When I was in second grade, on November 3, 1989, my mom picked me up early from school and took me to a park where we had never been and told me my dad had died from taking too much medicine. I assume the location was a strategic decision so that she didn’t ruin a more familiar place, including our house. She told me that we’d never know if he’d taken too much medicine by mistake or on purpose but that really there wasn’t much of a difference because even if he’d taken too much on purpose, it had been because he’d believed more medicine would make him feel better. I actually think this was a profound lesson about how with incomplete information, we choose our narrative. I also think my mom believed he did it on purpose, because before I left for college, she told me that no matter how bad I ever felt, the one thing I shouldn’t do was kill myself. She said that ideas that seem right in the moment can seem wrong later, and that a lot of things are reversible but killing yourself isn’t. She said this matter-of-factly, not unlike the way she used to say that you don’t brush your teeth because it’s interesting, you brush your teeth because you need to brush your teeth (as a kid, I complained that brushing my teeth was “boring”).
I suspect that my dad’s demons are part of what drew my mother to Jerry’s stability and reliability. But from the time I was young, there was this category of things my mother would refer to as Mommy-Sally secrets, like eating leftover cake for breakfast, or both of us taking a sick day and having a picnic just because the weather was beautiful, or, even though she didn’t curse in front of Jerry, if just she and I were in the car and she thought another driver was being unsafe, she’d say in a quiet but crisp voice, “What a fucking asshole.” She conveyed to me without ever saying it outright that we all have public and private selves, which also was a very important lesson. Oddly, this ties into why I’ve been thinking I should leave TNO. With every passing year, I can feel how the writers coming up behind me are increasingly different from me. This, to be honest, is anxiety-inducing but also refreshing and appropriate and cycle-of-lifey—like, maybe it’s time for me to make way for other people. And one of the ways that the writers in their twenties are different is that they DON’T seem to think we all have public and private selves. They’re fine just having public selves and openly discussing their mental health issues and their medical issues and their sex habits and their family trauma. I find it really nice to be able to talk to you about all this stuff (or, so far, some of it), but I wouldn’t talk about it with most people. Would you?
Regarding my relationship with alcohol, in normal life, I have a drink or two at the TNO after-party, and I don’t drink much otherwise—maybe a glass of wine if I’m meeting Viv for dinner, but after she got pregnant, when she didn’t order one, I didn’t either. The one time besides the TNO party when I always have a drink is on a first date, to calm my nerves. So I guess the truth is that I do use it as a crutch, just not very often (oops, did I just reveal I don’t go on first dates very often? By choice!). But it seems very understandable that you wonder about other people’s drinking habits.
You actually are not my first pen pal. You’re probably my best one, though, or at least this little diversion we have going is very enjoyable. Do you think it’s beautiful when two people are each other’s firsts, or do you think that inevitably creates awkwardness and it’s better when one is more experienced and can guide the other?
from: Noah Brewster <[email protected]>
to: Sally Milz <[email protected]>
date: Jul 24, 2020, 3:01 PM
subject: Actually
I’m “probably” your best pen pal? In “this little diversion we have going”? You’re breaking my heart here! Only kidding, but who are all these other pen pals that I probably compare favorably to? Are they current or past? Do I need to find them and challenge them to a duel?
In all seriousness, I am honored you’ve been enjoying my music. I might also sound like a cringey fangirl when I tell you that I think I have watched all your sketches. And this also happened in the past, right after I hosted TNO. I’m assuming you know it’s hard to figure out which sketches you wrote because it doesn’t say in the show credits so I had to venture into some deep dark superfan caverns. Now, just for the record, this does not mean I buy into the idea you refer to where I am a celebrity recognized far and wide and you are an unknown. You for sure have fans, even if you aren’t recognized in the grocery store (except by Vinny Kaplan, who I am sure noticed you, knew you were pretending not to see him, and felt devastated). But I know you are a star in the comedy world. Also, plenty of people don’t know or care who I am, and frequently when a stranger comes up to me in a restaurant (in normal times), I think they are about to say “I love your music” and what they say is “You look so familiar…are you my dentist?” But my point is that your sketches are really funny. Although it’s hard to choose, the ones that made me laugh the most are the one about how women supposedly don’t fart, the one about the ICE agents celebrating Thanksgiving, and the 1950s ads for housewives. I respect that you are not afraid to be dark or to acknowledge the awkwardness of life instead of glossing over it like we are all trained to do. Impressive to think your entire career is built on Mad Libs!
Thank you for the kind things you wrote about my parents. It took me a while to get here, but I try not to take their judgment personally. I’m grateful that I’ve had a much wider range of experiences and met many more people than they have. Also, it’s not quite fair of me to claim they’re completely unsupportive. Years ago…and warning, big namedrop ahead…I was part of presenting Mick Jagger with an award before joining the band onstage to play You Can’t Always Get What You Want, and I invited my parents because my dad had been a huge Stones fan. Although they couldn’t attend, I could tell he was impressed. Unlike my mom, my dad has some kindness inside him that he has trouble expressing (he doesn’t talk very much overall) whereas my mom shamelessly takes digs at people, including people she gave birth to. I am really sorry about your biological father, but I’m glad to hear you had such a wonderful relationship with your mom. It seems like you have inherited a lot of her warmth and humor, and I bet she really loved having you as a daughter.