A Love Letter to Conan O'Brien.

Anyone who's known me longer than five minutes knows about my love for, my adoration for, my--okay, let's just call it what it is--obsession with Conan O'Brien. Not since my second grade love for Matt Medina (a fifth grader who, it must be said, has not aged well) has a redhead so captured my heart. So, as you can imagine, the recent NBC late night drama has captivated me in a way that I'm not particularly proud of, considering that the devastation in Haiti has highlighted the truth there actually is miserable suffering in the world, and the fate of one gangly multi-millionaire comedian is ultimately pretty unimportant. So...there's that.
But.
At the risk of sounding trivial, I want to pay tribute to the man who has kept me up so many nights, and put a huge smile on my face for the better part of the last decade. There really is not a way to say that without sounding dirty.

I can't remember when exactly I began watching Late Night with Conan O'Brien, but I do remember this--it was some time in the 7th or 8th grade, and it was before I knew how to make coffee. Actually, it was before I even drank coffee. A simpler time. I call it B.C. I don't really call it that. Anyways, I know this because I would stare at the remaining dregs in our Mr. Coffee carafe, wishing to God I knew how brew a fresh pot--or better yet, enjoyed the taste--because I needed to stay up another two hours to obsess over some social studies diorama of Ancient Egypt, or something, as was my middle school way. So, without that bitter fuel to inject my decidedly-more-Type-A self with the necessary second wind, I turned on the television. Then, one night, I turned the channel to Conan.

This may seem completely unremarkable to you, but writing this just made me realize: I've been watching Conan longer than I've been drinking coffee. A notable milestone, considering that I now drink, on average, 17 cups of Joe a day, in addition to bathing in it nightly.

Conan came on like a strong gust of wind after what I would come to know as the reassuring banality of Jay Leno--full of manic energy, absurd characters, and disarming wit. He was tall, whip-smart, ridiculous, literary (fun fact: he did his Harvard thesis on Flannery O'Connor and William Faulkner), self-deprecating, and gloriously pale--in short, all of my favorite things. And he drove a '92 Ford Taurus. I don't remember the first bit I ever saw on Late Night, but I do remember the first thing I ever talked about the next day--an absurdist and wholly appropriate take on the then-phenomenon of boy bands in a sketch called "Dudez-A-Plenti."


Dudez-A-Plenti

Susie | MySpace Video

And thus, a personal hero was born. Conan was my first-ever personality litmus test, a role that would later be filled by Christopher Guest, Lord of the Rings, and NPR. Liking him automatically made you cool in my book. Consequently, liking Leno made you stupid.

Throughout the years, Conan would be with me during the hard times...like the night of my first run-in with the law. After leaving a chorus rehearsal very, very disgruntled, I was caught doing 60 in a 35. I was 16, and stupid, and everyone does 50 on that road anyway, but that's not the point. I came home sobbing inconsolably, miserable at the magnitude of my own idiocy. Eventually, though, I mellowed out, and turned on Late Night, because that's just what I did. I don't remember anything about that show, but I do remember laughing hysterically and feeling better almost instantly. It's so silly now, but there it is: Conan just made things better.
A few years down the road, Preparation H Raymond would help me get through those nasty prostitution charges. Ahh, the power of laughter.

As time went on, my love only grew. Characters like Vomiting Kermit, the Coked-Up Werewolf, Pimpbot, the Fed-Ex Pope, the Sports Fan, and The Interrupter; bits like "In The Year 2000" and the "Walker Texas Ranger Lever"--all of these became an integral part of my lexicon. (And yes, that was just an extremely transparent excuse to link those clips. Watch them all, then proceed). I started an innumerable number of sentences with, "Last night, on Conan..." I vividly remember hosting animated discussions on the brilliance of Late Night vs. the comedy graveyard of Leno's Tonight Show in my AP Macroeconomics class. (I had a cool economics teacher). I daydreamed about making it to a taping of Late Night before he wrapped it up and I begrudgingly--but proudly--surrendered him to the big bright lights of Hollywood and the Tonight Show. I more-or-less forced both of my college roommates (and anyone else in my room after 11:30 PM (thank you, Central Time Zone)) into watching, and subsequently loving, Conan along with me (a legacy I can surely be proud of). And yes, on a fundamental level, I suppressed the worry that my immense fondness for a late night talk show host was indicative of some latent personality disorder. Incidentally, a dream that I gave birth to a baby with Conan's head did not do much to allay my fears.

I'd rather not have this analyzed.

Admittedly, my viewership has waned in recent years. Graduating college and living in Africa for ten months kind of does that to you. And though, upon my return to the States, I was irrationally proud of little Conesie, all grown-up and hosting the Tonight Show -- not to mention happy to go to bed an hour earlier, since apparently graduating college made me age twenty years-- I also couldn't help feeling that my little secret was now out. I remained fiercely loyal despite the low ratings, and couldn't help but feel that if people actually prefer the Chin to the Hair, then people are actually stupid and terrible. (Prove me wrong, universe).

But the people--or moronic NBC executives--have spoken, I guess. Despite the legions of fans chanting, the vein of Nick Carraway, that O'Brien is "worth the whole damn bunch put together," it's goodbye, for now. So, what else to do, except compose an excessively rambling valentine to the man of the hour, in a forum that he has not the remotest chance of stumbling across, and say...thanks. For staying classy, ridiculous, hilarious, and genuine. Making people laugh ultimately isn't very imporant, after all. But to the people laughing...it somehow is.

And Fox...getsa steppin'.