End Times Vacation.

Home stretch, Folks!

This is my last week up here in Vancouver. 

My last week in this golf-related dream I’ve been involved in. It’s weird but I don’t think I’ll know it really happened until I see the show. I think that’s the nature of creating a reality that is, by its nature, not real. Like a dream. 

I’ve learned some things about myself here. Some things I have known for a long time, others are new. 

I’m almost 99 percent sure now that I will not read the books I bring along with me when I go out of town, ever. I’ve been doing it for years. I literally brought a whole library of relatively deep books that I have had for years to Vancouver with me. I thought to myself, or should I say, lied to myself, that this trip would be a perfect time to get to them. I guess not unlike having a lot of books at home, it’s nice to take some on a trip to know that they are there, with all their wisdom and information, if I need them. I am comforted by having them around. Like friends you don’t really feel pressure to engage with but it’s nice that they are hanging out. 

I also learned that, not unlike the books, whatever big plans I have about what I’m going to do in the city I am visiting might not happen. I don’t know where all the time went. I was going to go on many hikes and bike rides but I ended up going on one. I mean, I got out, saw the city, took some drives, but I had more ambitious plans. So, now I’m left to just beat myself up for not doing enough.

I did take care of myself though. I did the work I came to do. I ate right. Exercised. I was also going home a lot to do my other work. 

It does seem that I don’t really have an out-in-the-world adventurous spirit though. I can definitely travel in my mind and part of that traveling is talking myself out of going out in the world. I do, but relative to things I have to do usually. I just get anxiety and I just need to find a routine wherever I go and lock into it to the detriment of broadening my experience. 

Now that I’m getting older, part of me thinks I need to go explore the world before it burns up. An end times vacation to see all the exotic places and how they are buckling under climate change. 

I don’t know. It’s just when I talked to today's guest, Lupita Nyong’o, who has lived in Kenya, Mexico, and the US, and speaks four languages, I had the deep realization that my world is small and the primary reason for that is my own fear. 

I just feel a profound kind of loneliness when I travel places. It’s like I’m untethered and have no home or personality and I’m almost invisible. All things that could be exciting if I just embraced them as opposed to freak out. Same reason I was never great with psychedelic drugs. Just lost my sense of self and panicked. I mean, you don’t want the high point of an adventure just being the fact that you didn’t lose your shit. I guess there are people that seek that kind of adventure but I experience enough of that on a day-to-day level just being me. I don’t need to go far for it. Or leave my house actually.

Looking forward to being home for a bit. 

On Thursday I talk to Ali Macofsky. She’s a very funny comic and has opened for me in many places. I had to be careful not to talk too much or remember what we talked about during the hours we spent in the car just so this episode could be great. 

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

My Sanity Was at Stake.

Crisis management, People.

My brain is busy pretty much all the time. I’ve talked about this a lot. Left to its own devices, aside from the primal ones that keep me alive, my brain generates worry and panic. Actually, maybe it's a bit of those survival parts bleeding over. 

I like to think that I just like to think. I’m okay alone, driving, walking, with no music, because I like to think. Truth is, I don’t execute much control over most of my thoughts. Which is a mistake. I could be much more creative if I did.

I think about things going wrong, worst case scenarios, being attacked, revenge fantasies, political assassinations, fire, animal death, human death, cancer and other diseases, fat, my hair, my face, my clothes, my brittle nails, food and getting it, sex, remembering things just to see if I can, where things are, where they aren’t and what happens if they’re not there, rising water, rising temperatures, why is that guy so popular, etc.

Some of those are fine, healthy even. Many of them just generate panic and self loathing and what am I going to do if THAT happens? Some of it turns out to be prepping. Accepting the worst. Though usually the worst isn’t even on the list. There are surprises. Most of the list is made of things that aren’t happening and won't. 

The prep helps. Because when it’s time to panic for real, I’m ready. Give me a crisis. Minor ones are preferred. I’m ready. Instinctively. 

I had a revelation on Saturday. I was booked on an Air Canada flight back home at 8:45am. The last time I flew with them they cancelled all their flights, day of, because of tech issues. What? All flights? I found out after there is a labor shortage and perhaps a strike. I am wary of AC now. I knew that heading into Saturday morning. I suggested to my manager, 'maybe we don’t fly with them anymore.' She said other airlines cancel too. I said okay. 

I woke up at 6 for a 6:45 pick up. There was a text and an email from Air Canada saying my flight was cancelled. I was rebooked for 6:30pm. Unacceptable. My time at home is precious and my sanity was at stake. A full day in my head was out of the question. I scrambled. No panic. Got on the Delta app. Found an 8am flight through WestJet. Tried to book it. There were no assigned seats but there was an upgrade available. Took it. Was transferred to the WestJet site. Jumped through some international flight hoops. Landed the last seat. Then I called the driver, who happens to like showing up early and he came ten minutes later. Made the flight. Miracle. 

In the middle of that minor crisis, just taking the steps, I felt like that is what I should be doing with my life. Whatever that means. 

Then I solved a minor mystery about a home invasion through texting on the plane. 

Amazing, a productive morning of crises. 

Maybe I should hire myself out to panic about other people’s problems and be available to troubleshoot if the shit goes down. Is there a name for that job? I think it might be Therapist. 

Later that night I dropped my phone at the movies and didn’t realize it until a stranger came running after me with it like five minutes after I left. Another miracle. If he hadn’t it would’ve ruined my whole weekend. 

Averting a crisis with my own will and the good will of a stranger made it an amazing day. Like one of the best days. 

I should be able to have them without all the drama. 

Today I talk to comic Drew Lynch who appeared on my show Maron. On Thursday I talk to Chris Robinson of the Black Crowes. Great talks!

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Keep It Furious.

The days keep rolling in and past, People.

That’s good and bad. I think the perception of time passing changes as you get older which makes sense. I’ve never thought time was flying by, but it seems to be getting away from me, at the very least.

I will stop reflecting on reflecting. As soon as I can wrap my brain around it. I feel I need to do that sooner than later.

I mean, both my parents are still hanging on. That’s about all they are doing. They’re not living much of a life. They’re in their eighties and I guess that's the best you can hope for. Hanging on. Eating.

Obviously my dad is losing his mind but he’s still hanging on. The primary driver when he’s not being passive or vacant is anger. He can tap into that rage over nothing. It focuses him. I would say in that way he’s very current and in tune with the culture we live in. It’s very honest.

So, I have that to look forward to.

Keep it fresh. Keep it furious.

I’ve been home for a bit and I actually did some socializing outside of just going to The Comedy Store. I went to a couple of parties. I really need to get out more. I like it. 

I don’t really feel like a loner but I do sometimes just not do things. I think, ‘what’s the point?’ My dad is kind of like that and he is fading away and friendless. 

I went to Brendon Smalls house for a little party. I hadn’t seen him in years. I used to go to his get-togethers yearly. I saw a few old friends, he showed me his weird guitars, I ate tacos, got some laughs, talked gear with Peter from Gibson. It was great. It is what life is. 

Then I went to Dana Gould’s 60th birthday party. Big laughs. Saw some of the geniuses I’ve known for decades and I haven’t seen some of them in almost one of those decades. It's a real gift to be in this racket and hang out for even an hour with truly brilliant, funny people. I know a lot of you have funny friends but I’m not sure I can quite explain what it's like to be around Maria Bamford, Laura Kightlinger, Patton Oswalt, Blaine Capatch, Matt Weinhold, Dana Gould and others all in one room or on one patio. The best. 

I LIKE TO LAUGH. 

The combination of shared history and the fact that we’re all still alive and still funny and relaxed enough with each other that we can fucking enjoy it is what life is. Mine, anyway. 

When they brought the cake out and everyone gathered around waiting for Dana to do a little speech or something, everyone quieted down and Dana said, ‘There is never a good time to say this but… I’m dying.’

Perfect. 

Today on the show I talk to my old friend Greg Fitzsimmons about his life and his new special. On Thursday I catch up with another old friend Brendon Walsh about the same stuff, not  special. Great talks. 

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Wear the Helmet.

Hello, Gang!

I’m finally home for a bit. It’s a relief, but its no vacation. When I get home it always feels like there’s a never ending list of shit to do because there is. 

There’s house stuff, cat stuff, comedy stuff, podcast stuff, relationship stuff. Stuff.

I’m starting to appreciate the actor’s life a bit more. It’s like the comic’s life only you’re away for longer. As lonely and weird as that can be, it’s not your house or real life, really. It’s like a dream. When I get home, I’m awake. 

It’s nice to be back. I really don’t assume that my cats are going to remember me. It takes them a couple of days to adjust to me being around and in their face on the regular but they all come around eventually. I really don’t understand how people do it with kids. It seems like it would be kind of heartbreaking to be away from your kids when they are at a certain age. The thought that they may not remember you or that it could permanently alter your relationship with them must be so difficult. I am so happy not to have them. 

I mean, with cats, even if they don’t remember you, once you start feeding them regularly they’re fine. That’s probably what it comes down to. ‘Oh, yeah. This is the guy that used to feed us and now he’s feeding us again.’ It’s probably similar with kids. Deeper, but similar. 

There’s a lot less to remember for a cat. They aren’t growing into a full, complex self. They’re pretty much all them after the first year or so. 

When I do get home I aggressively jump back into my habits. I did do something new this time. I have this electric bike that I haven’t really ridden. I decided to take it out for a spin down to get a sandwich. I got all set to ride and I had a bit of a struggle with myself about whether or not I should wear a helmet. I have one. I just didn’t really think it was cool to wear one. They are pretty silly looking. I’m 60 and I’m worried about looking cool on my bike. Crazy.

I was already wearing shorts and sandals. I was thinking, ‘fuck it. I’m not really going that far. It’s a bike.’ These electric bikes get going though. I think the whole pedal assist idea is silly. It’s basically a moped. 

I decided to wear the helmet. I decided to not look cool for a couple of reasons. The first being, no one is really looking at me on a bike in my jean shorts and sandals thinking, ‘That guy is cool.’ I’m 60! The other reason is I didn’t want to crack my head open like a dumbshit. That was the real deciding factor. To get a traumatic brain injury by falling off a bike at my age was a big enough motivator. 

The pride I felt for making that very basic, very practical adult decision was embarrassing. I was really patting myself on the back. I felt like I was making a real sacrifice in the name of safety. It was ridiculous. I guess that is the nature of aging though. 

In a lot of ways I think wisdom is learning how not to be careless and to have enough forethought to assess possible consequences. 

I did still feel like I needed some recognition for making the choice. I’ll give it to myself now. Hey, Marc. Great job wearing the helmet. That was the responsible and safe thing to do. You’re all grown up now. 

Thanks, Marc. 

Today I talk to the very intimidating Michael Rooker about his life and playing very intimidating and scary roles. On Thursday I talk to Paul W. Downs. He’s a writer, creator and performer on the show Hacks.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Childless Cat Lady Man.

I miss the cats, Folks.

I guess it's time to come out. 

I identify as a Childless Cat Lady Man. It’s a relief to get that out in the open. 

I’ve spoken publicly many times about being childless and happy about it. Not happy in general, but happy. I’ve done a lot of material on it. Specifically about my life as a cat owner. I’ve also explored why it’s different but similar in terms of one’s ability to love a human being. 

I have nothing against children. I have nothing against people who have them. I don’t judge their decision to have them though I have joked about it. This new framing of childless people being anti-American somehow is pretty fucked up and creepy. Especially coming from a political party that used to scream about big government and its power over our lives and freedom. 

They’ve already made abortion illegal in many states. It’s also troubling, to say the least, that they seem to want to legislate against divorce. What could be more overreaching in terms of government than stifling physical autonomy and the ability to make decisions about your relationships in life. 

I understand the christian nationalist agenda to legislate based on biblical morality which is in of itself anti democratic. Anti-American. 

I am not too far from the compulsion to think conspiratorially. To speculate wildly. It is from this place that I posit the following ideas. 

When children aren’t wanted or, for whatever reason, are forced to be brought up in a loveless or hostile environment they are wired by trauma. Whether the abuse is physical or emotional it stifles or destroys a kid’s ability to develop a grounded sense of self. They are set out into the word angry or shattered. Poorly parented. Over time, without guided introspection, that generational anger and despair can propel them into seeking strength from exploitative people that manipulate them into whatever their agenda is. Feed on their damage to serve their own purposes. When it’s political, this is the fuel of fascism. Now, I’m no professional and I’m just speculating, but damaged people can also lose control of their lives and become strung out on whatever makes them feel better at the risk of everything that dignifies life. Possible crime as well. Then they end up on the wrong side of the law and maybe prison. 

Fascism and prisons are big business right now. So, whether it's in the guise of moral legislation or fear of becoming an ethnic minority, the drive to stifle personal freedom and force people to have children is scary shit. 

Also, on a similar note, trauma and damage causing people to never feel whole is also a primary driver of capitalism on the consumer level. That’s another whole ball of wax and products. 

Many people don’t have kids for many reasons. So what? Leave them alone. There’s enough kids in the world. 

The act of self-sacrifice to put a stop to generational trauma because one doesn’t feel like they can parent properly should be commended, not shot down. 

For me, I just never really wanted or thought about having children. That, in and of itself, is enough. Though the underlying reality is not wanting to continue family trauma. 

So, fuck off. I’m okay being a Childless Cat Lady Man. 

Today I have a delicate but good talk with Moon Zappa about her new memoir. On Thursday I talk to the very funny comic Blair Socci. Love her. Good talks. 

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Dead Rat Weight.

Home for a bit, Folks

It was helpful. I got a lot done. 

There were a lot of open-ended, evolving events at my house. There always is with a house. The primary storyline from the last time I was home was the rat issue. Is there a band called Rat Issue? There should be or maybe there should've been or maybe a CD title. Mine. That would mean I would have to construct a full comedy bit about the ongoing tale which really didn’t turn out to be that exciting. 

To recap from the last installment if you haven’t been keeping up: The last time I was home I was about to leave. A car was on the way to pick me up and I smelled something. I knew the smell. There was just a hint of decaying animal in there air. All the cats were accounted for so I knew it was something in the bowels of the house. 

I went down to the crawl space, which is large. It’s more of a basement but most of the floor is dirt. I hadn’t been down there in a while because to go down there you need a reason and I haven’t really been home for a minute. It was the source of the smell. 

Before I happened upon the rotting culprit I noticed the rat shit. More than I had ever seen in my life. Usually you say things like, ‘There were droppings.’ This was a much bigger situation. There were what seems to be thousands of rat shits in what seemed to be allocated areas. I could not believe it. I thought, ‘Holy shit, I’m going to be consumed by a thousand rats like that movie Willard." That did not happen. 

Remember, I was about to be picked up to go back to Canada. I pulled out the shop vac and frantically started vacuuming all the rat shit which seemed almost futile. I thought I might just have to ditch the house and move. While I was vacuuming I saw the tail leading to the rat that was rotting behind a piece of plywood leaning against the wall. When I moved the plank, I knew it was dead, but I still gasped like it was going to jump on my face. It was a large animal. I freaked out for a second but I knew I had to man up. I’ve been down this road before. I ran upstairs, put on some disposable plastic gloves, went back down, picked up a shovel to scoop the dead guy into a bag. I couldn’t get it on the shovel. It was big. So, I picked it up by its dead rat tail and put it in a Whole Foods bag and put that in the garbage outside. 

That feeling of holding a dead rat but the tail with all that dead rat weight is a bit traumatizing. 

I don’t know how it died but judging by the amount of shit I thought there had to be at least fifty more down there. 

I set two traps with peanut butter and left for the airport. 

I could not shake the terror of coming home to two huge dead rats. I thought about it every day. The anticipation. Then I got an email from a listener chastising me for vacuuming the rat shit because it could break up into dust in the air and probably give me Hantavirus. So, for a week I thought I had that on top of the terror of coming home to the dead rats. 

Well, I got home and paced myself. I got grounded in my house before I went to face the carnage. I considered TikToking my journey downstairs and the reveal of the corpses but I decided that was exploitative and not great entertainment. 

I went downstairs… Nothing. Empty traps. Relief. I think that’s why I worry. I’m addicted to the relief of what I’m worrying about not being true. Which is most of the time. 

I thoroughly cleaned the basement, masked. I patched the one place they may be getting in. I also kind of think that maybe my house has been like a rest stop for rats for generations. Just a place to take a dump and get a nap in. 

I know this is not an exciting end to the story but there was no more death. I did some research and apparently a rat can shit 40-50 pellets a day. So, it might’ve been that one guy living the good life with me in my house AND it apparently died of natural causes. 

At least I learned something. 40-50. That’s a lot of shit. 

Today I talk to singer-songwriter Jimmie Dale Gilmore about his new record he made with Dave Alvin. On Thursday the very funny comic Beth Stelling is on the show. Good talks!

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

A Scrolling Problem.

Addiction, People.

I feel like we’ve been talking about it a lot on the show. It’s good.

I just watched an IG reel of women fake farting with their backs turned to their male partners for a reaction. I watched it like four times. I have a problem. A scrolling problem. I know I’ve talked about it before but I have to get a handle on it.

Look, the way to determine whether you have a problem or not is figuring out if it is making your life unmanageable and if so, can you stop. I don’t think my life is unmanageable. I do find my entire brain engages with the content and locks in for quite a bit of time but when I pull out I know where I am and reality doesn’t seem disappointing. The question of whether or not I can stop is valid. I may have to try.

Sorry, just took a hit. I just watched Rob Reiner discussing the scene with his mother in When Harry Met Sally followed by the guy who interrupts weightlifters and out does them followed by little kids seeing their grandparents after not seeing them for a while followed by an entire bull being cooked on a spit outside for shawarma sandwiches. That just happened. That's a lot. I’m crying. It was the grandparents one. It’s a legit buzz.

I have to kick.

I did some comedy last night and there were a lot of baby comics there, newbies. They were asking me questions. Looking for advice. I can’t really tell anyone anything other than what I know about how I do it which is not for everyone. The one thing that resonated with me in talking to them was the feeling of fear and nervousness about doing 5-10 minute sets when that is all the time you have in your act. There’s no back up. That’s it. Whatever it is. They certainly aren’t going to be your best jokes but they are the only ones you have. I remember that feeling of paralyzing nervousness about going on stage. It could be weeks away and everyday you’re just going over it in your head. Your brain is looking for a way to just relax about it but it's not able to find a way. It all converges on taking the stage and doing it. There’s nothing you can do other than know your shit and the rest is kind of a wild card in terms of maybe fucking it up somehow or the audience just not getting it or shit, anything could happen in a live situation.

I do not miss that feeling. Those original fears of living the life of a comedian. There are always some fears but those basic ones are behind you. I never want to feel that way again. Then I realized I am feeling that right now.

Alejandro Escovedo is here in Vancouver tonight and he asked me if I wanted to play a couple of tunes with him and the band. I said sure. I thought maybe we’d do a Velvets song or maybe some Iggy. He said Neil’s Like a Hurricane and Beast of Burden from the Stones' Some Girls record.

I know both songs but I’ve never played them. I’ve learned them. Now I’m just sitting in the fear of playing them. I don’t have the same confidence playing music as I do with comedy and I’m freaking out a bit. I’ve played some in the last couple years but I don’t want to choke, which I do, almost always. So, the panic has set in but I’m excited. At least I won't be up there alone.

I told a friend I was doing it. He said, ‘just have fun.’ God, I want to but I just don’t know where fun comes into it. I just want to do well. Even if I do, I probably won't think that I did.

I realized that the having fun part of whatever I do creatively is way down on the list of goals. I just want to land whatever it is I’m doing. I think I’m that way with everything. I have to lighten the fuck up. It’s getting late in the game. I have to figure out this ‘fun’ thing.

Today I talk to Wolfgang Van Halen about his music, his father, grief and the pressure of being the kid of a singular global talent. On Thursday I talk to Anna Akana. She’s a comic, actress and writer who I met recently who is doing a show about grief in the wake of her little sister's death and how it affected her life. Good talks!

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Relief.

A new day, People!

Thank all the gods. I’m totally on board the Harris train. What a fucking relief. I think what is to be learned at the core of everything that's happened over the past, uh, four years, is how stubborn, proud and a bit delusional old ass men can be. 

I can see it with my dad. It’s hard to shake pride and anger. They seem to be the last things to go. At least with him. He has dementia, so it’s more than just old age. All the good memories and specifics seem to fade, but anger and pride remain. They are frequencies. Defining ones. 

I guess I understand. Self awareness and reflection are hard at any age. I know for myself it’s hard to acknowledge aging and what it is doing. I can see it physically but I can already see how mentally accepting it and its impact is hard. There is nothing I can do about it. I can fight it or see that as staying healthy but it’s a tough thing to swallow. Because ultimately you don’t win. 

I talked to my dad the other day. His wife had gotten into a fender bender. She was rear ended. The guy may have been drunk. It fucked up the car but thank god she’s okay. When she got home, my dad saw the car. Now, my dad is hobbled at this point. He needs to walk with a walker. He’s not quick anymore. There’s a lot of space between his thoughts generally but I imagine the space between thought and action is similar. All that is to say, when I said I’m glad she was okay, he said, ‘She’s lucky I wasn’t there. I would’ve killed the guy. I would’ve stuck a knife so far into him they wouldn’t be able to find it. Who drinks that early in the day? The world would be better off without him.’ Quite a detail. The ‘so deep they wouldn’t be able to find it' part. 

This is the part of my dad’s brain that remains. Violent fantasies. 

When I told Kit she said that’s what dementia does. It makes them say crazy things. I was quick to tell her he always said those kinds of things. The sadder part of it all is why that part of his brain is so intact and any memory of my childhood home is gone. I guess the angry part is what stays fresh, active. The past part isn’t immediate. Unless it made him angry. 

I was in LA over the weekend. It’s been nice being home for a few days but for weird reasons. I can't complain about how I’m set up in Vancouver and, as I’ve talked about, I love it up there. But when I’m away from my stuff for too long my brain gets a bit too much space. If it can't land on all the bullshit that surrounds my life at home - i.e. cats, Kit, house maintenance, comedy, books, records, my home habits - and I’m not really engaged in my immediate surroundings as anything but temporary, I drift. I drift into my past, my present and my assumed future, with a judgmental eye. I start to take myself apart a bit. I think some of it is healthy assessment and reflection but some of it is just undermining. That’s why I need my stuff, my habits, my distractions and patterns. So I at least have an engaged and constant and enforced barrier to too much me. 

Today I talk to fellow Jew and writer Shalom Auslander about his new book ‘Feh’ and other neurotic related adventures. On Thursday I do a rare in-car talk with comedian Clare O'Kane. She was opening for me on the road. Both fun talks!

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

It Is Bad.

Strange days of horror and disbelief, Folks

Some kid shot at him. 

It was strange hearing about it up here in Canada. I was at a movie when it happened and I came out and Kit had texted something I didn’t understand in reference to it and I texted ‘what do you mean?’ That’s how the news broke to me. 

I can be ignorant about some things. Probably many things. One thing is I don’t really know anything about the Canadian government in terms of how it works, the layout of the country, nothing. I know who Trudeau is but that’s about it. 

So for my being, I am in a political free zone. Nothing pressing for me up here. From what I can tell the reaction on the streets here was pretty much nothing. I don’t know what it was down in America but you become very sensitive to the psychic shifts of the cultural consciousness when you are in the big brain of it. I was not. 

I was alone up here in a way. Even among people. I didn’t really talk to anyone on the phone in America. I texted a couple of people. I did have a visceral emotional reaction. I could feel the rush of pure hopelessness which is not one of the good rushes. 

I knew one thing, I had to get on stage with it. I process on stage. I needed to make it funny. I knew it was just hours after, all the information wasn’t in, but I had to get up there. If I needed to release some steam I assumed others would as well. I felt I could make it funny. It’s tricky. I’ve always been that way. It was arguably too soon, but does that even apply any more with how fast things move into the past and get lost in the flood of garbage we distract ourselves with? Now, if it feels like it's too soon, tomorrow may be too late. 

Also, there wasn’t a huge risk to taking it on. I was going to perform in a basement in Vancouver for 40 people. 

I knew the feelings I was having. I thought about how to put them out there. Frame them so they were jokes without question. They were easy ones, really. But it made me feel better. 

The interesting thing about the night was that the host did some crowd work at the beginning of the show. He asked if anyone was from out of town and there was a couple there from Dallas, Texas. I’m thinking, ‘Fuck, they’re here. Texans. Representatives from one of the true fascist experiment states.’ All of a sudden I was questioning doing the bits because I didn’t want to deal with the tension. Then I realized that’s what’s at stake if and when American authoritarianism happens. Which is now more likely. 

I don’t really think most people, certainly not here in Canada, know the dire and dangerous precipice we are on in America. It’s not immediate up here. It’s not their country. I get that. 

I don’t think most Americans really know. It is bad. 

It was that moment of realizing that me stifling myself in light of Texans being there is how authoritarianism works culturally. Make people afraid to talk, to push back, to fight fascists. Then I started thinking about the real threat of it as a government. The federal government is one thing but state governments run by Christian Nationalists could easily start legally enforcing repression of speech and ideas in their state by passing laws there that enable them to do so. With sympathetic judges to decide the outcome. You could do jail time for talking shit about Jesus. Which is kind of one of my favorite things to do. 

We’re just barely past obscenity laws being over-enforced. 

All these anti-woke hacks yammering about being cancelled as a point of view is impotent. There could come a time when there are legal consequences to speaking your mind in the near future in some states. 

I did the jokes. The Texans were good ones. The jokes were funny. I felt better. 

I did say that the idea of Trump being a shoe-in now, for me, is kind of like being diagnosed with Stage 4 cancer of the spirit. Not so much a joke. Just a poetic idea about the death of the democratic experiment. 

Today I talk to Trey Anastasio from Phish. Yes, it happened. Thursday I talk to comedian Dan St. Germain. Great stuff. 

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Thought Portals.

Moving through it, People.

Sometimes I have to contract into a ball of fury and frustration and aggravated resignation to pop open again. I guess this is what growth feels like as an adult. The trick is getting more and more space between the contractions. 

They’re getting more spread out. 

It’s just been a very productive few days. But not in the getting things done way, really. In the creative way. I am acknowledging that. I take things for granted and sometimes I don’t process whats transpired in me over an arc of a few days so I can understand what the fuck is happening. 

I think I finally figured out how to appreciate and feel the satisfaction of acting in film or television. 

I was home in LA for a bit. I got back into the life. The one where I hang out with the cats, fix shit around the house, cook, hang out with Kit, drive around LA, do comedy, get preoccupied with a lot of maintenance tasks, go out to eat. In other words, being fully consumed by a never-ending list of things to do with the idea that I can do them all. It’s amazing to stay distracted and avoid doing creative work. I’ve been doing it all my life. 

Then, flurries of inspiration take my brain to a new place. I’ve never had much control over the flurries but they come. 

So, a few things happened. I came back to Vancouver on Thursday. I had one scene on Friday. End of the day. I had no dialogue. It’s me walking out of an RV after something happened. Must be literally 12 seconds of screen time with no real action other than walking out of the RV. I had a moment of inspiration about a couple of physical choices that could happen in the 12 seconds. I did them in the takes. I could feel them land. It was then I realized if I look at even the smallest scene there is an arc to it and I can play that and try to land it. Like a bit, a joke. If I feel it land I can get that satisfaction. If the director feels it land. We did it. How it cuts later is not my problem. Out of my hands. 

I also did some comedy at a space up here and I think the room could be very productive for me. There are no established clubs around. There are comic-run rooms in establishments that usually have some adversity to them like seating, people, distractions. This place is called the Comedy Underground. It’s a basement space with low ceilings which are always good and it’s set up like a little club. It seats about 50. I did a spot on Friday and the next day something just gave way in my brain. 

I realized that I am in one of the best cities. The weather is great. The people here are different than in the US because there is still a premium on decency up here. Fewer assholes and the assholes that are here aren’t armed or really that scary. So, the audiences were great for me. I promoted the Saturday spot on IG. Sold out the 50 seats and had a productive set. I came up with a lot of thought portals that could yield some big ideas and bits and worked them through in real time because of the intimacy of the place and the people. 

It was exciting because staleness is soul death. 

I’ve been using my time filling my brain with reading and working on standup, going over my scenes and focusing on the script I’m working on with Sam Lipsyte. A lot of good collaborative stuff happening. Discovery. 

Look, these feelings could all be gone in a day or two. I just wanted my appreciation of them on record to remind myself why I do what I do. 

Today is a sweet chat with comedian Stavros Halkias. Good guy. On Thursday I talk to Clarence Maclin about the new movie he’s in called Sing Sing and about his time in jail and the arts program that saved him, Rehabilitation Through the Arts. Great talks. 

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

No Time for Empathy.

Hola, People.

I’m loopy. 

On Friday night I did a night shoot. Those are tough. We had one exterior scene that had to take place at night. It was a less-than-two-minutes scene. We started shooting around 10 and I didn’t get out of there until 3. I got back to where I’m staying at 4. I had a car picking me up to go to the airport at 8:15

It’s difficult to do the acting when you are contending with the specific type of fatigue that comes from lack of sleep. It is part of the job. 

I was panicking about getting home that morning. I had a 10:25 flight and all I wanted was to break up the night from the day with at least a couple of hours rest. Just so my brain would reset. I can handle no sleep. I did morning radio. I know that if I can collect the hours the next day, even if they are not in a row, I can function. I knew if I got the first three hours and I got two on the plane I may be able to function the next day. 

That was the plan. 

I get on the plane and I’m flying coach. I had no choice. I know this sounds like a luxury problem and perhaps insensitive to the everyday plight of human beings but coach is unbearable. I saved my money. I don’t have dependents. I fly first class or business because when you travel constantly it makes a difference spatially and psychologically. 

No go. Coach it is. 

I see a lot of videos of people losing their minds on planes lately. I couldn’t really figure out why until my flight home. Many people I have spoken to say Covid broke people's brains and they can't deal with things anymore. That may be true. I don’t know what the exact brain math is but I get it. 

I remember years ago, before I stopped using drugs, I was flying back from a festival and I had been up for a couple of days. I got a window seat on the plane just so I could pass out and be in good enough shape to lie to my wife when I got home. 

The woman sitting next to me had an awful, phlegmy cough that she couldn’t control the entire flight from Seattle to NYC. Anytime I would drift off I was startled awake by a tubercular explosion. I remember it now because I don’t think I could’ve hated a person more. I just couldn’t believe my luck and I was out of my mind. She was sick. It was no time for empathy. I had to get my shit together with sleep. 

I was on the aisle on Saturday. I figured I could sleep no matter what because I was going to be wiped out. The guy who sat in the middle was a large fellow. Tall. Not threatening but a big boy. I fell asleep waiting to take off. I got about an hour. 

As soon as we got in the air, this guy was in motion. He had a movie on his phone, he was playing video games on the screen of the plane’s entertainment system. He had two books out. He was reaching into a backpack to get chips out of a very noisy bag. He ate a sandwich. He kept shifting his body. He was like a giant four year old.

I felt a rage come over me. I just needed to sleep. 

Somehow, I entered some kind of meditative state. I decided the guy had some kind of neurodivergent issue. To my surprise, my empathy enabled me to accept the situation. Just as I got to a place of acceptance he fell asleep. I couldn’t. I was all jacked up with the energy it took for me to deal with the situation without anger. 

That said, I totally get why people lose their minds on planes. 

Today I talk to Paul Scheer again about his new book and reframing childhood trauma. Thursday I talk to the amazing actress Julianne Nicholson about acting and life. Great conversations. 

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

My Little World.

Running around, Folks.

It's been a busy couple of days. 

I shot a scene on Friday and then performed at The Vogue Theater in Vancouver. The place was sold out. I wasn’t nervous but I was dubious. It had been weeks since I did the full set. I don’t know what it is about me but I no longer take into consideration how long I’ve done this. If I get away from it even for a week or two I think it’s all going to go away. 

There’s a pretty fine line between talking funny and just talking. It’s a slight emotional adjustment. It’s a muscle. I feel like if I don’t keep it taut what I'm saying will just come out sad. 

I underestimate myself. I’ve been doing this for more than half my life. A lot. Like, all the time. 

I really get myself worked up. It really isn’t nervousness though. I have no fear of being on stage. Especially for my audience. It’s really just a fear that whatever vulnerability I access could turn on me and I will fall into myself on stage. 

Charlie Demers opened for me. He opens for me all the time in Vancouver. After the show he brought something up. He said that it’s kind of amazing the trust I’ve built up with my audience.  It goes both ways. He said it enables me to go places that are personal and challenging and make them funny. I’m paraphrasing, but it was something like that. I had never really thought about that. It’s true. I’ll put it out there. All of it. 

My dynamic with my live audience is one of the most trusting relationships I have. Not unlike my personal relationships there’s always a little part of me that doesn’t trust the trust and kind of wants to push the limits of it. I guess that’s sort of what I do. Exciting. Dangerous. My little world of show business. 

That’s why doing short sets on showcase shows with a broad audience is so important. It works that muscle. I don’t really trust those crowds but I have to put it out there and make it funny without the depth or risk I engage in with my audience. Keeps me armored and a little defensive. That’s the workout. 

The audience at the Vogue was perfect. Polite, grown up, not necessarily knowing exactly what to expect but knowing me. It was a great show. 

I flew down to Seattle the next day. I love the Pacific Northwest. I used to love Seattle. It always had a darkness to it but I found it kind of enchanting in its weird grittiness. Coming down to the Seattle Pac Northwest from the Vancouver Pac Northwest was jarring. The grittiness has gotten rough and menacing. The aggression and desperation in some areas was frenetic and very dark. It exists in most big cities but the contrast is mind-blowing. It feels out of control and sad and scary here. In Canada it seems sad but the people seem decent. I’m not sure how to gauge the decency here in the U.S. anymore. Or if it even exists on a large scale. 

The Moore Theater was packed in Seattle and the show was great. I was warmed up from the night before and I did like an hour-forty. The crowd was awesome. When things are bad here in the States the shows seem necessary. My audiences are mostly grown up, decent people who are like-minded. It feels like a reprieve. Some kind of dark, relatively safe space to get some deeply needed laughs as we try to navigate a failing civilization. 

Glad to help out. 

Today I have an amazing, engaged talk with Jewel. Really good. Thursday I have a hilarious riff chat with comedian Gareth Reynolds. Good week. 

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

A Bumpy Ride.

Fathers, Folks.

I know I am fortunate to have my father still with us, mostly. Hell, I’m lucky to be here. We’re both alive. That’s kind of amazing.

I was trying to assess my relationship with my dad over the years. It was Father’s Day, so I thought, let’s get nostalgic. Let’s run that slide show of all the amazing times I had with him. Turns out either I lost all the good ones or they just were never on the drive. 

I think the earliest memories I have of him were probably when we lived in Alaska and he was in the military. I remember my mother drove us out to the military hospital where he was working. It was far. We sat and waited for him until he came out in his scrubs. Looking back on it, it might have been one of those situations where my mother just showed up to remind him he had a family.

I remember walking in Alaska on a dirt road and we were confronted by a giant bull moose. We froze and slowly walked away. I remember the moose. I don’t remember how my dad handled it. I believe I may have been on my dad's shoulders. We may have ran. It was a bumpy ride. 

I remember going clamming and salmon fishing. Little jars of eggs.

I remember when he was team doctor for the New Mexico Thunderbirds and almost being decapitated by a professionally thrown football. That has nothing to do with him other than maybe putting me in harm's way. 

He tightened my bindings too tight on a ski trip and I broke my leg. He set my leg. I still walk funny. 

He ran my foot over by accident years later and broke my ankle and set it. It turned out okay. 

He was bipolar so the ups were exciting.  There was a lot of positive and negative motivational energy around whatever he was obsessed with or maybe something he couldn’t find, like a wrench or a hat. There was a lot of laughing and crying and chaos.

He was very depressed on the day of my college graduation and hours before the ceremony he wandered off and we almost called the cops. He came back. He had gone to a bridge and done some thinking and decided against taking action. I got a diploma. 

When he was depressed for weeks my mother used to say, ‘Go upstairs and make your father laugh. You’re the only one who can.’

And that, Ladies and Gentlemen, was the beginning of my comedy career. So, I have to thank him for that. 

There were some good times but not really family or father-son times. Just manic adventures of sorts. 

We’ve had a difficult go of it over there years but now that he is winding down I have closure and peace with the guy. 

At some point, if you have a parent that you have problems with most of your life, you have to make peace within yourself. Find the things that you inherited from them and look at those traits as positives. If they weren’t positive, choose against them as much as you can. If they were chaotic and manic traits, trim them up a little bit and find the inner vibe of them and see if they are part of your engine in a proactive way.

Turns out manic charm and erratic emotional behavior can be pretty good for comedy. 

Thanks, Dad. 

Today I talk to actor Jude Law about the stuff. Good guy. On Thursday I talk to Geezer Butler about being the bass player for Black Sabbath. Real rock. 

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Keeping It Together.

Doing the work, People.

We spent the day on the golf course shooting a scene. 

I’ll be honest with you, I’ve picked up a club maybe twice in my life at a driving range when I was kid. I remember hitting the ball pretty well but probably only once. The second time, I didn’t do well at all. I had no idea what the point of golf was or how the game was played. I like whacking the ball and the couple of times I connected it felt pretty satisfying. 

There was plenty of downtime on the set. There’s always plenty of downtime on the set. There are clubs and balls. There’s a couple of pro golfers. So, I got a quick lesson and took a shot at a couple of balls. I connected with the first drive. Got some air and some distance. It made that noise, that ping and crack. It felt pretty good. 

I don’t think I will get the golf bug. I don’t think I really want to. Seems like it would take a lot of practice and time and the transcending of almost constant frustration. 

I get it. The meditative quality of the process. The time outdoors. The shit talk with friends. The manageable competition. The challenging of oneself. It’s not for me. 

I don’t have the patience. The discipline. I have the discipline for one thing. The focus for one thing. One creative outlet that I am passionate about. Comedy. It is part of me. It fits me. It’s my being. I’m pretty good at it. 

I have the discipline and follow through for the podcast primarily because I am interested in people and like to talk to them. I need to talk to them. I need to engage. To get out of my head and into the lives of others. To engage empathy and understanding and learn new things. 

Both the podcast and comedy are immediate. In the moment. Alive. Kind of infinite in creative possibilities if I have the courage to speak. Put it out there. 

I guess golf is pretty immediate but unfortunately it’s more than just whacking the ball without any consistency. 

Acting can be immediate. I want to love acting. I want to lose myself in it. I always wanted to do it. I’ve done it on and off for years. I’ve taken classes in my life. I’ve tried to make choices, take risks. I’ve been told I’m good at it but I rarely feel like I’m doing much. 

When making TV you do small bits and pieces, out of order, sometimes over and over again. Then you wait and wait and then act for a few minutes. 

I started to think that when you’re at the level I’m at, I can't really say I have a ‘craft.’ I started to think that for a lot of people acting is not a craft. It’s something you get away with in bits and pieces. 

If someone wants to be an actor it may also be because they just don’t want a real job. 

You get paid to pretend to be someone else. To be honest, it takes everything I have to just be me. I really just want to be me. I’m not pretending to be someone else. I’m just usually pretty uncomfortable with the self I am. Maybe I’m pretending to be me. 

And I think most people spend much of their lives pretending to be someone else. Just control that skill and your acting. 

The other thing about acting is, no matter your process, if you are successful there is no end to the amount of your shit that people will put up with. I am obviously not at that level in any way. 

I’m no diva but the other day I had a call time of 1pm on set. I was sitting around waiting to do my two lines… for five and a half hours. I was keeping it together. It’s part of the job. I’m getting paid well. I just need to suck it up. But I couldn’t understand why they just didn’t have a later call time. Eventually my frustration and anger won out. I walked up to the directors and the producer and basically snapped a bit. ‘What the fuck am I doing here? Why was my call so early? It’s crazy.” The producer pulled me aside and asked me what’s up. I said, ‘This is why I didn’t even want to do this. I get that there’s waiting but this is ridiculous. I don’t want to be an afterthought on this thing.’ He was contrite. He said they were just getting the kinks worked out with the process and that I should’ve had a later call. He said I was essential to the show. He said all the right things. 

I walked away feeling bad for losing it but on another level I felt like I had arrived. I’m an actor. 

Today I have a great talk with Ed O’Neill. Thoroughly entertaining. On Thursday I talk to Ali Siddiq. He’s one of the best comics working. 

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

My Front Burner.

Exciting, Folks!

I don’t talk about the world much publicly anymore but I have to say it was very exciting and disturbing to watch Trump get convicted on 34 felony counts. The combination of justice being served and the total electrifying unknowing of what happens now was pretty crazy. Unchartered waters for sure. That we're on the precipice of fascism or some other chaos is certain. I can't say we don’t live in troubling and terrifying times. 

It’s interesting that it was so predictable that Trump would say it was a rigged trial with a biased judge. What’s not unusual about that is it is what every convicted criminal says. ‘I’m not guilty, I was set up, the system is rigged against me.’ So, in that way, he is just the same as any criminal of any kind. He just happens to be a former president. 

The fact is that most of his followers are willing to forgive him for anything or believe he’s done nothing wrong. They have their reasons. They are either shameless fascists who no longer believe tolerance is necessary and they are mad at being forced for so long to accept people who are different from them. So they never shut up. Or they are religious fanatics who have justified Trump as God’s flawed messenger who is necessary for them to get to the other side where they can impose their belief system on everyone they deem immoral according to the limited purview of the Bible. 

In both types of people, Trump is a means to impose selective morality and destroy the freedom of choice of people to be and do what they want to do. 

I can judge the character of people that will blindly support one of the most obviously morally bankrupt people that has ever held power in the world. It’s also interesting that the precedent for God choosing a flawed messenger is Satan’s exile. I’m not a religious person, but it seems that Trump is probably the closest I’ve seen to Satan in human form. So whatever moral compromise the believers have made to support this particular guy, it may fall under the standard ‘deal with the devil’ clause and that generally means those who enter that negotiation have the same price to pay. 

I still believe that the most important fight is the one against fascism here in America. Of course I want the killing to stop in the Middle East. Of course I want some kind of sustainable peace. But the reality of true fascism that will be supported by most industries here in the U.S. is still what sits on my front burner. I’m no longer sure it’s avoidable. 

My brain goes to these places as I muddle through my day-to-day work. I try to believe that what I do is relevant and helpful but the gnawing anxiety about enveloping darkness is always on my periphery. Maybe it’s chemical and I’m a bit clinically depressed or anxious. I seem to think it’s a valid perspective despite my own issues. 

On a lighter note I thought Furiosa was an amazing movie and I can't understand why it’s not more popular. That guy George Miller is a true cinema visionary and makes a good big movie. I’ve been spending way too much time scrolling reels on my phone and sometimes I think it's my primary emotional partner. I have to pull back. 

I also have to reckon with my nicotine addiction, again. Apparently there's a global Zyn shortage and now I have seen the squirmy addict I become when I can’t get my fix. I have to kick it. Again. 

Today I talk to Susie Essman about her 12 seasons on Curb Your Enthusiasm and her life and career as a comic. On Thursday I do more Curb and comedy talk with Larry David. 

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Face Cleanser.

Patterns, People.

I need my patterns. I do want to report that I can be okay without them, though. It’s taken a long time but it's the little things that give you the strength. Also, some things just lose their meaning as you get older. 

I've been home for a few days and it worked like a charm. I got grounded in my life pretty quickly. 

I brought a bunch of stuff up to Vancouver to get set up to be there on and off for the long haul ahead. I instinctively know to get enough of my stuff around me to maintain the patterns that give me some small sense of control. Not much, but enough to keep me grounded. I need things. I need my coffee, my lotion for my face, my body soap, things to cook the few things that I cook, my shampoo, my vitamins, a guitar, the underwear  I like, the socks I like, the pants I wear, the shirts, the shampoo, my face soap and a few other things. 

I need them. They aren’t really essential. Everything on that list could be replaced or substituted with something similar and it would be fine. Annoying, but fine. I can deal with that. For a while, not forever. 

The things I needed to bring on the road in the past were very specific and I would kind of freak out if I didn’t have them. I spent a lot of time before I left putting my specific toiletries in little travel containers because I had to have them. They were essential. They weren’t really but they were the things I was used to and they kept at bay the chaos of everything out of my control.

After 30 years of travel I have finally gotten to the point where I may not even bring my own shampoo and just use what they have at the hotel. That is insane. True progress. The idea that I could show up in a strange city without my specific shampoo and not scramble around town to try to find it is amazing. Then I realized that the scramble and panic is just the second line of defense against the big unknown and entropy. 

The fact is I just don’t care that much anymore. It will be okay if I don’t have my toothpaste. It will not undermine my sense of self. Big step. 

It all starts to seem pretty ephemeral, trivial. But the act of investing meaning and importance in the mundane things that make up our lives is a kind of sympathetic magic engaged to maintain the person you think you are. Symbolic objects that you have decided determine your sense of self and define you. It’s ridiculous, but sometimes it's all you have. That one pair of pants. A shirt you love. 

Most of it is losing its meaning and some of it is just a necessity. For me to see them as such is a relief and some indication that I am not as panicked as I once was and I can half accept the darkness heading my way because it is inevitable. 
I do need my Cetaphil Gentle Face Cleanser, though. Always. 

Today I talk to Molly Ringwald about her life and being the woman we all remember as a teen. On Thursday I talk to actor/director Tony Goldwyn about his sweet new film ‘Ezra’ and about being a third generation ‘nepo baby.’ Good stuff. 

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Filling Pails.

Panic, People.

Getting started on the work for the show I’m going to do. 

I’m doing my first stint up in Vancouver this week. I have to be honest. I’m a little tweaked out. Most of me isn’t but it’s almost even. 

When you have a mild anxiety verging on more than mild anxiety you kind of learn how to live with it. When it shifts into massive anxiety it’s always surprising and awful. I would say I had pretty close to a full on panic attack the other night. 

I can always sleep. Almost always. I sleep well. I don’t sleep long but I sleep deep. I was trying to just sleep like usual the other night and I couldn’t get there. I feel like I had very good training for figuring out a way to get to sleep during the drug years. Or at least convincing myself I was sleeping. I just couldn’t get there the other night. Then I realized my brain was on fire in full fear for actual reasons. 

When I’m awake and in the world I can keep most of the fears at bay. Suck it up. When your brain is open and all is quiet that's when it can get all consuming. The fears. I’m about to enter a work environment and be away from home on and off. I have to show up and be the character. I have to keep my shit together and do the job. I have to not be an asshole which, fortunately, I’m pretty good at these days. There’s a lot of unknowns. If my brain is working properly I can acknowledge that and just stay in the present and know that I have the ability to show up and do it. 

The scales tipped in my brain and the fear consumed me. It was like Altered States. My bed was the isolation tank and I was forcing myself into a meditative state. Usually when you are falling asleep your brain looks into some small narrative that takes you out of your consciousness and that's the portal to sleep. When your brain can't find a narrative you just fester in self-consciousness and your eyes are closed and all you see are shapes and colors and you try to navigate that, give it definition. Hyper aware. Heart racing. 

I tried to engage in some story and my brain decided to go back to all the times I was afraid to do things and didn’t want to. I realized that no one was going to really help. I started in the present and went all the way back to eight years old. I didn’t get back to primal humans or the big bang. I just arrived at a panic stricken scared eight-year-old who wanted someone to make everything okay. I climbed out of the tank (my bed). I told Kit I was losing it. She said, ‘You’ll be okay.’ 

That was enough to re-engage the grown up. Not enough to stop me from continuing to spin and believe that I was really just that kid and that everything else was just bullshit and I am a fraud and not capable of doing the job or anything really. Awesome. 

Eventually my brain found a story. It was abstract and odd but it got me through to sleep. From what I can remember it was just me filling pails and a wheelbarrow with dirt and just moving them somewhere else and dumping them. My desperate version of counting sheep, I guess. 

I woke up having slept maybe four hours but it was enough. I was relatively grounded. Then I talked to Jewel for an hour which was actually very helpful. Now I have to pack and keep it together. 

Today I have a lovely chat with actor Daniel Stern. On Thursday I talk to the aggressively filthy and hilarious Steph Tolev.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

A Bit of Chaos.

Heading home, Folks.

Being on the road for for days sometimes seems like a month. Not in a bad way. It's just a few different time zones, mentally and literally. Now I have to get home and get it together to shoot the show I’m going to be on in Vancouver. 

The shows were great in Pittsburgh, Cleveland and Detroit. 

We went to the Mattress Factory in PA. It’s one of the great art spaces. Installations, evolving pieces, classics. The spaces are all part of an old factory. It’s hard to tell what is a piece of art and what is the old building. I always love Pittsburgh. It’s a truly charming city. 

I can never really get a sense of Cleveland as a city. I have a fan at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame who’s one of the head archivists. When we pulled into town that was the first stop. He took us into the vault. We were shown Buddy Holly’s high school diploma, some Jimi Hendrix outfits, Gary Rossington’s Les Paul, Allen Collins's Explorer and Bon Scott’s original draft of the lyrics of Highway to Hell, among other things. Big day. Skynyrd. 

Detroit got weird. It was a great show, but it got weird. I’ve played the Royal Oak Music Hall many times. This was actually the best show I’ve had there but it wasn’t without a bit of chaos. I was doing my new Jew stuff. I always have the Jew stuff. Right when I started it, right when I said I was a Jew, within seconds, someone shouted something loud from the back of the room. I couldn’t quite make out what it was but an audience member said it was, ‘Shut the fuck up, motherfucker!!’ I stopped the show, quieted it down, and asked him to say it again. Nothing. I waited. I said you have a problem. He said, ‘Fuck you!’ I said, ‘Okay, this is what is going to happen. I’ll give you your money back and you will be escorted out.’ That was that. Then I addressed it, big laughs. Heavy scene. Fuck you, Jew. 

I’m always waiting for it. It happened. In the best way possible, I guess. Could’ve been worse. The audience loved the show. They left feeling like they got their laughs. It was exciting and real. A fun night. I left looking over my shoulder. 

The stage manager said the guy had paid for tickets, good ones. I don’t know what he thought he was going to see or who. Maybe he just snapped. That seems to be a thing now. Almost involuntary. Like a convulsion. An explosion of anger that had been waiting for a target. He didn’t say anything other than ‘fuck you.’ Maybe the Jew thing triggered it. Maybe everything did. Or he would’ve said more. Maybe. I’m being forgiving. Kind of. People are at a breaking point. Scary times. 

I don't know if you folks know or remember A. Whitney Brown but he's a great comic mind. He wrote on SNL for years, had a segment on Weekend Update called The Big Picture, he was one of the original writers on The Daily Show, worked briefly at Air America and he was a thoughtful, brilliant standup. He has one of the most interesting origin stories as a comic that I have heard. 

I often hear people say, ‘What happened to that guy?’ Or ‘Is he still around?’ I knew he was in Austin so I tracked him down when I was at the Moontower Festival and went to his house and talked to him. It’s a doozy. 

I’m rarely totally blown away by too much but Billy Strings blows me away. He is one of the greatest guitar players of all time. He came over, we talked. I had to ask him to play. I don’t do that much anymore. He did. It’s amazing. You can listen to that on Thursday. 

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron