Giggles Across the Galaxy

For as long as I can remember, I have been called funny. My friends know me as a mix of snarky and silly. I can teasingly roast them (hence, the snarky) while wearing a festive elf hat (hence, the silly). Even back when I was an absolute tyrant in middle school, my parent-teacher conferences noted that one of my (only) strengths was "a good sense of humor." And oftentimes, I don't even intend to be funny. I blurt out something that is socially inappropriate enough to break the tension without creating any. At the core of my personality is a giggle monster tickling my soul. 

I feel honored to contribute to such important work, but sometimes I want to show the sillier side of me at work. So, I leapt at the chance to produce a story about a book whose tone better matches my personality: A City on Mars: Can We Settle Space, Should We Settle Space, and Have We Really Thought This Through? by the husband-and-wife team Kelly and Zach Weinersmith (Pronounced like the hot dog). (And yes, I know I just presented myself as a jokester, but I’m not kidding. That's how you pronounce their name.) 

Kelly is a biologist and Zach is a cartoonist, and together they created a popular science book about what it would take for humans to settle outer space – and the dubious prospect of actually doing so. And, though the book contains serious science, it is one of the funniest books I've ever read. Zach's cartoons add visual gags, and the tone of the text is so casual that you feel as if you're chatting with the authors over a six pack. 

In fact, the authors say it's humor that enables them to explore complicated topics like space law, Martian dust storms, and the effects of low gravity on the human body. During our interview Zach explained his view of popular science: 

"Essentially, you're trying to take something big and make it palatable for [a] general audience. And you can either water it down enough that people will roll with it, or you can at least try to give people the real thing, but put enough sugar on it that it'll go down. I think that actually can be non-trivial. Like if you're talking about something complicated, and you tell a joke, the audience relaxes and can say, 'Okay, maybe it's not that hard to understand."' 

“So, like, there's a comic, and it's one of the few comics that really doesn't add anything intellectual, but it's just... we discovered this anecdote that actually happened where the Nazis tried to claim a chunk of Antarctica, and literally, at one point this is documented, they came out and heiled a penguin. I think it was an emperor penguin. And I remember reading that and being like, 'This is going to get us through how does Antarctic treaty law work.'"

Humor is often framed as merely a coping mechanism — a way to make difficult parts of life (and space science for that matter) bearable. But I think that minimizes the real purpose of laughter. Let me explain.

Here's some behind-the-scenes insight into our production process: most often, a producer will preinterview a guest before they come onto the show. Preinterviews are casual conversations that help us figure out what the final interview will look like, and they are one of my favorite parts of this job. They let me get to know the guest and have free-flowing conversations, even allowing me to ask questions I know won't make it onto the show. 

Preinterviewing the Weinersmiths was delightful. I haven't laughed so much during a preinterview before or since. I was smiling so hard that my cheeks started to hurt, and it was difficult to eat lunch afterward. And, as unprofessional as this may sound, it made me want to be their friend. 

The true power of laughter is that of connection. 

I believe I am funny in part because I share DNA with my late grandmother, who explained my late grandfather's lack of chest hair by saying she pulled it all out. But I also think that nurture played as big of a role as nature: I am visibly, physically disabled. Disability makes many people uncomfortable. Whenever I meet a new person, I feel awkwardness creep up my wheels all the way into my throat. But if I can make them laugh, that awkwardness vanishes. It doesn’t matter whether I do it with a silly hat, a wheelchair pun, or a loving jab at a mutual friend — anything that elicits laughter will work. It allows me and the stranger to be mutually human. 

And I think this phenomenon translates well beyond DNA or disability. Humor connects people, including people who are very different from each other. And connection is key to making the world work. 

2025 has been a challenging year for the environmental movement to say the least. But I'm hoping starting off 2026 with A City on Mars will inspire you to approach whatever environmental work you do with a new tool in your toolbox: humor. To do this work, we must collaborate, often with people very different from us – so different that it sometimes feels as if they are from another planet. But I believe a joke can change a relationship, and relationships change the world, even if settling another one might be out of our grasp at the moment. 

Wishing you happy holidays and a hysterical new year!

El Wilson

Assistant Producer