Man Harem Inductee #8

A note before today’s post: I’m still here.  I’ve been rather busy for the past months and I’m working through several projects.  Hopefully, you’ll hear more from me more regularly very soon.

Today’s post starts with a bit of a confession.  In 2003, one of my dreams was to work for NPR.  As it so happens, this week they have an opening, but I’ve moved past that dream.  I recall writing an essay (for a one-credit workshop on the art of autobiography) comparing my childhood hometown in rural Utah to Mayberry and Garrison Keillor’s Lake Woebegone. 

I’d confess to mission companions that some days I missed the voices of Diane Rehm, Fiona Richie, and Ira Flatow as much as my family and friends.  As a result, I gained the reputation of “Elder granola-hippie-metro-commy-touchy-feely-smarty-pants,” but

c'est la vie.  If that’s a bad reputation, I’ll proudly stand by it, I thought. 

Upon my return, I auditioned for a spot on the local station, but my stutter got in the way.  Writing, literature, and research took precedent, and I moved on.  I also moved on as I met some radio personalities.  Listening, you create a certain face to go with the voice, the intonation, the sense of humor. Then one day, you run into a personality at a random meeting and it’s like watching your father take off the Santa Claus suit.

Then, sometimes, it’s just what you’d hoped for all along. 

Ira Glass

One of the best dates Chedner and I have had was Netflix-ing our way through the TV series This American Life.   I’d been a fan of the radio series from the first time I’d listened to it almost a decade ago. 

I suppose a lot of relationships is being able to share joy in all of its forms and in this particular instance it was shared appreciation for humor and insight into the human experience.  That said, it was also pretty obvious we appreciated our host, Ira Glass.  His humor and his charm managed to come across better than I’d expected—enough so that I teased Chedner about having some geeking out fantasies as we watched, which I admit is obvious projection. 

Experiences like these—the ones in which we admit to sharing feelings we’re perhaps embarrassed to share initially—have been a learning experience.  It’s easy to endear yourself to someone you understand, or, rather, someone you work to understand (and work to be understood by). 

Sure my fantasy of a nice, nerdy Jewish boy with a geeky voice and hipster glasses may seem like an odd piece of me, but there is comfort in the fact that I feel like sharing every single nerdy schoolboy shred of myself with someone for the first time in my life.