I'll Worry When They Talk Back

Over the course of the last year, I've noticed many signs of middle age suddenly creeping up on me. I have more gray hair (everywhere...sigh), a wattle like thing under my chin that I pinch constantly to confirm it's hideous and unwelcome existence, a widening around my waist I can't seem to control, knees that hurt all the time, and a plethora of other physical woes that plague me daily and remind me of my fragile mortality.

But the one symptom of my creeping decrepitude that concerns me the most is the fact that I now talk back to my beloved talk radio.

I'm not a television watcher except for news programs or particularly good trash television when I'm too tired to read at night. But I love a variety of radio programs and tune into them during the day while I work.

I have a running dialogue with Renee Montagne during "Morning Edition". When I talk to Diane Rehms, or respond to one of her guests, I have to do it in her trademark gravely voice with full stops between words and careful pronunciation.

A few weeks ago while listening to "Talk of the Nation", I became irrationally annoyed with a call in listener that was whining about his current state of unemployment. Considering he was about 25, and had that horrible air of arrogant entitlement that most twenty somethings have, plus he kept mentioning that he had just graduated from Georgetown (screw Hoyas), and add to that his stupidly trendy name (Brett, Conner, Tyler, or some such '80's bullshit), I just lost my mind right in four o'clock traffic and called him a total douche bag. I hope I didn't offend Neal Conan too badly. Usually when his call in listeners annoy me, I just change the dial or turn the radio off.

I also hope people in other cars don't look over at me in traffic and notice me gesturing and talking with no one either. It's sort of become out of my control. At least at home no one sees me arguing with Bill O'Reilly and Lou Dobbs over at Fox Radio. I try to keep my comments to myself when I know the Teenager is around as I give him enough fodder to mercilessly mock me on a daily basis now. I don't want to give him any more reasons to have me declared non compos mentis and thrown in a cheap state rehab. Plus, I don't imagine they play talk radio on the short bus.

Who would I talk to then?