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

Heavy Riffage.

More road, Folks. 

Columbus, Indianapolis and Louisville. Boom. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Don't Tell Anyone.

Bonjour, Everyone.

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

I guess I have to sugar detox again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

The Pursuit of Melon.

Melons, People.

Fires, drought, fascism and watermelon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Can't Stand the Environment.

No tables for me, People.

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

It was never one of my addictions. Luckily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Landmarks.

Hometown again, Folks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My dad’s memories are fading.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

One of the Most Perfect Briskets.

Hope you’re with people, People.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Exciting stuff. Happy Summer!

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

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

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

Denied the Freedom.

Truly terrible, People. 

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