Damn. The new SNL season opened strong.

Tina solidified her legacy (hopefully as Lorne’s rightful successor,) the new kids didn’t shit the bed, and Aaron Paul got to squeeze every last drop of pop culture juice out of his Jesse Pinkman character.

Of course, Arcade Fire sounded like Yoko Ono teaching bagpipes to a classroom full of special needs children, but I’m willing to ignore a shitty SNL musical performance if the album turns out to be good.

Dag, Vanessa Bayer’s Shosh is on point.

This is completely and utterly perfect.

I wanna thank my daughter, Alice, for being the funniest person in my family. For coining phrases like “I want to go to there” and sometimes just putting on pretend make-up in the mirror, and she’ll turn to me and say, “I look like Barack Obama.” She has somehow gotten it in her head that it’s a good thing to resemble a famous politician. I don’t know where she got that idea.

Alice is my heroine - and by heroine I mean lady hero. I don’t want to inject her and listen to jazz.

I know older men in comedy who can barely feed and clean themselves, and they still work. The women, though, they’re all ‘crazy.’ I have a suspicion — and hear me out, because this is a rough one — that the definition of “crazy” in show business is a woman who keeps talking even after no one want to fuck her anymore.
From Tina Fey’s New Yorker essay, Confessions of a Juggler (subscription required to read the whole thing, unfortunately).