The Special.

Well, that’s all, Folks!
 
It’s done. I taped the new hour for HBO last Thursday. A year and half of touring about 90 minutes of material landed me at Town Hall in NYC for two shows to try to make an hour-long special. 
 
They both went well. They were both very different shows. I was different and the audiences were different. 
 
A day of shooting is a long day. The shows were at 7 and 9:30. I got there at 1:30. I had to check out my wardrobe options. I hired a stylist for this one. It was the right thing to do. Those of you who know me, or maybe I’m the only one who knows, I almost never make the right clothing decision for a TV appearance of any kind. Ever. From leather pants to a shirt that some guy I met at a bar made me to a shiny suit to a faded flannel shirt to a vest and on and on. I always feel shitty about it. So, I hired a stylist. 
 
The guy came over weeks ago, looked at all my clothes and got the hang of my thing. Then he came back a week or so before the show with a few things and we nailed it down. I’m not sure why I’m telling you this. It’s a common thing. Most people on television aren’t wearing their own clothes. I just used to think it was better to just wear my own shit but then I realized I’d worn the same suit or shirt on at least six tv appearances. So, I let the guy dress me. It was a burgundy suede western shirt from John Varvatos. I think it was cool. Wore some Ship John black jeans and my Love Jules Leather Chelsea’s. I’m just very conscious of my clothes on TV and almost never look good in them. Hopefully this looks better. 
 
Backstage there was a huge platter of smoked fish from Russ and Daughters. Sable and salmon. Every kind of herring. Whitefish and salmon salads. Bagels. Pickles. Babka and rugelach. I wanted to be salted for the shows. I guess I was trying to put a little water weight on for the fight. I was digesting the history of the Ashkenazi Jews for both shows. That was the subtext. Processing fish, sugar and salt. Maybe that should be the title of the special. 
 
I was amped but not nervous. I ran this stuff so many times it was part of me. The set looked great. I came on stage to the music I created with the guys who perform with me at Largo.
 
The first crowd was on fire. There were some parts of the show that I was too amped. I missed a couple of things I wanted to do. Some of the lighting screwed up. I had to do some redos after. The crowd was actually getting up to leave and I had to make them sit down. It was actually nice, fun. I told a story and did the pick-ups. 
 
I had Brendan backstage for both shows doing the off-stage announcements. I had no family in attendance. It was great. 
 
The second show I felt grounded and focused. The audience was good but real. I had to earn the laughs which is perfect. Watch me do the job for real when you see it. I was loose in a way I am when I’m just doing a regular show. I was able to find the freedom of mind to riff a bit and because of that there will be things in the special that I had never done before and won’t do again that actually brought things together in a new way. It was a great feeling. 
 
The second show will probably be the base and we will probably pull some stuff from the first as well. 
 
I felt like it went well but it was a bit of a letdown because on some level it was just another couple of shows in a higher-pressure situation. I was wearing a strange shirt and I had to do what I had planned.  Now the shaping of the show begins and me getting back in shape starts also. I’d like to think I’ll take a break but I’m already putting in for spots at The Comedy Store for this week. I have some new stuff I want to try out. 
 
Thanks for bearing with me through this process and if you made it to any of the live shows, thanks for coming out. 
 
Today I talk to Irish comic, Tommy Tiernan. I’ve seen him around forever but we never talked. He’s a true legend. On Thursday I talk to James Austin Johnson about the time we hung out that I didn’t remember and Jesus and SNL. Great talks. 
 
Enjoy!
 
Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!
 
Love,
Maron

Space for Space.

Home stretch, Folks.

Asheville and Nashville. I’m beat.

I flew into Charlotte on Thursday night and picked up a Chrysler 300. It felt like a sleek tank. I’d never driven one before. I drove into the Blue Ridge night, two hours to Asheville. I had no sense of where I was or what the town looked like or how it was situated.

I checked into the hotel and started crunching my act on paper. Like a giant story problem.

Excise redundancy. Find the big laughs. Remember.

Didn’t sleep much. The three hour time difference is just enough to fuck you West to East.

Woke up in a dream state, looked out the window of my room and saw the beautiful silhouette of those mountains. Pretty country. I’ve seen a lot of beautiful parts of America on this string of dates. Last one was Bend to Portland and now a drive on the Blue Ridge Parkway.

I went to the artist’s district for a few minutes. I didn’t have the bandwidth to look at a lot of ok art. I had the realization that no matter what art you are involved with there is a difference between proficiency and a masterpiece. Plenty of great painters, photographers, potters, musicians, dancers, comedians, etc. Like, many. Some people can even make a living at it if they hustle and understand their limitations and price point. Truly inspired expressive genius that transcends practical expectations is rare. It’s not a hobbyists domain or a mediocre pro. It’s not something you can make happen by taking certain steps. It’s a fucking gift that manifests in those that have it when they’ve unlocked it with the work of craft. Either you got it, or you don’t. Them’s the breaks.

Hustle your wares.

I did hyper engaged shows at the Orange Peel. It’s a great rock club that has rock club expectations built into it. It’s the nature of the venue. I don’t do many rock clubs and when I do I need them to be seated. Even then it feels like it requires vigilance to stay on top of the crowd. There’s not a lot of space for space. I did two shows and I was wiped. I held the line on the time.

I bought a vintage Excelled burgundy leather car coat. I never do that. Had to. I think it’s a little big.

Didn’t sleep the second night in Asheville, either. Bad pillows. No matter how nice the hotel is, if they have shitty pillows they’ve failed. I know it’s a matter of personal preference but shitty is shitty.

Got up at six the next day. Drove the monster back to Charlotte and flew to Nashville.

Got to the hotel. There was no room yet so I sat outside, cigared and crunched the set some more. I became obsessed with finding a plastic shopping bag for my coat which was in a ripping paper supermarket bag. I decided to go down to Broadway because I saw people with big boot bags from a boot place. That was my afternoon. Went into the boot place. There were a hundred people trying on boots and spreading virus. I just couldn’t find the courage to try to charm the woman at the register out of a shopping bag. Too much chaos. Then I found a Walgreens. Love Walgreens. They had a big bag with a big W on it.

The show in Nashville was wild. I did the hour. Then I did another one with Q and A and a life lesson conversation with a sixteen year old sitting up front with his dad.

I waited until the last three shows before I tape the special to really cut my 90 mins of material down to about an hour. I think I do it this way all the time, actually.

We will see how it goes.

Today I talk to Clea DuVall about her acting roles, directing and coming out. On Thursday I talk to Elvis Mitchell about his doc on the history of Black cinema which, embarrassingly, I knew nearly nothing about. That’s why there are docs! It’s called Is That Black Enough for You? Great talks.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Building the Hour.

Stuffed, People.

I really did it. I am sure I am not alone. After Thanksgiving dinner I swore off food. The next day I realized that was totally unreasonable and, not unlike the rest of you, I ate more of the same stuff again.

That’s the festive spirit. I don’t know how much gratitude I experienced but I was able to eat my feelings to a greater degree than usual and feel more food shame than usual which is what fuels my existence.

I am grateful though. For a lot of things. My life is unbelievable to me. I can’t seem to reconcile who I was with who I am. As every year goes by I become more and more estranged from whoever younger me was. I really don’t know how that guy got through it or ended up okay. The more I think about it I’m not sure I know him at all. From all accounts, not the best guy in the world. I guess I kind of know that and write it off as being young and angry and fucked up but I still think I was okay, not that horrible. Arguable depending on who you talk to.

I believe I’m worn out on a deep level. I’ve been working constantly as a standup. It’s all converging on my HBO special taping on Dec. 8 in NYC. This has been the goal for months. I still haven’t gotten the hour laid out exactly how I want it. I still have way too much material and I’m having a hard time cutting. I only have three more shows to make an hour and forty minutes into an hour. I guess that’s just the way I work. Right up to the edge.

I like to think I’m not nervous at all about the special. I mean, I have the goods. I’ve done many specials before. I also know that when I have to do a major thing I tend to make my life a bit chaotic in reality or in my mind. I’m sucking down cigars after being off nicotine for years so I’m all fucked up on that. I’m eating stupid. I’m freaking out about everything---else. Everything but the special. I like to transfer my panic onto unnecessary things to distract from just owning my reasonable fear of an upcoming event that requires a lot of me. That’s my method. Create a storm of self-criticism and self-flagellation heading into something that should be exciting and fun. I guess that’s getting back to basics for me. That’s where I’m comfortable or, if not comfortable, familiar. It’s what I grew up with. It’s my core. It’s not a great system. I don’t recommend it.

The primary creative issue I’m having around the set is balancing current cultural criticism with dark personal comedy. It’s like there are two distinct parts of the show. I have to weave them together and excise the redundancy. I have to sequence the bits so they flow and some reference each other. That’s this part of the job, building the hour. Tightening. Killing some babies.

I need to make sure I push back on and answer to some of the comedy out there that is culturally malignant along with just cultural malignancy on a social and political level in general. Whether I’m relevant enough to make any impact doesn’t matter. It’s just what I do. But I also have a personal story to tell. It feels like I’m mashing two hours into one. It’s fine.

We’ll see what happens.

Today I have a short chat with my pal Sam Lipsyte about his funny new book, Nobody Left to Come Looking for You. It’s a great read. Get it. I also have a long talk with Rob Delaney about his life and new book, A Heart That Works. It gets heavy. We talk about the death of his infant son. Which is also the focus of his book. On Thursday I talk to James Gray about movies and Jewish stuff and art. Great talks all!

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Brisket, Stuffing.

Oregon, People!

Beautiful state. No doubt.

It seems I am willing to go to almost any length to avoid flying in and out of LAX. I flew into Portland on Thursday, rented a car and drove to Eugene on Friday. Because I could fly to Portland from Burbank direct and I figured it would be nice to hang out in Portland for a night. It was.

It turned out that Michael Ian Black was in town there at Helium Comedy Club. I can’t even remember the last time I saw that guy. I’ve known him since the early '90s, probably. We’ve always had a slightly dickish relationship. We used to snark it out on Twitter in the early days of that platform and for some reason we started at each other again here at the end of that platform. That’s how I found out he was in Portland. So, I DMed him that I was there and he told me to come down and get on stage with him. I didn’t really want to get on stage but I thought why not go watch the guy. It was probably ’95 when I last saw him do standup and I was mad about it. It was the days of the Luna Lounge and I really had a problem with sketch people doing standup because I was some kind of bitter purist. I resented it. I still do a little.

I went down to the club and went into the dressing room. It was good to see him. It’s odd when you’ve known someone that long and you both look at each other and see all the years that have gone by. Just a couple of middle-aged dudes who made it through and are still at it.

His act was good. It was tight, personal and funny. He’s an odd, sad guy. He brought me on stage for 15 minutes or so. We just talked, got some laughs, I got off and he finished his act. It was fun. Shit like that doesn’t happen too often to me anymore. Just comics having fun on stage dicking around. Riffing it out a bit.

Before I drove down to Eugene the next day I stopped by Ship John to say hi to the gang over there. I caught up with Mike. I got some pants, shirts and actually needed gloves which I got as well. The ones I brought were all fucked up. It was cold. Not NY cold but cold enough. I brought the wrong jacket.

The drive to Eugene was bright and not that great. I was a little disappointed. The show at the Hult was fine. Tory Ward from Portland opened for me. She’s funny, dirty.

The drive from Eugene to Bend was spectacular. Made me remember why I love the Pacific Northwest. The big trees, the hard-edged mountains, the rivers. Stunning. Made me remember Alaska from my childhood. Made me think of Keasey.

The show in Bend was fraught but fine. Ski towns give me the willies somehow. Too small for me.

The drive back up to Portland was awesome. I got there a little early so I had breakfast with Mike and flew back into Burbank with a stopover. That’s how much I hate LAX.

I’m staying in LA for Thanksgiving. I’m going to cook a brisket, stuffing and a Chess Pie and go to my friend Dan’s house with Kit.

Have a good holiday, people.

Today I talk to Robert Siegel about his new series Welcome to Chippendales, The Wrestler, being the editor of The Onion and other stuff. On Thursday I’ll post my live episode I recorded in London with David Baddiel. Great talks.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Push Back.

It’s okay, today, People.

It seems we’ve been given a reprieve on one front. The midterms were a lot closer than expected and we are neck and neck with the fascists. Yay? It seems that enough regular people are fed up with the evil ridiculousness. They got nervous that the President might be right and democracy is at stake. They were correct in taking that to heart.

Also, here in Cali it rained for a few days. So, everything is coming up roses this week. Literally. We’ve held the monsters at bay and climate change doesn’t matter for a few days because it rained in southern California. It never does. You know the song.

In a few weeks it will all be brittle and tinder-like again. The Right will regroup around some new talking points and the menace will pick up again.

Culturally, all is garbage. I do enjoy the demise of Twitter and the hilarious downfall of one of the primary narcissists who drive current culture. There’s a few, but three of them took big hits in the last few weeks. Musk, Trump and Ye are all spiraling. Like, bad. It’s beautiful.

The reposting of the Gallagher episode after his death has revealed, again, how hollow and wrong-minded the fight against ‘woke’ culture really is. People spewing out their defense of Gallagher on what has become the death throes of Elon Musk’s cultural relevance. A screaming, dying social media platform, to defend who they seemingly see as a warrior of free speech because of my talk with him. Fucking Gallagher. A clown. Is one of their heroes apparently. What a bunch of uninspired hack babies.

The ‘anti-woke’ angle is pure hack. A word they like to throw around a lot but I am sure most don’t even know what it means or where it comes from. Or maybe they do because the pot calling the kettle hack is one of their favorite tactics. I’m not, you are. Over and over again like a bunch of empty brained, easily manipulated and even more easily triggered hacks.

Obviously, the fight is not over and it may ultimately be unwinnable but what a joy it was to see all the dumb dumb minority rule election denying opportunists and radicalized Christians and believers of pure fairy tale bullshit take one to the collective balls. That sack belongs to King Baby Donald and everyone on his tiny autocratic grifting dick.

Kanye has been spiraling for a while but the anti-Semitic version made me nervous. When Kyrie Irving got on board I became more nervous as a Jew. I’ve always known about the strain of anti-Semitic imagery and conspiracy within the black community. It’s in some churches, for fuck's sake. I’m just happy there was push back. I got scared that there would be an alignment between the worst of white culture and all of black culture against the Jews.

Dave Chappelle dealt with all that from all the sides that he could in his monologue on SNL. He did it so deftly that initially I thought he was giving Kanye and Kyrie a pass and saying the only transgression was saying out loud publicly something all blacks know to be true and know not to say publicly. He was kind of saying that but he was able to balance and disarm the conspiracy theory and reconcile the perspective of the black community with the culture at large and ultimately deal with the cost of the transgression which is a reality when we say shit sometimes, as Dave knows. It was interesting because the whole riff was about the reality of lines you can’t cross. He did cross them, again, but it was funny. Because of his skill and the way he contextualized it. I’m still thinking about it. I may think it's anti-Semitic tomorrow. I’ll see.

Tough week for narcissist fucks. Good week for democracy or whatever we have here.

Today I talk to Wes Bentley about moving from stardom through addiction to being a sober working actor. Good guy. On Thursday I talk to one of my literary heroes, Bruce Wagner, about his work. Great talks!

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Almost Grateful.

Out of Texas, Y’all.

I did a major driving run with Laura Beitz from Oklahoma City down to Houston, stopping in Dallas and San Antonio.

All the shows were good. I hadn’t been to OKC in a long time. I got no sense of what it would be like to live there but the landscape seems a bit barren and the state’s politics are awful. The city is not huge and you get the feeling that you don’t drive too far to get the creeps. The people that came out to the show were great. It does seem that the liberalish hipster contingent in murderously red states are pretty out there with the self-expression. I like it.

Dallas was fun. It’s a big old city. We stayed at a nice place, had some BBQ, met the guy who owns Warstic with Jack White by coincidence at Terry Black's and did an awesome show at the Majestic Theatre. Great venue.

San Antonio was surprisingly weird and interesting. We stayed at a funky haunted hotel called the Hotel Havana. The space we performed in was intimate. It seated about 220. We did two shows. The crowds were lit. The city definitely has a vibe. It feels like some shit went down there and the frequency remains. A mild desolation and old Texan architecture help the feeling. It might just be where we stayed. We ate some pretty good Mexican food.

Houston was the highlight for me because they have so much amazing art all over the city it seems. At some point some rich people did some nice stuff for that place. Amazing parks and museums.

I was able to go to the Rothko Chapel for the first time in probably 35 years. They’ve renovated the place a bit. It was a profound experience to sit in that space with those canvases. It calls itself a non-denominational all faith kind of spiritual space. It’s definitely peaceful, but I don’t hear anyone talk about how fucking ethereally bleak those paintings are. I’m a huge Rothko fan but between the canvases at the Chapel and the ones that were contracted by the Seagrams for the Four Seasons in NYC that you can see at The Tate, there aren’t any darker floating zones in all his work. I think the light he saw in these canvases was as metaphysically honest as a depressed genius could be. A true vision of the beyond in the present. I love them. I love the fact that they are anything but uplifting and they define and overwhelm a ‘spiritual’ space.

There was a huge Philip Guston exhibit at The Museum of Fine Arts. I was familiar with his more cartoonish work and always liked it but didn’t quite get it. My ex the painter was a huge fan and she was very critical so I knew I had to reckon with them at some point. That point came in Houston. Seeing his work evolve over the years and having it put into context of the art world and the culture and Guston’s own struggles gave me a deeper understanding of the art he was creating. It was a totally educational experience that I could have alongside taking in the mind-blowing work chronologically. I get it now.

I am slowly accepting my place in the world in relation to the present time and the work I am doing. Almost grateful. Very close.

Today I talk to Elizabeth Banks again! I feel very loose with her and friendly. It was fun to catch up and talk about her new movies and stuff. On Thursday I talk to Quinta Brunson about her learning curve and the focus that got her to where she is. Impressive person. Great talks.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Saying Hello.

Mystical, People.

I try to wrangle my mind as much as possible. It does wander. Predictable places and patterns. Usually not otherworldly. It will make some random connections and try to make sense of things that are beyond comprehension. I don’t want to drift. I’ve been delusional before.

Something happened in Ireland.

As many of you know that last time I was there was with Lynn. We both had some unexplained draw to the country. It held a magical space for both of us. Separately. It was something we found out we shared when we got to know each other. We both wanted to be there.

The trip we took was after we went to the Gijón Film Festival in Spain. We spent almost two weeks in the country at two different houses. It was beautiful. It was the first and only time we traveled together.

Going back I knew that the memories would be difficult. I knew that her absence would be felt. I stayed at the same hotel we stayed at in Dublin. I have pictures of her there. I could see where I took the picture. I could see her absence. I took a picture of a bench where she sat, empty.

I have played at Vicar Street many times. I like the venue. I liked the crowd. They were great last Wednesday. As I made my way through the act it was all going over great. Then I came to the part where I switch tones, go a bit deeper and talk about grief and Lynn’s passing. Toward the end of the main piece from that section which describes the day she died the stage lights started fluctuating, going on and off. It was jarring. The audience felt it. It happened just as I was talking about her death and kept happening for five minutes.

I said, ‘Hey, Lynn. Hi, baby.’ My eyes started tearing up. The audience was emotional.

When I got off stage the lighting person said that had never happened before.

When I got back to my hotel room I walked in, turned on the lamp on the desk and the bulb fizzled out.

I said, ‘Ok, Lynn. I miss you too. I’m glad you’re here. You wanted to be here.’

I had to invest these moments with the mystical meaning they commanded. I had to look at them as good magic. I had to believe she was just saying hello and that she was there. That is where she resides now. Ireland. That is where she wanted to be, that is where she is.

Why not?

Today I talk to Armando Iannucci about his career and humor and the world. Thursday, I talk to a pre-punched Chris Redd about his life and comedy. Great talks.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

A Different Country.

Long trip, People.

Still in London.

It’s weird how untethered I used to get traveling. Like as soon as I left where I lived I became totally ungrounded and painfully lonely. Almost like I was invisible. It’s a strange psychological phenomenon that I can’t really explain.

I remember when I was kid and my parents went on trips I would fall apart. I would think they would die. Usually in a plane crash. I would picture it over and over again until I became physically ill sometimes. Maybe that panic of being away from what I know or the patterns I’m used to cause panic for myself and who and whatever is in my life.

Stopping my brain from churning is hard. Seems harder now for some reason. I miss Kit. I miss the cats. I miss my routine. I just assume something awful is going to happen and I won’t be there.

I guess that’s what it is. Anxiety. That doesn’t quite explain my feeling of alienation when I’m away or in a different country. Psychological, emotional. It doesn’t really happen state to state. It doesn’t really happen like it used to. There is a hint of it still there. The odd loneliness. It’s a bit debilitating in terms of enjoying myself or getting out and about.

I have been though. I’ve been having some fun in and outside of my head. I have been busy and okay over here in London.

I immediately went to the Tate Modern. I love that space. I saw a big Cezanne exhibit. It’s always good to hang around with the Cezannes. I saw the sculptures of Maria Bartuszová. Amazing. Helen Hunt reached out to me to tell me about a play she is in here, Eureka Day. Mark McKinney is in it as well. I went. It dealt with many of the issues we all confronted in the political clash of woke and unwoke around cultural issues and science in a very accessible, entertaining and funny way. Maybe it will make it to the states. I ate at amazing places like Nopi, Bocca Di Lupo, Engawa, Dishoom, Tayyabs and The Ham Yard. I had to go to Starbucks. I felt bad. I just couldn’t take any more espresso drinks. Needed a huge drip coffee to get the job done American style.

I did a live podcast with David Baddiel which went very well. Too well. We’re almost the same person. It was like a secular-atheist-cat-loving-not-so-pro-Israel Jew summit between two comics from different countries. I think I should probably talk to him in the garage at some point to find out more about myself. I did talks with Armando Iannucci, Rob Delaney and Courtney Love one on one. All very exciting and moving in their own ways. I’m excited for you to hear all the work.

I’ve done one standup show here as of this writing. The Bloomsbury Theatre show last night was just right. Perfect sized venue (around 500) and a great crowd. My opener was perfect, Ania Magliano. Very funny.

Tomorrow, Ireland.

Some very earnest chats this week. Today I talk to Jeremy Strong about acting and life. Thursday, I talk to jazz legend Ron Carter about music and life. Great talks.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

I Want Back In.

Ciao, Manhattan.

I think I actually experienced an identifiable good time.

NYC was amazing. It’s always exciting to be back in the city. The last few times I’ve been there though I felt like I was ready to leave when I left. Something changed this time. I don’t know if it’s because this is really the first time I’ve been back where It feels kind of back to old school NYC energy. It could be the onset of fall, which is truly the best weather on the East Coast. It also could be the part of me that lives here all the time even when I’m not here has become somewhat dominant in my inner monologue.

It could be that LA is awful right now and probably won’t really get better.

I love my house in LA. I love being in it. I love working out of it and working at The Comedy Store. There’s just something that doesn’t seem to be coming back around in LA. There are pockets of excited human activity surrounded on all sides by psychic rubble and vacant space and desperation. In between destinations feels rough. That and the climate issue is overbearing.

NYC is a giant collaborative experience. All kinds of humanity and humility up against each other all the time. It’s energizing to be part of it. An abundance of creativity and expression everywhere. Electric. I want back in. I want to feel alive in the NYC way. Engaged.

The trip here this time has been amazing. I did a music gig with Jimmy Vivino and Jimmy Vaughn. I played with one of my heroes. I ate meat at Katz’s. I visited the Criterion Closet. I saw the new show at The Whitney, an amazing Edward Hopper exhibit. I went to a gallery that blew my mind. I went to Russ and Daughters. I did the first tech scout for my HBO special. I hung out with my friend Lipsyte and Brendan. I ate at Veselka (not good anymore). I ate at Mogador. I ate at Rosella. I saw Ron Carter play bass with his trio at Birdland and talked to him the next day. I did NO comedy.

It was spectacular.

Avoiding The Comedy Cellar was so much better than going there.

I want to get an apartment in NYC. I think I will. My fantasy of easing out of it all would be part time in Vancouver and part time in NYC. Or, just dropping dead quickly or in my sleep.

A guy can dream can't he?

Today I talk to Ralph Macchio about the Macchio stuff and his new book. On Thursday I talk to Henry Louis Gates, Jr. about a lot of things, really. Censorship, race, family, teaching, stuff. Great talks.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Charlie Beans.

Cats, People.

Charlie Beans Roscoe is alive and well today.

I lose my mind when my cats are sick. He hadn’t eaten in three days. I was on the road. I had to work. I was just thinking the worst. I was seeing my entire life through the possibility of my cat being sick and I seem to always assume they will die.

I couldn’t get it out of my head. I was traveling. I felt like I was powerless. I don’t know what I could’ve done if I were home. It wouldn’t have mattered. What can you do when a cat isn’t eating? Nothing. My stress would’ve just made the situation worse. The cat would’ve become a sponge for my anxiety. I’ve been through this so many times before. It’s a pattern. The panic. The spiraling. The assuming the worst. The dread.

It was compounded this time. Kit hasn’t been feeling well. My mom isn’t well. My dad is losing his mind. Past pains. I have to travel. Everything is out of my control. Charlie is sick. It became all about Charlie Beans.

I was having a hard time controlling the worry. The anxiety was relentless. I know how to turn it off. I’ve been sober long enough and done some meditating. I can put my blinders up. I can stop the noise and realize that almost all of what I am reacting to is generated by my mind without my permission.

The worry.

I realized something this time. If it’s not one thing it’s another. When my mind is free, it worries. My imagination is at its most thorough when I am generating scenarios that cause me panic and fear and terror. Why does my mind do that? Well, focusing it all on the cat makes it simple.

I have to assume all the cortisol exploding in my system on and off all day long must be some kind of drug-like experience. I don’t feel high but the adrenaline of the worry and panic keeps a frequency going that can only be relieved by exhaustion and/or closure of some kind or just moving on or past it for a while.

Charlie got better. Everything was okay. Everything.

Today I talk to Zahn McClarnon about working with him on Reservation Dogs and all his other work and life. I talk to Bela Fleck on Thursday about… banjo stuff.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Its Own Seat.

Canada, again, People.

The shows at the Queen Elizabeth Theatre in Toronto were great. It’s a weird venue. It seems very late sixties, early seventies. Not much personality to the place and kind of musty. Slightly modern haunted vibe. More abandoned than haunted actually.

I had played there before but it took me a minute to put that together. When I saw the stage I knew. I had a vague recollection of a struggle on stage. A small one that I’m sure only I noticed but I just remember not being totally keyed in.

I corrected that this time. On it.

The highpoint of the festival for me was sharing the venue with Maria Bamford. We alternated showtimes over the two nights. She went early the first night and I was able to watch her whole set. More than able, I got there early to do so. I’ve always loved watching her. I hadn’t seen her work in years. It is so inspired and deep and purely funny. There really isn’t anyone like her and there is no one doing comedy better. She is above and beyond anyone currently doing standup. Or even anyone in the last decade. It was a real treat to watch her and get the deep laughs in.

Flying out of LA I was in the Air Canada lounge. It’s not great. There isn’t much there but it’s quiet. While I was getting some food at the buffet I noticed an older guy at the coffee machine who looked familiar. It didn’t take long for me to realize it was Stewart Copeland, the drummer for The Police. I know the band’s music. I was there when it started. That first record was great and so were a few others. I wasn’t a huge fan because they all seemed so affected and pompous. Annoying. Sting. Andy. All of them. Stewart seemed to have resting bitch being. Though his soundtrack for the film Rumblefish was amazing. I’m sure he’s done a lot of amazing work. He still annoys me and I didn’t want to say ‘hi’ or ‘big fan’ or ‘that Rumblefish soundtrack was great.' I just watched him drink his coffee with his face.

A woman came over and said something to him. He got up and she walked him over to someone. A little-ish man with a bucket hat, mask and sunglasses on with a little man bun poking out of the back of the hat. He had a guitar case with him. They hugged and took selfies but I couldn’t make out who the guy was.

While waiting to get on the plane at the gate I realized the guy in the hat was Geddy Lee of Rush. Now, I grew up with Rush. There was no way to avoid Rush in my teen years. I was not a Rush guy. I have said as much for years. Though after I watched the doc about them there was really no way for me to not, at the very least, respect them. True originals.

So, again. I was in an awkward position. I didn’t want to say anything to him because it would be disingenuous. I didn’t want to take a selfie because I don’t really do that. So, I just looked at him when I got on the plane and watched two flight attendants try to strap his bass into a seat. Yes, it has its own seat. We were both in first, as was the bass.

He was directly in front of me walking off the plane so I took a pic of the back of his head. After thinking about it hard and wondering if it was intrusive and wrong I decided it was funny and I posted it on IG with a somewhat snarky paragraph about it. I did give Mr. Lee the praise and respect he deserved. He responded in the comments! I shared a story with him about the time I worked for a caterer that catered the Rush show in Albuquerque in the late seventies. Alex requested a fan for his dressing room so my boss sent me a half hour away to his house to get him a fan. I resented the whole band since.

Geddy responded again and thanked me for Alex. It was all very funny.

Today I have a pretty amazing, fast-paced talk with Tony Gilroy about Michael Clayton… and other stuff. On Thursday I talk to Jann Wenner about Rolling Stone magazine and music and cultural stuff. Great talks.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Ropers.

Howdy, Cowboys and Cowgirls and Cowtheys.

I bought some boots in Denver. Cowboy boots. Relatively subtle ones.

I can’t remember when I stopped wearing that kind of boot. I definitely wore them when I was younger. Not because I thought I was a cowboy, it was just the style. I grew up in the southwest. It was more of a rock and roll thing. I think everyone had a pair of black cowboy boots to wear with their black Levi's. Didn’t they?

The first pair I ever had were required. When I was a kid, I went to a camp called Brush Ranch. I’m not sure how I ended up there but I was there for two or three summers. We had to have boots, a Stetson hat, and a fly-fishing rod. We tied flies, fished, shot .22s and shotguns, loaded shells and rode horses. We were all assigned a horse. Girls rode English, guys rode Western. My horse was called Mama and she bit me and hated me. She smelled my fear. Horses are way too big an animal for me to feel comfortable assuming control over.

A cowboy I was not.

Years later I became committed to black cowboy boots. I had a pair of those and a pair of lizard skin ones that I never quite committed to, for reasons that became obvious to me in an interaction I had with the salesman at the Lucchese store in Denver last Friday.

The store was directly next to the hotel I was staying at. I knew the brand was top of the line, handmade boots. I felt drawn to the store but didn’t go in for a day. I eventually went in. Had to. I was thinking if they had some basic black boots I might get them. It was time. Maybe I was being nostalgic. I don’t know. I was committed though. I went in. There was a pair of plain black western boots with a short staff. The salesman in a hat and western jacket told me they were ropers. They are different than the longer staff embroidered western boots. Less garish. More fashion practical to my eye. These were clearly designed for casual wear I believe. They were a soft Bison leather. Clean looking. I wore soft ropers as Sam Sylvia.

The fella that was showing me the boots was a western person. I don’t know if he rides or ropes or has ever worked on a ranch but he was western. It’s a cultural identification. I grew up around it. It’s authentic. It’s a thing.

I said I liked the ropers. I was looking at the other, more elaborate boots. Alligator, lizard, ostrich. Harder cow leather. I told him they were beautiful, real deal boots. Holding a lizard boot like the ones I had when I was younger I said, ‘I’m not trying to pretend I’m something I’m not.’

He said, ‘I appreciate that.’

I don’t think he was judging me. I think it was a moment of understanding. I think he actually appreciated that I was on to myself enough to know not to insult his culture by assuming I could pull off those boots. The ropers were my speed and closer to my style and signifying only a style. Not a way of life. We both had our place.

I bought them. I love them. Let’s see if they don’t hurt my feet. I think the problems I have with my feet are actually from wearing the real deal ones when I was younger. I paid for being a phony.

While in Denver I hung out with a guy I knew in junior high, Eric Tittman. We used to ride the bus together for a couple of years. He used to bring cassettes of music that he recorded from his dad’s records and we’d play them on the player I brought on the bus. He turned me on to Exile on Main St. and the live version of Midnight Rambler. Life changing.

As a birthday gift he brought me an album. ChangesOneBowie. I have it, obviously, but the copy he brought was mine. He had apparently borrowed it when we were kids. It has my name in my scrawl on the upper right-hand corner of the cover. It’s returned home.

Coincidentally, the first time I heard that album was at Brush Ranch. A cassette owned by either a counselor or one of the campers. I never became a cowboy but I definitely became a rock guy. I think Bowie would’ve liked these boots I bought.

Today I talk to Sigourney Weaver about her life and career. On Thursday I talk to Abigail Disney about being a Disney and her new doc The American Dream and Other Fairy Tales. Great talks.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

A Very Smooth Trip.

The Desert, People.

The desert people. They are unique.

Me and Lara Beitz landed in Phoenix, rented a car at Budget (No Hertz available), drove through the desert to Tucson. Arizona has the prettiest deserts.

I can’t really remember the last time I was in Tucson. It had to be in the eighties. Vague memories. Almost like flashbacks without context. I know when I lost my mind on drugs in LA in ’87 it was where I drove to. Hearing voices, sleep deprived. After seeing a horrendous accident outside of Palm Springs I remember seeing it as a sign and stopping at a Motel 6 for the night to try to gather myself before making my way to Tucson to show up at my brother’s who was going to school there at the time. I hung out with him for a few days before driving back home to Albuquerque to get clean for the first time.

I went back to Tucson at some point to play the comedy club there. I don’t really remember much other than hooking up with a woman who had a large lizard tramp stamp. I saw that as a sign, too. Not a good one. When I was there the other night at the Rialto Theatre I asked from the stage if she was there or if anyone knew her. Maybe we put that evening together from the past over coffee. Probably not a great idea. Reunions of one night stands never are. She could have grandkids by now.

The show in Tucson was great. I love desert people. I’ve always loved Tucson. Pretty place.

We drove back to Phoenix to do a show at Standup Live. My dad was there with his wife. They drove out from Albuquerque. He still remembers who I am. Actually, he was very engaged and present. I showed him x-rays of my mother’s neck on my phone because she has to get surgery and he knew exactly what was going on. He used to do that kind of surgery.

I spent a lot of time with the both of them and they came to the show. I did all of my new material making relatively good-hearted fun of my father which he always loved. His wife loves it more. It was big night. Good times. Packed house.

It was all in all a very smooth trip in and out of the desert.

When I was in high school I worked at a restaurant across from the University of New Mexico and one of my early mentors was a guy named Steve LaRue who worked at the record store next door. He killed himself a few years ago. He was musician and a great oddball. He turned me on to all the great weirdo music. Adrian Belew was one of the things he turned me on to. So, it was an honor to talk to him today about working with Zappa, Bowie, Talking Heads, NIN and his solo stuff.

On Thursday Sam Rockwell comes back to catch up. I talked to him about winning his Oscar, seeing him in American Buffalo and doing The Bad Guys with him.

Great talks.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live.

Love,
Maron

Take It In.

Mortality, People!

Exciting knowing that we all come to the same end give or take. It’s also the big challenge of life, maybe habit actually, to keep that knowing at bay. You know, so we can function and not be screaming all the time.

I think about it more and more. I guess its age but also because my parents are both ailing now. The tragedy of Lynn dying quickly and too young in front of me basically hammered the fragility of life and the randomness of tragedy into my soul in a very personal way. The aging process and however that unfolds is an entirely different thing. The inevitability is the same. The process, or moment, is the same. It ends.

Kit and I had to go to the emergency room a few nights ago. Somehow, we both got a stomach bug in Canada. I believe I had it too but not as bad. She just couldn’t get out from under the symptoms so eventually we thought we should go to the ER. It’s hard when the person I’m with is sick now. Hard not to panic. Hard to say it will be ok. Lynn and I never got to the emergency room. Not that it would’ve helped necessarily. She didn’t want to go and the morning of the day she passed she was supposed to go to the doctor. Kit had a doctor’s appointment the next day as well but just didn’t feel well so we went to the ER. It was a different choice. I think it healed something in me. It was nuts there.

There were people everywhere with injuries of all kinds, old people being wheeled in, unconscious people, blood and pain everywhere. It was sobering and scary but all very human. The vulnerability of physical trauma is something we will have to share with strangers most likely. We wait for care and hope it is there. ER docs are true heroes.

I had a difficult time being in the hospital. Layers of issues. Going to them when I was kid to see my dad when he was at work. Going on rounds with him. I avoid them now if I can, even to visit people. It’s selfish and totally driven by fear. I have to grow the fuck up and show up.

It was important to take it in. Accept the reality of the fragility of life. Again.

Kit is okay.

I am a little spun.

I am trying to be present in my life despite the profound macro realities that set my brain on fire with fear. I am trying to show up for the people that matter to me. I am trying to combat selfishness and fear.

I saw Pavement on Saturday. They were awesome.

Today I talk to Brett Morgen about his new Bowie doc Moonage Daydream. You should go see it if you love Bowie and/or his music. On Thursday Bradley Whitford comes by for a second time just because he wanted to hang out and talk again. Great talks.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Whales!

Tofino, People!

I finally made it. I’ve been meaning to get there for years. It was a plan I had with Lynn that never happened. I went with Kit. It was pretty beautiful.

We spent one night in Vancouver which was amazing. I love that city. The food was great. We ate at Forage. So good. It’s just so fucking pretty there.

The next day we got in a car and went to the wrong airport to catch a prop plane to Tofino. The Lyft driver didn’t know the difference between airport detinations. Which I guess is the primary argument for taking a legit taxi. They know the cities the drive in. They are pros.

We scramble into a cab to the small South Terminal airport. Then the wait began. There was no shortage of suspense on this trip.

The plane that we were getting on was an hour late getting in from Tofino. When it arrived it wasn’t clear that we would be able to take off. There’s a fog issue on the island in August. They call it Fogust. I didn’t know this when I booked the vacation. September is pretty foggy as well as it turns out. I don’t mind fog. It’s pretty in the Pacific Northwest. Not great for flying though. And probably not great every day for long periods of time. Which I will have to get used to if I ever live there.

Before we boarded the plane the gate agent actually got on the mic and said, ‘were going to try to make it to Tofino. We don’t know if we will be able to land but we will try. If we can’t, we will turn around and come back.’ Awesome. Exciting flight ahead, I thought.

It was true. The fog cover was so dense that we circled twice for a half hour each time and the pilot said we’ll loop around one more time and see if we can see the runway. As we looped around we felt the plane drop into a pretty rapid descent and someone yelled, ‘He’s going for it!’ He was. He made it. We all clapped. It was mildly harrowing.

We got the hotel and had a beautiful suite overlooking the beach. The first day there we went on a whale watch. More suspense. Only with seasickness this time. I didn’t really think we would actually see whales but we definitely did. We saw two humpbacks, a mother and a baby. We saw sea lions. We saw a couple of gray whales. Otters! We saw sea otters. Lots of them. Suspense paid off big. Seasickness lasted a while. Worth it. Kinda.

Then, more suspense. We still felt ill. Buggy. Kit more than me. So, had to go to the pharmacy get supplies for the queasy. Crackers, bananas, electrolytes and Covid tests. They just give them to you in Canada. A box of five. Here you go. Right at the counter. It was an exciting 15 minute wait for the lines and we got one. A single line. Novid.

We went and got massages outside in tent in the woods in the rain. Sweet.

She still felt a bit ill so we had to figure out whether we wanted to try to get home a day early. It rained the last night we were there. All night. We woke up it was very overcast. I knew the prop plane (a smaller one than the one we came in on) had to get from Vancouver to Tofino first for us to get off the island. I had little hope considering what we went through getting out of Vancouver. I thought we’d be stuck and she’d be sick it was all making me very anxious and aggravated. Then a miracle. Sky cleared, plane landed, we got out. Made it off the island. Smaller plane. There was no cockpit door. I could see too much.

Got to Vancouver airport. We were supposed to stay another night there but I thought we should get home. I was able to switch out the flight and I’m writing this as we fly back to LA on Sunday.

It was a great trip. Too much suspense. Some good. Some bad. Still feel a little buggy. We saw whales!

Today I talk to Al Ruddy about the movies he’s produced. Including The Godfather and Mathilda. On Thursday I talk to Sharon Van Etten about her music and her life. Great talks!

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Bionic Tooth.

It’s lifting, People.

I’m not sure if it’s age or growth or maybe both but I’m giving less fucks in general. Something has eased in my heart and my mind. I’ve started to envision a way to ease out of the stress and responsibility of the life I have chosen and live. In other words, a way out.

I’m not talking about ending my life but I am thinking about the end of my life. What that looks like. Where do I want to be? Will it be possible to enjoy some peace of mind as the world burns? Where can that happen? Just thinking.

It’s strange. I’m getting older but I just got an implant in my mouth. Why? It wasn’t a vanity thing. It was a practical thing. I’m going to need it to chew through the end. It’s a long process and I’m surprised I committed to it. I could’ve lived with the gap. If things seem like they are going to take forever and I can’t see an end to them, I usually don’t do them. Dumb. Time keeps going until it doesn’t and, at some point, you will get to the day and think, ‘this is when I would’ve been done with that thing if I had done it.’ Then you’ll regret not doing it. I do.

I committed to the mouth process though. They pulled a rotting molar out months ago and squirted some bone grafting goo into the hole. Now that’s all healed up so I went in and let them drill a hole into the fresh bone and basically screw a molly into it. They capped the hole with a tiny lid and stitched up along the sides. Now I wait a few months and my regular dentist crafts me a new tooth, snaps it in and then I can chew like a person again. This tooth will be the last man standing when everything else that is me rots. I’m fascinated with the weird precision of dentistry.

Everything seems to be shifting or changing lately. My body seems alien, my hair seems thinner, my skin feels different. It happens. Now is the time. I can’t fight it. I don’t want to be one of these older dudes who is dragged like a clown on leash by his frightened ego. I don’t want to do that publicly or privately. The older Boomers that came before me can’t stop thrashing. I want to be done swinging my dick around like I have something to prove by the time I’m approaching 70. I’m not saying I won’t want to use it occasionally, just the swinging it around part, maybe not.

I will have one bionic tooth though.

If you have the Full Maron subscription from WTF+, the latest Ask Marc Anything episode is available now. I answered listener questions about everything from Jon Stewart, retirement, eating disorders, Alaska, guitar playing, sobriety, Greg Giraldo, Howard Stern, and more. If you don't have a Full Maron subscription and want to hear this (as well as all our weekly bonus content and the full ad-free archives) go here and sign up.

Sunday was Lynn Shelton’s birthday. She would’ve been 57. Sometimes I picture her here just hanging out with me like it was just another day and we're talking about my tooth or a movie or food or just watching something on TV. I miss her. I miss what we could’ve been.

Today I talk to Simu Liu about his experience as an immigrant and his success in show business. On Thursday I talk to Whitney Cummings again about being Whitney Cummings now. Great talks!

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda Live!

Love,
Maron

Manageable Drama.

The Midwest, People.

I didn’t think I really had a draw in Nebraska and Iowa but the people came out. I wouldn’t say it was a huge draw but it was plenty. Averaging about 500-650 a show. Good people. My people. We all knew who we were and why we were there and how special we all were. We knew it was probably all of us in the area.

Midwestern airports are an experience. It’s not even like time travel. It’s just its own thing. You could even miss the Lincoln Airport if you weren’t paying attention. I’m talking about when you fly in. Was that it? Is this it? Again, not a judgement, a surprise. Oddly, I experienced more chaos renting a car in Lincoln than anywhere in my life. Mild chaos, manageable drama.

I can’t tell you the whole story here but because of some miscommunication and some actual issues including bad smells. I walked back and forth from the counter to the cars four times with three sets of keys before getting a car. We drove off the lot and the engine oil light came on. Eventually we went back and got another car. The one we were supposed to have initially. Long story. Maybe I’ll tell it on the show.

I usually use Hertz but most of the companies seem to make it very difficult to rent cars to return in another state. I get it, they’re out of cars. They sold them all to stay solvent. Now, they can’t get new ones easily. Fine. They don’t want you to take them away forever to be lost in the vast national ecosystem of wayward rented cars unless the car is already in that cycle. Slowly making its way home, maybe.

I had been to Lincoln once before and had reconnected with an old friend of mine who was drifting off the deep end. He was sort of a poetic drunk character in the comedy scene back in the ‘90s who went on to become an anti-Semitic farmer. Interesting transition. I couldn’t get any info on his condition other than it was worse and he may have no place to sell his vegetables anymore. Nebraska.

The Rococo Theater in Lincoln is a unique old place. It was dinner club seating and a kind of distant vibe sound wise but it felt special.

Driving from Lincoln to Des Moines was a straight shot and actually very beautiful in a farmland kind of way. There was some heavy weather. Rain dumping out of the sky to the point where it was almost impossible to drive. Exciting. Climate change.

Des Moines was surprising. The theatre had a pop to it and the audience was totally game. Felt alive and exciting.

Iowa City was hopping with college kids. None of whom came to see me. I seem to find the same types of folks wherever I go. They need the funny I contain. The Englert is a sweet little theater and the staff was great. The crowd was very engaged to the point of an intimacy that one woman took as a one-on-one conversation with me. We dealt with it. She felt heard.

Writing this as I am trying to get back home. Tough travel day. My back is fucked. Too many different beds and cars and airplanes, I think.

Today I talk to Andrew Garfield. We talk acting and England and sadness and grief. On Thursday I talk to S.G. Goodman about her amazing songs and albums and being an out person in rural Kentucky and OCD. Great talks.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monday and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

The Way of the Wild.

Good few days, Folks.

I won’t question it. Not too much panic. Good food. Exercise. Relaxed. I need to acknowledge that shit or I don’t register that it actually happened. Events and feelings are fleeting and flying into the past must faster than they used to. It all seems farther away. And the trance of youth is lifting. Only the fading present remains.

Not great news on the cat front. As I mentioned last show I took a very small kitten from under my back stairway. I don’t think it was abandoned. I believe the mother was moving his other five siblings under the back deck which is where they were for a few days. I’m sure she was going to get to him eventually. She can't now because I took him. I handed the little guy over to Kit to bottle feed for a few weeks. He comes and hangs at the house sometimes. He’s about three weeks old and his name is Charlie Roscoe because I can’t decide which name I like better. Charlie. Roscoe. I believe he will be my cat.

The bad news is the rest of the family is gone. She moved them all again. She still comes around to eat but I have no idea where the kittens are. The plan was to let them feed until they surfaced and then get them all trapped and fixed and tagged and ready for adoption and to release her, fixed, out into the wild. That plan is dashed. I have no idea the fate of those kittens or if they are even still around. It’s sad. It’s the way of the wild. I have no control. I do have Charlie Roscoe. In retrospect it was a good move to take him. He may be the only one that lives or the only one that isn’t feral.

I will keep my eye out for those kittens or try to follow mom to where they are but it's not easy. We’ll see. It is kind of a load off because I was going to have to pull up the deck slats to get at them. No more. The not-knowing is sad but we’ll see. They may surface.

I’ve filed my application for Permanent Residency in Canada which is exciting. I may not get it and it could take years but I feel like I took action that gives me a little peace of mind. I know that they say, ‘No place to run. No place to hide.’ That’s not quite true. You can run and you can hide for a while. In the big picture all I have is a while. Climate change is hard to run from. Fascism is a little easier to run from until all of the scorched earth is one big fascist shit show. Hopefully I’ll miss that. I like Canada. I like working up there. It would be more like a green card than total citizenship. I could work towards that. This country is toast.

Today I talk to Christina Ricci about her life. It was nice to meet her and hang out and talk. Thursday, I have the newly out Jerrod Carmichael back on. He’s been on the show before but he wasn’t his whole self. Great talks.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron