NPR Collision

            

 Blogger's Note: This was written almost 8 years ago but it is still true!

 I love National Public Radio.  All the radios in my house are set on NPR.  My car is set to NPR.  It is a cardinal sin to change them. 

           
 NPR lifts me above the mundane, above the mediocrity of my life and gives me a glimpse into a world much more exciting.  But there are times when it loses me, alienates me, and makes me wonder where these commentators come from. 

         
 Just the other day as I was making my daily rounds to the dry cleaner, the grocery store, the post office, and back to the grocery store because I forgot three item- I heard a very amusing interview with an NPR regular commentator.  I don’t remember what the entire interview was about but I do remember certain things.  

“I don’t have cable,” he remarked and went on to speculate about what people who do must watch.  
 
“I don’t drive a car,” he stated and proceeded to talk of lunch with his editor where witty and poignant conversation flowed as freely as the wine. 

Where does this guy live? 

Certainly it is not my world, the real world of chain supermarkets with wilted lettuce and shopping carts that clatter like the “Little Engine that Could.” 

Certainly he would wither like the lettuce should he have to scrape gum out of the lint basket in the dryer.  Certainly he would learn to drive a car if he lived where most people live which is five days from everything. 

What would he write about in my world?  Could he write?  Could he find his creative genius in the morning rush hour?  

 Would he be able to find inspiration if his cell phone rang forty-two times in thirty minutes because his teenage daughter was making plans for the weekend and wanted him to share in every “Umm” and “Okay, now we really know what time we need to be there”? 

           
 Sometimes I believe NPR is my make believe world.  I like to think that somewhere there are people who don’t do laundry and market- where only fresh, organic lettuce is sold.  In this world little light bulbs hover over heads like Renaissance halos, revealing inner wit and literary genius.  

 In this world people rush home to dash off insightful essays about their chat with the world’s foremost nuclear scientist at the bus stop in which he discusses his love of knitting French shopping bags.  The scientist is of course waiting on the bus because he doesn’t drive.

           
NPR commentators seem to float from place to place on an air of superiority.  I’m not trying to be mean, and I never miss paying my dues during the spring membership drive, but sometimes, sometimes I want them to live with the masses for a while and report on that.  

 What would it sound like if today’s commentary centered around the fight upstairs in my house between my fourteen year old daughter and her sixteen year old brother over whose turn it is to clean up the cat throw up?  Can you imagine? 

           
 Could the commentator maintain his or her Velveeta smooth voice when the children’s voices reach tones only dogs can hear?  Would it be a driveway moment when my daughter calls her brother something that wilts the philodendron in the hall?  Would the jazz music between pieces cleanse the ear palate? 

            The guy with no cable and no car droned on.  I listened as I searched for my grocery list for the second time.  I admit I didn’t hurry.  I guess I wanted to hear the end of the interview.  I guess this was a parking lot moment.  I guess my world collided with his world and both resembled some little corner of paradise, with a side order of chaos.  It’s just his sounded so much more interesting with Miles Davis for background music.