Paintings.

Art finds its way, People.

Strange story.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Melon Season.

Making things right, Friends

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Regroup, Reground, Re-Engage

Back at it, People!

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

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

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

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

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

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


Enjoy!

Lynn Shelton lives!

Love,
Maron

A Year.

A year, People.

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

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

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

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

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

May her memory be a blessing.

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

Jews get it. Deep stuff.

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

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

Enjoy!

Lynn Shelton lives!

Love,
Maron

Part of Me Lives Up There.

Back on stage, folks!

Ridiculous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Seniors.

Florida, People.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Oscars.

Enough bread, People.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Like Riding a Bike.

Up and down, People!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If it isn’t. Fuck it. I did plenty.

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

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Good Meat.

Sometimes it’s about the meat, People.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Dean sold me a grown-up watch.

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

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Changing Thought.

Cats, People.

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

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

Jkkkkhfiou8iojallllllll

Sorry, Sammy wrote that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

An Overwhelming Feeling.

Jesus, I’m worn out, People.

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Passover to you Jews who do that.

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

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

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Sammy the Kitten.

I’m officially half vaxxed, People!

I made an appointment way out of LA in a reddish county. They were available. I guess I took the place of an anti-vaxxer and got vaxxed. It was at a supermarket pharmacy. I went ready to do the high cholesterol with gunk in my pump dance or the I work in the food industry as an entertainer schtick. They were very nice, efficient and asked zero questions at the pharmacy. I am relieved to be halfway there. After a year of fear and terror and trauma it's nice to take the plague variable off the table, hopefully. At least dying of it is way less of a possibility.

I have a new roommate. Sammy the kitten is in the house. Also to be known as Sammy Red, Samster, Sam Man and I’m sure many other variations. I am now parenting a six-week-old ginger cat. He has a white chest and legs and half a face and a perpetually panicked look on his face. His eyes aren’t quite locked in color wise. He was with his mother and siblings for four weeks and my friend Kit had him for a couple. He’s eating kibble and wet food. I’m adding pumpkin and probiotic and his shit looks almost perfect. He's full of the beans and has his own tent. Good guy. I think he’ll make it. I hope so.

Buster is not that tweaked yet. I’m keeping Sammy in a room and Buster has seen him a few times. He hisses and growls a bit. I think he realizes, or my projection of him realizes, that it’s just a kitten and not a threat, yet. Hopefully Buster wont beat him up or kill him. Buster is kind of a bully. He was a full-on elder abuser with old Monkey. The best thing that could happen is that Buster mentors silly Sammy. We’ll see.

I’ve somehow managed to run some errands and get some stuff done that I haven’t been able to bring myself to do for the entire lockdown. I don’t know. I just feel like something has been lifted, a weight. I don’t know what exactly…oh wait. I’m half vaxxed, got shot numero uno. That might have something to do with it. The weather is nice and all that meditation and yoga might be… nope. It was the shot. The shot and the kitten.

I talk to Christopher Lloyd today about his 60-year career in theater, film and television but mostly about One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. What can I say? Sometimes you just get into a groove. On Thursday I have a nice, deep personal talk with Eddie Huang. Excited to engage with him about Asian culture, which I don’t know much about. We talk about his new film ‘Boogie’ as well.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Slow and Low.

It may be kinda of okay eventually, People

Okay-ish. Maybe.

I’m surprised and concerned that my brain wants to believe it may be okay. In the now, it doesn’t seem any different. In the then it was awful. In the maybe it seems like it might be okay. Ish. I don’t know. My brain wants to hang onto something and I think it’s just relieved it isn’t terror. In my present I am not experiencing terror. Wait…

I see people getting vaccinated. I hear about millions. I see the shift in policy regarding opening things up. I see these fits and starts. I hear about millions who won't get vaccinated. I don’t know why. We had polio, mumps, measles, smallpox and now we don’t. What about the Stupid Virus? It seems the most resistant to treatment. So many humans let their brains be infected with the Stupid Virus in the name of ‘freedom.’ Is freedom stupidity? Maybe I don’t understand the concept of freedom because I’m not dumb enough.

The meditation I have been doing daily for months now seems to be having an impact on my sleep. I sleep deeper. I dream harder. I still get up to pee, a lot. I guess that's outside of the purview of meditation. The concept of being present is starting to make sense. The tool of getting there is starting to work more frequently. The power of that tool to stop terror and panic and sad nostalgia and future tripping is real. What to do with this deeper understanding that it’s all within not without? You are the regulator of you. Own it or be owned.

I smoked my first brisket. I did some research. Acknowledged my limitations re: equipment and experience. I focused and figured it out. Bought a four-pounder, rubbed it down with equal parts salt and pepper, not too thick, set the Traeger at 225 "super smoke," put a small tray of water in there, after letting the meat brine a bit in the fridge took it out for an hour, put it in the smoker, fat side down, next to the tray, put the thermometer in it, let smoke for like 6-7 hours, when the temperature hit 170 I sprayed it with a little apple cider vinegar, wrapped in foil, turned the heat to 250, stuck the thermometer back in, when it hit 200, took it out, let it sit an hour, sliced it. Solid smoke ring!

Boom. BBQ. Moist. Tender. Tasty.

Today I talk to Lorraine Newman about the first season of SNL and a life in the voiceover racket. On Thursday I get schooled on Armenia by Serj Tankian from System of a Down. Good talks!

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Awards.

What is winning, People?

By the time this is read I will know whether or not I won a Critics' Choice Award. I will have already appeared on TV in a head box event. Some of you may have watched me win or lose.

This is the day before and I am always forced to consider what awards mean to me when I am up for one or not. I know I rarely, if ever, win them. I think the last major award I won for standup comedy was second place in the WBCN Comedy Riot in 1988. It was because of that award that I began my career as a professional standup. I had been doing it a few years before that but August ’88 marks the beginning of my career as a paid comic. No more day job. So, in August of this year I will have been a professional standup for 33 years.

I have lost and not been nominated for awards all of my professional career. I know how to lose. I always get excited at the idea of winning and prepare to win in my mind but I lose and absorb it. Rationalize it. Realize it’s not important and in many cases not based on anything that has anything to do with the work, really. See, rationalization (but totally true).

Some awards I think I should have won or, at the very least, been nominated for. Some I was nominated for but knew I wasn’t the guy nor should I have been. In my entire career the only one I thought I deserved for sure was a Peabody. Who even knows what they are or what they are for? Who cares? Seriously, who cares? Fuck the Peabodys. Who the fuck are they to judge? I’m over it. Doesn’t matter. Fuck them.

All this is to say that no matter what happened yesterday, I know, in my heart, if there is any award I deserve, it’s this year’s Critics' Choice Award for Best Comedy Special of 2020. I mean, I don’t usually sing my own praises, but this is the one. I can see every minute of all 35 plus years of work in this set. I’m very proud of it and it was a collaboration with the late Lynn Shelton. I know what it is. I know it is great. I know I may not do better.

I also know that I don’t win awards.

I am grateful for my life despite all the losing and sadness. I have found my voice creatively and as a human. I have an audience. I do the work. I am paid for the work and respected for the work I do. I am okay with myself in the world (most days). That is winning.

So, no matter what happened yesterday. I’m good. I won. I earned my life.

Today I talk to Eddie Murphy. I enjoyed talking to him. He showed up for it. We had some laughs. On Thursday I talk to Hugh Grant. I enjoyed talking to him too. I didn’t think I would. I laughed a lot. He’s a dark, funny fucker. Great talks.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Beliefs.

Control, People.
Do we have any power over anything? Not much. As I type these letters I feel like I am in charge of these words. Powerful.

People feeling powerless and scared can lead to chaos and insanity and religion sometimes. Almost all of us are desperate on some level. Almost all of us are scared, bordering on terrified, most of the time. Almost all of us want to hang our fear and desperation on something that makes sense and makes us feel like we have a handle on shit. This means most of us are suckers and marks, part time fiends, compulsives and control freaks, martyrs. How’s that new regimen working out?

Do you hit or take the hit?

I know that I am a mark. I am aware of the type of mark I am. I am vigilant to apply reason and skepticism to anything coming at me in a pitch. I lapse into vitamins and diets but I draw the line at religion and Qanon. Same portal that becomes a brutalized orifice by the big frequency hustlers. Brain fuckers.

I’ll give Glucosamine Chondroitin a go but I don’t think the Jews are a problem that needs to be solved. I’ll eat some probiotics for my gut garden but I know Trump is not going to be inaugurated next week. Then I’ll pull back from the vitamins all together and just be mad at most things as we all move decidedly and unavoidably toward our death one way or the other.

So, without the possibility of the religion hook, I get locked in to unnecessary tasks that my brain can’t get rid of until I follow through. The way I ground myself is to find a reason to be angry at myself for doing something or not doing something. The first is an eternal spring. The second is a compulsion du jour. When I’m busy my brain doesn’t really do this but filling time during the plague brings out all the old cycles. Sometimes it’s a good thing. I get things done. It’s the urgency that is annoying.

All of these start as just a thought. I am learning through meditation that you can just let thoughts pass. They aren’t real. Just thoughts. But sometimes I lock on.

I went to Whole Foods with a list. I got what I needed. I left the store and realized I didn’t get a kabocha squash. I didn’t need it. I wanted it. Eating and preparing food is a big stabilizer for me. I couldn’t believe I forgot the squash. I was furious at me. It takes a lot to go to the store in the plague. To soldier through the possible Covid clouds. I didn’t even need the squash. I couldn’t get it out of my head. I applied my meditation tools. Just let the thought pass. It’s just a thought. It’s the kabocha squash thought. Let it pass.

It didn’t. It circled, every half hour or so, across my mind, a Japanese pumpkin. Kabocha.

I’ve really been fighting the urge to suit up with my N95 and silly plastic face shield and angrily storm into Whole Foods for that spite squash I don’t really need. I haven’t. Writing about it helps.

This is my spiritual journey. Ignoring the circling flying squash in my mind and being present and okay with who I am and the world around me in this moment. Fucking kabocha.

Problems remain. We all do what we can to stay sane. A lot of that is involuntary and hopefully not too dangerous to ourselves or others.

Today I talk to Tim Allen. Don’t freak out. He’s really a comic at his core. On Thursday I talk to Jake Gyllenhaal. Good talks!

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Fire.

I burn myself, Folks

I don’t know when I will know in my heart that I no longer have restaurant hands. When you work on a line at a restaurant you don’t think twice about handling the hot stuff. It’s second nature. You’re numb to it. If it isn’t glowing hot you don’t get burning. I guess it’s not unlike the discipline and focus of mind it requires to walk on hot coals. You’re just doing it.

Now, I burn myself. My focus of mind is there but my soul knows I don’t work at a restaurant. Though you couldn’t tell by the amount I cook. I cook for the week then challenge myself to eat everything I’ve cooked or purchased. If I don’t, I’m very disappointed in myself, like I’ve failed at my job.

It’s part of my rituals that keep me sane. I now do about 10-15 minutes of Yoga in the morning. Then another 15 minutes of meditations. Then I do about an hour on Instagram live to engage with people. I do my talks for my podcast. I cook.

Nothing gets you more in the present than burning your hand. Maybe I should start my meditations with that.

I’m not even sure I want to continue meditating. It’s making my brain soft. I like it on fire.

Also, I think I’m done with cabbage. It happens. You hit a wall with things.

I finished the new Adam Curtis documentary series I Can’t Get You Out of My Mind. I had to watch the two-hour finale twice. That’s a lot to wrap one’s head around. My mind has been expanded and rerouted a bit. I do have some issues with the clutter of the end. Adam seems to kind of contradict himself around the ideas of psychic manipulations, the self being defined by the stories we tell ourselves, the possibility of the human having more than one self, data mining and algorithms being used to sideline and perhaps destroy consciousness. You get it, right?

Today I talk to Melissa Leo. She is one of the most powerful actors working. I’ve always loved her work. The film she is currently in is called Body Brokers. It's about the dark racket of some drug rehab facilities and the many evil insurance hustles. Corrupt caregivers running money through hopeless addicts. Powerful and real. On Thursday I talk to Michael K. Williams who is also in the film and was also Omar on The Wire. Great talks. Great week.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Bubbling Up.

Stop the food, People!

I am strung out on carbs and sugar. Honey. The good sugar. Quinoa and Wasa crackers and pita bread. The healthy carbs (in my mind). The butters, peanut and almond. I’m out from under the ice cream. I am in the food pit, though.

I just can’t stop cooking. It keeps me sane. It’s just a lot of food. I start to hate what I cook because it’s really too healthy and all that I am left with is the angry desire to cook a cake or a pie or a bread and eat it angrily. I haven’t yet. This week. I smoked fish. Sable.

I over-brined my sable. Who hasn’t? Salty.

I’ve been thinking about it all. Doing the research. Watching the great films. Watching the challenging stuff. The Pinter scripts. I’ve been wondering what I am going to do creatively. I mean, I do Instagram lives in the mornings. That’s become a habit. I riff around and play records and chase my cat around. Is that really what I am doing? Shouldn’t I be creating a stage show? Shouldn’t I be putting a script together? Shouldn’t I be coming up with a pitch for a show? Shouldn’t I be learning how to do more with Garage Band than just talk into it? Who cares? I like to chase my cat around. We talk.


It is happening in the way it happens. Something is bubbling up out of my spinal fluid into the brain stem. I just need to coax it out. It’s being teased by triggers.

I guess enough time has passed for the great muse of coincidence to offer up some brain meat. It’s been a couple years since I watched two docs by Adam Curtis that sent me spinning. ‘HyperNormalisation’ and ‘The Century of Self.’ They seem to give shape to some threads of thought I was being spooled with. It took the full two years for me to integrate them and see what they yielded. The assessment of shallowness and the tragedy of passive engagement. The plague. An army of stupids searching for a status quo.

Now, he’s back with a six parter called ‘Can’t Get You Out of My Head.’ Perfect timing. Isolation, lock down, immobility, not talking to enough people. My brain is vulnerable and throbbing for new stuff and this delivers. I dumped two episodes into my mind the other night and it’s all there… conspiracy, power paradigms, constructions of self, global histories of the great colonialized mindfuck, what is real and what isn’t, AI being born, the draw of the darkness our minds manufacture because of fear and forces out of our control. I’m ready. I’m excited. I’m barely living.

He is a true artist in how he puts film together. I’m very happy to have my mind blown by his work.

It helps me connect the real dots. Right on time.

Today I have what I would call a very unique and special talk with the great Jodie Foster. I feel like we grew up together. Or I grew up at the same time as her and I watched her grow up through a bunch of different characters. Something like that. On Thursday I had another very special talk with Sam Neill. We had some laughs. I couldn’t stop trying to make him laugh. I don’t know why. It was fun.

Hope you found the love yesterday, enough to be simultaneously nostalgic and excited about possibilities. Markers. Buoys.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Apocalyptic Hounds.

I didn’t watch, Folks.

I never do. I rarely have any idea who is playing. It’s not on purpose. It’s profound how much one cannot know when one has zero interest in something. It’s not even on my radar and it’s on all the radar. How is that even possible?

There’s the macrobubble and the microbubble. We all dictate exactly what enters our microbubble. That is our perception. We align with the boundary between us and the macrobubble. It’s a psychic screen. Beyond that is the galaxy, the breathless expanse of information. I guess my point is no matter how hard it is thrown, a football won’t break through into my microbubble. Or any kind of ball really.

Coyotes get through. It had been a while since I really thought about coyotes. The other night I woke up to the sound of a pack of them cackling and laughing and making that weird vibration that a bunch of coyotes make. I don’t live in the hills. I haven’t seen many around lately or much at all around my house. This bunch felt like they were in my room. I was lying in bed freaked out. Buster slept right through. That is a safe-feeling cat.

I always assume when I hear that sound they are celebrating after having just ripped apart someone’s beloved pet. Those sounds were a shameless blood-covered revelry that is followed an hour later by someone like me wandering around the streets calling out a cat’s name. They’re like fucking pirates, apocalyptic hounds, devils. They creep me out. They are symbols of a bad omen in some myths or just chaos agents in others. Bad omen for cats everywhere.

I don’t think a coyote will hurt me because they’re kind of wimpy. They’re not wolves or bears. I think that wimpiness makes them seem eviler and is also a window into why they represent the trickster in Native American mythology. They’re just little cat-murdering shit starters who have to survive but seem to enjoy starting shit and then scurrying off like the cowards they are. Kind of like comics.

I have to get off this carb run I’m on. I quit tomorrow. The carb jones is real.

Today I talk to the amazing Salma Hayek about her new movie and other Hayek stuff. On Thursday I talk to Mark Harris about his new Mike Nichols book and about movies in general. Great talks!

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron