Pop culture obsessives writing for the pop culture obsessed.
Justina Machado, Seth Meyers
Screenshot: Late Night With Seth Meyers

With the very successfully rebooted One Day At A Time kicking off its third streaming season on Netflix on Friday, Justina Machado stopped by Late Night With Seth Meyers to talk shop and be customarily delightful. Telling Meyers that One Day At A Time continues to be a gift for a Latina actress whose choice of roles is often boxed in by stereotypes, Machado called the Norman Lear-led update, “a layered monologue.” An inveterate Instagrammer, Chicago native Machado was also happily confronted with printouts of some of her more colorful youthful photos, like preteen Machado in fingerless gloves and puffy shirt, posing next to a poster of Prince. (Machado says she was going for Madonna; she sort of looks like the guy from Miami Connection.) In addition, Meyers showed the photo from Machado’s quinceañera, massive hair and all, which Machado called a true “ghetto quinceañera,” as she begged money from every member of her working class Chicago family for the event, which was eventually held in the first-floor event hall of a well-known Chicago “hooker hotel.”

It was in Chicago that Machado first met Meyers’ Saturday Night Live chum Horatio Sanz, where the young fledgeling actors were in the same theater troupe and both auditioned—disastrously—for In Living Color. Machado claims she had no material, but a hefty bag filled with props, including a giant styrofoam penis, a combination that, oddly, did not lead to the sort of stardom she’s got going on these days. Consoling pal Sanz after his own (presumably penis-free) flameout, Machado says she told Sanz “Don’t worry Rog (his Chicago friends call him Rog), you’re one of the funniest guys I know—one of these days you’re going to be on Saturday Night Live!” Sure, it might just have been a nice thing to say to a friend who’d just been judged not worthy (or not Wayans) enough to be on In Living Color, but we’re calling it prophecy.


Contributor, The A.V. Club. Danny Peary's Cult Movies books are mostly to blame.

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