And what I love best about the show, the everyday stories from people who could be and might be my neighbors, also lost something: my imaginative participation. Ira and his producer talked about the challenges of adapting the stories and format of the show to work well on television. And while they did a wonderful job with that transition, my cerebral investment in the stories was somehow altered by the video images that accompanied them. Just as when I slob around on the couch watching Desperate Housewives, I caught myself with my brain numbed, my eyes glazed over, and my jaw slacking open. I was sucked in and lifeless. I missed the vivid, mental tangents my mind creates to complement the words from the faceless voice coming from my dashboard. I missed the energy, the openness, the connection between my mind and the simple, unclothed words of oral storytelling.
With that said, it’s not that I dislike television, but that I love the one-of-a-kind art that is This American Life. Perhaps my reaction to seeing radio clothed is a symptom of some kind of deep narrowmindedness, or an inability to maturely handle innovation. Or perhaps I am just simpleminded and get too distracted by striped ties and super-styled emo hair. Either way, Ira is still welcome to sit shotgun anywhere I go.
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