Hey Mom Read online

  And how about drunk driving? You hardly if ever hear about someone smoking pot and then going out and recklessly killing someone because they fell asleep at the wheel because they veered off into the other lane. You know what a four-way stop in Minnesota looks like, with stoned, Midwestern-polite drivers? No one will go! You go . . . I’m not going . . . You go . . . No, you go. I know there are lots of drugs that if people were under their influence, it would be absolutely terrible for them to drive. But we know what drunk driving does so often, not just severely damaging or ending the life of the drinker but destroying other people’s lives, strangers’ lives. A disease like alcoholism permeates everything. It’s like the poisonous chemical DDT that was used to treat crops all over the country and the world that then caused people to have all kinds of different lymphomas and cancers—

  Sorry about the digression, Mom. Back to New Year’s Eve. I chose it because it’s the one night in the year that Dad could justify his drinking and what a bunch of bullshit that is—“justifying” becoming a mean, violent prick! The one night when people have “permission” to beat their wives, or husbands, and abuse their kids, an alcoholic’s dream. Do drug addicts have a night like that? Halloween maybe. I don’t know.

  As you know, Mom, my all-time number one addiction is food. It’s my drug and a brutal one. What cartel brought Krispy Kremes into the country? Food addiction is epidemic in America because we produce so much processed food, fast food, horrible bad food . . . but also delicious healthy food. We have the best and the worst. I’m not sure when my food addiction started, Mom, but you must have known, right? That bread-and-butter combination is really what did me in, and led to so many other fattening foods, or foods in fattening portions. Yes: bread and butter were probably my gateway.

  It’s so fricking cold in Minnesota, Mom. I love coming back here for this show, and all the other times I come back during the year to see family, and to perform. It’s not terrible tonight but sometimes it’ll be, like, fourteen below, with thirty-six below wind chill or something insane like that and I need to make sure I have my whole tundra outfit when I come here. I get so bundled up that if I ever fell over, I’d never be able to get up by myself. When I’m bundled up like that and I smile, you can see only my eyes and my signature gap between my teeth.

  I think that’s another reason I do this special evening: So I don’t have to go outside, from one celebration to another, alcohol or no.

  I’m just glad that for the past two and a half decades I’ve hosted people on New Year’s Eve so they could laugh their asses off. Laughter is the addiction everybody should have. Something that gives us great joy without any harm. It’s my favorite addiction.

  Happy New Year.

  Your hungry-for-laughs son,

  Louie

  Domestic Violence National/Global Resources:

  domesticshelters.org/national-global

  Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration:

  samhsa.gov/find-help

  The National Center on Addiction and Substance Abuse:

  centeronaddiction.org/

  12-Step Programs:

  addictioncenter.com/treatment/12-step-programs/

  — 2016 —

  Yes Man

  Hey Mom,

  I had a gig over Valentine’s Day at Horseshoe Bay Resort, near Austin, Texas, working with Martha Kelly, one of the co-stars of Baskets. She plays Martha Brooks. She’s a great comedian and it was the first time we were working together like this, the first time I’ve worked anywhere since Baskets began airing, which is exciting. The place was interesting—I don’t know if I should call it a rich people’s resort but it certainly isn’t a poor people’s resort. Kind of like the Poconos of Texas. Or back home, Minnesotans with more money than we had would say they were “going to the lakes.” A place where you have to save up a little to get away. At Horseshoe, it looked like the well-to-do and not-so-well-to-do came together for a wonderful weekend of golf, fun in the sun, and some entertainment.

  But maybe it was richer than I first thought. As we drove by lots of houses with big sheds, I asked the driver why the sheds were so big, and he said they were private airplane hangars. Imagine being rich enough to have your own airplane hangar next to your house (or one of multiple houses, probably). Wow, Mom. I gotta work harder and make some more money.

  Later, I had a really nice dinner with Roger’s family and Nettie, who came up from Houston and Austin, and loved seeing everybody. Then Martha and I met backstage, prepping for the show, and even though Martha was opening for me and I was the “headliner,” I wanted to introduce her, something I learned from Joan Rivers, who was wonderful and generous that way. So while we were behind the curtain, and we could hear everyone in the banquet hall eating and talking over dessert, I took the microphone and said, “Welcome, everybody, and happy Valentine’s Day!” We heard some cheers and applause. “I’m really excited about having this next comedian open for me tonight. I work with her on a little show called Baskets.” As soon as I said that, we heard more people applauding and cheering! It was the first time I realized that people were actually watching the TV show. So exciting.

  We had a great show, a ton of fun, Martha was fantastic, and we each went to bed and I got up the next morning to head home.

  This week I’m doing a conversation on something called Reddit. I’ll explain it later but I said yes because I’ve been saying yes a lot this year. In fact, when I got the role on Baskets, I made two promises to myself:

  1. Don’t complain.

  2. Always say yes.

  I’ve been able to stick to them, so far. I’m proud of myself for that.

  Yes,

  Louie

  Podcasts and Home

  Hey Mom,

  Well, I just finished a Reddit AMA, which stands for Ask Me Anything. It was an interview with a lot of strangers, where different people ask me questions and I answer them on my computer, and everyone can read the exchange on their computer screen or their phone (yes, Mom, on their phone! But not like the ones we used when I was growing up), even though everyone is in their own home or office, or maybe even on the bus or at the beach. It was fun and the people were really engaged. What an interactive world it’s become, Mom. In fact, I’m not even “writing” this letter: I’m talking into a microphone that’s on my phone—yes, Mom, on my phone!—just talking into my phone, which doubles as a recording device (and a camera and a calendar and a calculator and a photo album and a jukebox and a place to shop and a place to make reservations and a place to play card games and other games, and a small TV set, and lots more). And can you believe that after I talk these words into my phone, it also transcribes what I say into written words? For the most part it gets the words right but technology is not perfect and now and then it misses. Like the word words in the last sentence got spelled as warts. Maybe I didn’t pronounce it clearly enough. A small price to pay for the convenience. Once, acknowledgment was typed egg knowledge meant. You had so much egg knowledge, Mom. You made them great scrambled, sunny-side up, soft-boiled, hard-boiled, poached—you always loved poached. I think you enjoyed the challenge of making the perfect poached egg.

  Anyway, it’s a technology I appreciate. And I can talk a lot faster than I can type.

  After Ratta I’m going towell.

  Okay, I have no idea what I said there. But that’s how the words got transcribed. Oh, well.

  In a couple days I fly back to Minnesota to host a big shindig thrown by the Bloomington Convention & Visitors Bureau, this great evening where they give out awards to all these wonderful people who work in Bloomington’s service industries, the best of the best of the area’s hotel staffs. So they have “Bellman of the Year” and “Maid of the Year” and “Concierge of the Year” and “Front Desk Person of the Year.” I’m sure I’ll really enjoy hosting it. I think every day should start with an award and acknowledgment, maybe even egg knowledge meant. You should get applause when you come downstairs in the mor
ning, just like an actor or singer or comedian comes out onstage or a great athlete comes out onto the field or the court or the ice. I think everybody should be treated wonderfully, and applauded, to recognize what they do and that they make people happy and make their lives easier. We need more of people—all people, not just the “stars” and the louder people—being treated special.

  Earlier today I did the Marc Maron podcast. A podcast is a crazy thing, Mom—you would really love it. It’s kind of an offshoot of a radio show that’s CB radio plus ham radio, like where people used to talk to each other, and other people with CBs and ham radios could listen in, especially truckers and people who were good with electronics or who lived in the middle of nowhere and craved human contact. Only now you don’t have to drive trucks or live in the Sandwich Islands to listen. (Ham radio, Sandwich Islands: okay, now I’m hungry.) You can wake up or go to sleep or exercise to people talking about cooking or murders or baseball or politics or arthritis or how they became a comedian. Marc is a very talented comic and a friend I worked with at the Comedy Store in Los Angeles in the ’80s, when he and I were starting out. He was one of the first guys to understand how podcasts could really be used, and he devoted his to interviewing fellow comedians, and then his podcast got popular enough that he interviewed President Barack Obama, our first black president. (Yes, Mom, it didn’t take as long for it to happen as everyone thought.)

  Mom, I was thinking, I would like to do a podcast where it’s me, Louie, planning to host a key figure from my life growing up, say a third-grade teacher or a dentist or a childhood friend, and in every installment of my show, the promised guest doesn’t show up for some absolutely lame reason, and Dad—someone who can imitate Dad—always shows up right then, in my podcast studio, so he has to take their place, and he and I start discussing things, and of course it disintegrates into an argument, and he storms out, and the podcast ends every week with me saying, in a really super-annoyed, whiny voice, “All right, he’s gone, see you all next week when my guest will be . . .”

  Week after week.

  Mom, the day after the awards event in Bloomington I’m having lunch with Tommy, Lisa, Jimmy, and whatever other Andersons want to show up whenever I’m in the Twin Cities. Then I head to Florida for a couple days’ relaxation before I do a week at Off The Hook, a comedy club in Naples, Florida, which I really love.

  I wish you were there to have lunch with us. We all do.

  Love,

  Louie

  Tommy, Little Rhea, and Louie

  That Was Your Baby, Mom

  Hey Mom,

  I have not written in many days. It’s been too tough.

  Last Saturday, I landed in Minneapolis, went right to the DoubleTree Hotel in Bloomington, and it was already five fifteen. I had to go on at eight thirty but I was exhausted. I snuck in a fifteen-minute . . . not really a nap but I lay very still and silent and recited some prayers and a mantra and took some deep breaths. My friend Jason Schommer, a talented comedian, came by the room and we laughed and had a good time and I talked about an idea for an animated series that I want him to take part in. We talked about life and all the things that come with being a comic. I said how I love being so busy and traveling and doing things that make people happy.

  I got to the Bloomington Diamond Service Awards event around seven. The crowd was ready to honor some truly deserving people. The award winners were lovely, and I got to do a fun stand-up set. People seemed to really like it. Afterward in my room, I ate some room service, relaxed, and in my prayers that night I thanked God for all the people and good things in my life.

  Sweet dreams—that’s what I thought.

  But you never know, Mom.

  The next day, a car picked me up and we headed to Newport to pick up Tommy. Remember Newport, Mom? The old dump was there. It must have been on Native American land because I remember Dad negotiating with the Mdewakanton Sioux who lived near there so he could take “junk” out of the dump. People discarded stuff there and he always found things he could fix or use or make better. It was embarrassing and interesting at the same time. Dad taught me about the value of things without saying a word or knowing he was teaching me. So many things that seem broken or useless can actually be fixed. That’s easy if it’s mechanical or electronic or a piece of furniture. It’s a lot harder when it’s a person or a family.

  Anyway, I picked up Tommy and he did not look good. I almost said something but I thought, Well, maybe he didn’t sleep much or he just had a bad night. I did ask if he was okay, and he said he was fine. But Tommy the Truth Ranger was never one to tell the truth about how he was feeling, so I got into the habit long ago of not asking. Which was wrong. I should have pushed.

  We went to Applebee’s, not my first choice, but the rest of the group—including Jimmy and his new love, Lela, and David Anderson and his new wife, Melcar—was happy because everybody can find something they want there, and you can get two entrées + one appetizer for $20, which is one of Tommy’s favorite things. He got shrimp and pasta, I think. He looked like he was really enjoying himself, and we all were, though Lisa couldn’t make it because something came up with her. We had some good laughs and took pictures, then hung out a long time, maybe three or four hours. I’m glad we did. I was leaving that evening for Florida, so we wrapped it up. I had to be at the airport for a five thirty flight to Tampa, and I told the driver first to drop Tommy off at his house. When we got there, Tommy said, “You want to come up and look at my neighbor’s new fifty-inch 4K TV?”

  I was just too tired. I asked him again if he was okay—you know me, Mom, I always want to know how everybody else is doing—and he said, “Yeah, I’m good.” We hugged. I told him I loved him and he told me he loved me.

  I headed to the airport, got to my hotel in Florida about nine thirty, and was asleep by ten. The next morning I hung out with my great friend Abraham and other friends from down there, and somehow, I really don’t know how, we all decided to watch the latest Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movie. We muted our phones during the movie. Afterward, I forgot to look at my phone and didn’t check it until I returned to the hotel lobby.

  That’s when I saw all the calls I’d missed.

  I recognized some of them. A couple calls from Lisa. A call from Jimmy. A call from Shanna. And some I didn’t recognize with Minnesota area codes.

  Mom, you know the terrible dread you feel when you see missed calls from people trying to get hold of you? In your day, it would have been an upsettingly large number, a blinking red number of calls left on the answering machine. Dear God, it’s overwhelming. Something had happened to somebody. I felt like fainting, as I filled with sorrow and dread and all the different terrible things you can actually feel at once. But mostly dread.

  Oh, no.

  No no no no no nonono.

  No calls from Tommy.

  Shit.

  Oh, God. Please God, no.

  I called Lisa.

  She said, “It’s Tommy.”

  • • •

  That was it, Mom.

  Tommy.

  Oh, Mom.

  I fell apart. I completely fell apart. It hurt me when Dad died. It destroyed me when you died. And when Kent and Rhea and Mary and Roger and Billy and Sheila died. And now my baby brother, Tommy. My little baby brother, Tommy. Why didn’t I take him to the hospital? I was wailing in the lobby of the hotel. Why would God do this? Oh, God.

  Thank God Abraham was with me. He said almost nothing. He understood. He knew Tommy. He loved Tommy. He knew what we meant to each other. I made it up to the hotel room somehow, with Abraham’s help. Inside I writhed in pain, rolled from one side of the couch to the other, moved to the chair, moved to the corner leaning against the wall, knowing I would find no comfort there, either. Or anywhere.

  We were supposed to be the last ones left—Louie and Tommy, Tommy and Louie—to tell the stories about all the others, he and I, grieve together, grow old together. He was my number one cheerleader, always rooti
ng me on. He was so proud of me. He loved being my little brother. The Truth Ranger. He was the guy I’d worked so hard to get off the streets. Tommy was my shadow, my other half in life. We were the last two in the family, the two afterthoughts. He and I were almost more like grandchildren than children, and we suffered together the terror of Dad’s rage, the beatings, we shared the same fear, the frightening cruelty from back then and throughout our childhood. We had a silent understanding between us.

  Nobody had heard from him that day. His body was found early afternoon. Lisa went to his apartment. He was on the edge of the bed, on his back, his arm over his chest, like he had started to get up and then grabbed at his heart. A heart attack, probably.

  I should have taken him to the hospital. I should have gone up to see the 4K TV. I was glad he had had the 2 for $20 at Applebee’s.

  It wasn’t fair. It was life. I probably couldn’t have stopped it.

  Mom, please tell me he’s with you and you are both okay.

  Your brokenhearted son,

  Louie

  A Moment I Think I Wish I Hadn’t Missed Followed by One I’m So Happy I Didn’t

  Hey Mom,

  While Tommy’s body lay at the Cremation Society of Minnesota, waiting to be turned to ashes, I was in a car to the Tampa Airport, to head back to Minneapolis. Though even if I had been in Minneapolis, I’m not sure I could have handled it.

  At times in life there are no words, no thoughts. There is only loss and sorrow heavier than anything you’ve lifted and deeper than anything you’ve ever experienced. The only word I can think of for how it felt to me: deafening. It was as if everything else was pushed out by the loss and sorrow, so that I couldn’t hear or feel anything else.