There are so many things I wish I were. I wish I were Australian. I wish I were living in Chicago. I wish my knees weren't quite so red. Mostly, though, I wish I were cool. I use the subjunctive "were" here not only because it's a wish, but because that's all it will ever be. My undying devotion to public radio is a one-way ticket to eternal dorkdom.
So really, as much as I love it, NPR has ruined my life. Here's why:
1. If it's a warm day and I'm stopped at a traffic light, I'll generally have my window rolled down. But whereas many people my age would be sporting aviator shades and blasting some new rock 'n' roll chart-topper, I've got my radio turned to my local NPR station and I am carried away in my own little news cloud of divinity, listening to Weekday's Steve Scher discuss broccoli florets and cross-pollination.
2. It has happened on numerous occasions that I will be listening to an NPR story in the car that's so intriguing that when I get to my destination I have to stay in my seat to hear the end of it. Oftentimes, this occurs in the library parking lot. I'll be sitting in the car, fascinated, and I'll let my eyes wander to the vehicles around me. I have lost count of the number of people I've seen doing what I assume to be the exact same thing. This should be comforting, the fact that I'm not alone, but it so isn't. Are my fellow public radio car listeners socially awkward twenty-somethings who drive their mother's purple minivans and name their fish after Shakespeare characters? That would be a no. Are they attractive, eligible bachelors enraptured by the BBC's The World? That would be another no. They are balding men in their mid-fifties who more likely than not just finished a marathon reading of The Memoirs of Richard Nixon.
3. One of my favorite Sunday morning rituals is playing the Sunday Puzzle with New York Times crossword editor and NPR's Puzzlemaster Will Shortz. As if that weren't dweebish enough, I actually shout out the answers. At the radio. Alone in my room.
4. If it weren't for NPR's book recommendations, I would have nothing to read.
5. Aside from Mauro Rosales (a 30-year-old professional soccer player from Argentina) and David Muir (correspondent and weekend anchor for ABC World News), all the loves of my life are public radio personalities. Some are gay; most are over the age of fifty.
6. Whenever my mom or I turn on NPR in the kitchen, it's largely static. If there's only one person in the room, and if she sits in a particular chair in a particular place and turns her body in a particular direction, the static is manageable. If, however, someone else enters, the radio blows a gasket. Minimizing the obnoxious background noise requires a bizarre, almost tribal dance across the tiles to find a position that does not interfere with the broadcast. My most exciting discovery in recent memory came yesterday evening when I was searching for the Sounders game on TV and learned that our television has entire channels dedicated to the radio. I'm fairly certain everyone in the universe already knew this. If my life were an episode of the podcast Too Beautiful to Live, this "discovery" would feature in the segment "That's Not News." But let me tell you, at that moment I fancied myself a genius. When you play NPR through the TV rather than through the radio, there's--get this--no static. It's beautiful. I feel like I've won the lottery.
7. I live for the KUOW pledge drives. I just love the unscripted moments during which my favorite radio personalities are revealed to be normal, dorky people just like me.
8. I was describing this post to my mom and she felt the need to console what she perceived to be bitterness on my part toward the fact that my life revolves around public radio. "I'm sure there are plenty of people your age who were listening to NPR in elementary school," she said. "I think it's great. Good for you." Yes, Mother. I nearly rupture an artery in excitement when I get a 94.9 KUOW sticker in the mail with my membership renewal form. Good for me. If I am an example of what happens when 7-year-olds listen to NPR, I think I'd prefer that my child not even know how to spell it.
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