‘Love your stuff!’

I never know how to answer that question. What I want to say is, “Who wants to know?” But that seems unnecessarily hostile. So I sort of shrug and nod and mumble something like, “I guess so.”

“Big fan!” he shouted. “Love your stuff!”

I thanked him and smiled.

I lead a compartmentalized life. I’m the co-founder of a popular center-right podcast network and a writer for various conservative-leaning publications. But I’m also a weekly on-air commentator for a Los Angeles, California-based public radio station, where I talk about my work in the entertainment industry and almost never mention politics, and these commentaries are part of many public radio podcast feeds. As a result, I have an audience that goes from Very Trump to Trump Curious to Never Trump — and when you throw the public radio crowd in, even to Very Warren to Bernie Curious to Never Biden.

So when someone tells me, “I love your stuff,” I’m never exactly sure which “stuff” it is. The way I navigate this murky territory is to say “thank you” and then smile like a dimwit until the other party gives the game away.

On a corner of the West Village, you’d think we’d be talking about the public radio stuff. But we weren’t.

“I just love it when you’re on …” and here, the voice of my new friend dropped to barely a whisper. He looked around quickly. “Fox News,” he said — or, rather, didn’t so much say the words as he did mouth them. We quickly fell into an interesting but coded conversation about politics, the president, Fox News, and the state of the world in general. Each time one of us spoke an incendiary noun (Fox, President Trump, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, you know what I mean), some of the volume would drop out of our voices, and we’d hem, haw, or um our way through.

“You know, I’m not a big fan of, you know, the guy, but killing the Iranian … “

“Right! I mean, look: The prime-time lineup is pretty much all, you know, one thing, but it’s a refreshing change from, you know, the paper and the other, um, places people get their news.”

We were standing half a block from the Stonewall Inn, the legendary gay bar where, in 1969, patrons erupted into riots that kicked off the gay rights movement. And yet here we were, two grown men in 2020 uncomfortable with saying the words “that stupid ‘Green New Deal’” in anything louder than a mumble.

It’s not the same everywhere. A year or so ago, standing at the betting window at the Keeneland racetrack in Lexington, Kentucky, the cashier saw me and erupted into a very hearty, “Love you on that Greg Gutfeld show!” In Knoxville, Tennessee, two weeks ago, a couple of young guys stopped me to ask if I was the same guy from the podcasts they listen to. I didn’t need to ask which podcasts. One of them was wearing a red baseball cap of the type that is currently popular in some areas.

Today, the Mason-Dixon Line doesn’t just divide the North from the South or those who say “paper sack” from those who say “paper bag.” It also serves as a “line of shame.” Above it, you must mumble your words. Below it, you can let it all hang out. North of the line, it’s a quick look around and a furtive, “Hey, I saw you on that show, and I listen to your, you know, the podcast thing.” South of the line, it’s a hearty hand squeeze and a “LOVE YOU ON GUTFELD!”

I’m not complaining. I’m happy that the streams don’t mix. I like my weekly four minutes on public radio talking about Hollywood and the entertainment business. And I like having a place and an audience to talk about the country and its politics. I’m pretty sure my conservative audience would enjoy hearing my thoughts on show business, but I’m absolutely certain my public radio audience would be horrified to hear my thoughts on, say, school vouchers.

So whenever I’m recognized, I wait and smile like a dimwit until I know which way the conversation is going to go. It’s a little cowardly, sure, but it’s the kind of cowardice that’s smart business.

Rob Long is a television writer and producer and the co-founder of Ricochet.com.