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

POTTERY.

Biscuits, pork and pottery, People.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m nuts.

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

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

My Coyote.

It's a nice day here, People.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I immediately became attached to it. My coyote.

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

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

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Enjoy!

Love,
Maron

Can't Stop.

Working, People.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and La Fonda live!

Love,
Maron

Idealizing the Place.

Canada, Folks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Great talks.

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and Lafond live!

Love,
Maron

History and Memory.

Deep trip, People.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

An Absence.

Sad day, Folks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron

A Tribute to Dan Vitale.

Tulsa, People!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enjoy!

Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!

Love,
Maron