I stepped into the theatre just eight minutes before show time, having made a wrong turn on my drive there. I ended up sitting on the aisle, not my favorite spot, but at that moment I was happy to find a seat.
I honestly didn’t expect it to be that packed. I thought I’d show up and sit with other twenty some odd fans. After all, who skips popular Thursday night television to pay twenty dollars to watch a public radio program rebroadcast on a movie screen from an earlier live performance? Well apparently me and over 300 other people in Irvine, California.
Initially, I wasn’t going to go. I was in the midst of a crazy week of travel—5 days, 5 flights, 5 cities—and the pillow seemed to be calling my name. But then people started commenting on question I posted on my facebook page:
“should I watch THIS AMERICAN LIFE in the theatre tonight? Your thoughts”
I’m trying to pinpoint exactly when I became a fan of public radio. All I know is that one day, in late 2005 or early 2006, I subscribed to the This American Life podcast on iTunes. At first I’d listen to it if my playlist started to feel stale. Coldplay’s X&Y outranked Ira Glass and his collection of stories based on a theme. In time though, the podcast became my playlist priority. I’d save up a few episodes if I knew I had a long drive down the road. The radio show pointed me to other shows, and I now subscribe and regularly listen to 4-5 public radio shows each week, donating during the pledge drives, and following them on Twitter.
But I was fairly quiet about it.
There are huge articles and ad campaigns about television shows and movies, bands go on tour, and books even have clubs where people hold discussions, but radio?
Radio tends to be the background in our lives. It’s what you play while you have that conversation during the drive. If someone wants to show you a song or group, they tend to pop in a CD or set up a playlist on their iPod.
And then there is public radio. It’s not something that tends to be discussed outside the realm of the faculty room.
There just isn’t a good way to incorporate…
“Wow, I really appreciated Alex Blumberg and Adam Davidson’s explanation of the mortgage crisis.”
or
“Can you believe Sarah Vowell played the recorder?”
or
“I loved that the waitress was at the beginning and end of the 24 hour diner piece.”
…into a conversation.
I had this idea stuck in my head for a bit that public radio was a little bit geeky. As I listened to it more and more, I was listening to mainstream radio less and less. When news broke out about the Rihanna and Chris Brown incident, I actually went on to iTunes to make sure I was thinking about the right songs and musical artists.
I was getting more and more connected to names like Jack Hitt, Dan Savage, Julie Snyder, and Starlee Kine—and more and more aware that several of you reading right now have absolutely no idea whom I’m talking about. I was a little bit embarrassed, and other than occasionally sharing a clip of Jack Hitt’s MLK story from the Kid Logic episode with a handful of close family and friends or the Notes on Camp episode with friends who spent college summers working as camp counselors, I remained fairly muted about my love of the show.
Until a few months ago.
It began when I added the page (now known as “being a fan”) of This American Life on facebook. New friends would occasionally comment in a message. I’d receive a text here or there about a recent episode, and I started to think I wasn’t the only one.
So I put up a status with the simple question, “should I watch THIS AMERICAN LIFE in the theatre tonight? Your thoughts” and I received a flood of responses. Some were comments. Some were wall posts. Some were text messages. Some were voicemails. At that point, I felt like I’d actually let some people down if I didn’t go. So I hopped in my rental car, mistakenly neglected the advice from my GPS, and arrived at the theatre eight minutes before show time.
I walked into a virtually packed theatre in Irvine, California—just one of over 400 movie screens it played on April 23rd. For an hour and a half, we were amazed by Ira Glass’ live mixing of “quotes and music,” we laughed at Mike Birbiglia’s police report and Starlee Kine’s post-it note enhanced tale of popularity, and we felt tears forming as Dan Savage described saying goodbye to his mom. And when it was over, we applauded and cheered.
I’ve always wanted to sort of applaud and cheer at the end of an episode, but it never seemed right because I listening through headphones or through the car stereo while driving to the next speaking engagement. So I never had, until that night.
I know that some of my presentations to teens focus on not letting their authentic self diminish—that while we must remain productive members of society, we shouldn’t let what we think others think is cool dictate what we also find to be cool. I say this, and yet I wasn’t truly living it.
I was so afraid that people would think I was a geek if I brought up a public radio show. I was so afraid, that I almost missed out on a truly cool night of entertainment, celebrating with other people who had a similar passion for a public radio show that points out the beauty, humor, and struggle of our ordinary lives. My dumb fear was making me make dumb decisions.
At the end of the live event, Joss Whedon, creator, writer, and director of the Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Firefly, Angel, and other popular television shows and films performed. Mr. Whedon taught himself to play piano in order to compose an internet musical alongside other family and friends. Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog was smash success. For the DVD release Whedon and company composed a complete musical commentary. He had never performed it live—more importantly, he had never really sung or played piano at all in front of a large live audience. But he did that night for This American Life, and had his performance sent to over 400 screens across America.
He took this little passion for musicals and he shared it with others. A man known for comic books and sci-fi, sat down at a piano and sang, and it was awesome.
I’m glad he wasn’t afraid to share. I hope you’re not afraid either.