The Jerusalem Syndrome by Marc Maron

The Jerusalem Syndrome by Marc Maron

Author:Marc Maron
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780767910941
Publisher: Broadway Books
Published: 2001-10-30T10:00:00+00:00


10

YEARS went by and I had very little communication with God. I started working professionally as a comic. Doing all the clubs in the Boston area and driving hours into the New England countryside to do one-nighters in Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Rhode Island, Maine, and Vermont. The road became part of my job. The romantic idea of it dissipated.

I let go of most of my conspiratorial ideas until my first television appearance was preempted by the Gulf War. It was An Evening at the Improv. I did this joke on that show: “Don’t you think calling George Bush the environmental president is kind of like saying, ’Well, you know Hitler was a vegetarian.’?” I was sure that Bush had seen it, he personally called A&E, and had them drop the show and I was put on a list.

Around this time I began seeing Kim, the woman I would eventually marry. I met her at my brother’s wedding. She was the maid of honor and I was the best man. She lived in Boston, I lived in Boston. It was almost like we had to get married. It was predestined. After my brother’s wedding I moved in with her. We came together in that perfect mixture of love and my need of a place to live. That lasted about a year.

We broke up for a while and Kim moved to San Francisco. I moved to New York and lived on the Lower East Side for a couple of years. I couldn’t really integrate myself into the New York scene. I was too angry for the New York clubs and alienated audiences. I would drive up to Boston on weekends to make money. I eventually started to come unglued and packed up everything I had into my car, again, except for my futon frame. I gave that to the Realist painter across the hall who had been sleeping on his floor and I left.

I got on the road to San Francisco to see if Kim would save me. I made the trip in three and a half days. The last stint of driving was from Wyoming to San Francisco, twenty-two hours straight through. My eyes were watering and lights were trailing when I drove over the Bay Bridge up into Bernal Heights, where I collapsed on Kim’s porch until she came home from work. She let me move in with her and we tried to rebuild our relationship while I tried to build a comedy career.

Within a few weeks of my being in San Francisco, my friend Stu called me from L.A. and told me Sam Kinison had been killed in a car accident. It was a head-on collision with a drunk teenager. Stu told me that Carl had been right behind him in another car and that Sam died in Carl’s arms. I was horrified, relieved, and incredibly insensitive. “I don’t care what middle act’s arms he died in. It should’ve happened when people gave a shit about him. Then maybe he could’ve become mythic.



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