I laughed. “I’ve heard of novelists who are very precious about their writing rituals, like they have to light a candle or drink herbal tea first, but TNO beats that out of you.”
“Well, I feel like I just took a master class in comedy writing. I seriously can’t thank you enough.”
“Again, it still has to make it past the table read and rehearsals, but I actually think it’s really fun.”
“The way you keep saying actually,” he said. “It’s like you’re surprised.”
“Sorry. It’s just that very few hosts write sketches, and even if they do, a writer probably drafted it. And honestly, for a musician host, it’s almost unheard of.”
“Do you know I write my own songs?”
“But don’t you think songs and sketches are different animals?”
“Well, structure is really important in both, right? And rhythm? And what you withhold versus what you reveal up front?”
“True.”
“What kind of music do you like?”
“What kind do I like?” The question caught me by surprise.
“If you’re making dinner at home or you’re on the subway, what are you listening to?”
“I guess a range. If we’re talking about genres, mostly folk or pop.”
“Which specific artists?”
“I don’t have particularly cool taste if that’s what you’re asking. Have you met the writer Jeremiah? He always knows about bands before they blow up.”
“I’m just curious. I swear this isn’t a trick question.”
“When I was in third grade, I had a cassette of The Supremes’ Greatest Hits that I played so much the tape started unspooling out the bottom. And then, because of how upset I was, my mom took me on an emergency trip to the mall that same day to replace it.”
He smiled. “And since then?”
“Mostly female singer-songwriters. My mom liked Linda Ronstadt, Patti LaBelle, Joan Armatrading, so we listened to them a lot. Dolly Parton, of course. And Sade. And then my taste sort of segued into more countryish like Lucinda Williams and Emmylou Harris. And then, you know, Mary Chapin Carpenter, Dar Williams, or more recently Brandi Carlile. Oh, and Janelle Monáe.” I glanced over and said, “My favorite singers of all time are the Indigo Girls.”
“Yeah, they’re incredible,” he said.
I looked at him—we still were side by side, perhaps six inches apart—and said, “Are you serious?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“A lot of people—meaning male writers here—would use the Indigo Girls as a punchline. Or have used them as a punchline, to make a joke about something that’s very female or that’s lesbianish or that’s earnestly political. And I fucking hate it. Partly because it’s sexist, but even more because it’s not funny. It’s lazy. The Indigo Girls are super talented and have been doing what they do for a long time, on their terms, regardless of cultural trends, and now that we’re a budding autocracy, it’s a little harder to mock the people who have always stood up for the rights of the disenfranchised. Plus, they just have such beautiful, complementary voices.” I paused. “That’s why you came to my office, right? You were hoping for a rant about the Indigo Girls.”
“I love rants about the Indigo Girls. Have you seen them live?”
“Yes, a bunch of times. Have you?”
“I performed with them at a fundraiser in L.A. years ago. And Amy does backup vocals on my song ‘East Matunuck.’ I’m trying to think if they’ve ever been on TNO.”
Of course he had played with them, of course he was on a first-name basis with them. But how had I not known Amy Ray was on one of his songs? “Funny you should ask,” I said. “They haven’t been the musical guests, but there was once a spoof of them where the cast members playing them were dudes. This was before my time.”
“How long have you worked here?”
“It’s my ninth season. Another fun fact is that TNO and I are actually the same age. I was born the month of the premiere, in October 1981.”
“That seems auspicious, right?” Noah said. “I was born in September ’81, so you and I are the same age. If you’ve been here nine years, I take it you like it?”
I had to admit that, for all his cheesiness, he had impeccable social skills. Most hosts were charismatic and many were polite; some were curious about the history of the show; but almost none would ask a writer multiple questions about herself. It didn’t seem rude to me that hosts registered writers the same way the outside world did, which was far lower in the hierarchy than cast members. A lot of writers aspired to be cast members, and some had auditioned for the cast at the same time they’d auditioned for the writing staff, but I felt liberated by not wanting more. It wasn’t by accident that I had never appeared on camera.
“For sure, this is my dream job,” I said. “Even with the baked-in sexism, even when I’ve barely slept. I just can’t imagine a job where I laugh more, or the people are more talented and hardworking. And to get paid to make fun of stuff that deserves to be made fun of and have this huge platform—what more could a misanthrope from Missouri wish for?”
He laughed. “Are you a misanthrope from Missouri?”
“Yes and yes.”
“I feel that way about my music—like, This counts as a job? Sometimes I get scared that someone is going to tell me the jig is up. I fooled everyone for a couple decades, but now they’ve realized I’m a fraud.”
“What’s the fraudulent part? That you don’t really know how to play guitar?”
He laughed.
“That could be a sketch, actually,” I said. “With you just sort of wiggling your fingers on the strings.”
“Actually,” he repeated. “See? You do say it a lot. But no, the fraudulence is being rewarded for something I’d gladly do for free. You’d have to be super, super entitled to experience that and never second-guess yourself or at least be amazed by your luck.”
“The thing I worry about is overstaying my welcome,” I said. “There’s supposedly a TNO curse where if you stay too long, you get stale here and you miss the boat on the next stage of your career. It only applies to writers and cast members, though. A lot of the producers and wardrobe and makeup people have been around forever.”
“What’s the boat you’d miss by not leaving? Like, what’s your next act?”
“I’m going to write non-condescending, ragingly feminist screenplays for romantic comedies.”
He glanced at me. “What makes a romantic comedy non-condescending and ragingly feminist? Besides an Indigo Girls soundtrack.”