Men PR

Last night, I hung out with rock stars.

And it got me to reminiscing about my only brush with fame. A few years back I made an appearance on the Weekend Edition Puzzle with Will Shortz. You can listen to it here.

If you listen to my performance, you'll see that I was clearly not ready for the limelight. Thank god they didn't broadcast the sound check:

*Phone rings*

NPR Sound Technician: NPR here. We need to do a sound check. Tell us how the weather is there in Portland.

Me: It's raining.

Awkward moment of silence.

NPR Sound Technician, apparently needing me to offer more than two-word answers in order to get a sound check: Umm, raining, huh? Well, it sure is pretty out there.

I nod in agreement over the phone, which, apparently he cannot see. I assumed this to be rhetorical. The poor sound guy needs me to make actual sounds.

NPR Sound Technician, growing desperate for a sound check: What did you have for breakfast?

Me: Three Red Bulls.

Silence.

NPR Sound Technician shakes his head in amazement. (Well, I'm assuming, anyway).

Once the show starts, I feel like I'm doing okay until the point at which I'm supposed to think of a kind of pipe that starts with the letter B.

It takes every ounce of my inner strength not to shout: 'Bong! Bong!'. In fact, if you listen really closely, you can hear the muffled sound of bone-on-flesh as I strike myself repeatedly, all in an attempt not to humiliate my parents at their next Pinochle match:

cue wavy 'what-if' dream sequence

Mother's Pinochle Partner: Was that your son on National Public Radio talking about his bong?

Mother: Yes. But I'm still proud of my gay, marijuana-smoking son. I bet your son doesn't even know who Rona Barrett is!

Mother's Pinochle Partner: Hmmph!

Later in my mother's pinochle partner's basement with her son:

Me: Dude! Did you hear me say 'bong' on the radio?

My friend: Rona Barrett? How the hell old are you? I don't even know you, anymore, man!