NPR: The new social lubricant

First, let me start off by saying that I love, just absolutely love the American expression "social lubricant". It has possesses the brilliant ability to make me think of something nasty and physical (like a chaffing wetsuit, get your mind out of the gutter), and a drink with friends all with two simple words. Hence, it's awesome.
But I digress.

Second, you should probably also know that husband-dear and I are total NPR aficionados. We love everything about the quirky public radio network, from its never-ending morning news reports, to its odd choice of music shows (who doesn't want to listen to Irish music presented by a host with an Irish accent so thick he sounds like he just rolled off the boat), its strange choice of topics (Flies: What makes them tick?), and its odd puzzlers ("take the first three letters of a fruit, the last three letters of a vegetable, combine them in a different order, add a "Z', and you will get the name of a famous song writer").

And third, do note that here in the bible-thumping south, liking NPR is a sure fire way to land yourself in the most awkward social position ever.  You see, southerners do not like NPR. It's boring, it plays strange music, it has long interviews with people who are neither country singers nor Nascar drivers, and it just doesn't breathe the right home-grown, good ole boys, homegrown feel, you know? Admitting to liking NPR is just not done, as people suddenly realize you are not only not one of them, but you're so different, they have no idea how to relate to you anymore.

In short, bringing up NPR to people you've only just met takes courage. You never know how your admission will fall. People whom you thought were nice, cool, and potential friends might turn up their noses, make a face, and denounce the station (usually either for being boring or being too liberal), and suddenly you're left wondering what they now think of you, and if you should just beg out of the conversation altogether while you still can.

Husband-dear and I have discovered that "liking NPR" in Georgia is a litmus test and secret handshake rolled into one. If you think someone might be a potential friend, bringing up NPR might be a good way to find out if you want to start talking more seriously than the latest race you completed. If someone doesn't like NPR, we can definitely be close, but we know that there are certain things we'll never share (like telling someone to not drive like my brother), and there is, as you will, a part of us that is holding back. If, on the other hand, you admit to listening to NPR, it's as though you've just completed the second part of the secret handshake, and we know we're on the same level.

In fact, whenever NPR is brought up in a conversation, and both parties admit to liking it (and yes, I use "admit" quite deliberately here, as it does feel very much like I would imagine coming out to feel like), the conversation, no matter how poorly it might have gone before, suddenly takes a leap and a jump. There's something about the type of people who like NPR that makes them our closest friends almost immediately. In fact, most conversations that I've been in, where one person brings up NPR, and the other person replies they really like NPR, it's almost as though people want to start passing out hugs. Here is someone who likes NPR! Who knows who Steve Innskeep is! Who laughs at Click and Clack! Someone who is critical, cynical, and probably has an odd sense of humor too! Someone who probably doesn't get the south either! Life is great!

Now, remember Mr. House? The less-than-jovial physical therapist I met last week? The one whose demeanor was so like his namesake on the famous TV show, it was almost uncanny? Well, I had another appointment with him on Tuesday. You can imagine I was just tickled pick to spend another hour in there, so as a line of defense, I brought my IPad. When Mr. House had me set up doing my first exercise, he asked me what books I was reading on my IPad. I told him I was reading an old Agatha Christie, to which he, much to my surprise, responded a lot more positively than I had been expecting. He loved old English novels. I'm not sure how or why, but at one point I brought up Prairie Home Companion (a famous weekly NPR radio play), extending my half of the secret handshake if you will, and Mr. House's face just lit up, "Oh, yes, I love NPR. Just love it."
The secret handshake had just been returned.

Within five minutes, Mr. House and I were talking a mile a minute, swapping stories about the odd segments we'd caught on This American Life, Car Talk, the different books we'd read, how we both liked The Archers (a British radio play), and on and on. Who knew that a man so indifferent could be so animated and interested. We talked books, radio, education, immigration, and it was all equally entertaining. I have to admit that I spent the most pleasant hour and a half of a long time, and that I'm almost looking forward to my appointment this afternoon.

I'm telling you, NPR is social gold. Well, at least for misfits like myself.