Marc Maron

I dig Marc Maron.

Have for a long time.

I have been checking out podcasts. It is a great way to get exposed to different people and different points of view. They rip the Tupperware lid off my brain, burp it and break the seal, and allow the brain to breathe (once you get past the rotten stench of decay).

I keep coming back to Marc. Here's why.

He is so real. So vulnerable. So human.

I love his sense of humor, his honesty, his intelligence, his knowledge.

I am searching for my own identity right now. Trying everything I can think of to shatter the ridiculous persona I created over a lifetime, so I can get to the real me. I just want to be me in every situation, unaffected by anyone's opinions or criticisms. I want to make me happy. Not other people.

I have been placing a lot of emphasis on toughness. Like I gotta get tougher, physically and emotionally. Then I listen to Marc and I realize vulnerability and honesty are not weaknesses.

That makes so much more sense to me. His approach to life or his personality or how ever you want to look at it, connects with who I am. The way I think. The way I feel. It doesn't make sense to try to be a tough guy. I am not a tough guy and never have been.

He lays his emotions bare. Total honesty. It is so raw and so real. No artifice. That is part of his strength, along with his intelligence and sense of humor.

His girlfriend died in May. Suddenly. She was 54. Lynn Shelton. She was a filmmaker. They had only been together a very short time and had just recently been living together. They were perfectly happy.

He is crushed. I worry about him because he is an alcoholic and has been a drug addict. But he seems to be handing it.

A few podcasts since then have been rough. He has cried on air a few times. It breaks my heart. This guy who has been through so much and finally got to a very happy place, only to have his happiness snatched away.

But he is willing to cry on air. He could edit it out but he doesn't. He is willing to be a human being on full display. And it does not make me uncomfortable. It makes me love him more.

I feel that way about his humor too. He makes me laugh, I love his point of view. But he makes me feel human as I laugh. It is not superficial humor; it is meaningful.

I have been searching for inspiration. Someone to teach me or inspire me through example or the written word. Been reading some deep stuff but it has not all been fulfilling.

Maybe I am trying too hard. When I listen to Marc I think maybe I am. Maybe I can find my way to me through him.

You never fucking know where truth comes from. You just gotta be ready for it, be able to recognize it.

And then do something about it.

Dadness

I have been thinking a lot lately about what it means to be a dad.

More so this year than usual, for obvious reasons.

The Michael Jordan thing got me going. The man is a basketball god. Tough, smart, successful, respected. Self-confident to the nth degree.

And yet he leaned on and relied on his dad for inspiration, for guidance. For his knowledge and opinions. They had a close relationship.

That really got to me. You would think Jordan wouldn't need anybody. Especially as an adult. But he needed his dad. I couldn't stop thinking about it.

This dad thing is the real deal. It is intense. It gives a life meaning. I have said a million times that being a dad is the greatest achievement of my life. The best thing I ever did with my life.

Bob Dylan. Tangled Up In Blue. "All the people we used to know, they're an illusion to me now. Some are mathematicians, some are carpenter's wives. Don't know how it all got started. I don't know what they do with their lives".

That last line haunts me. Always has. Because most of us don't do anything with our lives. We drift through it and end it with regrets. That's how I feel about my life.

Except for being a dad. I did that. I threw myself into it. I gave all my love to Keith and Craig, I laughed with them, I paid them attention, I played with them, I read to them. Being a dad was a blast. Still is.

It took me out of my life on a daily basis when I got home from work and catapulted me into a perfect world. What an escape. What a relief. What a joy.

What I am about to say is something I have put off for many years in here. I never felt comfortable putting this truth into words. But I am feeling raw right now. I want to get to a place where I am truthful all the time.

I go out for beers with Keith. I go to the movies with Craig. Every time I do, I get nervous. Nervous about being with my own sons. Isn't that sick? And it affects the night because many times I am too nervous to just be myself.

Here's why. When they were young I was a great dad. Spectacular. Since they became adults I am not so sure I set much of an example. I am not happy. I have done little to rectify that. I think maybe I come across as weak. So I am self conscious around them. I honestly think they have more fun with my brother. Ed is a funny guy.

I am a funny guy in my own way, but it doesn't translate because of the nervousness. The self consciousness.

Fucked up stuff but I am working on it.

The ultimate truth is that Keith and Craig are the most intense source of joy in my life. I never take them for granted. Never. Whenever I am with them there is always some moment where I quietly think to myself "these are my sons".

The word son is sacred to me. I cannot adequately put into words what it means to me. To say they are the most intense source of joy in my life is an understatement. It is more than that. It is tied up with my heart and my soul and is inexpressible.

I am proud of the dad I have been.

I am proud of who my sons are.

Are You Fucking Kidding Me?

What a wimpy post that last one was. Fucking limp-wristed, pantywaist stuff.

"I can't be happy. I just can't."

Give myself a break.

I am feeling pugilistic now. That's where I need to be. That is the platform I will be standing on when the curtain comes down.

I need to punch people in the face. It's the only way to get ahead.

Actually, punching people in the face might be self defeating. If it comes down to it I'll punch myself in the face.

That paints a picture, doesn't it? Imagine walking by my picture window and catching me punching myself in the face. You might be alarmed.

But it's all for a purpose. A plan exists.

I wanted to set the record straight.

Morbid Wardrobe

Carol drove down to spend some time with Paula on Monday.

She came back with two of Bill's Tommy Bahama shirts. Bill died last Saturday.

I have a shirt that belonged to Gary - Paula's son - who died many years ago. Now I have two of Bill's. The history behind these shirts is that Gary worked at Tommy Bahama's when he lived in Vegas with his brother Michael.

These shirts are gorgeous. 100% silk. Paula refuses to sell them at a yard sale because they are so nice. So I have them.

I have a small urn with Jonathan's ashes in them. It sits on a windowsill upstairs. I have a drumstick that was used at a memorial for Jonathan.

I have a nip sized Crown Royal bag that had Sarge's ashes in them before Cori spread them on the track in Concord. I have a couple of Sarge's t-shirts, a jacket and a hat.

I have a couple of my father's watches. Some of his tie clips. I have a Dachshund figurine that my father used to keep his jewelry in.

At first I accepted these gifts because it was meaningful to me. Hopefully it meant something to the people who gave them to me to be passing them on to a family member. Now it is getting heavy.

Maybe because Bill was so close to where I am at in life. We spent a lot of time together. Vacations. Dinners. Cookouts. Football.

He gave up on life and that pisses me off but still, now he is dead. I won't be talking to him anymore.

Could be the cumulative effect of this fucking bullshit we are all dealing with right now. I find it is bringing me down. I am in the best place I have been in in a long time - lots of money, don't have to go to work, summer is moving along at a snail's pace which tastes pretty good - but I cannot be happy. I just can't.

I don't want to collect anymore of this stuff. I also don't want my stuff to be given away.

Fuck this shit.

Give Me Everything You Got

There is a half hour news program called ABC World News Tonight.

It is hosted by David Muir. An awkward, doofus of a guy with large hands that he doesn't know what to do with. But that is a story for another day and time.

They always play a happy times clip at the end of the show. In February I would have told you I fucking hate it. Now I gotta have it. All of it.

One of the news programs on MSNBC  highlights "lives well lived" at the end of the show. They give you details about the lives of two people who have died from Covid-19. How long married, how many kids, career, how people describe them. Stuff like that.

Those are the two extremes.

The survivor stories get to me in a big and emotional way. Scenes when you see somebody being released from the hospital into the loving arms of a spouse or kids or both. Medical personnel clapping. Tears inevitably flowing. Don't care how many times I see it, my eyes get moist.

Guys being lifted up five stories on a scissor lift so they can sing Happy Birthday to a sick wife through her hospital room window. Always with an "I love you" at the end. I have seen that a couple of times. Spectacular.

People wishing 95 year old grandma Happy Birthday through a window. Those stories break my heart as well as make me feel good.

Children surviving the kid version of Covid-19 being released into the protective arms of parents.

Saw a story about a woman who survived both the Spanish Flu AND Covid-19. Over a hundred years old. Fucking amazing.

These stories are about love. Pure and simple. Life will distract you in every way possible, get you to take love for granted, maybe not even notice it or think about it. But love is what life is all about. We crave it. We need it to be whole. Without it we are broken.

The intensity of love I witness when I see these scenes blows me away. It's like a flashing neon sign saying "This is life. This is what you are here for. This is the real deal. Pay attention. Don't fucking blow it".

Then there are the stories I hate.

People who survived Nazi concentration camps but got killed by Covid. People who survived WWII but got killed by Covid.

There was an elderly couple who both died on the same day from coronavirus. After over sixty years of marriage.

These people should not be dead. They should live forever. It is a fucking crime, a sin against humanity for them to be cut down by this fucked up disease.

22 year old people who have died, 48 year olds, 61 year olds. Fuck this shit.

I am writing from a selfish perspective. I have changed dramatically over the last few months and I want you to know it. I have always been insanely empathetic, sometimes to my own detriment. But that was always balanced against a healthy strain of cynicism.

I enjoy the happy times stories now. I want to hear them. Shit, man - people deserve to be happy. They deserve to love and be loved. Life is never what you want it to be, never what you expect. So hold on to the happy stuff. It is your medicine.

And your happiness makes me happy. If your happiness can make me smile during these shitty times, then you and I are together.

The bad stories are out there and they infuriate me. No one should die from Covid-19. But there are people who really do not deserve to die from it and it pisses me off.

But I am taking some nourishment from the good stuff. The love. LOVE.

I fucking need it. We all fucking need it.

Life (66 years in)

Pandemic. Racial protests.

What is happening right now is so surreal. Anytime I am not occupied, I am uncomfortable. This is strange territory and I don't know what to expect. I don't want to watch the news but I am drawn to it.

I wish I was 26 instead of 66 so I could have hope that at some point I could enjoy life again. I suspect that the world will remain fucked up well into my old age.

That likelihood pisses me off.

I am furious that our lives can be endangered by incompetent and cold-hearted "leaders". Their sole job is to protect us. Not kill us. I strongly believe they should be prosecuted. For murder. For destroying the economy. For mismanagement of our lives.

I am even more pissed off that these motherfuckers are rich, that the pandemic and the destroyed economy cannot touch them. Fuck them. I hate them for not caring about us.

I feel like Covid-19 is lurking out there, stalking us. We have not beaten this thing. Pandemics have a nasty way of coming around again.

I am watching the protests sparked by George Floyd's death and am blown away. We have been here before.

My generation lived through violent protests, death, assassinations, riots. Saw it on TV every night. Protests against Viet Nam, corporate greed, the corruption of the government.

And racial prejudice. Especially racial prejudice.

We are going through it again because it never went away. The hatred and stupidity never went away.

I am taking a different approach this time. I am allowing myself to be hopeful that this time around things will change.

It feels different to me. People are speaking bluntly this time, just laying it all on the line. Blacks, whites, everybody. I am stunned every day by what I hear because you don't often get the truth in uncomfortable situations. I like it. It feels real. And the protests are not going away. That is a good sign. Some change is already happening. That is a good sign.

I got fooled when President Obama was elected. My optimism lasted 18 seconds until I saw him hung in effigy all around the country. I am allowing myself to hope again.

I have lived through some weird fucking shit, man. You cannot even imagine what it is like to live through assassinations. JFK, RFK, Martin Luther King Jr., Malcolm X, Lee Harvey Oswald. They replayed them on TV. You could watch them. Sometimes you even caught them live. Students killed at Kent State. Riots at the 68 democratic national convention. Double digit inflation. Odd-even gas rationing - if the last digit of your license plate was odd you could only get gas on odd numbered days. And you still had to wait in line.

And now this. A pandemic. And racial protests.

I don't know what to expect from the coronavirus. It is bizarre; it is frightening. Just gotta keep your head down and pray. Fucking weird, disorienting shit.

I don't know what will come of the racial protests. Hopefully change. It is a tall order after 400 years of consciously abusing an entire race. But I am hopeful. I am also keeping a close eye on things.

I am definitely approaching the end of my life. No way around it. I don't want to deal with a pandemic and a country filled with hatred and violence. I can think of better scenarios from which to make my exit.

But, as I have described to you, life is a weird, unforgiving motherfucker.

You gotta play the hand that's dealt you.

Wisdom

"It's murder to doubt yourself in life. It took until I was 45 to get to that point. As hard as it is in your work, it's harder in your life. But it can be done."

Alan Arkin