THE QUESTION OF WHERE

I’m not easily shaken. I like to think of myself as a guy who can take just about anything in stride. But when I was asked to appear on the Colbert Report in July 2007, I felt
my stomach drop. Just a few months prior, I’d told my wife, Rana, how nerve-racking it would be to do an interview with Stephen Colbert. It’s the one show that puts butterflies in my
stomach. His technique of disarming mindless punditry through smart and edgy commentary is brilliant, but tough to fend off. He has an uncanny ability to stay in character—that now-famous bloviating right-wing talking head who grills his guests at a rapid-fire tempo, leaving them dumbstruck. I’m a regular watcher of the show and big fan, so I’ve seen how embarrassing it can be for guests who can’t keep pace. But after some persuading
from Rana and my team, I decided to give it a shot. I took along some backup. Rana, my colleague David Miller, and his wife, Emily, all accompanied me on the high-speed Acela train from Washington, D.C., where we then lived, to New York and eventually to the studio. Waiting in the green room, I was pumped up by energizing conversation with my friends and some Colbert Report staff. We were quite the contrast to Stephen’s other guest, Senator Ben Nelson, who was prepping with his Hill staffers across the hall. At one point, the producer had to close the door to our green room to contain all the noise we were making.

As the minutes ticked by, my heart began racing. I started to sweat, and I couldn’t help pacing the dressing room and the hall outside. I felt so nervous that when an assistant producer came
over to brief me on the segment, I was literally speechless. That may have made them doubt their choice of guests. Stephen came in quickly to say hello. He reminded me that while he was
going to stay in character, I should focus on playing it straight and getting my ideas across.
After makeup, they sent me out into the studio. The whole place felt electric. Then the music cranked up, blaring the Sex Pistols’ “God Save the Queen.” Great choice. It brought back the heart-thumping feeling I’d had long ago, playing lead guitar with my band.

It’s now or never, I said to myself. I planted my feet, took several deep breaths, and with the music pumping, found my zone. I reminded myself to have fun, and to make sure Stephen and
the audience knew I was in on the joke. It wasn’t hard to relax during Stephen’s introduction to the segment. I was busting a gut just listening to him start:

“For all the good news, there was some bad news last week. The National Association of Realtors forecasted that the slump in home sales and prices would be deeper and last longer than previously expected, all the way into 2008. . .

“But a disturbing new study has found a solution to the housing slump: Live next to gay people. The study’s author measured changes in income and property values using something called the Bohemian-Gay Index. “Now while that may sound like another name for the San
Francisco phone book, folks, it is BAAAD NEWS! This study found that artistic, bohemian, and gay populations increase housing values in the neighborhoods and communities they inhabit.
According to that, I guess people these days want a house with a view of some goateed beatnik playing his bongos while he smokes a clove cigarette and chisels a sculpture of k. d. lang. “The theory is that tolerant communities, where homosexuals are likely to reside, nurture an open-minded culture of creativity, which can lead to innovations like Google, or YouTube, or
ShirtlessHunksBaggingGroceries.com. “Well, personally, I don’t believe that the value of my twelvebedroom Tudor will go up just because a couple of opticians move in next door. Oh yeah, a lot of opticians are gay. . . .” He introduced me to the audience, and then we were off.

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