Pen pal 1 (4th-6th grade / 1992-1994)—Freja Mikaelsson who lived in Gothenburg, Sweden. My mom’s college roommate married a Swedish man, and the moms cooked up this idea that their daughters, who were the same age, should write to each other. I have a hunch the main reason was for Freja to practice her English while the only Swedish I ever learned was “How are you?” and “I am fine, thank you.” For a while, Freja and I corresponded a lot—mostly stuff like “My favorite color is yellow” and “I do not have any pets but would like a rabbit”—but it eventually petered out. Some of her letters might still be in a box in Jerry’s basement, but the basement is, shall we say, not optimally organized.
Pen pal 2 (freshman year of college / fall 2000)—Martin Biersch. I went to high school with Martin (not to be confused with Vinny Kaplan of the Hy-Vee cereal aisle) and one night the August after we graduated, a bunch of people were hanging out at the pool at my friend Erin’s house. I guess you could say Martin and I had a moment, and though we’d barely spoken in four years of high school, we started emailing each other after I went to Duke and he went to the U of Missouri, aka Mizzou (not sure if he ever went to see any shows at the Blue Note but I’ve heard it’s a cool space, possibly a former movie theater). Martin and I emailed each other every few days from late Aug/early Sept to Thanksgiving break. Our emails weren’t explicitly romantic but they weren’t explicitly not romantic either (such things can be murky, right?). And then we both were back in KC for Thanksgiving break and there was this particular bar that people from my high school used to go to the night before Thanksgiving because they served you without an ID. When Martin and I saw each other there, it was probably the most awkward interaction of my entire life. Like, I could barely speak. And same for him. Looking back, I think the awkwardness was because whatever the dynamic was between us was unclear—neither of us knew if it was more friendly or flirty—and also, and I don’t mean to be glib on this topic, I’m pretty sure we were both totally sober (I definitely was). We interacted for about six minutes, most in total silence (I think I talk an average amount now, but I was extremely quiet through college, and Martin was a quiet guy, too) and then I said I had to go to the bathroom and we haven’t spoken or emailed since. Do you think he’s still waiting for me to come back from the bathroom?
Pen pal 3 (my 3rd year at TNO / 2011)—You and I kind of discussed this at the after-after party, but by this time, I’d just turned 30, divorced, and had cycled through a mindfuck of a non-relationship with another TNO writer. Years after most people our age, I tried online dating for the first time. And I made a total rookie mistake by matching with a guy whose name I don’t remember and exchanging emails with him probably three times a day for three weeks before meeting. And then we met and had NO chemistry. It wasn’t awkward in the excruciating Martin way. It was more like when you sit down next to someone on a plane flight and mutually have not one iota of interest in each other. Obviously, endlessly emailing someone before meeting is a waste of time, but I do still wonder whether a person’s writing self is their realest self, their fakest self, or just a different self than their in-the-world self? Or maybe emailing with someone a lot before meeting is ill-advised not because the other person is real or fake but because there inevitably will be a discrepancy between your idea of them and the reality. Have you ever tried online dating? For that matter, do you fly on commercial planes? If not, they’re this thing where many people who don’t know each other but are traveling to the same city board the same aircraft at the same time, like a bus in the sky.
Anyway, this is how all my pen pals measure up:
Freja: A- (Anything lower seems mean, right? Since she was a child at the time)
Martin: B- (It was kind of interesting to get a window into someone else’s first semester at college, especially because I wasn’t very happy freshman year, but his writing style was pedestrian)
Guy Whose Name I Can’t Remember from Dating Website That No Longer Exists: B (I also can’t remember any of our specific emails, but it has to count for something that I was motivated to respond)
You: A+ (Clearly!!) Also you were an adorable 14-year-old
It’s very sweet and a little mortifying that you’ve watched my sketches. I’m tempted to give disclaimers about how topical comedy doesn’t hold up well, but instead I am going to just say thank you. I’m sorry about the death of Christopher, which I did know about. The accident and his death both sound sad and terrible. I’m glad you decided after that to continue being a musician and I know a lot of other people are too.
And, in a different way, I also am glad you didn’t delete the paragraph about eating and exercise. On the one hand, I think I know something about appearance pressures because I’m a woman who lives in America in the 21st century (maybe that could just be because I’m a woman, full stop), and because, working with people whose job is to be on camera, I’ve seen their insecurities and the criticism they get, even though they’re really attractive. On the other hand, I actually can’t imagine having my appearance publicly dissected by strangers, and it seems unfair that that matters so much when your looks are wholly unrelated to your ability to write songs and play guitar. For what it’s worth, I remember you at TNO as terrifyingly fit, and it’s very possible you look better having gained 13 pounds. In any case, in the last few days, my own sense of you as a Leather Shorts Wearer has been superseded by my sense of you as a digital consciousness that I’m communicating with (very enjoyably!). When I see your name in my inbox, I wonder what you’ll say about your childhood or your life right now more than I think about what you looked like in leather shorts. Not that you DIDN’T look good in leather shorts. You looked as good in leather shorts as a person can…I mean, okay, eek, I fear this is reaching Martin Biersch at Thanksgiving 2000 levels of awkwardness.
One more sidenote: Apropos of my declaration above about thinking that I understand appearance pressure because I’m a woman, yet another of the reasons I suspect it’s almost time for me to move on from TNO is that, while so much of my worldview has been shaped by beliefs about men and women and sexism and feminism, most younger writers at the show accept as a given that gender is a social construct. And to my surprise, the more I read on this subject, the more I agree. In 2012, when I got a sketch on air about elementary school girls playing four square at recess, it felt subversive and notable. I guess it’s a sign of progress that now it’s just accepted as fact at TNO that the world is wildly sexist (thanks, 2016 election?) and that “female” topics are as worthy as “male” ones. On a good day, this makes me think my work is done, and on a bad day, it makes me think I’m about to be put out to pasture.
Before I go, what is your favorite color? Do you have any pets?
from: Noah Brewster <[email protected]>
to: Sally Milz <[email protected]>
date: Jul 24, 2020, 10:40 PM
subject: Actually
This is all fascinating…but raises a lot more questions than it answers. For starters: