I Love This American Life (or, "Ira Glass, Why Don't You Love Me?")

So, I recently learned that there is a blog called Letters to Ira Glass and This American Life acknowledged it on their Facebook page.  And I was all, "Whhaaaat?" because I sent Ira a short little note about how much I love TAL and what did I get in return?  Nothing.  That's right!  Nothing!  I mean, it makes no sense.  So I'm thinking, is blogging the only way to get TAL's attention?  Fine, Ira.  If you need me to publicly declare my adoration of TAL, I will.

But first, a brief note to my readers.  The following is not a story about Matthew or Cameron, or about my parenting foibles. If that's what you're looking for, check back later.  I've got plenty of foibles to share. 

Next, allow me to explain that I have taken what writers refer to as "liberties" in the following piece.  I've used such literary devices as sarcasm and exaggeration.  So, please.  There is no need to leave me a comment saying, "I am appalled that you would compare your love of TAL to being a Creative Memories consultant.  I am a Creative Memories consultant and you clearly have no appreciation of the importance of preserving memories or of color-coordinated sticker and paper packs!"  Unless you happen to be Ira Glass and you are also a Creative Memories consultant.  In which case, Ira, I'd like to host a scrapbooking party. 'Cause I was totally just joking.  I love acid-free stickers.

So, without further ado, my tribute to TAL.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


This must be what it is like to be a born-again Christian. Or a Creative Memories consultant. You’ve found something so amazing – you know, eternal salvation, or acid-free stickers – and it’s so life-changing that you want everyone else to know about it. And it’s frustrating. It’s so frustrating when you can’t get people to listen. When you explain and people are still just like, “I don’t believe in organized religion,” or “I keep my photos in a shoe box.”

For me, it’s This American Life. I’m constantly trying to recruit friends and family, even strangers, to listen, largely unsuccessfully. “It’s on Chicago Public Radio,” I say. “Or you can download the podcast on iTunes!” It’s so easy to work it into a conversation. You know, somebody is talking about how crappy the economy is and I casually say, “I know. Speaking of, you should totally listen to TAL Episode 355: ‘The Giant Pool of Money.’” Or I’m at the park, chatting with another mom? And the kids are playing on the swings. And maybe one of them points out a squirrel in a nearby tree? And I say, “Yes sweetie, it’s a squirrel.” And then naturally I ask the other mom if she’s by chance heard TAL Episode 115, Act Two: ‘Squirrel Cop?’ And that, of course, makes me think of TAL Episode 319: ‘The Call Was Coming From the Basement.’ Specifically Act One in which a woman is on a walk near her house and is attacked by a rabid raccoon? “Have you heard that one?” I say. And I just can’t figure out why, why this mom is in such a rush to get her kids to the car before I can even give her the web site so she can listen to “Squirrel Cop” online.

I’ve given a lot of thought to where I’m going wrong. My husband suggests, gently, that I might come on too strong. Which is just so wrong because I am totally right. How can you come on too strong when you are speaking the truth? I mean, maybe he’d have a point if I was trying to convince people to host a Pampered Chef Party or something. But I’m not – this is serious. I am trying to get these people to tune in to the greatest radio show EVER. See the light, people!

OK, I’ll agree that perhaps my approach could use some fine tuning. Some finesse. So, confessing to my mother-in-law that I am maybe a teensy-weensy bit in love with Ira Glass wasn’t the right tactic to endear her to TAL. Lesson learned!

And I suppose it is possible that my friends talk behind my back about my . . . I hesitate to use the word obsession . . . enthusiasm for the Starlee Kine ‘Break-up’ episode and my subsequent fantasy in which Starlee and I become an adorable Laverne and Shirley-esque duo. Which is crazy, I know, because both Starlee and I are more Shirley than Laverne. Can you be an adorable duo if you’re both Shirley? But talk about crazy -- I mean, of course Starlee and I would make a super adorable duo! We don’t need a Laverne! And if my friends don’t get that? Well, their loss. I mean, honestly, I don’t think Starlee would be all that interesting in their endless gabbing about Desperate Housewives either.

And timing . . . I’m starting to appreciate the importance of timing. Because my uncle? He seemed a little irritated when I interrupted his Christmas Eve blessing to mention that when he was all “give us the strength, dear Jesus, to resist Satan’s temptations” that it totally made me think of the TAL classic, ‘SantaLand Diaries,’ where David Sedaris points out that Santa is an anagram of Satan. But, to be truthful, I don’t think my uncle is really sophisticated enough to appreciate David Sedaris. He’s more of a Rush Limbaugh kind of guy and went all “liberal media conspiracy” on me when he realized that I was quoting a gay man from public radio.

That’s okay. I’m not alone, and that gives me comfort. There are other true believers out there. I know this. I mean, Ira Glass himself was the one who said, “By popular demand, This American Life returns to the big screen for an ENCORE presentation on Thursday, May 7th.” That’s right. Popular. And I am part of the popular crowd.

So, when I score a ticket to see This American Life ENCORE I revel in the knowledge that I will be surrounded by people just like me. People who get Ira. Well, not like I do. It’s clear that Ira and I have something special. But people who know that Dan Savage isn’t just that s*x columnist guy. People who wonder, as the end of each episode nears, what Our Boss Mister Torey Malatia is going to say this time. My people.

At the theatre, I hand my ticket to a freckled teenager. “What movie are you seeing?” he asks, despite the fact that it is printed on the ticket that he is fumbling to tear.

“This American Life.”

“Whaattt? I’ve never even heard of that. Who’s in it?” he says.

Since I’m pretty sure Ira, Starlee and Dan’s names aren’t going to ring any bells for this poor kid, I think back to my failed recruitment efforts and decide that education is my best bet. Patiently, I begin. “Well, it’s on public radio and they did a live show. And it’s being shown in movie theatres . . .”

But before I can even begin to evangelize him, he gives a bored, “Yeah, I have noooo idea what you’re talking about,” and hands me my ticket stub. “Theatre 16, all the way at the end on your right.”
What can I do? I walk toward Theatre 16. And I sit down with eleven other TAL fans. And I blush at how cute Ira is in those glasses. And I am filled with anger and anxiety as Mike Birbiglia describes the drunk driver who hit him and the incompetent cop who filed the police report. And Starlee, oh Starlee . . . how I laughed when she described the group therapy where she used a Wiffle bat to beat a pillow representing her mother! And I’m not so alone any more. I’m invigorated, refreshed, renewed. And when I leave the theatre, I stop the bewildered ticket taker because I’m just sure that I’m going to get it right this time. “So, listen, there’s this TAL episode . . .”