WBEZ 91.5 Chicago

Today I chat with a man whose voice you’re probably familiar with if you’re a regular NPR listener, as he’s a frequent panelist on Wait, Wait...Don’t Tell Me!

Also a former Daily Show correspondent, he’s now contributing his corresponding talents to CBS News Sunday Morning. Recently, he starred in the documentary Electoral Dysfunction, which looks at how much there is to know and not-know about the Electoral College. If that weren’t enough, he’s also got a Cooking Channel show called My Grandmother's Ravioli, as he learns to cook from this country’s fine crop of grandparents.

Who have been some of the guests to call in for “Not My Job” on WWDTM that you felt starstruck by?

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After nine years, this week is my last week working at my old day job, which was located in 680 N. Lake Shore Drive, a lovely building with some historical significance. Working in that particular building had its particular ups and downs. Here’s what I will and won’t miss about working at 680:

What I Will Miss:

The very kindly evening Polish cleaning lady who always smiled at me and said “happy baby” when I was pregnant.

The cute and nice produce guy who worked in the Treasure Island who always gave me the straight dope on which fruit was good and which wasn’t worth trying out.

The dry cleaning proprietress who was nice to me but who really wanted to see my husband and who always asked when we’d start having kids until we started bringing the baby around to see her.

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I used to date a guy who absolutely, positively would not shop at The Gap. He simply thought it was evil, to the point that if we were shopping together and I wanted to pop in, he would wait outside the entire time. I found this boycott pretty dumb considering that he did patronize Banana Republic and Old Navy (all part of the same company), but he held firm. The Gap was bad for reasons he could not articulate and he would not shop there.

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I have some really pretty, timeless ornaments on my Christmas tree: like the silver bells for each year that my husband and I have been married, the laser-cut wooden ornament my husband and I bought on our trip to Munich a few years ago, and the tiny silver cup my mother gave me that says "Baby's First Christmas."

But the ornaments that are always dearest to my heart are the little oddballs, like these guys:

This is, naturally, a little crocheted pieróg with eyes and a tiny smile. Could anything be cuter? I love it because I'm Polish, I love pierogi and my family eats them every year at Christmas dinner. Plus, last year I received it in the mail before I knew who sent it to me (my dear friend Paula) so opening it was a delightful mystery.

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After all the Christmas posts this week, I know you expected me to interview a snowperson (why always a man? Or a woman? Snow gender need not be so definitive!) but instead today I’m chatting with someone who will (I hope) not melt away. Cheerful spirits are a key part of the holiday season, so today I’m interviewing the author of the upcoming memoir Drinking With Men, a love letter to the bars, pubs, and taverns. She is also contributor to This American Life and npr.org, and writes the monthly "Drink" column for The New York Times Magazine. You can learn a lot more about her here.

Drinking and writing: do they go together?

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Christmas is the most romantic holiday.

Forget Valentine’s Day, with its overpriced pre-fixe meals and tacky Walgreens stuffed animals and general made-up-ness. Christmas is the most romantic holiday, as it encourages dim, flattering lighting, cozying up by the fire and having a nice cocktail. To me the part that always stood out in “A Christmas Story” wasn’t “You’ll poke your eye out” but Ralphie’s parents enjoying a quiet moment together after all the present-opening was through. So, if you don’t have someone, or your someone is far away, or you know people who fall into one of the first two categories, Christmas can be lonely.

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Tis the season to see disheveled-looking people in office attire stumbling down the sidewalk at 8 p.m. on a weeknight. That’s right. It’s work holiday party time, where, for some reason, grown adults get more wrecked than at any other type of function. Weddings, New Years Eve, bachelor parties: none of these hold a candle when it comes to the holiday party and people obliterating themselves.

I remember my first office holiday party. I was working at a tiny ad agency and didn’t expect much in terms of a celebration. I probably even joked to some friends that maybe I’d get to see people dancing around with lamp shades on their heads and wearing their ties in unusual places.

The evening began quite classily, actually, with cocktails at the Union League Club. But cut to a few hours later when the party was winding down: my boss was handing me full, unopened bottles of wine he had stolen from behind the bar for me to hide in my large purse and one of the younger women on staff was snuggling up to a man who was definitely old enough to be her great-uncle.

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