Heavy Riffage.

More road, Folks. 

Columbus, Indianapolis and Louisville. Boom. 

I don’t know what I’m getting into out there unless I’ve been there before. 

I had been to Columbus many years ago. I believe I did a Funnybone back in the day. It was in a mall and I remember you could see free movies at the theaters there if you were the comic. I remember the dressing room was connected to the stage. I remember the sound system was good. That’s it. I may have been there another time but I have no recollection. Cities become a blur as years pass. 

This time, we were at The Southern Theatre and it was one of the sweetest venues I’ve ever played. Beautiful old place. Built in 1894. The sound was perfect. It was literally connected to the hotel we were staying at. It seats around 900. I got about 600 in there which was just right. The third balcony was only partially full but it was almost part of the ceiling so it was fine. The riffing begins. 

I have a history with Indianapolis. I’ve been going there since I started working as a comic. Years ago a couple named Chic and Patty owned the downtown club and the Broad Ripple club and a bar in town. I remember they used to put us up in a furnished apartment in what seemed like some kind of large halfway house. I remember seeing police lines over doors twice. The downtown room was narrow and difficult and there were three shows on a Saturday. The Broad Ripple club was suburban and had a pretty good sound system. It was later owned by a woman who’s old, hunched over, cranky father would drive us to the Bob and Tom Show at six in the morning for radio. They always had food there. Chick McGee was always hilarious. 

This time we were at the Egyptian Room at Old National Centre. It’s a huge ballroom that was seated for a show. Ballrooms have a different energy than theatres and the stage was very wide. It turned out to be a fun show. I riffed a lot of weird shit. The crowd was great. 

I have been to Louisville once or twice in the past but I have no recollection of anything other than vague legal mistakes made in a motel room and being told over and over how to pronounce the name of the city correctly. 

This time we were at The Kentucky Center for the Performing Arts Bomhard Theatre. A 500 seater. Truly perfect. Modern. Tiered. Sweet sound. I did a two hour show. I continued the heavy riffage. Took it pretty far out. Brought it back in. 

There were plenty of late-night eating horrors. I have to start putting dinner in my rider. Scrambling at 11 to find food in small cities can get challenging. Both in the finding and the eating. You can hear one tale of sad late-night food in the bonus content for Full Maron WTF+ members tomorrow.

Lara Beitz did a great job featuring for me on all the shows and we had fun driving and eating and talking and recording some of the talking. 

Today I talk to Sam Quinones about his devastating but engaging new book, The Least of Us: True Tales of America and Hope in the Time of Fentanyl and Meth. Important stuff. Patton Oswalt returns on Thursday to catch up. It’s been years and he has a big movie coming out. 

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Don't Tell Anyone.

Bonjour, Everyone.

Very tired. Flying home from the Just for Laughs Festival in Montreal. Woke up at 4:30 to get a 5:00 car after sleeping three hours on a stomach full of amazing food from Liverpool House with my managers, Kelly and David. A steak with a slab of blue cheese laying on top, chocolate cake, panna cotta, raspberry mousse. Damn. That was after a croque monsieur and profiteroles at lunch with Kelly. Damn again. Great food in Montreal.

I guess I have to sugar detox again.

The car didn’t show. Panicked. Took a cab. Bill Burr was in line behind me at the airport. His current manager and my old one, Dave Becky, was already in the lounge. We had some good laughs, good back-in-the-day comedian stories, music talk. This is when the actual relaxed and normal conversations happen at the festival. Beat up and tired at the gate and on the flight after days of running around doing shows and eating.

I stressed myself out before going to the festival. I had to host a gala. It was booked two and a half years ago. I had two solo shows to do as well in a small place. I tracked the stress to some kind of PTSD. I’ve been going to the festival since 1995. First as a guy with a mic for Comedy Central. I was a comic but I was nowhere. Over the years I watched my peers become huge and I became at times bitter but always hanging in. Then everything changed. I’ve landed on my feet. I’m my own comic. The residue of stress from years past activated and tweaked me.

All it took was one show to snap me back into myself. I stopped by the theater where the gala would be to have a look and hung out a bit with Patton who was hosting the night before me. They shot them in a new venue this year. I had done a few as a guest over the years and it used to be in a 3500-seater. This place was 1200. Perfect. As soon as I got in there and checked it out I knew it would be good.

The gala was FUN. I said it. FUN. Don’t tell anyone.

I also did a spot on Jimmy Carr’s show at midnight one night which was FUN.

I saw a lot of friends and had some laughs and, again, ate great food. Had good shows. I reconfigured my memories of being there in the past to highlight hanging with comics over the years. Being part of it and evolving into an old comic with less panic, anger, compulsion, FOMO. Good trip.

Today I talk to Neil Gaiman about his work and life and his new Sandman series on Netflix. Thursday I talk to James Acaster about doing comedy, depression, mics, cords and performance. Great talks.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

The Pursuit of Melon.

Melons, People.

Fires, drought, fascism and watermelon.

It’s the little things. Melon. I’ve been doing a sugar detox that I can’t seem to stop because l like to feel starvy. It allows me to eat watermelon which I would’ve eaten anyway. Summer is driven by watermelon. I eat a lot of it.

Finding mental space between the fires, the drought and the fascism occupies the macro expanse of my fears and mind. The melon is the journey. The pursuit of melon. It's sometimes obsessive. It grounds me. That, along with a few other fleeting obsessions, keeps me occupied and in pursuit of relief.

It’s sort of weird and annoying how hung up I can get on choosing the right watermelon. I listen to it. I knock on it. When I believe the tone is correct I take it. I’m right 8 out of 10 times. When I’m not right, I get kind of mad. The impulse is to make do, eat whatever I get anyway. Then I just get madder with every piece I eat until I have to correct the problem. I angrily throw out the subpar melon and head back to find a perfect one. Unlike most things in life or life itself, a perfect melon is attainable.

I can’t change the world or the escalating end of it but I can probably get an amazing watermelon.

The last watermelon fury sent me to the store. I found one, with seeds. They didn’t have the seedless. I had forgotten my wallet so I just took the melon and ran. I felt guilty. I was going to go back and pay for it. Then I realized I should go see if I could find another one at another store. A seedless one. I did. I bought it. Then I took the first melon, the hot one, back to the store and returned it to the melon crate. Then I went home, cut the new melon. It was good. Then I felt bad for the stolen melon. We had been through some shit. So, I went back to the first store and bought them. It prefers them. The hot melon.

Now I have two melons and I didn’t think about the dying of our species during the entire undertaking and I did a live IG to capture it. If I could get hold of the security footage from the supermarket I’d have a feature length doc about doing the right thing after committing a crime.

Today I have a nice long talk with Jerry Harrison who was in two of the greatest bands ever, Talking Heads and The Modern Lovers. Thursday, I talk to comic Zainab Johnson about growing up Muslim in a huge family, being a math teacher, overcoming a life-altering accident and becoming a comic. Great talks.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Can't Stand the Environment.

No tables for me, People.

I was in Las Vegas for two days and didn’t go near a casino. Some part of me thought that I should go. That’s what you’re supposed to do in Vegas. I’ve done my time chasing a few hundred bucks for hours on end. I guess I’m happy to report that I don’t like losing money. I know I have no luck at cards. I have no interest or focus to be ‘good’ at Blackjack or anything else card related. Fuck it.

It was never one of my addictions. Luckily.

I also know that I really have never thought to perform at a casino. Years ago I did a couple of shows in the lounge of The Palm but they were awful. I really can’t stand the environment.

Many of my heroes were Vegas acts. I’m just not that broad. I don’t have that appeal. I’m not going to help the place bring people in for the slots and tables. I always assumed that the few fans I had there just didn’t number enough to warrant a gig. Certainly not at a casino. I also didn’t want to put them through it. Especially if they lived there. I would assume it would be the last place they’d want to go.

When Keith Stubbs opened a Wiseguys Comedy Club in the Arts District I thought it might be the right place. Fifty seats. Four shows. It was perfect. Well run club. I think I got just about all my actual fans in Vegas to come. Five to six hundred. I brought Esther Povitsky with me to open. I have to start honing the 90-plus minutes down to 75.

It worked out. First shows were tight. Second shows were loopy and riffy. One guy who was there came to three out of the four shows. That’s all it takes for me to think I have to mix it and do something different for each one. One guy.

John Swab, the director, was in town while I was there. So we hung out and got some breakfast. Talked about film and sobriety and the weird sadness of the place. He came to the shows.

The weather was terrifying. There is no innocent weather anymore. Ominous. All of it. One-hundred-sixteen degrees. Torrential winds. Storm clouds. Then, no rain. Dirt. It didn’t rain. It dirted. On the way out I noticed the yuccas out in the desert were dying. When the prehistoric succulents are going it is not a good sign. We lost that bet, as a species.

Today I talk to the director Michael Mann about his new novel, Heat 2. We also talk about many of his films. On Thursday Nikki Glaser comes back and it gets raw and dirty pretty quick. I don’t mind that. It’s good to work that muscle. Great talks.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Landmarks.

Hometown again, Folks.

I’m not sure what I am expecting when I go to Albuquerque. I’ve been going a lot. I’ve been going to look at houses and to see my father.

I can’t quite understand why I want to live there. It is a bit emotionally nebulous to me. I’m trying to figure it out. It can’t be that difficult. When I go back to New Mexico I want the part of me that lives there to welcome me back. He does, but he’s a bit of a ghost now.

The idea that ‘You can never go home again’ is false. You go home every moment of every day. It’s where you came from. It defines some part of who you are, even if you’ve lost touch with who that is.

Even though I know that most of the landmarks that defined my life growing up have either changed or are gone, some part of me desperately seeks to connect with those things. It doesn’t feel like nostalgia to me. I’m not looking to live in the past. I seem to want my past to explain itself to me so I can have a clearer sense of who I am. I don’t long for those times or who I was. It wasn’t great. I would like to have an honest sense of who I was in situations to understand my consistencies both good and bad. Memory is shifty.

Any sense of self is threatened every day by what we allow in our minds. The amount of information and the number of narrative fragments we introduce upon turning on our phone or computer is psychically annihilating. Context is challenging and when you find a way to curate your intake—that is who you are.

Our being becomes a series of triggers and reactions. There is no ground to hold. No matter what struggle you are engaged in, no matter how large, you are just standing there or sitting, staring into a machine that is holding you and your mind hostage.

Frontier Restaurant remains constant. I have been going there since high school. I could always walk in there, no matter how long I had been gone, see people I know and love and make rounds to tables just talking to them. Many are dead now. Many are gone.

I did walk in there the first morning I was in town and immediately ran into some of the old crew, Sam and Enid Howarth. I sat and ate breakfast with them and talked, sorted the world out a bit. It was like time travel. My ghost was alive and with me. Older me and older them being people now. In the world.

My dad’s memories are fading.

Before I left I was looking for my college diploma because I need it for some paperwork. In the process of looking through boxes in my attic I found a box filled with my writing from college. Bits and pieces that felt totally alien to me. I also found an envelope of childhood pictures of my father. I must’ve gotten them from my great aunt.

It was a serendipitous find because I was going to see my father and I could take them with me to show him and see what he retains from his past.

I sat with him and went through the photos. He remembered everything. What seemed most vivid was his memories of his two childhood dogs. The back and forth of the unconditional love of and for animals runs eternal. Human to human as well. We’ve gotten away from that. Distance.

I went to look at a house that was a mile and a half down a dirt road up of old Highway 14. I want to believe that I can live like that. Isolated, calm. It was an oasis, a beautiful little place, secluded. The quiet and the wind was electric and peaceful. I could feel it. Conversely, I felt that it would cause me to lose my mind in days. I can’t sit out there with the ghost of me that lives in NM while I become a new ghost.

I need people. I need a town. A city. I need to see strangers passing by. I need to take the ghost of me home with me.

I’m struggling with a lot of thoughts here. This is probably a book.

Today I talk to comedian Naomi Ekperigin about coming up in NY, Nigerian roots and writing. On Thursday I put down an axe with comedian Orny Adams. Mostly. Great talks.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

One of the Most Perfect Briskets.

Hope you’re with people, People.

I guess today we ‘celebrate’ one half of this country’s independence from reality and the other half’s independence from democracy because of them.

I tweeted this yesterday and it was interesting that both sides could claim for their own. The evil, brazen ciphers have become very adept at appropriating all of our language and cool stuff to obfuscate any progressive intent or set of truths. The falcon cannot hear the falconer. Things fall apart; the center cannot hold.

This will be an exciting day. Someone could set the state of California on fire by accident.

I tweeted that yesterday too. That’s just a fact.

I’m back from Canada. Shooting TV is a bit tedious. I think for every 12-14 hours I worked, about 10-11 of those hours were spent waiting. In my underwear for this part. I mean, I had a robe on. The producers were happy with my work. I was, too. It’s all part of it. The waiting is the hardest part.

I’m just not great at being sedentary. I’ve been home for two days and I haven’t stopped doing shit. It seemed like shit that needed to be done. Okay, I didn’t need to go to three places to find what I decided was a decent head of cauliflower. I did though.

I walked through Whole Foods to buy some supplies to make a pie for a party I’m going to today and I saw one of the most perfect briskets I’ve ever seen. A whole brisket, perfectly trimmed. I had to buy it. I figured I’d freeze it for a future brisket party. I told my friend Dan’s wife, Jen, that I could make brisket as well as the pie for the party. I thought it was a long shot since she does a pork shoulder but she said sure. So, I’m sure by the time you read this I will have spent five hours managing vents on my kettle smoker. Pie is done.

I know things are bleak and there really is absolutely nothing to celebrate collectively if you have a certain mindset but please be with people if you have the opportunity. Pull back from the keyboard. Pull back from the big screen. If you’ve been invited to go somewhere where people you like are going to be, go. Just go be with people that you like or love if you can. Community is important. Feel the feels together. Don’t isolate. Don’t spiral unless you’re spiraling with friends. I mean it.

Some business now. Starting tomorrow, July 5th, you can subscribe to WTF+, which is part of our new deal with Acast. For three dollars a month, you can get the full WTF Archives. That includes more than 1,300 episodes of WTF going back to 2009. And for five dollars a month, get The Full Maron, which includes the archives plus brand new weekly bonus content. When WTF+ goes live tomorrow, you can subscribe by following the link in the show description, or at wtfpod.com. Then everything will be available in your chosen podcast app like Apple Podcasts, Google Podcasts, Overcast and dozens more. No need to download a special app for this.

For people who just want to keep listening for free, we'll be adding more than 650 past episodes to the free feed tomorrow. These episodes have previously been behind a paywall, in some cases for years, but they'll now be free for all listeners across all podcast platforms.

If you're subscribed to WTF, you may notice some increased activity on your feed in some podcast apps as the new episodes are added. Nothing will change about the way you listen to WTF moving forward. You'll still find new episodes in the same place you always have.

Exciting stuff. Happy Summer!

Today I talk to Jason Kander, the former Secretary of State of Missouri who ran for the US Senate in 2016. He's an Army veteran and was an intelligence officer in Afghanistan. In 2017, Barack Obama called him the future of the Democratic Party. He was going to run for president. He was putting together a campaign. And then everything went south. The PTSD he'd been suffering from for 11 years was overtaking him. He was consumed by depression and suicidal thoughts. And so he put everything on hold in order to get the help he needed. Now he's got a book coming out, Invisible Storm: A Soldier's Memoir of Politics and PTSD.

On Thursday I talk to one of my best friends, Jerry Stahl. He’s written many dark, brilliant novels but his new one is a doozy. It’s a memoir about his bus tour through the concentration camps of Europe while suffering from depression. It’s called Nein, Nein, Nein. Funny, dark shit. Great talks!

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Denied the Freedom.

Truly terrible, People. 

Sadly, I don’t think we are regressing as a country. I think it’s worse. This is how we are moving forward. This is what it feels like to live in a country that is decidedly drifting towards fascism, quickly. This is what calculated minority rule feels like. By calculated I mean this has been taking shape for 40 years. 
 
Even though we knew it was coming, the elimination of Roe v. Wade as a precedent giving all women the right to make reproductive decisions for themselves is devastating. This means that more than half of the citizens of this country are now denied the freedom of their physical autonomy. Their bodies now belong to the state. 
 
You can say that ‘it’s still legal in some states,’ or ‘it only applies to women of a certain age’ or ‘it was a weak statute to begin with.’ But why say any of those things? The Supreme Court overturned women's human rights, period. That is what happened.
 
The costs will be unwanted children who will bear the brunt of what that implies, case by case. Drug addiction, criminality, depression, emotional and mental problems, destitution, more unwanted children. It will also, of course, mean thousands of people dead. Between this decision and the gun ruling, these actions will have consequences in the form of human deaths for the foreseeable future.
 
I feel bad for all women. I feel frightened for the country. I feel angry. This will affect everyone, all Americans. 
 
I’m not saying any of this to be righteous or to virtue signal. I am saying this out of a fading belief that our country, as an evolving democracy, will survive and also out of a severe empathy for women and what this blow means to all of them. 
 
Most men support freedom of choice. Sometimes desperately. Own it. 
 
Today I talk to Atsuko Okatsuka about her strange and interesting immigrant childhood and her comedy. Thursday I talk to Laura Veirs about songwriting, her new album and our mutual friend Lynn Shelton. Good talks!
 
Enjoy!
 
Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!
 
Love,
Maron

POTTERY.

Biscuits, pork and pottery, People.

I’ve been in the Carolinas for three days. The shows in Durham and Charlotte were great. Charlotte was very hands on. Exciting. I haven’t done my Charleston show as of this writing. I hope I get home. Seems flights are a bit fucked.

I always seem to enjoy coming to this part of the country despite the fact that some part of me thinks the enemy lives here. I just have to understand they are everywhere now. There is a haircut trend here that is a bit disconcerting. Grown men in their thirties and forties are sporting some kind of little boy haircut from the fifties. It’s a kind of Butch Wax Reich look. I think it was popular in the ‘30s with grown men of a certain Germanic type. Could be just a haircut trend. I hear teenagers are mulleting again. I won’t read too much into it.

I ate a fried chicken biscuit with cheddar at RISE in Durham. I ate a pork plate with hush puppies and collards at Rodney Scott’s BBQ in Charleston. So fucking good.

I do have anxiety concerns. This one is a small and steady. I tend to do a lot of OCD-and-anxiety-driven behavior to keep my mind off the overwhelming terror of the world. I keep it small batch.

I like pottery. Many of you know the last time I was down here I went to Seagrove, NC which is sort of the pottery capital of North America. I bought a bunch of stuff from a bunch of different potters. It was fun and exciting. I like pottery as a decorative art. It is unique and affordable and you can eat and drink out of it if you want.

Last time I was in the area my potter friend Brian Jones, whose work I give to my guests, told me to go see the work of Mark Hewitt. He told me Mark was the OG, the guy, the first of the new wave of Seagrove potters, the real deal. He only shows his stuff by appointment. His studio is where his home is and it’s in Pittsboro, NC. I remember thinking it sounded like a hassle so I didn’t reach out. This time I did.

I called the number on his site to see if I could get an appointment. A machine picked and a woman said they rarely listen to messages left there. She said if I wanted to see the stuff I should call Carol. She said Carol’s cell number and I almost wrecked the car writing it down. I called Carol. I told her who I was and that I wanted to see the goods. She said I had amazing luck because that day was the day of the kiln opening. Apparently twice a year a giant batch of work is removed from the giant kiln and put on display in the studio showroom and sold. She said it was from 10 to 5. I was excited. I looked at my watch and was already ten and I was an hour away. Anxiety. I kind of spiraled.

I thought, ‘Shit I’m going to late. There’s not going to be any jars or mugs or pitchers left. Is there even going to be parking? Is there going to be a line of a hundred people waiting to see the stuff? Pottery groupies and collectors? Is there going to be fights? Will they have porta potties and water? Will I be waiting on line while people walk by on their way out with all the good pottery thinking, “fuck, they got all the good ones?” Is that how it’s going to be?’

Total brain melt over POTTERY. In NORTH CAROLINA. Like it was Black Friday at Best Buy. Jesus.

I got there and there were like 15 people wandering through the showrooms and yard. Mostly nice seeming ladies. There was plenty of amazing stuff. I bought some beautiful pieces. I talked to Mark. You can see it on my IG page if you’re curious.

I’m nuts.

Today I talk to comedian Kate Berlant about ART and other things. On Thursday I mix it up with my old friend Dana Gould about the state of things and comedy. Great talks!

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

My Coyote.

It's a nice day here, People.

I’m not taking it lightly. I’m sitting on my porch writing this in perfect California weather. It’s the reason people live here. It’s the calm before the storm here. The firestorm.

I’m trying to stay in the day and appreciate my life despite what my brain wants me to think about. The speculative horror unfolding daily is accelerated by my hungry angry brain and supported by the information I curate on my phone. Fires always. Of all kinds.

Not here on my porch today. Birds are all around. So many kinds. Flocks of green parrots scream by. Crows. Hummingbirds. Mourning Doves. Black Phoebes are shitting all over my front steps from two nests in the point of my front roof. I have to clean it up every two days.

This is the mundanity of life. A good life. This is the pace of what it is. If you separate your actual experience of the reality of your immediate environment and your engagement with it from the fire you set in your brain every day with hundreds of threads of renegade information and pics and vids, the disparity is epic. Building out from the reality of your immediate environment to address issues with collective life is where we should be grounded. Being part of a dangling flaming thread and screaming that its reality is the problem. Everywhere. The flaming threads connecting us is not the foundation of community.

Sorting out what your real issues are, both personal and political from the point of view of your actual life is what is missing. Broken people full of fury and grievance find all types of hot bullshit to attach their victim driven belief system to and find like-minded folks to fuel a movement of insane hostile intent and then claim they are the marginalized. Fertile soil for Fascism. Scary stuff.

It’s still nice out here. Hummingbirds are violent little fuckers.

A coyote was sleeping in my yard the other day. I posted a vid of it on IG. Hundreds of opinions unleashed in the comments. It’s bad, it’s good, it’s sick, it’s cute, it’s dangerous, it’s infected. Everyone thinks they know everything. Most people know nothing. Who wants to admit that? Why not just speculate? Share bits and pieces of bigger things out of context like it's correct.

I immediately became attached to it. My coyote.

Native Americans hang a lot of meaning on coyotes and crows. I’m surrounded by both. Coyotes are tricksters. Crows are symbols of change. Gatekeepers. I’m not sure what that all means in terms of my spiritual life or on the big metaphysical plane but here in the yard I know the coyote won’t trick its way into eating my cats. That’s why I have a catio.

Today I talk to Greg Proops about the tribalization of comedy and its exploitation by the current fascist movement in our country. On Thursday I talk to Jen Statsky who co-created the TV show ‘Hacks.’

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Enjoy!

Love,
Maron

Can't Stop.

Working, People.

I am doing a lot of comedy. Like, a lot.

I just can’t stop it seems. To the point where I’m wondering why. That happens sometimes. I feel guilty for taking a night off. It’s an old NYC club work ethic. I have to get the sets in.

In light of that I’m still amazed that a set that doesn’t feel great to me still fucks me up for a day. Even if it’s just a 15-minute set. Even if someone DMs me on IG to tell me it was the most they laughed since Trump was in office. I’m still a little mad about it. I think embarrassed is more the feeling. To not get laughs where I know they belong, where I’ve gotten them before is shameful somehow. I just have to suck it up. It’s part of the job.

Saturday I had a set in the Original Room at The Comedy Store that was so specifically a night club set that I felt like I was possessed by an old timey schtickster spirit. I was Ricklesing. I was working at a clip that was quick and the beats were happening every 15 or 20 seconds. I was slinging the insults at the people up front. I was totally killing. About 2/3 of the room were fighting for air they were laughing so much. The other third didn’t seem to know where they were or why they came. I didn’t care. Their loss. Fuck them.

I had to have a guy thrown out because he stood up during my set and started applauding on his exposed stomach. I had zero patience. "Get him out of here." Two women sitting up front, nowhere near him, shrieked, “It’s his birthday!”

I said, “I don’t care. It’s not my job to babysit him. Fuck him. It will be a memorable birthday.”

Tired of that shit. Why is that part of comedy club culture?

I was driving to the Comedy Store on Friday and a punchline was delivered to me from the big funny in the sky. I’m always thinking about ways to address heavy, controversial things in a way that isn’t too self-righteous or earnest. This one that came to me was about the pro-choice movement and trying to find some middle ground with the Christian Right. I think it’s a branding thing. Abortion Clinic just sounds too medical and awful. I thought maybe if we call them Angel Factories we can change the perception. Make it something positive for them. Angel Factories. That’s what came to me. What a gift.

Today I talk to stop-motion and special effects wizard Phil Tippett about his new feature Mad God that he has been working on for 30 years. There’s some Star Wars talk too. A little. On Friday I talk to the very funny comic Lara Beitz. Great talks.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and La Fonda live!

Love,
Maron

Idealizing the Place.

Canada, Folks.

It’s always a relief to go to Canada. Even if it’s just for a day or two. I love Vancouver. It’s a beautiful city.

It was nice to be in a city that has an abundance of water but also sad to land in a city and be jealous of a drizzle. Everything is so green and the landscape is so dramatic and lush. Stunning. Everything looks like kindling where I live. In the not-so-back of my mind I’m wondering where climate migration will take me.

I feel all the American garbage culture stress roll off me almost immediately upon arrival in Canada. I used to think I was idealizing the place or not seeing it properly. I wasn’t. I walked across the Burrard Bridge and I saw relaxed people walking, running, holding hands. Unpretentious. Humble. There was no feeling of the psychic pollution of the States that pervades everything. The slow unraveling, quickening.

I don’t know the nuances of Canadian politics and I’m sure they’ve got their own problems but I have a sensitivity to the selfish frenzy of the paranoid American psychological environment and it is not hanging over Vancouver. There is a feeling of diversity and integration that I’m sure isn’t perfect but it is different and genuine and not tense. Even Canadian pretension lacks pretense. Granted, it’s a little boring, but it’s real. Almost meditative. Practical.

The show I did at the Vogue was great. Cameron Esposito wanted to do some time before so I let her work on some new stuff. She was great. The crowd was great. Did some new versions of the stuff I’ve been working on. Tightening it up a bit. I really like the Vogue. It does have one of the most tragic, drug addict refuge alleys behind it though. It’s not that there are a lot of addicts back there but the ones there are all in, full-on street, totally tragic. It makes me feel grateful, which I don’t always appreciate. I went out the front after the show. I had my own buzz and I didn’t want it to be killed.

I talk to Rosie Perez today. It’s truly a great talk. It’s really what this is all about. It’s what this show is best at. It’s a deep conversation with an amazing creative person about the struggle of her life. It has nothing to do with show business. It was the type of talk that when we were done I asked her if she was okay and she said, ‘I’m going to need a minute.’ As did I. Moving.

On Thursday I talk to Jesus Trejo. He’s a young gun who I have watched work his way up from parking cars at the store to becoming a strong act.

Great talks.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and Lafond live!

Love,
Maron

History and Memory.

Deep trip, People.

These journeys alone on the road are doing something to me. They are changing me somehow. In a good way.

I seem to continually be settling into myself. I guess that it could be called evolving but I’m not sure that’s it. It’s probably closer to accepting and opening.

The last few days have been profound and fun and revealing somehow. It’s all about history and memory, both personal and cultural.

I landed in Washington, DC last Thursday. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with my time there before the show at The Kennedy Center. I knew I was going to talk to my old college roommate Lance, which I share today on the show. Once I got down there I decided to go to The Smithsonian National Museum of African American History and Culture. We set up a time to talk to Dr. Dwandalyn Reece who is the curator of Music and Performing Arts at the Museum.

I had no idea what to expect. I believed I was sensitive to the Black experience in this country. At least in broad, empathetic strokes. I feel that my heart and mind is in the right place around their struggle. I had no fucking idea. It turns out empathy can be shallow. Well-intended and real, but shallow. How can you really put yourself into someone else’s shoes if you really don’t know where they walked from?

The building itself is kind of an architectural masterpiece built around the idea of a traditional Nigerian headdress depicted in tribal sculpture. That lattice work all around the building is a riff on the work of a blacksmith who learned their trade in slavery and evolved it as a craft.

The journey in the museum begins in the basement, downstairs, in darkness. The thorough and horrible history of slavery going back way before the United States was founded. Ships, shackles, torture and inhumanity thoroughly displayed. Illustrating what this country was really built on. My empathy became informed. It isn’t an easy experience. The roots of racism defined and the bloody struggle for freedom documented all the way up to current events. It’s a devasting journey and I was not there long enough to really take it all in but I took in a lot. Enough to blow my mind.

Upstairs, where the light comes in, the floors are dedicated to the contributions of African Americans to this country. This was the intent of the museum from the beginning of its conception more than 100 years ago. Yeah, it’s taken that long to get the place built. The upper floors explore contributions in music, Literature, fashion, sports, dance, poetry, commerce, agriculture, education, design, etc. There was a gallery filled with visual art, some of which had seen before but with different eyes.

After walking through the history it is impossible not to approach all of African American achievement in light of it. It deepens the aesthetic and power of understanding. Everyone should visit that place. Especially now as the forces of fascism and white supremacy legislate the banning of teaching this part of the history of this country in almost half the states in this country.

The other part of Monday’s show is me reconnecting with my own past by talking to my college roommate, Lance Mion. It’s hard to see yourself as others see you. We missed most of each other’s lives but there was a core connection that remains vital and timeless.

I actually had dinner with my other two college roommates in NJ after my show in Red Bank. It wasn’t like coming full circle. It was more like reconnecting with parts of me that I haven’t engaged with in decades.

I also spent time with my Aunt and Uncle and cousins down the Shore. I drove through Asbury Park with my cousin. We looked at the building where my grandparents used to live on the boardwalk. I ate steamers and real Italian food. It wasn’t nostalgic. It was more like doing the things that my father liked to do and I did as a kid but now did as an adult. Again, not nostalgic. Reconnection.

So, today you’ll hear my talks with Dr. Dwandalyn Reece and my friend Lance Mion. On Thursday, I talk to one of the old Comedy Store originals, Joey Camen.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

An Absence.

Sad day, Folks.

Today is the second anniversary of the death of Lynn Shelton.

I don’t think I was really thinking about it. At least no more than I do any other day, which is still quite a bit. I was out in the world working, doing stuff. Then on Saturday, my performance was a little heavier, more emotional than the other shows. It was in Royal Oak, Michigan. It was just heavy. I felt the weight of what I was saying. Much of it dark. Some of it about Lynn’s passing. My sadness was barely veiled. When that happens, the job becomes about not falling into it. It’s a tough line to hold sometimes. I was sweating a bit.

When I was flying home yesterday I watched The Intern with Anne Hathaway and Robert DeNiro. I’ve watched it many times. I like it. Guilty pleasure. Apparently, I was crying a lot. The flight attendant asked me if I was okay. It’s not even a sad movie. It’s a touching movie. I also realized that Rene Russo reminded me a lot of Lynn. The tears have to come out somewhere.

It really is horrible that she is gone. My heart goes out to all the people she touched with her work and the people that knew her personally and loved her. There are some days when I think she is better off not being here with the horrible state of everything. That is just me projecting my own sad hopelessness in order to try to control my grief and believe she may be in a better place. I don’t really believe that. She's just gone, forever. The truth is, Lynn loved life. Loved it. She loved to work and eat and laugh and talk to people and make movies and music. She lit the world up wherever she went. She lit me the fuck up and now I struggle to stay lit.

I think about her and how she felt about me and how that made me feel. I think about how it felt to love her. I know that the work I am doing now has a depth and vulnerability to it that wouldn’t have existed with her.

I miss her. I miss what we may have been. It's a terrible place to occupy some days. My life is fine, it’s good. I am okay. I enjoy stuff. I have people in my life. There’s just a sadness and a tugging of an absence that won’t really ever go away I imagine.

Today I have an engaged talk with Sandra Oh. She was very excited to be on. Thursday I talk to Michael Che. I recorded it in NYC a while back. I didn’t really know him. I like that guy.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

A Tribute to Dan Vitale.

Tulsa, People!

I’ve had a truly good time in this city. I lucked into a great week to be here.

Shooting an episode of Reservation Dogs has been great. It’s odd, I spend a lot of time thinking about what to do with a ‘character’ when I get roles like this. Ultimately, I just end up being some version of myself and being funny. The director, Blackhorse Lowe, and Sterlin Harjo were both pushing me to improvise so it was always fun and funny. I’m excited to see what they cut together. I shoot one more day here.

It was the opening week of the Bob Dylan Center here as well. There were concerts at The Cain Ballroom for the entire weekend. I saw Mavis Staples, Patti Smith and Elvis Costello in three consecutive days. Everyone was great but Patti is transcendent. I can’t even explain why she is so amazing to watch. Present. Engaged.

The Cain is a historical venue and was home to Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys. You can really feel the history in the place, particularly in the floor. It was built for swing dancing and it has a bounce to it. It’s one of the best venues I have ever been in.

The Bob Dylan Center is an amazing place. The interactive retrospective exhibition of his work is amazing. The center is based on the ownership of his archives by the Kaiser Foundation and there are at least 100,000 items to draw from. Notebooks, clothes, recordings, sculptures, paintings, photos, ephemera. Exhibitions will change and rotate. It was a bit mind-blowing.

I had some emotional business to take care of as well. I always promised myself if I was ever in Tulsa I would take a trip out to Sam Kinison's grave and piss on it. The plan was payback for him pissing on my bed back in the day. It’s a long story I’ve told many times. Anyway, I went to the grave and found myself forgiving the guy for terrorizing me when I was 22. I actually was able to put the amazing things that happened back then into context and let go of the horror. Still alive.

Today we did something we’ve never done on a regular episode day. I reposted a talk I had in March 2014 with Dan Vitale. Dan passed away last week and I wanted to reflect on my feelings for him and share the episode in its entirety, including the intro from the original. I wanted it to be heard as a tribute but also it was the type of talk that defined what the show became and what the show is at its best. I really appreciated Dan. I am sad that he died.

On Thursday I talk to the Doobie Brothers, well a couple of them at least. Also, I will include a talk I had with Steven Jenkins, the director of The Bob Dylan Center. Lots of stuff. Good talks.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Punchy.

I’m feeling it, Folks!

The driving and the weird beds and varied pillows and strange sounds of hotels starts to wear me down a little. I’m just glad that generally, even if I’m only in town one night, I can register and remember where the bathroom is in each room before I crash. It's good to know when you’re a man over 50. Plan ahead. Don’t fall down. Don’t walk into a wall. Don’t die.

I’m not complaining, but I’m getting a little punchy. Sometimes that’s good for the work, sometimes it makes me a little too sensitive and defensive. Which can also be good, not for the people I direct it at, but mild bullying in a comedy show context can be funny. Even if I don’t really want to do it, I have the skills.

As much as I am tired of the context of comedy show expectations that were built into the form in the eighties, I was built during that time as well. Reactive. Ready.

This last week’s shows have been very good. Great, even. All of them. Madison, Milwaukee, Chicago and Minneapolis. My midwestern fans are the best. They know how to behave at a show. They are there to listen and laugh. They are open-hearted folks willing to go for the ride I’m providing. As much as I condescend to the ‘middle of the country’ sometimes, I really do know that there are plenty of good people there. Progressive people. Smart people. Isolated, sad people. People that need exactly the kind of show I’m doing.

I was punchy last night. I was at the Pantages Theatre in Minneapolis. Fourth show in a row of long shows. The last one of this run. It was my third time there. Lynn Shelton directed me in Too Real there and I did a show before the pandemic there as well. Seats around 900. Pretty much sold out. Sitting front and center were a middle aged couple who weren’t laughing at all. Nothing. It was really the only row I could see. Obviously, it didn’t really matter. The show was going great but I could SEE them. Nothing.

Eventually I asked if they were at the right show. Ron White was up the street, maybe they screwed up. I did an impression of the man’s face so the rest of the theatre could see what I was dealing with. Standard crowd work stuff. Big laughs. Nothing from them. Then when I talk about my typical audience, I say it’s mostly disgruntled, middle aged women and whoever they bring to the show who sit there saying, ‘So, this is the guy you like, huh?’ That made him laugh. That was the situation. Then back to nothing.

I have a bit of a break from comedy this week. I’m going to Tulsa to shoot an episode of Reservation Dogs. I’m very excited. I am sorry I had to reschedule my Dynasty Typewriter shows. Another time. I’m in LA a lot. There’s plenty of opportunity to see me.

Today I talk to skateboarding legend Tony Hawk. I knew nothing about skateboarding. It didn’t matter. On Thursday I talk to film director Nicole Holofcener about her movies and writing. Great talks.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Some Great Stuff.

Back for a few days, Folks!

I am out in it. 

It’s good to be home for a few days. I have to ground myself. I have to work off the meat and pudding. I have to connect with my cats. I have to cook some food. I have to talk to some people. Then I have to leave again. 

I guess I haven’t written since I was in NYC. Well, I did some shit.

I appeared on The Tonight Show and I had a great time. I actually get excited to talk to Jimmy because he’s excitable. It’s a weird grind he’s in. I knew I could wake him up. If I was really focused and kept it real I’d get him. He’s just the kind of host you want to make laugh. I always want the audience to laugh when I do those shows but I wanted to get Jimmy going because it makes it more fun. I wanted to get him laughing for real. Like, Colbert is not a laugher, and it can be a drag to talk to him because, ostensibly, I’m there to be funny, and I can do that. I killed with Jimmy and the audience. I even talked him into setting me up for another bit after they ran the clip from The Bad Guys because I had planned a call back to the ‘old head’ bit. He didn’t know if I could make it work because it had been like 6 minutes since that bit. He told me to go for it and if it didn’t work he could cut it out. I did it. Killed. After the segment he said, ‘you know how to land it.’ I do. 

I saw the Whitney Biennial which was a mixed bag. That’s the idea though. A lot of stuff of all kinds makes a chaotic, exciting whole. I saw some great stuff. It’s always good to go to the museum. I’m a member! I think it will be an incentive to get me back to NYC more often. That and the theatre.

I saw my pal Sam Rockwell do American Buffalo with Laurence Fishburne. Great. Fast paced play. Prime Mamet. I had seen Pacino play Teach back in the day. Sam’s was less menacing which made the aggressive futility and pathos of the small-time crime undertaking at the center of the story even more pathetic and sadly funny. It was a solid production. 

I ate corned beef at Katz’s and borscht at Veselka and octopus and turbot at Kyclades. Full trip. 

I did the Paramount Theatre in Austin for the Moontower Festival. It was an amazing show. Alejandro Escovedo came to the show and I got to meet him. I love his music. 

I went to Opies. I ate ribs and brisket and sausage and cobbler and banana pudding. I’m still sweating. 

This week I will be in Madison, Milwaukee, Chicago and Minneapolis. Come. 

I will probably be canceling two if not all three of my Dynasty Typewriter shows next week so I can go film an episode of ‘Reservation Dogs’ because it’s an amazing show and I want to be part of it. I will make it up to you if you have tickets. I am sorry. 

I am one of the stars of the movie that is #1 at the box office. The Bad Guys is a hit. I’m thrilled. It’s a nice thing to be part of. 

Today I talk to Vanessa Bayer about her teenage cancer and her funniness and her new show I Love That For You and on Thursday I talk to Trombone Shorty about New Orleans, the trombone and music in general. Great talks. 

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,

Maron

Neural Canals.

Roading it, Folks.

New England, again.

It’s been great. I really don’t know why this tour is somehow revelatory to me personally. I think it’s the car time. The moving meditation of driving the familiar interstates. Seeing the almost-Springness of the eastern states. The crisp air and cataloging my past through memories attached to the geography.

I’ve talked about it before but I continue to look at my experiences as a young comic as somewhat traumatic. Paying my dues. I don’t regret any of it but it’s very hard for me to picture myself at that age doing the shows I was doing. Going up cold in non-comedy club situations for half hour opening slots and just doing the thing for locals out for a comedy night or surprised by it happening. The true terror of all of that and rising above it. Sure, it made me stronger but the cortisol and adrenaline and fury of it all definitely jacked my neural canals and created a shield.

Now, for fleeting moments, I can get under that shield and try to feel that terror again and what may have been beneath it and what drove me to do it and keep doing it. I cant answer that. I only know I did and I do.

I think that’s why I may be insisting on being my own opener. Going up cold and letting the show unfold. Now, with years of experience and the fearlessness that comes from that I can give that terrified kid from the past a break. Take in the excitement of going up cold and easing into it as a pro. Let the pathways reconfigure and ease and make it right for the old me. The me that was only thinking about getting that first laugh. The jarring transition from off stage onto the stage. Or onto a platform in the corner of a bar or the front of a hotel conference room or a dancefloor. The wild vulnerability of that. Taking that hit. Damn. Glad I can show up for the angry, terrified kid.

It’s been a great run. Every show. Tarrytown, Providence and Boston. I’m writing this the day of the Maine show. I did two shows at the Wilbur in Boston and both were almost two hours long. They were great for me. Returning back to the town where it started and going up cold and confident and excited. Revelatory.

I even know that two hours is unnecessary and too long actually. Some people had enough at an hour and half. Fuck it. It could always be the last time.

Today I talk to director Robert Eggers about his films The VVitch, The Lighthouse and his new one, The Northman. On Thursday I talk to the creator of The Bad Guys children’s books, Aaron Blabey. Great talks.

Enjoy!

Boomer, LaFonda and Monkey live!

Love,
Maron

Old Faces.

The Comedy Store, People!

It was the 50th anniversary of The Comedy Store last week. There was a party. The vortex was opened.

I don’t know if I can explain the current that I locked into at The Comedy Store but it is real. It connected the day I walked into the place when I was 22. I became a doorman there. The combination of bad boundaries, anger, undefined sense of self, nebulous parenting, desire to be funny and cocaine made me vulnerable to all the ghosts that had passed through that place. They knew I would be among them eventually and chose to light me up. Just reading that last sentence makes me realize it's very easy to tap into the mystical chaos that my mind manufactured as I slowly devolved into cocaine psychosis. It was kinda real though. As real as most things that have to pass through the head to be understood however any particular head is going to understand those things at any particular time. There were no cell phones. My imagination was richer and more menacing.

Now, understand, I am at The Comedy Store most nights of the week now if I’m in town. There was a dark, haunting, mystical tone that I felt in the place for years. No more. Oddly, I think it’s gone in a general sense. I am not the only one that felt that. There are others like me. The comics that belong there. That shit was real.

In terms of comedy, when I was a doorman, I lived at the place. It was my whole life for almost a year. I was absorbing. My brain was wide open. Sadly, a lot of dark weirdness got in there. It helped at the time and maybe even now but it was a lot to process. It took years. Most of the people I saw there were comics people don’t really know. Whatever my judgement of them was at the time doesn’t matter. They were doing what I wanted to be doing and it was all electric to me. Obviously, being under the mentorship of Sam Kinison made me prematurely bitter and very weird. I loved it though until it went bad and I had to leave quickly, get my passport renewed and stay ahead of the ghosts and dark forces (and get sober).

All that said, I was excited to go to the party. I didn’t know who would be there. It turns out not many of the big stars, either current or past, showed up. It was a lot of the working comics who were regularly on stage when I was a doorman and general staff, past and present. Joey Camen, Joey Gaynor, Steve Mittlemen, Cathy Ladman, Barry Sobel, Larry Scarano and Barry Sobel to name a few. I don’t think anyone has been as excited to see Joey Camen as I was, maybe ever. All the old faces just lit me up. It was like I was on coke working the door again. I was a twitching appendage of the place that grew me, part of me. The beginning of me as a comedian.

Bill Kinison was there. I can see and feel his crazy brother in the way he talked and laughed. I have fairly conflicted feelings about my time with Sam. In the end he was a monster but it was exciting and wild and I got a little of that juice from his old ass brother. Wild.

The highlight of the night in terms of interaction and comedy had to come when I asked a server a question. All the hors d'oeuvres were classic Jewish food. Potato pancakes, knishes, little bagels and lox, tiny bites of pastrami sandwich, etc. I wanted to know where they were from, what caterer. So I asked a woman who was holding a tray of the little pastrami sandwich pieces, “Where are these from?” She looked at me and like someone who just learned something hours before said, “They’re Jewish!”

Hilarious. She clearly wasn’t.

Today I talk to the amazing Bonnie Raitt about music. Thursday I talk to the amazing Harvey Fierstein about his memoir. Great talks!

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron