I used to like Gar­ri­son Keil­lor when I was a kid. As a native mid­west­erner, I found his Lake Wobe­gon sto­ries com­fort­ing and good for a chuckle. Plus, I liked the Guy Noir skits, and the fake com­mer­cials for ketchup “with nat­ural mel­low­ing agents” were pretty clever. It seemed time, though, when Prairie Home Com­pan­ion had its last show and went off the air. But then Gar­ri­son Keil­lor real­ized some­thing. No one lis­tened to his sto­ries any­more unless they were foisted upon the pub­lic via the radio waves 18 hours every Sat­ur­day (and some­times Sun­days!) on NPR. DEAR LORD, FORGIVE ME. I wish they just played the news on the week­end. ANYTHING ELSE, PLEASE. Instead when I turn on the radio it’s either him try­ing (and fail­ing) to sing along with the show’s accom­plished musi­cal guests, or him dron­ing into the micro­phone and whistling through his nos­trils. It’s dis­con­cert­ing when you real­ize NPR is broad­cast­ing his nos­tril whistling through every body in America.