Attempting Normal

Attempting Normal

Marc Maron

Language: English

Pages: 240

ISBN: 0812982789

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


NATIONAL BESTSELLER

Marc Maron is “a master of spinning humor out of anguish” (Bookforum), even when that anguish is pretty clearly self-inflicted. In Attempting Normal, he threads together twenty-five stories from his life and near-death, from his first comedy road trips (with a fugitive junkie comic with a missing tooth) to his love affair with feral animals (his cat rescues are bloody epics) to his surprisingly moving tales of lust, heartbreak, and hope.  The stories are united by Maron’s thrilling storytelling style—intensely smart, disarmingly honest, and explosively funny. Together, they add up to a hilarious and moving tale of failing, flailing, and finding a way.

Praise for Attempting Normal
 
“I laughed so hard reading this book.”—David Sedaris
 
“Funny . . . surprisingly deep . . . laced with revelatory insights.”—Los Angeles Times
 
“Superb . . . A reason that [it] is a superior example of an overcrowded genre—the comedian memoir—is Mr. Maron’s hardheaded approach to his history, the wisdom of experience.”The New York Times
 
“Marc Maron is a legend because he is both a great comic and a brilliant mind. Attempting Normal is a deep, hilarious megashot of feeling and truth as only this man can administer.”—Sam Lipsyte
  
Praise for Marc Maron and WTF
 
“The stuff of comedy legend.”Rolling Stone 
 
“Marc Maron is a startlingly honest, compelling, and hilarious comedian-poet. Truly one of the greatest of all time.”—Louis C.K.
 
“I’ve known Marc for years and I can tell you first hand that he’s passionate, fearless, honest, self-absorbed, neurotic, and screamingly funny.”—David Cross
 
“Revered among his peers . . . raw and unflinchingly honest.”Entertainment Weekly

“Devastatingly funny.”Los Angeles Times
 
“For a comedy nerd, this show is nirvana.”—Judd Apatow

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him. When I heard their songs, they were saturated with death. When I looked at the picture of Buddy Holly on the cover of the eight-track it filled me with dread and horror. Buddy Holly was the sound of the dead to me. All his songs were haunted. It was the same with Janis Joplin. My parents had the vinyl of Pearl, with the beautiful picture of Janis on the chaise longue on the cover. My mother told me that she died of a heroin overdose. In my mind Janis was heroin. That’s what it looked like.

mouse problem in my Queens apartment and wasn’t sure what to do about it. Jim said, “What’s wrong with you? They’re vermin. They’re like bugs. You kill them.” I said, “No, they’re not. They’re rodents. They are more fun than bugs. Much more expressive. Bugs are disgusting.” Jim was right, but not for the reason he thought he was. I had slowly come to realize that I had to kill this mouse because it fucked with me and insulted my intelligence. That’s where I draw a line with these things. The

they package things is a little too cute for me but there are a couple of things I get there. Stevia is one of those things. But on this day, they didn’t have the stuff I wanted. The good stuff. The 100 percent pure stuff. They had the one that was cut with filler to bulk it up, like shitty cocaine. I knew I could go to Whole Foods and get pure stevia. I’ll admit I have lapses in personal integrity. I thought to myself: “You have your principles. But these are extenuating circumstances. Go get

I Almost Died #3: Prince’s Chicken I am in a hotel room in Nashville, Tennessee, and things are not good inside of me. That is not an emotional observation. I don’t think I’m going to die. But last night I came close. I might be being a bit dramatic. I’ll let you be the judge. I put a lot of things into my body, for better or for worse. Something went in last night, and I don’t know how else to say it: That thing fucked my shit up. I mean literally. I read a short story in high school once

“Esther can’t make it up the hill.” There’s always an Esther and she’s not going up the hill. The other switch that got thrown the moment I got engaged was the one in my head that dropped the needle into this groove: How the fuck did I get into this? Why am I in this? How do I get out of this? Right up to the day of our wedding I was thinking, “I can’t do this.” As I got closer, the fantasy started to take shape: “What if I just walk out on the altar?” That would’ve been amazing. Can you

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