Men In Deep Pain.

Movies are back, People!

I went to the movies. I guess that’s what I mean. I wore a mask and sat with others and enjoyed the communal experience of seeing a movie. I was at an art theater so the screen wasn’t that big but it was still going to the movies.

I saw ‘Pig.’

I rarely feel compelled to go to a movie but I felt like I had to see that movie. I don’t know why exactly. I know it seemed like Nic Cage would be back in good form and the story seemed odd. It was about a man trying to get his truffle pig back after it had been kidnapped. Like, what?

I just had to see it. It seemed like it could be moving or ridiculous.

‘Pig’ is not unlike the new Matt Damon movie, ‘Stillwater.’ The main character is tragically flawed but on a heroic quest. I saw the film in preparation for my talk with Matt on the show today. Again, with this film, I did not know what it was about but it seemed it was about a man trying to save his daughter who is in jail in another country. I naturally thought it was another possible franchise film for Damon not unlike the tedious Neeson ‘Taken’ films. It was so not that. Though it would be hilarious if the sad, shallow character from ‘Stillwater’ did a few follow up movies.

These two films are about men in pain. Deep pain. Both have made messes of their lives. Both are unable to get out from under their grief and shame for very long but they are both trying to live righteous lives. Cage’s character, in the woods, simply, authentically. Damon’s character, in pursuit of justice for his jailed daughter. Both attempts at the hero’s journey in these movies are fraught and the outcomes are challenging. (No spoilers.) The humanity of the two men is painfully revealed and grounded in a familiar darkness. The darkness of the pain of making aggressive, dubious choices with one’s life and the repercussions of that.

In ‘Stillwater’ the story plays out as a story happening in reality. In ‘Pig’ it plays out in a slightly tweaked reality frame that tends towards allegory and myth. I was left with the common experience of facing down a moral conundrum and how one moves on from that with ‘Stillwater.’ With ‘Pig,’ I was shattered and thrown back into the untethered space of my own grief. These are beautiful explorations of the antihero. One in the real world trying to self-correct his past and the other in the mythical world of pursuing ones passion at any cost and the striving for an authentic life. There are prices to be paid in both.

Good films.

As I said, I talk to Matt Damon today. I talk to guitarist Lindsey Buckingham on Thursday.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Looking Back.

The past, people. The past.

I don’t know if anyone else experiences this but when I am in waking consciousness, not quite a dream, my entire brain is mine but the life I am living is not the life I am in. It is an alternate life. Different plans. Different priorities. Different memories. Different clothing. Different job. They are all mine though and feel like my day-to-day until I come back into this world. I don’t believe in parallel universes but I would like to know more about my other life.

I don’t know why I can go there or where it is but it is a bit duller than the life I actually live.

Memories are kind of like that. The older I get the less I can understand who I was as a younger man and how I did the things I did. From college forward, it is very hard for me to wrap my head around my choices and how I committed to the life that got me here. Looking back it feels traumatic. I did it all to myself but if I let my heart sink into what it must have felt like to put myself through the journey that got me here, it is filled with embarrassing heartbreak and profound panic.

I just call it ‘paying my dues.’ Which I guess is what it is. What an awful process. I can remember almost all of my embarrassments and pains even if they were in passing and small. I can’t remember the good things as well because I don’t think I ever framed them like that. They were just the other events that happened that were easier than the hard shit. The breakthroughs and the goals achieved and the highlights were all just ‘not the bad memories.’ I don’t feel them as good times or good memories. Just things I worked for, achieved and moved through.

Maybe the whole ‘you have to enjoy the process’ idea is a bullshit way to protect yourself from acknowledging failure and diminishing success. It’s all been about process for me and even when I attain what I have been working for it passes quickly as a goal that just fades fast in the rear view.

I think I am just reckoning with all the pain and fear that I have put myself through to get here. Where is here? Here is okay. Here is comfortable.

I am also reckoning with the pain and fear I have caused others. Integrating it. Learning from it. Seeing how and if I’ve changed and if I need to change more.

It seems that when I am in the throes of a heavy creative period I tend to beat the shit out of myself. I am doing that now. I am trying to be more accepting of it and trying to understand why it is happening and if there are amends to be made to myself or others. I am thinking about doing that. I am also seeing the events and feelings I am using to hurt myself and trying to understand how I can speak to them, for them, to learn and grow (or not).

Also, I like the life I am actually living better than the one I go to through the half-awake portal. I have better stuff in this one.

Today I talk to record producer Rick Rubin about Rick Rubin. Thursday, I talk to comedian, writer and retiring sex worker Sovereign Syre. Good talks!

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

The Cul-de-sac.

I need some sleep, People.

It doesn’t matter what time I go to bed I still seem to wake up at 6 am. Just happens. I thought it was what happens when you get old. You need less sleep. When I wake up though it feels like there’s a boulder on my chest. That’s not normal.

It must be anxiety, stress, unresolved grief, panic. Who knows? Between the world being on fire and my father being sick and trying to do a new set, maybe that could be the boulder. I’m exhausted. It’s not even that hot here yet. Just waiting. Waiting for the fires. Never ends.

I’m hiking and eating well and doing the creative work but it all feels a bit haunted. There’s a crackling of the dryness, kindling, at the edge of my feelings. I’m finding it harder to be diplomatic or keep my mouth shut when I feel compelled to say something that, though honest, may be off-putting. Oh, wait. That’s what I have been doing my entire career. That is a big part of what I do. Ok. Glad we worked this out.

I guess I’m just being hard on myself. Damn, that’s also what I always do. Okay. Maybe I should figure out why I am doing these things. Do they still serve me? Do I have any control over them? I mean, shit. I’m meditating. I should be able to turn this stuff off. I think that would require I turn everything off. Just shut it all down. Everything that requires a plug or a charge and just leave my heart connected and see what that does.

I’m just sick of what we call culture or the cul-de-sac I am driving around in or the fact that we all have a cul-de-sac. I’ll work it out. I’m probably just overwhelmed and sad and dealing. When I have that as a foundation my habit is to exacerbate it with a lot of other shit. Fire. Throw gas on the fire. Inside. If it’s outside I’ll focus on that.

Horrible way to get out of yourself.

I hung out with Lynn in a dream the other night. I asked her if she still loved me and she said she did. Then she asked me if I still loved her and I said I did. Then she told me that Marlon Wayans would do the podcast closer to the release of Respect. Which was an odd thing to tell me in that moment.

Today I talk to James Murphy from LCD Soundsystem. I actually just started listening to them. Shut up. There is no late to the party. It’s always going. Just have to go to some other cul-de-sacs. On Thursday I talk to Rick Ingraham. A new generation of a Comedy Store Institution. Great talks!

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Unexpected Closure.

Hola, Amigos!

Sorry. In New Mexico for a few days. Seeing the old man while I can and he still has a few marbles left. Which he does.

I met my brother out here. I don’t think the three of us have been together in almost ten years. It’s been good. As difficult as accepting this situation is, it's good. It is not unusual. It’s something that happens to some people when they get old. It’s a sad way to fizzle out but we’re in it. He’s still able to register us and his feelings and have a few laughs so it’s been great. The immediacy of the frailty and vulnerability of what he is going through makes it feel safer for me to show some fairly genuine love for the guy. Not just make a joke or give a hug. I’m not sure it ever felt safe to love that guy growing up. Too unpredictable, too selfish, too painful. Maybe that’s the nature of this life arch if it works out correctly. The letting go. The being there for them. I always assumed it was for financial reasons or caregiving, which it is. That’s not all though. What I am experiencing is some real emotional connection and closure with the people that brought me up. People I couldn’t really feel that with in a ‘normal’ way. I think I should be grateful.

Life stinks. That is the truth of it all. Hearts breaking every day.

People do change though. I know I have. I know my father is, though by no choice of his own. It’s odd to appreciate it all. I can’t say that I am very good at being open and having feelings. I tend to mold them into ones I can manage but they are coming more frequently in a purer form. Again, I think I should be grateful. Life stinks.

But we push on! I talk to two people this week who have completely changed their lives from being criminals and drug addicts to functioning artists and inspirational forces in their communities and the world. I talk to Danny Trejo today about his journey from prison and heroin to movies and recovery and tacos. On Thursday I talk to John Swab about his journey from heroin to directing films with a powerful message about addiction and grift. Great talks!

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Working It Out.

Eating, People.

I don’t know what’s happening in my mind really. I’ve been aggro and impatient and cynically angry and very funny.

I guess it all feeds the same beast. I guess the way I innately gather my thoughts and wrangle them into standup doesn’t change. I have always envied those who write jokes but because of the life or death pressure I put on myself to make broad strokes, find themes, speak truths of some kind, I just could never do it that way. It’s a full immersion experience, at least mentally. Wait, physically too because I eat compulsively when I’m in it. I am in it.

I clearly don’t know how to do it and other way or I just haven’t tried. The last few weeks I’ve been going on stage every night except Sunday and Monday because The Comedy Store isn’t open those nights yet. Just hammering it out. Finding where I stand currently on stage. Figuring out my disposition in light of all that’s happened off stage and in the downtime of the plague and grief. It’s exciting, but I’m a little edgy and a little angry. Though it doesn’t feel like it used too. It isn’t coming from a place of fear or insecurity. It isn’t coming from a place of contempt either. It is grounded in my own sense of acceptance and craft and I believe it is coming out funny. I do have to lubricate it a bit more. Pepper it with some more silly stuff or the tone will get exhausting.

The other night, before I left the stage, I said, “If my tone made you uncomfortable it was on purpose. It’s a character I’m working on called, ‘me, half the time.’”

I have gotten into some hardened mental shape over the last few weeks. I feel ready to stretch out. Ready to do the long sets. Ready to do the searching. Getting out on the ice at Dynasty Typewriter. We’ll see what happens.

So, a few weeks ago my producer, Brendan McDonald, said he was coming out to LA for a few days. I immediately thought it was bad news. Like he was flying out to tell me we were ending the show and he wanted to settle up on stuff. Maybe have a fist fight or something. Turns out it was because Quentin Tarantino was booked on the show and he wanted to be here for it. He also wanted to get the fuck out of NYC for a few days. He hadn’t traveled since the plague receded. He’s only come out for one other talk in the history of the show, Obama. So, I kind of knew this was a big deal. Of course all I could feel was the regular dread I feel before every talk. Will it be a conversation? Do I have to watch all the movies again? How will I get anything new out of a guy that has been talking and talking about himself for a few decades now.

Well, it turned out all of my expectations were off and we had a very engaged chat. I actually really loved the new book so I entered excited. I think he’s always pretty excited. It was a relief and a good time. I’m posting it today.

On Thursday I talk to another prolific and profound director, Steven Soderbergh. I was full of dread about that too (like all of them) because he is so capable and has used so many styles and tones over the years and made some truly great movies. He has some real cajones. And, again, it was a great talk.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

The Process.

Okay, People…

I guess everything is back to normal? I have no idea what the rules are. Is it business-to-business in terms of masks?

I go some places, like supermarkets, and it seems that masks are still required but seemingly optional for some and no one seems to be enforcing anything. Meanwhile, restaurants are just full on fuck-it out here. I’m fine with it. I’ve been fine with it. I’m vaxxed. I’m all about the fuck it. Also, still about the fuck you to all those who didn’t get vaxxed and are riding on the coattails of the true patriots and bonafide fucking grown-ups who did get jabbed so we could have our freedom back. That’s just the way it goes. On the plus side, it’s now an ‘issue’ they can shut the fuck up about. Babies. They should all be embarrassed.

I’m still on mostly a sugar detox diet and I don’t think I’m losing much weight. I guess I don’t really need to but I wanted to lose a little for something to do I guess. To have some sense of control in these odd times. I can feel the crackle of chaos on the periphery of my consciousness. It’s making me anxious even if I’m making it up. So what better way to combat fear and powerlessness than to diet. It gives me focus, order, discipline, structure and all the tools I need to combat self-judgement and self-hatred. Unless it’s not really working, which it isn’t. So, I’m increasing both.

I’m healthier though. I mean I must be, right? No carbs, very little sugar (not on purpose), no nasty sugar substitutes (aspartame). I must be so much healthier. I eat more nuts than I thought possible, hence the lack of weight loss. It’s better all-around. Except now the binge fantasies are coming, the fires are coming, the economic collapse, all the good stuff. The sugar on my periphery.

I’ve been through all of this before. I think it has something to do with my creative process. I need the slow spiral, the cycles, the discontent, to keep my brain engaged and uncomfortable and agitated. I wouldn’t say I’m doing it on purpose but it seems to be what I do. It’s silly and predictable but I never really see it coming. It always feels fresh.

It’s working. The material is coming and I am engaged and enraged and excited on stage. Weeks ago I wasn’t sure I really wanted to or could do comedy anymore. Now, I’m starting to crave longer sets. I’m running the light at the club and that’s good for me but not a great habit to get into. Pisses off my fellow comics. I’m looking forward to the Dynasty Typewriter shows. I believe there are more tickets available now.

Today I talk to Ellen Burstyn about her long and eventful career in show biz. Great actress. One of the best. On Thursday I talk to Erik Griffin, comedian. We do what we comics do when we talk. Great talks!

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

The Season.

The heat is here, Folks!

Again, another summer of fire panic is starting.

People wonder why people leave Cali and I believe the reason is primarily fire panic. ‘They’ are saying it’s going to be worse this year than last. I don’t know what is real and what isn’t in terms of speculation but I don’t know how it could be worse short of all of the state burning. That said, I seem to be dug in.

When I considered leaving it had nothing to do with fire, really. It has more to do with roaming hordes of lawless, desperate packs of ragtag people searching for food and shelter and unafraid of torturing and killing anyone who stands in their way even if it’s their own homes.

You know, societal breakdown.

I’m still not convinced that won’t happen. I am still pretty convinced that I will miss my opportunity to get out in time. So, all this to say that I will ride out this fire season with hope and fear and maybe the air won’t become unbreathable again. Here’s to hoping.

I’m sure that I am not the first to think about this angle on UFOs. Since they’ve been in the news a bit because the military is sitting on some images of a few. I don’t think the important question is whether aliens exist or not but why they never stop and hang out. The don’t stop to hurt us. They don’t stop to help us. They don’t stop to refuel or nap. They seem to just hover and split. Like, ‘nope, no need to stop here.’ I think that’s on us. Would you stop at this planet if you could go anywhere else in the universe? Nope.

Today I have a surprising conversation with the actor Anthony Carrigan. He plays NoHo Hank on Barry and he is NOTHING LIKE THAT GUY. I don’t know why that’s surprising but some characters are so good you believe them deeply. On Thursday I talk to David Hidalgo from the band Los Lobos. They are one of the greatest bands ever and make most other bands look like novelty act. It was an honor to chat with him for a bit.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Paintings.

Art finds its way, People.

Strange story.

A fan from Seattle reached out to me on IG DM. He said he came across a painting at an estate sale by ‘Lynn Shelton.’ He sent me a little pic of the painting and a close up of the signature. Sadly, I was not really with Lynn long enough to be entirely familiar with her signature and/or whether she did any real painting in her past. The piece was dated 9/16/83.

I also thought that Lynn would’ve been pretty young but from the picture it looked like something she may be interested in or aspire to based on a piece she bought not long before she died. A sculpture, plastic, encaustic I think, molded on wood. Lines. Colors. Like the painting in the picture the guy found.

I told him I would like to have it if that’s what he was asking. I offered to pay him for whatever he paid and to have it shipped. He said I could just pay for shipping which came out to like 195 bucks. Which I thought was a lot but I had no idea how large the piece was. I had gotten it in my mind that this painting may be a portal into Lynn’s creativity that I had no idea about.

The painting arrived. It’s HUGE. I can’t tell if it’s a print or a painting. It’s like 50”x35”. Big. It looked like a fully realized pro job. Real painter stuff. I found an imprint on the paper from the paper mill. Fancy pulp. It wasn’t that I didn’t think Lynn could do it but if she had it would’ve been under some kind of mentorship. I assumed.

I texted her friend Jennifer and asked if she thought Lynn could’ve done this. She said maybe but she would ask Lynn’s brother. He said she would’ve been at Oberlin for her first year at that time and he didn’t really remember her painting. He asked their mom who also didn’t recall her painting. She would’ve been right out of high school at that time.

Someone told me that it was probably not the exact date but a print. Nine being the number out of the 16 made in 1983. So, that means she could’ve had a whole year to do it. It still felt a little like a stretch.

It was seeming less and less possible that it was the same Lynn Shelton. I found one painting on an auction site by another Lynn Shelton. An abstract from 1965. I put it out in the world on IG that I was trying to figure it out. Some folks found a NYT piece on the art and prints of Lynn Shelton and his collaboration with Karl Springer who makes furniture. Has to be the guy.

Why this piece ended up at an estate sale in Seattle I have no idea. There is literally no other information about him that I can find. I’ll reach out to Karl Springer’s company. We’ll see.

The bottom line is I actually love the piece. I hung it in my bedroom. It sends me, somehow. Abstract is hard. This one works for me. Somehow I still look into it and the depth and space it creates connects me to something bigger, maybe somewhere else, maybe the Lynn I loved is out there somewhere. Part of the big frequency.

Today I talk to Helen Hunt about all the Helen Hunt stuff. On Thursday I talk to Jackson Browne about the Jackson Browne stuff and more, actually. Great talks!

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Melon Season.

Making things right, Friends

‘Question: Is control controlled by its need to control? Answer: Yes.’ -William Burroughs

So much is out of our control, almost everything. That is something that became very apparent in the last year. Also, what fills a vacuum of when control starts to break apart. Nothing good. All the patterns, habits, actions we put into place to feel like we have a little handle on little things are necessary to maintain some stability, right? I guess. It feels like the edge of chaos is easing into the every day all the time.

I don’t know. I bought three Watermelons in one day. Trying to make things right. Trying to have some control over my life, a sense of justice. Righting a serendipitous wrong. Is anything serendipitous. Yes, stupid. There are no tea leaves to read. It’s windy.

It’s the season for the melons. I thought I had gotten pretty good at picking the pretty good ones. I hold a melon to my head, press my ear into it and knock. If it sounds like I’m knocking on a wooden door to an empty room that’s good. If it has a creamy yellow spot on it, that’s good. I bought a good one early in the day, brought it home, cut it open. It as weird, bad. The rind was too thick. The flesh was red and sweet but chewy. No one wants a chewy melon. I was mad. At what though? Myself? My luck? My system breaking down? It was unfair, but there was no real culprit.

In an obsessive huff I went to another market. I got another melon, a bigger melon. It past all the tests. I got it home, cut it open. It was ripe, too ripe. It was mealy in places. It had to be eaten quickly. It was a twenty pound melon. Theres only me. Too much pressure, not perfect. I was furious. Though it was good, I did not ‘nail it’ as they say. It was and is good though. Still eating.

I did go get another melon, a third melon. It past all the checks. I haven’t cut into it. I’ll wait. I want to feel what it feels like to believe that it is perfect for a day or too. That there is justice . That my skill set matters. That I don’t have bad luck. That things can be right in the world. That I have some control over my life.

I talk to William Zabka today about Cobra Kai and playing bullies and his life in show business. On Thursday I talk to Danny Elfman about his music and life in show business. Great talks.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Regroup, Reground, Re-Engage

Back at it, People!

I did a spot at The Comedy Store every night last week. As you remember, I was playing with the idea of never doing stand up again. I still don’t ultimately know what will unfold, if anything, but it is what I do. So, we’ll see. It’s not like there are no problems in the world or with me personally to fuel me. I just don’t know if I’m tired of it all or not. Actually, I am, but that has never mattered.

I will say that the strange intensity of being out in the world among people is weird and tangible. I find I may be talking louder and with a bit more excitement without knowing it just because it’s been so long since we've all stood in that back hallway of the Comedy Store just talking. It was great to see Jeselnik, Segura, Lederman, Povitsky, Ingraham, Maz, Burr, etc. It was like nothing happened, except it did, a year’s worth, and now the strange vibration of collective trauma permeates.

It’s odd, but the natural adaptive urge is to get back ‘normal.’ I can’t, really. I won’t. I have to address what we’ve been through. Thoroughly. A year of terror, panic, isolation and near madness. The plague, death, the assault by a leader that wouldn’t honor our system, environmental horror, unbreathable air. The last year was emotionally and physically and psychological devastating for most of us. So, what is this normal we’re just supposed to get back to? Tired patterns of another time. We must process the multi-level traumas we experienced as individuals, as a species. I believe we are all in profound PTSD and if we don’t release and actively sit with it a bit we risk damaging our collective memory and disabling our ability to process what is happening now.

This is a respite. We must gather ourselves and regroup and reground and re-engage.

That said, the comedy has been tenuous in nature, but good. I’m getting my legs back for what may be the big work to come. Hitting the bag, jabbing, staying up. I can’t really spread out at the Comedy Store but I can work out. Hopefully when July is here and I’m doing the residency at Dynasty Typewriter my vessel will be ready to do the deeper explorations.

Today I talk to Gabe Kaplan. It was a real honor. He’s the real deal. Thursday I talk to Andrew Santino. We didn’t really know each other, now we kind of do. Comic talks. Good times.


Enjoy!

Lynn Shelton lives!

Love,
Maron

A Year.

A year, People.

It’s been a year since Lynn Shelton passed away. I didn’t think that the anniversary would affect me. I mean, I think about it every day. I didn’t think a date marker would make a difference. It does. It has to. In both good and bad ways.

The bad ways obviously revolve around the fact that she isn’t here. As life starts to get back to engagement in the world there are those of us who made it through and many who didn’t. We are the ones they left behind but they are the ones that are gone. We can’t know what that means except to us. The ones left. So much sadness to go around.

It’s good to acknowledge the anniversary of a death. Out of respect for the dead but also to acknowledge where you are now versus then. I am beginning to see how grief has transformed me, humbled me, opened me up, cut through the bullshit of my being. It’s not growth anyone wants to do. It’s growth that has been thrust upon us, ripped from us, has come from being punched in the soul and kicked in the heart. You have no choice.

My heart goes out to people that had lives with her. People that have known her for years, since she was born, as a mother, a wife, an old friend. My history with her was so brief, cut short. I grieve a love that was realized and a life together that didn’t happen.

Once the trauma faded and the PTSD set in and waned the primary thoughts that carried me through the year were specific. I missed her. I wasn’t the victim, she was. I have nothing to feel sorry for myself about. Tragedy is not unusual, it is human and horrible and common and happens to people every day. Death is inevitable.

May her memory be a blessing.

That one is one you hear all the time. It seems trite. It seems too simple. It is a brilliant and deep way to contextualize grief. It is what you have to do so you aren’t destroyed by heartbreak and grief and nostalgic recall and self-pity and suicidal sadness. I had the love. We had it. I just didn’t have the time I thought I would. Do we ever? Keep her memory alive and keep the light shining within and honor her legacy somehow is all I can do. Keep her memory for blessing.

Jews get it. Deep stuff.

Yesterday Brendan McDonald and I were awarded the Governors Award at the inaugural Ambie Awards ceremony. The Ambie Awards are for excellence in audio, specifically podcasting. The Governors Award recognizes a podcast or individual for the compelling impact they’ve had on the industry. We’ll take it! We are honored and proud of our work. We work hard. We love what we do.

Today I talk to Eric Bana. He’s a great actor, an Australian and former standup comic. Who knew? I didn’t. Thursday, I talk to Rickie Lee Jones. Some heavy LA history. Great talks.

Enjoy!

Lynn Shelton lives!

Love,
Maron

Part of Me Lives Up There.

Back on stage, folks!

Ridiculous.

I really thought that I may be done with comedy. I thought I had said enough or there wasn’t really much more for me to say or I was just tired. I thought I could walk away from it, walk away from show business and all the expectations and bullshit that come along with it. I still think I can. What I realized is—it doesn’t matter. I don’t have to do anything. I can do it because I just want to or, maybe, I get some joy out of it or some enlightenment or some excitement, find some personal truth, get some laughs.

What I realized is that comedy doesn’t have to be life or death.

After all my wallowing and wondering, what really compelled me to get up on stage was the same thing that always does, spite. Competitiveness. Not wanting to miss anything. As soon as I saw other comics, my peers, planning tours and putting themselves out there I thought, fuck this, then I have to get out there.

I did my first sets last Friday and Saturday in the Original Room at The Comedy Store the second weekend it was open. I had to.

Leading up to it I felt no fear and I may have been excited. I’m not sure. All I know is I am so happy I waited to work at a real club, the club. I didn’t sell myself short out of one kind of desperation or another and do drive-in shows or outdoor shows. It would’ve been terrible for my spirit.

The Comedy Store is like home, like Mecca, like the rock. Seeing the place, seeing my peers, getting up on the stage, holding that mic, sitting on that stool. It comes right back to ya. Well, actually, it’s always there. Part of me lives up there. A big part of me. I am a comic to the core.

It was emotional and exciting to be there. Doesn’t matter that it was at low capacity and that there were not that many people there in the sold-out room. It’s a comedy club. We’ve all played for small, scattered audiences. Usually at the end of the night and they’re wasted. This is at the beginning of the night and they couldn’t be more excited to be there. They are getting used to being an audience again and we are getting our chops back and our acts together. Good stuff.

Today I talk to the legend that is Steve Miller. His songs are in us. On Thursday I talk to Kristen Hersh about Throwing Muses and her solo career and her books and her kids and life. Great talks!

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Seniors.

Florida, People.

Florida. Trump is still president here for the most part but it really seems that, at least where I am, people are still being safe. There are a lot of masks on indoors. I’m not sure if it has been business as usual through the pandemic but it feels like most people, either from here or out of town, are tentatively excited about being out in the world.

Florida does not disappoint. I find that you can use that phrase for both awesome things and horrendous. Florida has both. I have come to be kind of fascinated with the place. This densely populated clusterfuck weirdo haven of all ages and cultures. It feels like the only thing holding it together and stopping it from breaking into some kind of chaos is the sluggish atmosphere from humidity. The entire state feels like it's run on handshake deals and backroom negotiations.

There is something beautiful about seniors who give zero fucks and feel they have earned the insanity. I saw a man wearing what looked like a Speedo unitard on a unicycle who must’ve been ninety. That’s what retirement should look like either inwardly or outwardly. Metaphor or real.

Seeing my mother after a year was actually nice. I’m feeling differently about family—today anyway. I’m happy to have them around. I have to go see my dad next. Get some time in before there isn’t any left for one of us. My brother is down here as well now. We all went out. I met his new girlfriend. It was fraught with some drama that I talk about on the show today but it’s been good so far.

It’s very bittersweet. I wish Lynn were here to meet my mom for the first time. The future looked so good and exciting a year ago. Even with the plague. I thought I was set, we were set, to ride out the rest of it. It was not to be. I try to keep her memory a blessing, every day. Some days are tough. I try not to wear my sadness. I mean, I’m a professional clown. I can alchemize it somehow.

Today I talk to Nancy Wilson! Yes! From Heart! So cool. Their songs are wired into my brain from junior high. On Thursday I talk to comedian Mark Normand. Yes, finally got around to him. Great talks!

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Oscars.

Enough bread, People.

Please. Someone stop me. I’m lying to myself. I keep saying I’m trying to perfect this Irish soda bread recipe but, in all honesty, I just like looking at the cooked bread and then EATING AS MUCH OF IT AS POSSIBLE, QUICKLY. I have made two Irish soda breads (three including the one that I threw away) and one Irish brown bread. I think I got it. I think. I might have to make one more brown bread.

I’m half watching this weird Oscar ceremony as I write this. I am very happy Daniel Kaluuya won. That just happened right now while I was watching. I’m not going to write about the whole thing because I want to be done with this before that. Long before that.

I will say that this year’s Oscars seemed like the most honest ceremony in years. Because of the limitations and the choices that were made by the producer Stephen Soderbergh to make it intimate and sparse it came off as small. It felt like an in-house corporate awards ceremony that could be taking place at a hotel ballroom. It looked like the people who were there stopped by before they were going somewhere else. There was nothing on the tables, no real audience, no clips, no comedy, no songs, no dancing, no pomp and circumstance or big celebrity presence. It seemed egalitarian and boring but human. This year’s Oscars make the argument to never televise them again.

Maybe what we have learned during this last year is that some institutions need to be salvaged and saved and some no longer serve the common good or interest or they just need to be what they are. It seemed that the scope and tone of this years Oscars matched their cultural relevance. Though I was happy to see diversity on all levels was being recognized. Attempted egalitarianism. Humanity sans the pomp and song and dance.

I got little Lord Sammy Red his booster shots and he reacted just like I did after my second Moderna shot. He was lethargic and not eating much for a couple days. Now he’s back on top of it and chasing his own tail. Just like me. Buster is accepting the little guy and is already starting to be a little annoyed but in a cute older brother kind of way, not in a “what about me” kind of way. It’s his karma for the hell he put Monkey and LaFonda through in their old age. I’m sure he’ll take a few shots from Sammy as well when and if they both get older together.

Today I talk to Richard Kind about being Richard Kind. He is a large presence. On Thursday I talk to the comedy genius Robert Smigel about puppets, Conan, Sandler, dentistry, family and stuff. Great talks!

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Like Riding a Bike.

Up and down, People!

I’m stuffed. I ate like a pig today at a BUFFET situation. Yeah, food, out, on a table. Wild.

I went to my first fully vaxxed party situation. It was a surprise party for my friend's wife. All the adults there were vaxxed and we were just hanging around talking and laughing like it was March 10, 2020. It actually didn’t feel odd AT ALL. Turns out talking to people in person and seeing their entire faces is just like riding a bike. Once you got it, it stays. I don’t know whether that’s good or bad. I knew most of the people there and we all just seemed to pick up where we left off which is to say just talking shit and catching up. I thought it would be more strange. It concerns me.

It was nice seeing more than just eyes and assuming everyone is either panicked or mad.

It’s not necessarily a bad thing. I think this may be what phase one feels like. The ‘you made it through ok’ re-entry phase. None of us know what is left of the reality we left behind. How many of our peers have fallen off the grid? What will be left of the ways we filled our lives in the before time. Stores, restaurants, jobs, clubs, people, etc. I think most of us are just so excited to be vaccinated that it may be feeding some denial of what is really happening or about to unfold. Maybe not. I don’t know. We still can’t really do much comfortably here in Cali.

I know some people never stopped their lives and had to press on surrounded by real crisis for survival and/or occupational reasons. I have to assume that they feel relief as well. Well earned.

We’ve all paid some human dues over this time. We’ve all seen and felt real tragedy. We’ve all been terrified.

I made a choice not to compulsively chase my former life in a compromised way over the last year. I had the weight of grief on me and the idea of performing outdoors for distanced, masked crowds was too much of a sad situation for me to deal with for a few reasons. I didn’t eat at distanced places. Too sad. I minded my own business, kept my outreach on machines for people who engaged. I kept my friends close. I tried to stay in shape and keep it together. Outside of food being sent by people early on, I have cooked and eaten all my meals at home for the good part of a year. I KEPT MY SHIT TOGETHER. I DID THE WORK I COULD.

Now, we are phasing out and I am going to ease in like the rest of you. I am not going to rush in. I don’t feel like I have to make up for lost time. To what end? I didn’t lose any time. It was the time it was. We have been through something, many things. I have to see where I am with it, gradually. I have decided not to plan an extensive tour. Instead I will do a residency at Dynasty Typewriter here in LA and see if I can find my footing and where I stand on stage. Then I will do some selected club dates and start putting things together. Then, when it's solid, tight, I will take it out to the big rooms.

I don’t have to rush. There’s no race. There’s no urgency. Comedy is not some kind of team sport. I need to find the life or death thread of understanding that roots my comedy in my body. If it’s there.

If it isn’t. Fuck it. I did plenty.

Unlike Tom Jones I don’t feel like I have to keep pushing it out there just because I can. But, I am not 80. I may feel differently then, or even next week. I talk to Tom today. It was really engaged and fun. He’s 100 percent and firing on all cylinders. On Thursday I’ll share an exciting talk I had with John Waters a while back. Long time coming on that one. Great talks.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Good Meat.

Sometimes it’s about the meat, People.

It just is. I get focused and annoying. Fortunately I’m alone.

I got it in my mind to try to cook another brisket. My second one. I have a Traeger pellet grill. I don’t have to tend a fire or adjust vents or find the proper piece of wood. I’m not saying I can’t do all that but I probably can't. That doesn’t mean that the project didn’t take on a life or death kind of intensity as I converged on the cook.

That is how my brain works. That is how I spiral. I lock into an obsessive process and some part of my brain thinks everything depends on it. My sense of honor, my sense of masculinity, my sense of what I can do, my entire sense of self. Ridiculous.

I went to the ‘good’ place to get the meat. I never go to the good place. I usually go to Whole Foods which just seems good. Brisket is a garbage cut anyway. So, I look at some meat that is still in packaging at the ‘good’ place. They don’t have any flat or lean pieces connected to a few inches of point or double. I got a flat and separate piece of point. I got home ready to trim and rub and the point piece was basically a hunk of hard fat. I was furious. The spin began.

I called the good place and told them I was unhappy I was sold a hunk of hard fat. I had the intense tone on. Not the nasty tone. The I’m-aggressively-disappointed-and-I-want-justice tone. The guy understood. Said he had to talk to his manager and then see if they even had any more brisket.

Now I’m in it. I’m not going to wait for the call back. I go directly and quickly to Whole Foods as if something is depending on me getting the meat other than I just wanted it. I stopped the butcher there who was in the middle of sawing ribs. In a loud, intense tone I said, ‘You have a piece of the fatty double brisket?’ He went and checked the smoker. I said, ‘No, raw.’ He said, ‘Of course.’

He brings out a whole Packer Brisket. It must’ve been 20 pounds. He holds it in front of me. I show him the section I want. He cuts around it, trims it. Sells it to me. Great.

The guy from the good place calls back. He tells me to come trade out the hunk of hard fat for some meat. I go there. I get another piece of point AND another piece of flat. So, now I have two flat pieces and two point pieces to choose from. I break it down. I assess. I pick two to freeze and get to work rubbing the other two. Lot of meat. A lot of intensity. A lot of compulsive focus.

The next day I cooked them up in about seven hours. They came out perfect. Dean and Al Madrigal and I ate most of the five pounds of meat. It was beautiful.

And Dean sold me a grown-up watch.

Today I talk to Sally Struthers about Five Easy Pieces, The Getaway and All in the Family, among other things. Thursday, I talk to Yo-Yo Ma about being Yo-Yo Ma, among other things. Great talks!

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Changing Thought.

Cats, People.

There is a persistent kitten on my desk right now as I write this. I guess I forgot it’s kind of like having a kid, I imagine. The growing-up happens quicker. He was basically a newborn a couple of weeks ago and now he’s like a two-year old. I have to wear him out so he’ll nap.

Unlike most two-year olds he is learning how to navigate the stairs. One at a time. Hopping. He also has this strange side-stepping dance he does when he’s freaked out and he's trying to be intimidating. I like the I’m-so-weird-get-away-from-me defense.

Jkkkkhfiou8iojallllllll

Sorry, Sammy wrote that.

When I was asked if I wanted to interview Hunter Biden my first reaction was ‘no, I don’t need to do that.’ I just didn’t want to be part of the ongoing right-wing shitstorm that surrounds the guy. It didn’t seem necessary. I had assumptions about who he is and they weren’t good. I thought he had to be a douchebag of some sort or a sociopath or, worse, a bro. I just didn’t see a conversation there. I said, ‘nah.’

Then I thought about it. This guy is a hardcore drug addict. This guy was the focus of a right-wing campaign to destroy his father through his behavior. He was what they saw as the weak link, the Achilles heel, the sure-fire way to bring down his family. They just keep hammering at the total mess of a drug addict Joe Biden's son was. I thought, ‘How does someone handle that?’ Anyone. Let alone a guy trying to get clean. I started to think about him differently.

I can talk to drug addicts. I can talk recovery. I've had these conversations many times in my public life and private life. It’s sort of what I do. So I told Brendan to have them send me the book. I read it. It is sad, tragic, brutally honest, disturbing and concerning.

I rethought it. I said I did want to talk to him. I thought it might be good for him to talk to another recovering addict for an hour. It was. For me as well.

I did not set out to clear his name or set anything straight for the right-wing machine. A lot of the stuff the right-wing tried to use against him was transparently just an attempt to hurt his father. They tried to run the Crooked Hillary playbook on Joe Biden by turning Hunter's business dealings into some kind of financial conspiracy that involved Joe. It was such a flimsy case, Trump got impeached by trying to manufacture it.

A lot of the accusations against Hunter were just tabloid fodder that attacked his character for being a drug addict - like the nonsense with his laptop. Who the fuck cares about his laptop? Even the people who said they looked at the stuff on the laptop couldn't come up with anything.

So this is a talk today about grief, desperation, tragedy and deep drug addiction. It lands in a good place but it's fragile.

On Thursday I talk to Katey Sagal about her new show and her life in the business and more recovery. Big sober week here on the show.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

An Overwhelming Feeling.

Jesus, I’m worn out, People.

I’m not even sure why. I imagine it’s because I’ve gone into overdrive with doing shit around the house all of a sudden. I have been putting off setting up my in-house office for a few years, I guess. Yeah. So, now all of sudden, in a surge, it became time to deal with that.

I’m building shelves, moving boxes, hanging pictures, throwing stuff away, stacking books and filling drawers WITH SHIT THAT DOESN’T MATTER. I have more rubber bands than I’ll ever use in my lifetime. So many Sharpies. About sixty post-it pads. I have no idea where all this stuff comes from. I don’t buy it. It appears.

This flurry of activity is some sort of attempt to make me feel like I am grounded and that life is okay. I’m trying to create spaces that I enjoy being in. When I look around my new office I am comfortable and I like sitting in there. I just don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do in there. It’s another place to sit and listen to music and space out. I have been doing yoga and meditation in that room.

The real issue is that any time I have a moment of okayness it is immediately counteracted with an overwhelming feel of, ‘what’s the point?’ Anytime my brain edges into acceptance and a little peace of mind some other part of my brain says, ‘yeah but you’ll be dead soon and none of this matters.’ I have to actively fight that voice all the time. I know I do. Brendan pointed out that it sounds like a trauma reaction. I think that is true but I felt like this a bit before this past year. I may have inherited some of it.

My dad does nothing. He used to do things. He used to work constantly and run around fucking people and drive fast cars and carry guns around and ski and buy fancy suits. Now he does nothing. He isn’t interested in doing anything but complaining that he is bored and there is nothing to do. I don’t want to be that guy. I can't be. It is in me though. It is my birthright.

Happy Passover to you Jews who do that.

Sammy Red the kitten is doing well. I have introduced the two and Buster seems open to Sammy. He’s not happy but he’s not that freaked out. I’ve been letting Sam explore the house a bit. He’s turning eight weeks old this week. So, I have to keep an eye on him still. I think he’s a good guy.

Today I talk to director Azazel Jacobs about his latest film French Exit with Michelle Pfeiffer. It’s a sweet, disturbing movie. I like his stuff. On Thursday I talk to the actor Daniel Kaluuya about playing Fred Hampton and who he is as a person and actor. Great talks!

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron