I Have To.

Goddammit, People!

I’m still me.

I plow along through the terror of the times, politically and virally. I deal with the evolving state of my grief and find some room within it to be grounded. I am engaging in creating from all these places one way or the other and I think it is good for me. It is what I do.

The problem in the micro is, in the quiet moments I have, that are generally not on purpose, I see myself. As I am.

I’m fine. I’m dealing. I’d like to think that I have evolved or changed or have grown somehow--emotionally, spiritually, intellectually, psychologically. I don’t know. When I’m with someone, I live in relation to them. I guess it’s codependency or maybe it’s just the nature of love or what I understand love to be. Now I am dispatched and detached, dealing with my emotions and sense of self relatively solo and guarded. I can tap right into what I used to be, who I always was, an oversensitive, insecure, panicky, self-loathing person who is very hard on himself almost always.

I know where it comes from. If you’ve done any work on yourself, you know what’s up but that doesn’t really matter after a point. I found something Lynn wrote and it was devastating. It was early on, I think. ‘If I can get Marc to love himself, I believe he can love me.’ Heartbreaking. I was getting there. With her.

Now, I’m at a loss as to how to continue.

Meditation keeps coming up. Lynn meditated, twice a day.

My therapist says that through meditation self-acceptance and self-love is possible. Why do I fight it? I have TIME. Because I’m a compulsive ape. She hipped me to the idea that because we are animals we are negative. It is the human interpretation of constant fight or flight. It takes vigilance and silence to manage it and make it positive. Garry Shandling told me if you can’t sit with silence, you’re an addict. He meant anyone. That the need for distraction itself is addiction.

The reason I don’t meditate is I want relief NOW! Like a baby. I want caffeine, nicotine, sugar, attention, adulation, sex, etc. I want to feel the now-feels that make me stop feeling the always bad feels.

I am fortunate that my sobriety is strong and deep enough that I never think about drinking or using the bad drugs and I haven’t drifted back to nicotine. Though I am close. I want to feel like not me.

I need to get hip to sitting in silence and continuing what Lynn started in me because she believed. I have to believe.

I knew I would know myself deeper and all the way due to this lockdown and in the shadow of tragedy. I did not know that the struggle would be to find meaning in continuing to get better and still trying to experience happiness and self-love and acceptance in the face of fresh psychic and literal garbage being dumped daily on all of us.

Today I have a lovely, compelling talk with Glenn Close. On Thursday Michael J. Fox takes me through how he maintained positivity in the face of his struggle with Parkinson's. Great talks!

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Sweet Relief.

Oh, sweet relief, people.

Thank you. Thank you all. The pig president is on his way out in a slumped waddle.

I don’t know if what I feel is hope but I am no longer filled with terror every second and I feel there might be a little consistency to the structure of the future on a governmental level. Grounded. We got new management. We needed it. I think we all have to appreciate the fact that we were on the precipice of real fascism here. Another four years would’ve done it. For real. We have held it back for now. We all should stay engaged, vigilant, help where we can and where it is needed.

Fucking relieved.

How grounding was it to hear a couple of old-style, direct, thoughtful, uplifting political speeches from our newly elected human leaders? Kamala was great. Joe’s speech was on point. I’m ready for some grown up talk. I’m ready for some genuine concern from humans that have empathy and can experience joy. Just to watch them at the end of the acceptance speeches up on the stage with their families being fucking normal was much more touching than it should’ve been because we have all been the victims of daily emotional abuse. Traumatized. Deeply. And though it doesn’t seem quite real yet because the abuser is still under contract, it is healing to feel like our new leaders have American interests at heart on the national level and the human level.

We really can't underestimate just the symbolic power of a president and its impact on the people. We have an incoming president and vice president who are competent and concerned.

All the ghouls and stooges will be gone soon and have to find jobs at places that need ghouls and stooges. Barr, Miller, Don Jr., Ivanka, Meadows (maybe dead), Pence, DeVos, et al. Trump will probably try to lead as some kind of pig royalty in exile. Maybe in Florida or Russia. I think he has automatic oligarch status. He has enough points.

I’m glad America might make it. At least for a while longer. What we are as a country in all its diversity will be better represented now. We all have to step up and fight for it. Daily. Somehow.

Today I talk to Frank Langella. Great actor. We talked before the election. On Thursday I post my pre-election talk with Rhea Seehorn. Another great actor. Great talks all around.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

See You All on the Other Side.

Vote, People!

I know I don’t have to tell you all that. You know. This is the last couple of days…of the free world. Possibly.

I’ve done what I can. I voted. I gave money. I tried to comfort myself and others. I have spoken out. Now, we wait.

I’ve gone through many phases of terror and anxiety over the last four years. The full spectrum from fearing for my life to fearing for all our lives. Now, I am at some kind of peace somehow. Maybe it’s total panic that’s taken on a calming feeling. The Ritalin effect of the world ending. I don’t know.

I think I have some clarity. It could go either way. One much worse than the other and possibly the end of our political system and the beginning of an Authoritarian America that will usher in the end of the species. I really didn’t want to live through the end of reality and life as I knew it. It is happening though. I imagine I will adapt and react to whatever happens somewhat appropriately or collapse into soul death and perpetual fear. I don’t know.

Let’s hope for new management.

I do know I am going away and I am actually going to try to disconnect for a few days and re-enter on the 4th. I know I’m going to miss all the fireworks and explosions and battles and the beginning of the civil war but it will be here when I get back. I feel like I have done what I can and sitting and watching numbers and maps all day interspersed with stories about fascistic chaos at polling places and on highways doesn’t sound great to me.

Today I talk to my old friend David Cross. It’s always good to talk to him. He makes me laugh. On Thursday I talk to Heidi Schreck about her show ‘What the Constitution Means to Me.’ That’s barring the necessity to address a current shitstorm that renders regular WTF content tone deaf or useless. So, I’m hoping for Heidi.

See you all on the other side, probably. Godspeed.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Sweets.

I can’t take it, People.
 
Just saying. I can, obviously. Man, it’s tough though. 
 
I never feel well. Physically. I get tested for Covid like every other week. Even though I am painfully cautious, I still go out into the world. I am starting to realize a couple of things. I may have allergies that come and go that I didn’t have before. Stress, fear and anxiety cause real life physical symptoms. I mean, I knew that. It’s just now we are all in the same shit. It’s not just my head. 

There is plenty to be stressed about, anxious about and terrified of. We are actually scared for our lives in so many ways. So if you are experiencing fatigue, increased heart rate, rapid breathing, sweating, trembling, weakness, trouble concentrating, trouble sleeping, gastrointestinal issues, panic, dizziness, aches and pains, grinding of your jaw, headaches, loss of appetite, increase of appetite and/or muscle tension it might just be an unconscious response to life and what is happening in the world right now. The only people that aren’t experiencing some of these are probably the people that want to kill us or like seeing us freaked out. They are yet another reason for us to be stressed and anxious. Around and around we go. 
 
I mean, you could be sick with some of these symptoms but you may just be filled with fear. I’m no doctor.
 
I’m coming off a sugar and carb bender that ended in exciting shame. As you know my friend Patton had some ice cream sent over last week. That took a few days to get through and left me jonseing for the sweet stuff. It put that sugar monkey right up on my back. Twisted my brain. I got obsessed with making a Kentucky Butter Cake that I saw on the NYT Cooking Instagram. So, I got all the stuff to make it. All I wanted was for it to come out perfect so I could eat one slice and then get rid of the cake or battle with it for a few days until I hated myself and threw whatever was left away. It escalated quickly.
 
I made the cake batter and poured it into a bundt pan. It was an egg and butter and sugar and buttermilk and flour situation. The idea was to create a spongy cake that I would take out of the oven and then pour butter and sugar syrup over it after I poked holes in the cake so it would just be saturated with this syrup. I didn’t put the right amount of water in the pot. The syrup was too thick and it just sat on top of what was going to be the bottom of the cake and began to harden. I was furious. It wasn’t perfect. I was supposed to let it sit for three hours. 


After about an hour and half I tried to get the cake out of the pan and slammed it too hard on a plate, breaking the plate. I got another plate and tried shaking the cake out again. Half came out in chunks. So, it was just chunks of cake with clumping sugar glaze on them. I angrily threw what was left in the garbage. Then I furiously shoved the broken chunks of cake in my mouth. IT WAS SO GOOD. 
 
Point being, I was mad about fucking up the cake. I inhaled a bunch of it. I was giddy with sugar. That lasted a half-hour until I was furious at myself for all that I ate. 
 
Silver lining: There is no more cake. 
 
Today I talk to the very smart and funny Hari Kondabolu. We go back a bit. He was an angry young upstart and I was an angry old veteran when I met him. On Thursday I talk to comedian Melinda Hill. I’ve known her for a long time. Glad we got to set down IN PERSON and do the thing. Good talks. 
 

Enjoy!
 
Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Culture-Shifters.

Another week, People
 
We’ve adapted. We are living this life, masked, isolated, nervous, strapped. Because it is all so immediate and truly traumatic there is no way to reflect on what is happening because we are fucking in it. The only reflections that seem coherent are of another time. A time before the plague. Before the fascism. Before our history became hazy and fragmented. 
 
Because of that we hold on to some preconceived notion of our collective reality that is reinforced by all the old movies we are watching. Even new movies that were before the virus are of another time.  All this gives us a false sense of comfort that there will be a return. 
 
There won’t be new art until we can reflect on the end of history and the decline of the species and how that looks. The masked, mediated, isolated strain of the beginning of the new age of decline that we are living through. It’s all nostalgia now and probably spiritually malignant. 
 
The new stuff looks like us looking into a computer. Looking into a phone. Looking into a camera. Sitting in rooms that weren’t meant to be stages. It’s familiar and human and sad. Desperate times. We have to keep working, keep pretending. Fake it until you make it, right? Are we going to make it?
 
Anyway, how’s it going? I’m okay. At home. Doing the stuff. Eating. Beating up on me. 
 
I was a worshipper of the beatnik idea. I loved the beats. I was decades late but I thought they meant something. Through them I found poetry that worked for me. Ideas about life that explained what came before them and what came after. I wanted to live in the immediacy that they represented. In motion. Creative. Explosive. Brave. The culture-shifters of the late-'50s. I came of age in the late-'70s and '80s. The worst. Why wouldn’t I have sought solace in the beats? They were the gateway to the '60s and '70s. 
 
I talked to Patti Smith today who I see as a true legacy to the beats. Through them, she and I found Rimbaud, Blake. She was in the crumbling NYC of the '70s, ranting poetry, making art, when it was real and raw. Rock and roll was breaking apart and reforming itself. Dirty. 
 
She knew Burroughs and Ginsberg when they were old men and she was the heir apparent to the creative ideas they represented. 
 
I love her. I love them. It was a real honor to talk to her.
 
Here’s a couple of Burroughs quotes I think apply to where we are… always. 
 
“The junk merchant doesn't sell his product to the consumer, he sells the consumer to his product. He does not improve and simplify his merchandise. He degrades and simplifies the client.” 
 
“Hustlers of the world, there is one mark you cannot beat: the mark inside.” 
 
A country full of marks. 
 
On Thursday I talk to Matthew McConaughey and let him lay out his hustle. 
 
Great talks. 
 

Enjoy!
 
Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

New Management.

It goes on, People.

 Days are like weeks with no dates or names. Certain patterns have settled. Personal worlds are small. I really have no sense of what is going on ten miles from my house let alone what is really going on across the country or around the world. Not that I ever really did. 
 
I know its been a horrendously difficult time for many people. Do we get out of this? I don’t know.

 I’m not as totally freaked out as I have been but that could just be because I am writing this early in the day. I just woke up. 
 
I’m going to drive around today. Assess. There’s a lot of people near where I live collecting donations for Armenia. I should know what is going on there. Should do some research. I should know what is going on in my city as well. So many people up against devastating odds. Washed out. 
 
The mediated reality clings to what it used to be and all I can say about the current state of daily entertainment is that it is an honest reflection of the life many of us are living. At home. Raw. Vulnerable. Human-seeming without the trappings of the song and dance and fashion. People are getting better at manufacturing their own song and dance businesses from home. 
 
Song and dance won’t save us. It’s losing its ability to even distract us. We dig into the always-all-there history of art and entertainment for our nostalgia fixes. What happens when there’s no more nostalgia to eat?
 
The country is desperately in need of new management. I hope we can make that happen. 
 
My grief has eased into a sadness that is lingering deep in me and probably will for the rest of my life. I miss Lynn. I don’t know if I have another love in me, really. How many do you get in a life? Broken hearts? How many do you get to break in a life? Hearts. It takes its toll. 
 
Wayne Coyne from the Flaming Lips was in town and wanted to come over and talk. He was on a long time ago but I thought, why not? I like him. He’s an odd sort and he was willing to hang in person. Balls. So, that’s today’s talk. Not unlike Wayne, my old friend Lewis Black has a thing happening and wanted to talk. He’s been on a couple times and I always like talking to him so he’s on again. That’s Thursday. Great talks. 

 
Enjoy!
 
Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Vote.

Peace, People.
 
We’ve had a pause. A dark reprieve. A little quiet. 
 
While the monster has been in the hospital, it’s amazing how even the air has seemed lighter. My phone isn’t a terrorist in my pocket screaming about shattering my country and breaking my mind every ten minutes. My endorphins aren’t jacked with fear and concern and feelings of helplessness and fury. 
 
What I have learned over the last few days is really just how much air and space that asshole sets on fire every day. It is so nice to have this calm as he sits in the darkness of disease surely learning nothing and reflecting on nothing other than his own fear and his own future. 
 
You would hope that the angry, delusional followers of this beast will have a come-to-Jesus moment. Seeing his humanity, in the form of succumbing to an illness he has trivialized for months, leading to the infection of millions and the deaths of hundreds of thousands of Americans. Maybe some of his supporters will, at the very least, start to take it fucking seriously so more of us don’t have to die. Because this president is no leader. He’s a cowardly enabler of the worst impulses and actions of humans. 
 
Maybe a few will wake the fuck up and behave like adults. 
 
Who knows?
 
I can honestly say I don’t really care whether he dies or not. I don’t wish it upon him but he is one of the worst examples of the human species in the history of humans. I’m not saying he deserves it or that he has it coming. We all have it coming. I would actually rather see him voted out, dramatically. I would like to see the system he has tried to destroy take him down in a purely American way. Repudiate him. 
 
Vote. 
 
He has no respect for anything and only cares about himself and his selfishness has left thousands to die in this country. 
 
He believes in nothing. He is not a man of God. He was not chosen by God. If there is a God I’m willing to bet that God finds him unbearable. 

 
It seems that this whole shattering of the illusion through disease took place at the nomination ceremony of the new Supreme Court justice. A seemingly fanatically religious Catholic woman out to set back women's rights decades, if not permanently. It was like a celebration of the death of Ruth Bader Ginsburg, but she had Yahweh’s ear and shit was brought down upon the travesty. Old Testament-style. Plague, fuckers. 
 
Vote this fucker out. Enough is enough. Don’t be suckers. 
 
My hand is doing better. 
 
Today I talk to John Cusack about acting and stuff. On Thursday I talk to Wynton Marsalis about jazz and race and stuff. Good talks!
 
Enjoy!
 
Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

The Casual Pal.

Happy Birthday, People...
 
...on the outside chance that someone has a birthday today. Mine was yesterday. I was born on Kol Nidre. The eve of Yom Kippur. I think that means something. God ushered me into the world personally on his way down to hang with the Jews and hear them out. Let them come clean. 
 
I was told by a very Jewy acquaintance that on this day, today, God is closer to us then he is all year. Like an eclipse. Apparently, you can talk to him casually today. I’m not sure why the change in protocol but I assume it has something to do with sharing your transgressions and shameful secrets and bad things and asking for forgiveness. This is atonement day! You dirty, self-aware apes! You know what you have done, you weeping monkey. Why should you be written into the book of life for another year? Filthy monster. Why?
 
I assume because of my personal and casual relationship with God from birth that I’m good. I don’t know, really. I am constantly struggling with myself and with my actions and thoughts, with my past and present. Today I will speak to God casually and ask him for help on behalf of all decent humans and even filthy shameless apes. Help us, pal. I’m using the casual ‘pal’ to appeal to the rules of the day but I am fucking serious. God, help us. It’s me, Marc. You brought me down here. 
 
What do you want me to do? How can I help? I’ve done all I can to warn the dummies. Are you trying to teach us something? Is it too late? God, seriously. I’m sorry on behalf of humanity. The good humans and the apathetic ones. The shamelessly evil ones you are going to have to deal with. I can't speak for them. 
 
On my birthday I drove to the beach and sat on a rock. Spoke to sky, said hi to Lynn, thought about fishing, watched families having fun, listened to the waves, wondered how dumb birds are and reflected on my life. I ate mediocre Indian food last night for the first time in months. It hasn’t changed. Texted with friends. I talked to my father. I ate cheese. I listened to Tim Maia’s ‘Nobody Can Live Forever’ on repeat for a while. 
 
I am alive. I am here. I am full of dread but hope creeps in sometimes and life in this moment is okay. Happy birthday to me. 
 
Today I talk to Cecily Strong about herself and SNL and stuff. On Thursday I talk to documentarian Barbara Kopple about her work, including a Sprint commercial she directed in Texas featuring me. Good talks!

Enjoy!
 
Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

On the Horizon.

Onward, Folks.
 
Plodding on. The heaviness is real. RBG was 87 years old. She died. Dark days. 
 
It really is too much. It seems that just when you think it’s only going to get worse, it does. There seems to be no end to it. There’s no bottom in sight. Not that her death was necessarily part of it. It was, but she was old and sick and held on as long as she could. Now, there’s a frenzy of righteousness and wokeatude and a call to arms (voices and action, unlike the other side which would be actual arms) to stop the hemorrhaging of our dying democracy and get out the vote and try to get senators to do something by getting out into the streets if necessary. We’ll see. 
 
It seems like a good many people really had no idea what the last election would possibly mean in terms of the court. This passion and panic might work a bit but it’s really kind of amazing how many people didn’t (and don’t) give a shit and don’t really want to get into politics or care about civic duty. Look, I’m not perfect, but I’m pretty hip to what is happening. Now, as the vessel is breaking apart, all the bad news is just flaming shrapnel. Fascism is on the horizon and everyone knows there are no more happy endings but they’ll settle for a leveling. 
 
Make note all you fucks who thought I was overreacting. 
 
That said, I seem to be resigned to staying around both physically and geographically. Mostly out of fear and laziness in terms of trying to get it together to get out in the middle of a plague and I don’t want to be dead, yet. It might not be the time to run and where to, really. Time to fight it out with the rest of the angry, sad, desperate people. 
 
In other news, Happy New Year Jews. Hopefully 5781 will be better than 5780! Not starting off great. On Jewish New Year’s Eve, RBG dies and then there’s a fucking earthquake in LA. I mean, fuck. It’s going to make a believer out of me. In what, I don’t know. How to interpret the signs? I don’t know. My birthday falls on Kol Nidre this year. That’s fun. Right? It did when I was born too. No wonder I’m heavy hearted. Yeah, so. A bit bleak but I’ll have some cake and try to figure out what it means if anything. What am I supposed to do and if not now, when?
 
Earthquakes really shake you into the present and give you some perspective. It’s not a great view but it's immediate. 
 
Today we have a NYC doubleheader. I have a bit of a talk with Alicia Keys and then a little longer talk with John Leguizamo. They were both fun. On Thursday I talk to director Barry Levinson. That was a great talk. Really good. 

Enjoy!
 
Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

It Can Always Get Worse.

Smokey, Folks.
 
It really is kind of amazing that there seems to be no end to the overwhelming, dystopian shitstorm happening. I’m wary to say it can’t get much worse because obviously it can. Much.
 
I’m just trying to deal. Trying not to let grief and sadness catalyze into real depression. It is hard. I’m up against some pretty steep obstacles in the process here. One of them became my hike. Which is a fairly steep incline and one of the few things keeping me sane.
 
The air was fairly unbreathable here in LA last week. Granted it was not as bad as some places but it was awful. It gave me a headache, sore throat, itchy eyes and achy lungs. It was real. It was scary. It was maddening that I couldn’t exercise. The one way I know to keep my sanity relatively in check was being hijacked by the apocalypse. By the time Saturday rolled around I had been sitting inside at home like a sad cat staring out the window for days at the burning orange end times sun. I felt my brain and body atrophying. I had to make a choice.
 
Is this what life is going to be now? Just a day to day struggle to adapt to environmental adversity and disease? If I am choosing to live in this reality shouldn’t I be figuring out a way to engage with that life in a way other than being a victim? Adapt. I mean, this may be what it is for the rest of my life. It may even get worse. Why wouldn’t it?
 
So, I woke up. Checked my air quality app. It was moderate. There was a window. It looked like it would last a couple of hours. So, I strapped on an N95 mask and it wasn’t for Covid, it was for air quality (and Covid). I had never climbed the entire mountain with a mask. That was my goal. I usually take it on and off depending on proximity to other people. Not this time. I was going all the way and I was going to deal with it. This was what I needed to do to live in this reality, I thought.
 
I did it. Sadly, I was proud of myself for being stupid and hiking in unbreathable garbage but rising to the situation by masking up properly for smoke. I was excited that I was beginning the adaptation process. This is the exciting life of struggling to survive, trying to enjoy the pastimes of better days.
 
Today I talk to the amazing Toni Collette about many things. Including Charlie Kaufman’s ‘I’m Thinking About Ending Things,’ which annoyed me. Not her, the movie. On Thursday I talk to the amazing character actor Wendell Pierce about his life and work. Love that guy. Great talks.

Enjoy!
 
Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Heating Up.

Very hot, Friends.
 
I’m sort of waiting for the power to crap out but it hasn’t. Yet. Knock on wood. I’m trying to limit my usage. Then I think, 'Am I going to make the difference?' That’s the slippery slope. ‘I’m not really the one causing the problem.’ It’s the flip side of ‘My vote doesn’t matter.’ Both have dire consequences if everyone started to think that way. It’s an easy way to think. Selfish. Selfish seems pretty easy for most of us. 
 
So, I’m sitting here in the dark with all the blinds closed listening to an old Robyn Hitchcock record. It’s working. I’m going to run upstairs and turn off the AC. I’m not up there. See, I’m sacrificing for the good of everyone. Small sacrifice. Waaaah, I’m a little hot and uncomfortable. This shit species is hitting the cosmic fan. 
 
Just remember, people: A ‘businessman’ is the only one who can run a business into the ground. Now we’re living in it. Good job.
 
I’m trying to pull out of the invisible weight of grief to try to read, listen, watch more. Grief or no grief, sometimes I don’t understand what the point is as we hurtle toward all kinds of disasters on all levels—political, existential, spiritual, psychological, scientific, religious, economic, etc. You get it. All of it. Why should I try to plod my way through a complicated book on Rainer Werner Fassbinder that takes me a half hour to unpack a paragraph of the dense critical writing of the author? It is worth the work. I mean, I get it. What is the point of making cultural and art criticism so dense? WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO KEEP ME OUT? WHY CAN'T YOU SPEAK PLAINLY? TIGHTEN IT UP! Oh, that’s my job. 
 
The point is, I’m loading up my head and heart with the good shit. The love and the art. All the Criterion Channel stuff I needed to catch up on like ‘Women Under the Influence’ for a third time. I’m reading the poems. I’m listening to Ornette Coleman and Albert Ayler and Mingus and the rest. I’m taking in the paintings. I’m reading select paragraphs from dense books about politics and art and science. FOR WHAT?
 
I know! When the big frequency buckles and the cataclysmic catharsis is upon us and we all look up into the sky and then at each other as we simultaneously experience out last moments alive, because of the homework we did out of boredom, in that moment we will all understand Charlie Kaufman’s ‘I’m Thinking of Ending Things.’ All those who didn’t load up will die peacefully and perhaps be saved. The rest of us go in a grand epiphany of ‘I told you so.’ 
 
Today I talk to director Arthur Jones and artist Matt Furie about their documentary ‘Feels Good Man’ which is about the evolution of the alt-right online and the appropriation of Matt’s creation, Pepe the Frog. Also on today’s show I talk to New Yorker writer Andrew Marantz about QAnon and related horrors. On Thursday I lighten things up with Martin Short. Great talks. 


Enjoy!
 
Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Some New Growth.

Hola, Friends!
 
I am back from my home state of New Mexico. It felt like home which is exactly what I was looking for. It’s nice to have a place that feels like home. Just driving into the state, something shifts inside me. It’s a familiarity but it runs deep. I mean, if you think of what holds your brain it’s your head and what holds your head is the dome of the bigger environment, the big frequency.  That state held my head for a long time when there were a lot of things forming and percolating in there. It felt good to be back in the cradle for my brain. 
 
I was in Albuquerque just long enough to have a plate of huevos rancheros at Duran’s Pharmacy. Green chile, red on the side, tortillas with butter. I saw my buddy David who I have known since second grade. I saw my dad who I have known since I was born. Then I went down to Los Poblanos and stayed the night literally a block from where I grew up. Had dinner down there with David and his girlfriend, Sherilyn. I cut out the next morning for Santa Fe. Got there, grabbed two plates of chicken enchiladas with green chile at Tia Sophia’s and brought them to where my friend Devon was staying. I’ve known him since fifth grade. I cried hard in my enchiladas talking about Lynn. Devon could handle it. After lunch I headed up to Taos to the casita I booked on Airbnb. It was perfect.
 
I did big hikes every morning in Taos. I cooked food for the week and just hung out. The terrain there is truly spectacular. It was great to be there. I wouldn’t mind living there if I feel I can stay in this country.
 
I visited Dennis Hopper’s grave twice while I was in Taos. I didn’t know he was there. I’m not sure how I found out. I went online and figured out how to get to the cemetery which is a rustic, dusty old Mexican cemetery in Rancho de Taos that isn’t even connected to a church. It’s like a dirt lot with very unique, seemingly handcrafted grave sites. His was covered in offerings that Hopper pilgrims brought. The first visit I didn’t have anything. The second I brought Devon with me and some river rocks I picked up on a hike we took. I like the rough nature of his grave. Fitting. It was intimate. It felt like humans cared for it and added to it, like an evolving piece of art. I could feel his bones and appreciate his life and the energy was uplifting. I fucking love that guy. 
 
I left Taos on Friday morning. The plan was to stay in Flagstaff for the night. Split up the drive. I got to Flagstaff at 1:30 and had no idea what I would do there until morning so I just ate the two hundred dollars and kept driving. Thirteen hours straight through. It was meditative. I’ve done that drive so many times in my life and it always gets me into an altered state. I felt restored so as I drove I didn’t play music. I just let my brain burn so I could regenerate some new growth. 
 
Good trip all around. 
 
Today I talk to Chelsea Peretti. She’s been on before. It was over ten years ago and I love her and she’s smart and funny. So much has happened in ten years. It was great to talk to her. On Thursday I talk to JK Simmons about his acting. Straightforward guy. Good talks.

Enjoy!
 
Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Stopping In.

I’m out, People.
 
I had to get out. I was alone and tethered to a dying cat for a long time. Now he’s gone and I’m going home. My buddy Frank will watch Buster. He’s an easy one. 
 
Home. New Mexico. I’ve heard that you can never go home. I believe you can. I believe there is some part of you that always lives where you come from. It's always home. Another life or lives. It happened there. It may still be happening there and every moment of it leads to other realities if you want to do that to your mind. 
 
I choose to just know that part of me will always live in New Mexico. 
 
That was where I did the bulk of the developing. I have not been back to New Jersey to track my very early experiences but they are there. I feel that life as well. Part of me will forever be in New Jersey. At my grandma’s. 
 
I have been in and around my house in LA for months. It’s been a very difficult time. Horrible. So, I just got an Airbnb in Northern New Mexico. I’ve never done that before. 
 
I loaded up the car with hiking shoes, a cooler, a guitar, a duffle bag of clothes, a big bag of snacks and my antiviral gear. It was amazing driving through the desert again. I love America. I even love the people. I’m having a very difficult time with the dumb ones. Okay, I don’t love them. I may hate them. 
 
I drove to Flagstaff. Stayed at a hotel which was terrifying. It’s all been terrifying being out here in the wild world with the Covid pilgrims on the highway. I can report that the mask game in AZ was top notch. I’m still tweaked though. I went and picked up Thai take out and wolfed it down in my room at the Marriot Courtyard and it was one of the best meals I’ve ever had. Just being out, I guess. Though it was good food. 
 
I decided to stop in and see my old dad and his wife. Wouldn’t it be ironic and awful if he gave me Covid? Jesus, the horror. I took the chance. I wanted to make sure I see him if he dies. Or, now, if I die. I really don’t care either way. I mean, I don’t want to die. I just don’t know if I would feel shitty if he died and I didn’t take the opportunity to see him. I don’t know. I don’t have to worry about that now. I saw him, he saw me, we’ll see who goes first. 
 
It’s so fucking beautiful here. The air is clouded with smoke because apparently this state is on fire as well but it’s a different state. It’s the state I love. So many memories here in the haze. 
 
Amazing talks with character actors this week. Today I really enjoyed talking to Giancarlo Esposito. Great connection AND he lives here in my hometown. If it weren’t plague times we’d be having dinner together. Swear. On Thursday I talk to Billy Crudup. He had been up all night freaking out and was caffeinated, I believe, so we got to it. Great talks! 

Enjoy!
 
Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Minute By Minute

Okay, I’m having a good few minutes, Folks.
 
So, let’s see if it lasts until the end of this email. 
 
At this moment I am watching a YouTube video of Heart performing ‘Stairway to Heaven’ at The Kennedy Center for some kind of Led Zeppelin thing and Robert Plant is crying. It's making me cry. I guess that’s where I’m at in my life. I’m crying because an entire orchestra and choir is joining in at the end of the song. The fast part. The part where we all had to stop slow dancing in a circle and start dancing regular in a darkened gym in seventh grade. 
 
Okay. Couple minutes in. Still ok. 
 
I really am on a rollercoaster every day. I assume most of us are. There are a lot of hours in the day when your options are limited and you aren’t going too many places. The days go on and on. Did they add hours to the day? Does time even matter anymore?
 
I hear a lot of concern about how this is affecting kids in terms of breaking up their education and lives. What about us middle aged folks? A kid is losing a year in the middle of whatever developmental period they are in. I get it. It’s sad. They’ll be behind in the part of life that is planned for their development. I’m just losing time. Fortunately, time is losing its importance in the micro, in the life.  
 
Seriously, though, there’s a big problem with the big picture. In the macro we are all running out of time. We are careening towards a clusterfucking shitshow of an election and an ecological, economic, cultural disaster in the middle of a fucking plague that more and more people are taking less and less seriously. Some days I want to check out. Sometimes I am able to check out. But I always end up back in the present with waffling faith that anything will be even a little ok. I want to disappear into a fantasy that my brain churns out every day. It’s just a place where things are ok. Nothing special. Just okay. Maybe even just the life we had before or some semblance of that. Maybe that with fewer people. Fewer dummies. Maybe in another country. Just. Okay. 
 
Twelve minutes in. Not great. 
 
Buster Kitten is doing pretty well. He looks for Monkey sometimes and it kills me. I’ve started to obsess about his health now. He almost died of renal failure from some plant toxin when he was younger . He seems okay. He’s getting fat and seems to wheeze a bit. I dug up a laser pointer but I don’t know if he can handle it. He’s fat and he’s too smart. He was a good memory. He’s not smart enough to know that he’s chasing a red dot but his memory is good enough for him to keep looking for it after an hour has passed since I had it on. 

 Coming to the end. Little better. 
 
I watched the Rush doc on Netflix. It made me respect them as artists but did not make me want to re-listen to any of the music, at all. I like the fellas, though. Willful, persistent nerds with a vision. Usually that only matters in science and animation. 
 
Today I talk to Kerry Washington about ‘Little Fires Everywhere,’ NYC, Lynn Shelton and other things. On Thursday you can hear me and Kieran Culkin have a loose, fun talk about all kinds of shit. Good stuff. Great talks. 
 
Enjoy!
 
Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

There I Said It.

Hey, hang on, Folks. 
 
Right?
 
Jesus, some days are just too much. I’m really trying to stifle very violent future thinking and escapist fantasies but I don’t want to be one of the ones that ‘didn’t get out in time.’ Right? Am I crazy? I know, I know. There’s nowhere to run. Isn't there though? Maybe just a place to buy some time. I mean, how much time do I have left, really? Do I stand and fight whatever comes down the pike or try to split. I guess I can if the fight is within the context of social debate and American democracy, but not if it's against a rag-tag army of steroid saturated ‘freethinkers,’ meth crazy hill people or a tank or both. 
 
I don’t fucking know. My brain goes exciting places and in waking consciousness I respond to those thoughts as if they are real. An untethered, frightened imagination with nowhere to land. 
 
I made it to 21 years sober yesterday. There was no meeting to go to where I could take a cake and a hug and say a few words. I ordered my own coin online and ate some cake at home. I would like to state here that I am grateful to be sober. I am grateful that I no longer have the obsession to drink or use drugs. I am grateful for the people in my life. I am humbled by the people who like what I do and continue to love me despite me not loving me. I am happy that whatever empathy I was lacking has been restored or grown. I like my life, even in the midst of the global shitstorm and tremendous loss in my personal life. I am actually happy to be alive. There. I said it. 
 
Ok. Now I’m back. 
 
I feel Monkey’s absence in the house. I feel the loss of Lynn in a deeper, more defined way. I think that being consumed with caring for the old cat kept my heart occupied but also always aware of the end. I kept it at bay for a bit and he did too. We both knew it was time. Loss and absence is settling in. I feel Lynn’s presence in the house sometimes. I don’t know if it’s actually her or not. If it is, I wish she would engage in a more tangible non-apparition type of way. Monkey’s ghost is wandering around too but maybe they are both just me seeing them in a flash out of the corner of my eye. Images being generated by the nostalgic and happier part of my mind. Or maybe they are flashes from the other life I am living. Where we all stay the same forever. 
 
I’m ok. I’m ok. Seriously. I want to disappear. Stop. Head for the hills… of Ireland. Or maybe Taos for a few days. I know the disease is everywhere but some places are prettier than others and there are less diseased people around. 
 
Today I talk to the amazing Sarah Snook about playing Shiv Roy on ‘Succession’ and other stuff. On Thursday I have a pretty earnest, sensitive talk with Ellen Page about her journey in show business and some of the things she is working on to help change the bad things. Great talks. 
 
Enjoy!
 
Boomer lives! Viva Monkey! Viva LaFonda! 
 
Love,
Maron

Total Dread.

Sad, bleak, lightless days, People!

Bake a cake. Make some bread. Watch a movie. Shit is not getting better anytime soon, if ever. Stay in the present. No future thinky, ease up on the past thinky. No going back. 

Okay, maybe I’m not in a great space but it feels like an honest space. 
 
I’m wiped out. I barely know what day it is anymore. I’m starting to talk to myself. I feel physically ill most of the time. I’ve been tested for Covid twice. The last time was a week ago. Negative. I’ve been feeling like shit for months. It got worse after Lynn died and I think I understand what it is now. I thought it was allergies, maybe cancer. I don’t think so. 
 
My cat, Monkey, has been sick a long time. Even when Lynn was alive I had a certain amount of anxiety about how long he would live. I would get up every morning and see if he was alive, if he was okay, if he seemed like he had some time. Now, he’s actually on his way out and I realized I’ve been getting up totally anxious and full of dread and sadness that he would be dead or really sick and I’m exhausted and physically fucked up because of it. It was compounded by the grief after Lynn passed. The constant anxiety and preemptive mourning is wearing me the fuck down. Making me ill. No matter how many people have told me to put it in perspective and just realize he’s old and it’s okay and just let him be who he is until it’s obviously time to go—I couldn’t. Total dread, all the time. I’m tired. Sad. 
 
So, I believe it is that time. I know I’ve been saying this for months probably but he does not seem like he is having fun anymore. The asthma is consuming and the kidneys are going. He’s very skinny. 
 
Jesus, it’s really a day-to-day struggle to accept reality, live in it and try to believe anything will ever be okay again in my lifetime. It probably wont, really. Actually, the odds are likely it will get much worse. 
 
I did make another olive oil cake. So what? Me and Monkey will eat what we want now. This is it. Time to enjoy what little time there is left. Fuck it. 
 
Excellent talk with rapper and actor Ice T today. I was nervous about it and it was a blast. Same with Thursday’s talk with Joe List. I wasn’t nervous about Joe but I didn’t know him at all. I watched his special and I was happy to know going in that he was the real deal. No alt-comic shit. Straight up old school training with some of the guys I started with back in Boston. Great talks. 

 
Enjoy!
 
Boomer lives!
 
Love,
Maron

A Robin.

The darkness keeps coming, People!
 
But the weather has been great where I live. It’s hard to reconcile. Encroaching societal/economic collapse, the oncoming environmental apocalypse, the plague and the beginning of fascism but, hey, is that a Robin? I think that’s a Robin. I didn’t know we had those here. 
 
Monkey is about done and it’s crushing me. Look, I know he wasn’t going live forever but you keep hoping you have one of those cats that lives abnormally long. Like 41 years. I’ve been keeping up his maintenance. I brought him to the vet the other day. I never know if it will be the last time but I am prepared for that now. 
 
I'm able to compartmentalize now. I wasn’t a couple of months ago. The idea of him dying so close to Lynn dying was too much for me to handle and I guess he knew that. I don’t know. I'm able to separate the two now. It isn’t just a fluid continuance of death and dying. It is separate. Lynn’s death was a tragedy. Monkey is an old sick cat. I love them both. Soon, both will be gone forever. Is that a Robin? I think it is. 
 
Here’s something I’ve been wrestling with that would sound like a conspiracy theory if it didn’t feel kind of possible. It begins with the question: How desperate does your neighbor, who doesn’t like the way you think, have to be to kill you because he doesn’t like the way you think, if it was his job? Not that Trump is playing three-or-five-dimensional chess but it's not a big leap to think this administration could let the economy and country collapse and close off trade with China specifically to nationalize and feed on the desperation and anger of Americans, then outfit them with uniforms and ranks and a ‘cleansing’ agenda and the ones that can’t kill can work and manage state run factories. Maybe I’m crazy but I’m ready to go. I like Robins. 

Today’s episode comes with a trigger warning. If you are an anti-Semite it will trigger you to commit violence. This talk with Seth Rogen is by far the Jewiest talk I’ve ever had with a Jew on air. On Thursday I talk to the legendary Marsha Warfield about comedy and life. Great talks. 
 
Enjoy!
 
Boomer lives!
 
Love,
Maron

Eating My Feelings.

Too much bread and cake, People.
 
It’s got to stop. I made cornbread for no reason and ate it. Then Michaela Watkins and her husband Fred came over a day later with a shit ton of food from Bavel which they left here. Like nine kinds of Middle Eastern bread and spreads and lamb’s neck shawarma and chicken tagine. And fuck me. 
 
It doesn’t matter if I eat ALL my feelings. Seems there’s plenty oozing from the well of sadness within. Steady flow with occasional gushing. Also, I can just get fat as fuck. Who cares? We aren’t going to be shooting Glow until 2021 and there’s no standup happening. So, fuck it, right? Except for cholesterol. Fuck that too, right? Let’s live it up! It’s all ending. Probably in the back of a truck for many. Just like I give my old man Monkey nice chicken and liver that I cook for him to give him his meds. Now I’ll just give it to him because he loves it and he’s dying. We all are. Enjoy. 
 
I didn’t sign up to be the sad guy crying alone in his bed at midnight talking to his old cat who is on his last legs. The trauma and shock and emotional paralysis and PTSD from the event of Lynn’s death is now receding and a deep sense of loss is settling in. So, I cry alone sometimes with my cat. My immediate feeling is that it is pathetic and embarrassing. Then I realized… to who? Me? I guess so. What’s that about? Working on it. I am choosing to see it as tragic and human and not judge myself too harshly. Life happens to you sometimes. People are removed. Monkey knows. He was licking me and telling me he’s trying to hang on as long as possible until I get settled into the sadness and he can move on. I swear he basically said that. He’s wheezy. I told him to tell me when he’s ready to go. He has been telling me in the morning but I wait and by the afternoon he wants to stay. It’s tricky. 
 
I am trying to show my gratitude to my friends. I’m relatively polite in a brash way generally. Trying to connect the gratitude to the humility and vulnerability and express it with minimal tears. These are the times when you really find out which friends are who they say they are. 
 
Today I talk to a friend. A real friend. Tom Scharpling. He’s been on the show a couple of times and we’ve done several Marc and Tom Shows but this is just us hanging out talking about stuff back in May before the darkness came. It’s a reminder of how important it is to sit and talk with friends about nothing in particular. It’s what life is about sometimes. Though this talk seems to take some shape. 
 
On Thursday I talk to comedian Chris Fairbanks through a plexiglass partition six feet away with the windows open. Great talks. 
 
Enjoy!
 
Boomer lives!
 
Love,
Maron