26 September 2007

Dear Lorne,

This fall will be thirty years after the Anyone Can Host contest. Although I was only the runner-up, the experience has enriched my life in ways I am still trying to figure out. Can you remember what you were thinking at that time? Certain questions still remain. Why me? Was there something special that made me stand out, or did you just pull names out of a hat?

The postcards sent were mainly written at the student center at Linfield College, near where I was staying at the time. It was open all night. There were vending machines. Having lost my money in one, it inspired me to write that the town was so small, I knew all the vending machines by name. As I recall, t his was the only postcard anyone at SNL mentioned. so do I owe this moment of fame to a vending machine? Were all the other postcards, the hours spent racking my brain, were they all just fodder?

There was a sketch I added a line to while I was there. It was the C'est l'absurde with Dan Ackroyd playing a Jean Paul Sartre character. The finalists were getting a tour and walked in on the sketch in progress. Each finalist had a line. Mine was something short and basically filler, so I changed it to something stating that if we said something, then we would have to get paid more money. Dan said he liked it and to write it in. As it turned out, the sketch never got past the dress rehearsal. I hope it wasn't my fault. It was great back in those days how things would start out one way, then jump off track and go another direction, seeming like a screw-up. Yet in reality, you would never leave anything to chance, would you?

Hopefully, one of these letters will get through to you, which is why I am sending them one day at a time. Unlike with the postcards, I have not set any goal as far as how many I plan to send. Just try to keep it going one letter at a time. Perhaps it will become a collection of works that can be shared with the world. Perhaps someone around there is feeling nostalgic. Perhaps I'm wasting everyone's time.

For now I must remain dancing around the shadows, insulating myself within the unlikely fantasy that these letters may ever matter to anyone else but me. Fueled by audacity, the adrenaline of pursuing the impossible dream can push me beyond myself, hopefully before the bubble bursts.

Good luck with the new season,