Tuesday, October 19, 2004

Hi Fruit Loops!

Faithful reader Cara Mia commented about trying to get Pop Vultures on the air in New York. Cara, you are not the only New Yorker wanting a little PV-love at home.

Thank you, Cara!

The first place to email is WFUV:


The appropriate people to contact are Rita Houston, Russ Borris, and Chuck Singleton.

The second place to contact is WNYC. Good people to email are Stacy Abramson and Laura Walker:


I would emphasize that you are a longtime public radio listener, and that you heard the show on the internet and from a friend in Minneapolis who raved about it, and you're desperate for it, and it would give you even more motivation to subscribe to your local station!

Thank you so goddamn much.

Please, any other readers: If you want to do the same but don't know who to contact, just leave a comment letting me know where you are, or "Where You At," as that dreadful horrible hiphop sellout cell phone commercial says.

Love forever,

your Kate

Monday, October 18, 2004


I bring you good tidings of great joy, for unto you this day is born a NEW OLDIES STATION in L.A., and it is good.

Check out 1260 AM--"True Oldies." No commercials, precious little in the way of DJs except some sort of gruff old stoner.

It's like K-Earth, if the DJs picked the music.

Today, besides more familiar hits I heard "I Had Too Much to Dream Last Night" by the Electric Prunes, "Skinny Legs And All" by Joe Tex, "Bongo Rock" by Preston Epps, "Black and White" by Three Dog Night and "Son of a Preacher Man" by Ms. Dusty Springfield.

This was all during random moments I happened to tune in while running errands.

These songs tell a story of a different life than the one told on K-Earth and KOLA 99.9.

It is truly the answer to Lenny of "The Simpsons," who asked: "Why do the oldies stations always play the same songs over and over? We want new oldies!"

I think it is a national broadcast signal much like Radio Disney, except oldies, and rad.



Wednesday, October 13, 2004

Pretty Plastic People of the Universe:

Everyone talks about how amazing Christopher Reeve was as a person, and that's great. But, since no one else is gonna say it, I'm gonna say it.

Dude was hot. Outrageously, dangerously, blindingly hot. So hot I never forgot.

When Superman came out, I experienced feelings which should have been biologically impossible for a prepubescent. And the aching--o!--the aching. And the longing.

Saw it recently; nothing had changed.

I never knew, and still don't--in cartoons or in real life--which was more enticing: The painful smart-boy shy nerd writer in glasses; or the, you know, superhero. Alone, either one wouldn't satisfy; together, they unlock everything.

A girl cannot resist the glam rock appeal of the superhero. Nor should she.

I guess it's the female neurotic version of the madonna/whore complex.

It's the Superman/nerd complex.

Dualism is a wonderful thing.

This, however, is how I want to remember him. Yeah.


Saturday, October 09, 2004

Gather round, Secret Agents:

It's Saturday and stuff. Someone from a small paper in Duluth just interviewed me about Pop Vultures. That was fun. It always feels weird talking about what you're doing. You have to figure out how to talk about it without feeling hinky.

I love Duluth. It's so beautiful and magical and weird.

Anyway, I really want to encourage any Southern Californians who want to hear my show, or just make me happy, to email KCRW NOW. This is the time. Now. They have an open ear and need a little encouragement. It is really easy. All you have to do is say something like, "Dear KCRW: Please play Pop Vultures. Love, Mike." Or you could give details, like,"This show is special. I heard it in (wherever) or on XM or on the Internet and I want to hear it in my howetown. Love, Mildred" You could say other stuff too.

Or just the one sentence.

You can email them at mail@kcrw.org

On their website there are also specific emails for specific staffers, and I encourage you to contact them, too.

Do not be shy. I am always shy, too. If you wanted you could make up a fake name.

Now, I have to go out and get a little Saturday, before the game starts!

love always,


PS: I made a prediction weeks ago the Dodgers would go far, but only as far as the Cardinals would let them. I love them, but they are an inferior team to the Cardinals. And that's just reality. Before the trades, they were inferior but supremely magical. Now, well...

No one will be happier than me if I'm proven wrong.

So go out you motherfuckers and play like you've got nothing to lose, because you don't.

Thursday, October 07, 2004

Lovely lovers:

Short and stuff. Sorry!

I am so happy right now about the whole baseball thing. I don't watch a lot of TV, but I have found recently that I like to have at least one thing on TV through which to engage with the American people. Half the year it's American Idol. Half the year it's baseball. These are acceptable forms of entertainment, as they both involve suspense, a unifying sense of group-experience, and a larger dramatic arc that unfolds over the course of months. These provide me with a comforting sense of ritual in my solitary domestic life. They are my buddies, if you will. In the sense that they engage the imaginations of a large group, and make us feel connected, I would even say these entertainments are the closest TV can get to the unique power of radio.

Go Dodgers!

(Go Angels, too.)

(But not too far.)

(And go Twins.)

I never told you about my whole visionquest. I really did go to the Alamo. Maybe at some point I will have recovered my joy enough to describe to you the whole experience.

love forever,


ps: John Edwards is just plain lovely.

Saturday, October 02, 2004

Saturday Night's All Right For Opiates!

I am back from my visionquest. Having travelled hundreds of miles, accidentally landing on the doorstep of the Alamo, offering up my heart's desire and returning home today with no sleep in my hair, but lots of confetti, I feel I have finally earned that last half a Vicodin in my medicine cabinet.

Now onto something more important:

My mother Faith's birthday!

I am so proud of my beautiful, brilliant, soulful, triumphant mother, who became a rock star at some point in her 60s, and now must fend off her groupies with a carpet beater. (The Cape Ann is a great way to start, but my personal favorite is The Empress of One, because it recalls that feeling you get at the end of high school when suddenly it seems that all the rules are melting, and your parents can't control you, and you are becoming yourself at such speed that everything around you looks magnified, including the stars.)

But I like all her books, like the one where a lady has an affair with the god Pan in the woods along the St. Croix River, and they save the area from horrible creeping suburbanism. No shit! (Hey, Bob Dylan isn't the only native Minnesotan to see the landscape in mythical terms.) This one is called Mrs. Demming and the Mythical Beast. Weird because I think she was writing it before Jitterbug Perfume came out. She's always had this Pan fetish.

My mother has given me innumerable gifts, some ineffable. But the ones I've been enjoying lately with glee are:

1. an appreciation of beer and baseball

2. the joy of gardening

3. cottage feelings

4. open irreverence for the Church and other hypocritical venues for the coagulation of economic and political power.

5. salty roasted peanuts in the shell

I wish she were here for her birthday instead of in Minnesota, and we could drink some beer and listen to the Dodgers kicking Giant ass on KFWB News 980, my favorite station in L.A. lately. (If you can't get sentimental about AM news/traffic/baseball radio, you might want to get your heart checked out.)

I know she'd be rooting for them all and I know she'd give props to Jose Lima for being a den mom supreme.

My mom has a special appreciation for enthusiasts, as she is one herself--and she knows the conscious choice involved in becoming and remaining an enthusiast.

My mom roots for the person who wants to "be somebody," to do something brave and useful. In her eyes, I think, it is a sin to discourage the tall poppy (and, of course, the short one) from reaching toward the sun.

My mom has also worked harder than anyone I know. I actually get tired just thinking about how hard she has worked. My hope is that now, the only work she does is the work of her soul.

Happy birthday, Mom! I hope this is your happiest and most enthusiastic year yet!