Ira Doesn't Like Me

Speaking of influences, I'm a big fan of This American Life. The intimacy it engenders, in spite of its archness, is difficult to resist, and I have long felt an attachment to many of the regulars.

Sarah Vowell is a combination of several women I dated at school. David Rakoff lives my other life for me: an openly-gay, closeted-Canadian living in Manhattan. I once was hot for Sandra Tsing Loh until she became this spastic Erma Bombeck-wannabe for Marketplace. And then there's David Sedaris. My David Sedaris story is for some other time.

And those are just the contributors (many of whom have been busy with better paying gigs lately as a result) not the reporters or editors, like Alix Spiegel or Julie Snyder, Both of whom I adore, and each of whom has a voice for print.

In the past few years - well, since 9/11, really - the show has gone from quirky to important, I think. Stories about the extraordinary in the ordinary (there's that line again) are vital to being a compassionate person. Opening your mind to people who aren't like yourself, discovering your own prejudices. But they've been doing actual journalism these days, in New Orleans and Mississippi, Iraq and Afghanistan and everywhere.

And through it all there's been Ira. Ira doesn't know me, and doesn't like me. That's okay, I didn't like him at first, either. His smug vows (in early promos) that listeners would sit in their cars and wait until a story was over when hearing his show - that really pissed me off. Only it was true.

Yeah, we've tried to get on the show. Dave D. sent the Spencer Tunick piece around trying to get someone to replay a part of it. TAL wasn't interested - Tunick was old news. And they're right. The Tunick piece was eventually repackaged, or rather, butchered, into a much shorter version played on the horrid Weekend America hosted by the intolerable Barbara Bogaev, Bill Radke, and guest-hosted on that particular afternoon by the aforementioned Ms. Loh, whose commentary following our package resulted in my losing my last shred of respect for her.

I actually sent the T-shirt essay to TAL a few years back - with a cassette of my reading it. Didn't even receive a reply. I am pathetic.

And to top it off, this week I opened my copy of Time Out Chicago (someday ask me why I have a subscription to Time Out Chicago) when I find an article on the 10th Anniversary of This American Life. In it I learn, among other interesting facts, that Mr. Glass "personally despises" radio drama.

Despises.

He put that in specifically because he knew I have a radio drama coming out next week, that he knew I'd read this article, and because he doesn't like me.

But I will keep listening. I can't help myself. He's such a cute little guy.