could tell what the next joke was according to the queued up chyron message. My dad got brave and asked for the program notes for that night's show, consisting of a rundown of all the sketches and the cues for lighting, sound effects and other technicals.

It was the St. Patrick's Day show, so we were treated to Rob Lowe as host and The Pogues as musical guests.

Dennis Miller did the warmup before the show and was pretty funny. I had a crush on him then, so I was in heaven. The show was really good (there was a classic “Church Lady” with Rob Lowe being beaten for his sins - “Thank you Church Lady, may I have another?”), a silly sketch about helmet head ("Soapy water...soapy water?!"), and even a "Dieter's Dance Party" sketch (in which The Trout was invented)! I was as happy as a little girrrrl. ;) You can even hear my dad's booming laugh during some of the sketches.

I wish I could find clips of the show online, but stupidfreakingNBC has decided to put a stranglehold on them, so you'll just have to take my word that it was awesome.


Check out my Blues Brothers shirt!

I met Mike Myers on the night we saw SNL. Things were crazy after the show, and all he could mumble was "hi," before my mom snapped the photo.



Mom also snapped pictures of A. Whitney Brown, who was just recovering from a broken leg during that show, G.E. Smith and others. Chevy Chase was a surprise guest at the end and was bombarded with people (and strangely, fur activists), so we just have a few shots of him far away.

After the show, at 2 a.m., we roamed the streets of Manhattan, hungry and elated, finding ourselves at an all-night pizza joint that was packed. As we ate, we reminisced about the show, an experience I will never forget.

Read more of my Adventures in Fandom meeting celebrities here:

Early Kids in the Hall adventures

David Cronenberg

Life, The Universe, and Just About Everything

I used to have the privilege of saying that Douglas Adams was my "favorite living writer" - most of the writers I favor died at least fifty years ago, if not longer. Sadly, in 2001, Douglas joined my favorites on the other side, and with his passing, there is still a large gap in the writing world to this day. On this, what would have been his 58th birthday, I wanted to share my memories of this amazing writer, who will always be one of my favorites.



Douglas Adams

The Book Company, Sherway Gardens, Mississauga, Ontario (Canada), 1990

The first time I met Douglas Adams was in a bookstore in Sherway Gardens, a mall just outside Mississauga in Etobicoke. It was probably the prettiest mall around - small and unassuming with lots of nooks and crannies in which to hide bookstores and gift shops. In one of these corners hid The Book Company - a lavish, decadent shrine to literature, swathed in dark, classy forest green. From the outside, it looked small, but much like Dr. Who's TARDIS, once you got inside, it was very deep and comforting, like being back in the womb. I frequented it for its good prices and its ability to stock the best in British literature and comedy Canada had to offer.



As I was skimming through the paper on a lazy Saturday morning, I came across an ad for a book signing at the store. Almost weekly, authors graced its presence to sign their books and meet their adoring fans. Just the week previously, Nick Bantok (of Griffin and Sabine fame) was there. Yet the signing this upcoming weekend was of special interest to me. Douglas Adams was coming! The man who had made me laugh and smile through his series of books, Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy was coming to our little bookstore!

I had to go. I was ready to beg my dad to take me to the mall on a school night and meet the legend whom I had adored for so long. To my delight, he instantly agreed. I knew I had to come prepared, but I only had second hand copies of the books (I was in highschool still!) with price tags that said “reduced” on the covers. I knew this wouldn’t look good that I had not bought a “new” book for Douglas to sign. His latest at the time was Last Chance to See, which I unfortunately had not yet read. I decided to carefully peel the price tag off my beloved copy of Life, The Universe and Everything (my personal fave in the HHG series) and hope for the best.

We got to the mall early, and there was a small line already formed. I was amazed more people hadn't shown up – this was DOUGLAS ADAMS for goodness sake! I soon realized I had gotten there at a perfect time. A line soon began snaking around the store and out into the mall itself. My mother, in all her resourcefulness, had borrowed a Polaroid camera from our local library in hopes of getting a few shots of me and Douglas together. My dad held it safely in his hands; I knew I would probably drop it.

We waited and we waited, then suddenly, a huge shadow fell over the crowd. An enormous man in an even more enormous duffle coat shimmered quietly into the store. A smaller man helped the giant remove his coat and the man sat down at the small table, his long legs jutting out from underneath it. It was Douglas Adams.

When was my turn, I was so nervous and excited, I actually blurted out something really stupid that I can’t even remember. In the middle of signing my book, my father quickly asked Douglas to look in the direction of the camera and instructed both of us to “smile.” I felt a little embarrassed, but others in line were envious of my foresight to bring a camera. I still have that picture, tucked inside my autographed copy of the book, my conspicuous blue framed glasses hiding the elation in my eyes. The book (and the photo) are housed safely at my parents' house with my other copies of Mr. Adams’ masterworks.

And Last Chance to See? I did get around to reading it, and loved it. As I always say, I’ve never read a Douglas Adams book I didn’t like.


Harbourfront Centre, Toronto, Ontario (Canada), 1992

My second meeting with Douglas Adams happened in early 1992. My dad and I got tickets to see him read at the Harbourfront Reader’s Series in downtown Toronto.

I had written two pieces for my typing class, of all things, that were loosely based on his famous Hitchhiker’s Guide series. My teacher loved them so much, to this day, they are still used as examples with which students learn how to type. One was a menu, from Milliway’s, “The Restaurant at the End of the Universe”, and one was a mock front page of a newspaper, called “The Hitchhiker.” I brought copies of these pieces with me, with the small hope that I would get a chance to show them to my inspiration.

The reading was in a large convention hall in Harbourfront Centre in downtown Toronto. Dad and I got there early enough to be first in line and found ourselves seats right near the front. There were three writers reading – one from Australia, one from somewhere else, and Douglas. The three men filed in and sat down near the front.

I nudged my dad. “There he is!”
“That tall guy sitting at the front, on the right?"
I nodded vigorously.

We had about fifteen minutes to kill before the whole thing started, and I wanted to take the opportunity to introduce myself to one of my writing idols. I thought for sure I’d have to fight my way through the crowd, but although there were multitudes of eager fans there, they had no idea what Douglas Adams, their savior, their hero, creator of Marvin the Paranoid Android looked like! Perhaps it’s the curse of choosing writing as a profession – you’re never really "known" like an actor or a singer. I had met Douglas at a book signing not six months previously and also had the wherwithall to look at the back cover of one of his books, so I knew his face perfectly.

Two boys across the way approached us after they heard my excited outburst.
“That’s him?” they asked incredulously.
I nodded vigorously again, grinning proudly.

It was then that I took the opportunity to have my little moment in the sun. I will always thank my dad for making that night a little more special. He gave me the last pinch of courage I needed to go up and talk to one of my favorite writers. Dad reminded me gently that Douglas Adams was just another person and not some god, although in my mind then, it was only half-true.

Quietly, I approached Mr. Adams, hands shaking and said, "This is just a little something based on your work," and handed him those two pieces of writing done for my typing class. My last glimpse of Douglas as I beat a quick path back to my seat was a bemused look passing over his sharp features. (Hey, I was 17, I was shy, overweight and not a great conversationalist, especially when I had no idea what to say to the Douglas Adams!)

While we were waiting for the first Australian writer to come on, Douglas didn’t stick my pieces under his seat, he didn’t toss them aside or ignore them, he read them!!! I was aghast, I was in awe, I was honored! Douglas Adams was reading my writing!

As they were based on the Hitchhiker’s series, the short pieces were (at least I thought) rather humorous. And so did Douglas! Douglas Adams, one of my favorite writers, sat there, reading my pieces and laughing! He loved them! You could see the enjoyment on his face. I was so pleased, I was bursting! I had left my name and number on the back of both, but sadly, I never got a call. But honestly, having your work read and enjoyed by one of your absolute favorite writers is quite enough for me.

Even though there was a signing afterwards, (our two young men friends from previously had thought ahead and brought their towels for Douglas to sign), I didn’t bother to stay and get a signature, I had my prize for that night and for a lifetime.

You are missed, Douglas.