Dave Ryan's Morning Dish

As I mentioned before, I did not become acquainted with the characters on Dave Ryan’s show in 5- to 10-minute increments over the course of a decade, and I didn’t listen to him while doing my hair in the morning. But the opportunity to absorb the show in solid three-hour blocks did allow for some modest metaphysical excavation of the sort that may help shed some light on the curious appeal of the show to young women. If there is one salient philosophy of the Dave Ryan in the Morning Show, one thread holding all these gossip segments and relationship talk and tales of infidelity together, it is this: an assured belief that there is a feminine aversion to swagger.

It’s strange when you think about it, because the music KDWB plays is so full of swagger—whether it’s T.I. promising us we can have whatever we like, or Britney defiantly directing the womanizers of the world to talk to the hand, or Lil Wayne exalting himself in the third person as a rock star. These are the most popular songs in the country, and they’re all about swagger. But Dave Ryan is most definitely not.

“A lot of people on the radio want to be cool,” Dave says. “They have swagger in their voice. They talk about how, ‘Yeah, I went to the club and I met this chick.’ Or ‘I went to a Vikings game and a friend of mine had tickets on the 50-yard line.’ ” Dave’s theory is that people don’t want to hear that. “They would rather hear you say, ‘Yeah, I went to the Vikings game and my car wouldn’t start, so I go there an hour late and then I left my wallet at home so I couldn’t eat anything and our tickets were in the nosebleed section.’ ” But what if you do have good seats? “Then you say, ‘HOLY SHIT, I had tickets on the 50-yard line!’ ”

Listening to somebody theorize about his own humility is an odd experience, but when you hang out with the guy, you realize that while he may play his insecurities up for ratings, they are still very real insecurities. When I interview Dave at his favorite local hangout, the Buffalo Wild Wings in Chanhassen, his shoulders slump when it is time to order. He tells me he is on a diet. “I was in training to run Grandma’s Marathon, but I haven’t been able to run lately because I have plantar fasciitis in my foot,” he says. “So I’ve had to watch what I eat.” He orders a salad and watches jealously when my chicken wings come out of the kitchen. “Man, a couple of weeks ago I would’ve tackled those no problem and then ordered more,” he says. “I love the mango habañero ones.”

Dave’s other insecurities run deeper: He’s a member of Toastmasters because he wanted to control his anxiety over public speaking, and his right ring finger is encased with a gigantic gold Mensa ring. “I always felt weird that I didn’t get a four-year degree,” he says. So a couple of years ago he took the Mensa test online and qualified to take the real test at the Burnsville public library. “They were really serious about it,” Dave recalls. “I did well on the analogies, but the math was kind of a crapshoot. Leaving the library, I really wasn’t sure how well I did.” He passed: Dave Ryan is officially a genius. Dave admits that the ring is gaudy, but in a way it provides him with a perverse humility schtick—a constant prop for both self-validation and self-deprecation. “I didn’t want to hang a plaque in my office. What kind of an asshat would do that? I’m the asshat who wears the ring instead. It’s my version of a diploma.”