LOL @ NPR

This past Thursday a group of friends, my sweetie and I braved Chicago's Antarctic weather conditions as we headed over to a taping of NPR's political/current events-based game show, Wait, Wait...Don't Tell Me!. Five hundred audience members sat in the Chase Auditorium, our seats enveloped in layers of shed coats and scarves, as the three guest panelists and two hosts took the stage. This particular show featured humorist and writer Roy Blount, Jr., Washington Post's Roxanne Roberts and former Daily Show correspondent/"television personality" Mo Rocca.

Host Peter Sagal immediately apologized for being somewhat moody, as he too was convinced that he was Anna Nicole Smith's baby's daddy. He then confirmed that the ANS references would be kept to a minimum for the rest of the evening and, aside from one or two exceptions, he was thankfully right. They launched into the questions, covering everything from Google Earth's most popular searches (nude sunbathers), how the Chinese government used green spray paint to make a dilapidated mountain range look prettier and the new culinary trend of picking up roadkill for food. All true stories, by the way. There were callers who answered questions for the chance to have judge and scorekeepr Carl Kasell leave the outgoing message on their voicemail. It would be worth it, too - the man could read a physics textbook out loud and make it sound badass.

The show got even more interesting with the segment called "Not My Job," where a celebrity of varying degrees (I guess some would qualify more as "personalities") calls in, ostensibly to participate in the quizzes but moreso to shill their latest project. Our show featured French chef Roland Mesnier, who has been the White House pastry chef for the past 25 years, from Carter to Dubya, and documents it all in his new book, All the President's Pastries. It was interesting to hear how stern Nancy Reagan was about entertaining, or how our current president likes "simple" desserts such as "American cake." But as Mesnier said, "It made no difference if [they] are Democrat or Republican, they all enjoyed my desserts."

Mesnier was quite the good sport. You know how, when you watch game shows in a language you don't understand, no matter what they're doing, they just seem so weird? Such as when Bill Murray's movie star character in Lost in Translation appeared on that Japense game show that made absolutely no sense to him since he didn't understand Japanese. If you remove even one factor - such as language or context - from what is otherwise a perfectly normal or funny situation, it appears as strange and nonsensical.

It would be funny if Mesnier was actually thinking, I climbed my way to the White House and they're asking me about fried worms? But he played along very well. He answered Sagal's multiple-choice question about 3 possible desserts eaten around the world - including the real answer of larvettes, which are fried mealworm larvae - by pausing for a perfect beat before asking incredulously, "Who eats that stuff?" The thickly-accented Frenchman laughed when Rocca asked him to say "Be our guest, be our guest..." and even bid adieu by claiming, "Time to make the doughnuts."

As the show wrapped up, the diverse crowd started weighing themselves down with layer upon layer of winter accessories. I couldn't help but notice a number of attractive twentysomethings in the audience. Who knew NPR listeners were so sexy? Maybe it was that whole metrosexual thing that told straight men it was okay to find clothes that fit, but there were quite a few guys who, a few years ago, could have been sweaty boys playing Dungeon & Dragons in their basement but were now stylishly scruffy.

We ventured out back into the bracing winds, standing under heat lamps while waiting for the Brown Line. We repeated the funny lines to each other (Rocca to Mesnier: "It's not 'creme brulée' anymore, it's Freedom Custard"), compared notes on the sexy group sitting behind us and eventually made our way onto the El only to be joined in the same car by some punk-ish kids with an empty grocery cart. Technically, they spoke the same language I do, but with the speeding train drowning out their conversation, three punk-ish kids with an empty grocery cart just seemed strange and nonsensical.

Also check out: Shut! Up!
And: The Death of the Metrosexual.