A Hard Look In the Mirror

It’s easy to assume that I’ve always been a rainbow of light smothered in positivity sauce. As I dance my way through this iteration of life, I attempt to remain dainty on my feet. I soak up as much beautiful energy as I can, absorb it through my patchy skin, and exert it limitlessly back toward others. However, this was not always the case. It was the polar opposite.

For the first 22 years of my life, I hated myself with a vigor that would be too intense for even the most evil of dictators. I refused to accept compliments, especially about my appearance. I knew that I was a disgusting garbage monster made up entirely of a skin disease that depleted me of any self-worth. Say whatever you want to me, my mind was made up. I had painted a picture of myself using puss, ooze, blood, flakes, and steaming piles of excrement, still chock-full-o-corn. It wasn’t pretty, then again, neither was I.

In the same way I love inspiring people, I used to take pride in being able to suck them down into my cruel state of existence. If someone was smiling, I would remind them that mass genocide is occurring every day. If a person was in a new relationship, I would chatter on about divorce rates. If you got a new car, I would stand on the hood and piss through the sunroof while you were taking it for a spin around the neighborhood. My happiness was derived from stealing it from those who earned it. Twisted? Yup. Detestable? Tell me again, Daddy.

I’m not proud of it, but my morality knows that honesty is the best way to atone for my previous behavior. I can’t expect you to trust me without total transparency.

When you hate yourself, no one can convince you otherwise. I had a loving family, lots of friends, a sick pair of rollerblades, I had it made! But when you find solace in a dark hole, it’s very difficult to ever climb out. Wallowing in misery, ain’t it grand?

For years I’ve been working on my attitude toward myself, others, and the world as a whole. Countless hours of reading personal development books, meditation, and positive affirmations have slowly begun to warp my brain into a place where I can experience hot, sexy, unadulterated, raw-dog love. 

Three words that come up relentlessly in my process: FEAR. SHAME. JUDGEMENT.

The funny thing about those words is that they are also often used by others as the antithesis of what I stand for. When I go on a show like America’s Got Talent, decked out in a skin-tight bodysuit, getting annihilated by the vitriolic screams of thousands of people, fear is not a word that seems to fit the situation. But trust me, inside, my blood is boiling to a temperature so hot I’m waiting for steam to pour out of my mouth like a human tea kettle.

It’s not that I’m fearless. I tell myself I am but that’s a lie and I’m smart enough to know I can’t fib to my inner-child or higher self. I don’t believe anyone is fearless unless they are a raging sociopath. I have learned how to channel my fear into positive energy through my ever-growing plethora of experiences. I know when to actually be scared, and when it’s merely a case of self-sabotage to inflict unnecessary harm. 

I allow the frightening feeling to wash over me. Come on in, invited guest! That tingling through your bloodstream, those hairs erecting toward the sky, that brick sitting in your stomach weighing you down to the floor, all of them are tools in your arsenal. If you remain confident in any situation, those feelings will mutate into emotions of comfort. When I feel the nerves racing through me, it’s because I have everything in my power to KO this experience. 

I’ve harnessed this fear for huge performances. I called upon it when I tried to slackline across a canyon 75 ft above the ground. I even needed it when I proposed to my fiance on a floating dock in Hanalei Bay, Kauai. I felt that familiar discomfort, let it run through me, and then break it down so I can remove the negativity and be left with the useful part of that energy.

You can’t lose it so you might as well use it.

Moving on to other super fun feelings that all of us love: SHAME and JUDGMENT! 

I’ve often been told that I’m shameless and that mostly stems from how I dress when I’m on TV. Realistically, as much as I love wearing insane outfits lined with sequins and furs, I partially do that to hide from my insecurities. The more ridiculous the clothing, the less people notice my skin, the more empowered I feel. Plus, it’s just more entertaining to be a colorful buffoon. 

Sometimes I still have trouble looking at myself in the mirror. I assume that never fully goes away no matter how many trips I take down Psychedelic Lane. But recently I had an experience that altered me past the point of no return. 

I was in Sedona, Arizona, decompressing in the desert only three days after my final performance on AGT. I quite the narcotic cocktail flowing its way through the roads less traveled in my head. While it weaved its way through wormholes I had never discovered, it turned down one wrong street and I realized I was about to shit my pants. Fortunately, I’ve done enough drugs to recognize that squeeze in my abdomen was more than me getting totally ripped. I excused myself and floated to the toilet.

One thing I recommend while tripping is to avoid mirrors. However you see yourself without influence will be amplified times a million, be it positive or negative. With my personal view of myself, I tend to lean towards the latter. I stumbled into the brown-tiled bathroom, shirtless, and unavoidably began to stare directly down the belly of the beast. 

“Ughhh. Look at you. You’re covered in red splotches. You have tiny scabs on your arms and legs. There are pink lines leftover from scratching in your sleep. You’re flaming harder than 1980’s San Francisco. You’re fucking gross.”

Harsh, I know. I would never talk to someone else this way so why was I OK saying it to myself? I stood there, unmoved, and kept staring. Moments went by before I spoke again, but this time I said the words out loud.

“You’re beautiful. I love you. Your skin is unique. It is your own. Others may not understand it. They may be grossed out, scared, confused, uncomfortable. But those are their feelings. I cannot allow the judgment of others to reign supremacy over how I see myself. No one can make me feel any way that I don’t want to feel.”

I said all of that. As I continued to leer at my mostly naked body, a sense of pure calm released within me. Something changed. I felt weightless. My skin became less fiery as if sheer will had caused it to release whatever negativity and sickness had been causing my eczema. It didn’t physically disappear, but that didn’t matter. After 35 years of loathing, I could finally see beyond the rash. 

Powerful doesn’t even begin to describe that emotion. It was a momentous victory over my psyche and also over the thousands of faces that had ever looked at me and wondered what the fuck was wrong with my face. I used to let them influence me, but not anymore. 

I’m in control. Repeat: No one can make me feel any way I don’t want to feel. 

And bam! Just like that, I had a new mantra as I drift through this existence. 

Did I need drugs to have that revelation? Probably not. You can’t lie to yourself while under the influence of a hallucinogen. Truth always wins so while it wasn’t necessary, the combination of that liquid and powder was the catalyst I needed.

Negative thoughts will never fully go away. Even with all the work I’ve done, I still find myself passing judgment toward others without reason. When I see a very overweight person drinking a 64-ounce milkshake, I can’t help but look at them as weak. After that moment, I try to think about their personal struggles and how I have no reason to think ill of them any more than they do when they look at me. If I can flip the script, I’ll walk away stronger. Perhaps I’m looking at a war veteran who was in a horrible firefight, lost use of their legs, and has lost some of the will they once held on to. They deserve that milkshake. And put some fucking Oreo chunks and chocolate syrup in that cup while you’re at it. This man is a hero!

You’re never going to fully erase judgment, fear, and shame, but we can certainly chip away at those words little by little. Pretend you’re a diamond mine and somewhere within you is an unlimited treasure. It’s protected by layers of mud, rock, and sludge. Every time you’re kind to yourself or others, a piece of that sediment is broken down and stripped away. One day, you’ll find that cave of diamonds and realize you can live there in perpetuity. 

And that, my friends, is how you will always shine. Jerry Springer ended every show, no matter how trashy and insane with a simple phrase: Be kind to yourself and others. It really is that simple. 

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My First Time

We have to stop and smell the roses. Look around this magical life and be grateful for all that we have accomplished. Whether you feel that way or not, take inventory of some of your most memorable experiences and I bet you’d surprise yourself at how many amazing things you’ll write down.

Last week I performed in the anti-mask capitol of the United States — Huntington Beach. About 500 people gathered on the sand to get drunk and listen to a few comics spit our musings. This would have been an amazing show in the before times, but in 2020, holy fuck. This is radical. Slightly off-putting and a little concerning, but I strapped a face-condom on and didn’t remove it except for the 28 minutes I had on stage. Bronzed beach-bodied couples kept trying to hug me and I had to keep them at bay. You know the type. Somehow the man and woman both look like Sammy Hagar and it’s kind of hot but in an “I can tell you have a strange amount of lube in your bedside table” way.

Performing that night was everything. A pent-up caged animal released into the wild ready to blaze a trail of destruction. God how I’ve missed that rush of adrenaline. The power of words creating a cacophony of laughter, exploding droplets all over the shoreline. Hearing that sound inserts a power in me that I have never been able to reciprocate. It’s orgasmic.

But there’s another part that I’d almost forgotten about that I didn’t realize I had missed so much.  The show is over, the crowd is clearing out, and a line starts to form of audience members that want to meet you. My thoughts jump from “get out of here” to “you can say hi to a few” to “screw it I’m keeping my mask on and going out for photos.” Maybe it was ego, but I think more so it’s the personal connection I crave. And ooo baby do I CRAVE hard.

People were very respectful. Even in their overly inebriated state, they understood. I spoke in terms they would get immediately. “Hey dude, stay one surfboard back.” 

Other than the first couple rows, you have no idea who is in that audience. After the gig, this is their opportunity to say something and I LOVE interacting with fans. I can say with all sincerity AGT has blasted me into a spotlight far beyond where I was three months ago. Not only did most of the crowd know who I was, they couldn’t wait to have a few moments with me. It may sound narcissistic, but goddamn it I have worked so hard for exactly this. A line of people who just want to say hello or take a picture- I felt the impact like a 7.9 earthquake of pure positivity.

I get to the end of the line after a few minutes of high-level schmoozing. I’ve read books on charisma and I know how to use tactics to make them feel just as special as they make me. Ask them a question, look them in the eye, laugh at their jokes, GIVE THEM ATTENTION.

The last group in line was a family. Mother, daughter, boy (11), girl (9). I’m smiling as hard as I can, looking at this gorgeous, quintessential California clan. The mother speaks first. “Hi! I sent you a message on Instagram today. We randomly saw this flyer and knew we had to come to the show. We are all huge fans!”

I’m beaming from ear to ear, but then have a revelation. I start to think about everything I did on stage and let me tell you, child-friendly it was not. Since quarantine, my filter is gone. Pretty sure I said the word cum at least 6 times and at one point did an act-out of a woman trying to keep it inside her as she waddles to the bathroom post-coitus, comparing her to a T-rex. It was completely off the cuff, and one of the biggest pops I had all night. That joke got the 500 laughs I coveted. But now I’m staring at these innocent children, the future of our country, and I’m wondering how much of that they retained. 

Either way, the family was as cool as could be. We took some photos and I made sure that I paid extra attention to the kids, recognizing that I would have no idea how to act in that moment if I were their age. They told me it was the first time they had ever seen a comedy show. My heart shot out of my chest directly toward the heavens where it burst into a million stars that will forever shine a light on this world. I was their first. 

And you always remember your first. 

In 1999, I was a 14-year-old kid living in the suburbs of Baltimore. Half-Baked had come out the year before and it was oft-quoted between my friends. A stoner comedy perfect for a young man destined to get high. I see in the newspaper (as my friend Julian McCullogh brilliantly says, “that’s when they used to deliver the internet to your house”) that Dave Chappelle is doing a live show at Towson University, a mere 15 minutes from my house. $10 tickets. My friend Phil goes with me, and my dad drops us off in the middle of a college campus, fresh-faced and innocent as can be.

I don’t remember much of what Dave did that night. Or anything specific. But like Maya Angelou said, “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

I recall Phil and I uncontrollably laughing throughout the opening comedian, and when Dave came on, it was lights out. We kept exchanging glances and hitting each other with the same explosion of enthusiasm. We have watched this man in movies, and now there he is, on stage, moving a room to tears of happiness. I walked out of there and didn’t shut up about it for weeks.

Cut to 18 years later. January 2017. I’m at The Mondrian hotel across from The Comedy Store, enjoying the accolades of having just filmed Comedy Central’s Roast Battle Season 2. It was my first major televised stand-up achievement and I might as well have been on 20 hits of ecstasy because I was invincible. Everything peaking at the same time. It’s the feeling I always chase. Drugs are great, but nothing will ever beat killing in comedy.

The after-party is in full swing, when who strolls in but the king himself, Dave Chappelle. We’ve met once or twice, but mostly in very quick exchanges. This was my opportunity, and if there’s anything you should know about me, I don’t let moments like this slip through my fingers. “I should have done this” is not a statement in my lexicon. I approach Dave as a hoard of young comics and fans brawl their way through to take a photo. He snaps a few then notices me and stops. 

“You.” His long bony finger points directly at me. My heart pulses an extra beat. 

“You were so funny up there, man.”

I’m stunned. I begin to pick up the pieces of my brain which had detonated seconds before. I have to tell him. So I did. 1999 Towson University. I was 14. It was the first time I ever saw live stand up. He’s clearly taken aback. 

“You were there? And now I’m here, watching you? How fucking cool is that?’

I can’t contain myself. 

“Its the coolest fucking thing in the entire world, Dave.”

I told him I didn’t want a picture. I didn’t need it. I just wanted a hug. His smile lit up as big as I’ve ever seen it. He put his arms around me and gave me a full embrace. Three of them.  As we separated our hearts, he looked in my eyes and said, “you just made my whole night.”

I stood there. Frozen in time. Allowing this moment to wash over me. Another 50 hits of molly have entered my bloodstream. I AM FLOATING. That charisma that I mentioned before, that’s a masterclass of exactly how to use it. Here I am, meeting my comedic idol, and he made me feel more special than when I used to ride the short bus to school. 

I knew right then and there that my life would be a never-ending plethora of excitement. They say don’t meet your heroes. FUCK THAT. Meet them, tell them what they mean to you, and if they don’t show appreciation, they aren’t worth it. The real ones, the GOATS, they will give you that moment because they understand what it means to you.

Back to last night. I told the family about seeing Chappelle in 1999. I looked right at the kids and said “I don’t know what you’re going to do in your lives, but I can only hope that one day we meet again, and I can watch you do something incredible.” The look on their faces, and especially the parents, I knew that Dave had taught me so much more than how to be an elite comedian. He taught me humility, grace, and the power of truly seeing someone, even if it only lasts a second. 

It was powerful. It was beautiful. It was a moment I’ll never forget, and I don’t think those children will either. Once again, I was floating, knowing I had completed this cyclical experience.

By the way, I didn’t find this out until a few years ago, the comedian that opened for Dave that night at Towson University that had me in stitches: A young about to be discovered talent named Dane Cook. 

I repeat Dave’s words from that fateful night, “how cool is that?”

Give Yourself A Break

I’m hitting the pause button on my podcast and here’s why... 

For the past fifteen months, I’ve invited friends, peers, acquaintances, and sometimes total strangers to sit down and have an undistracted conversation with me. I’ve asked them to share their most personal struggles and greatest triumphs. I’ve listened as these brave souls have opened their hearts and divulged about deeply personal areas of their lives. 

I say it every week: The first thing we discuss is the last thing you wanna talk about.

I began this podcast to help me deal with my own pain. As a lifelong eczema sufferer, (please hold your applause) I wanted to reveal this — the most troubling aspect of my experience. The part that makes me human.

I didn’t always see it that way. When I was younger, I was convinced the world was against me. I was cursed with terrible skin that left me patchy, red, and covered in scabs. I would leave a trail of flakes behind me as if I was scattering bread crumbs to help me find my way home. Sometimes I would be so far gone that puss would ooze out of my face and I would wake up stuck to my pillow. 

Grossed out? Trust me, that’s exactly how I felt.

In the only way I knew how to retaliate, I lashed out at the world with anger and hate. I was determined to make others feel as horrible as I did. When your skin is on fire, it’s difficult to cool down. Moments of joy were few and far between because my moods were dominated by pain and discomfort. 

I used to wish for any other ailment. 

Let me be a dwarf! Or be in a wheelchair! Or have diabetes like my sister! Give me a tail for chrissakes! (Years later I would go on TV wearing one; it’s funny what time will do.)

Why me? That thought permeated my brain throughout the day.

Until a couple of years ago.

Something changed in me. I realized that we all have something that we wish wasn’t there. One major affliction that has caused us pain, grief, and strife. It could be mental, emotional, or physical. But everyone, no matter how perfect and cookie-cutter their lives may seem, has been influenced, structured, and shaped by their Achilles’ Heel.

From the beginning, I knew this podcast would be one of the most important projects I’ve ever created — sorry Pug Yoga! Hearing these intense anecdotes from beautiful, brilliant raconteurs has a profound effect on not only my mental health but on how I view my own disease. 

In almost 100 hours of conversation, I’ve learned about issues I never would have imagined.

Some were completely new to me like Hashimoto’s Disease or Marfan Syndrome. 

Some surprised me like guilt, rejection, control, indecision. 

There were many issues I suffer from as well -- like sugar, negativity, and resistance. 

In some episodes, my guests and I would be laughing our asses off only to stumble into something traumatic a few moments later. We’d find ourselves holding hands as we cried together. 

Guests have told me about being in jail, psychiatric units, and mental institutions. They’ve selflessly recounted stories of watching loved ones abandon them, disappear -- even die. They’ve opened up about the darkest holes of depression, anxiety, and every addiction the Betty Ford Clinic has ever seen. 

It’s like a twisted Little Mermaid song. I’ve got insecurity, poverty, and epilepsy. Sex Addiction and OCD galore! Suicide Attempts? I’ve got twenty, but who cares, no big deal, I want moooooooore. 

By revealing all of these obstacles -- both apparent and clandestine -- by putting them on the table and speaking candidly, we all managed to grow and come out stronger than before.

Early on, I started referring to my listeners as “Heelers.”

Yes, it’s a play on words but it’s also stunningly accurate.

Every guest and I have healed together. Sometimes accidentally, sometimes on purpose. But aside from us, every listener has healed by making room in their lives for these discussions. My guests and I have received so many gorgeous, honest messages about what it means to have these vulnerable stories out in the ether. 

This podcast has taught me a lot. 

We are all so beautiful. And we are all so fucked up. 

In our pain lies our beauty. Every human struggles. Every human hurts. And all of us, no matter what, fight on and do our goddamn best. 

There are days we feel overwhelmed, scared, and downright — fuck it all — I don’t want to do this anymore! BUT we need those days. Out of the darkness comes the light or some other metaphorical bullshit I heard in a movie.

I have to pause the podcast. A global pandemic is forcing me too. But even before that, a break was in the works.

I’ve been spreading myself too thin and some bigger ventures are going to require a lot of my attention. Coronavirus just confirmed that it was the necessary decision. 

This break is not the end. Let’s just call it Season 1. I love this project and what it means to me has become deeply personal. Anyone with a podcast will tell you to never stop. Consistency is key.

I’m not worried.

I’ll bring it back and it will be stronger than ever. I’ve never been more motivated in my life to achieve my dreams. 

If you’re still here, thank you.

If you’ve listened, thank you.

If you haven’t, well hell, there are 60-something episodes and I mean when I say, they are timeless. We aren’t talking about politics or the news of the day, we are talking about LIFE. Plus, you’ve got some downtime. Give it a try.

I want you all to know something. If you’re reading this, you’re on the ground floor of a building that is going to touch the sky. Construction crews are working overtime and moving faster than ever. 

During these odd, long days, check-in with yourself. What do you need to focus on? What have you been putting off? Reading, meditation, calling a loved one or someone you’ve hurt? The world is giving you a break. Practicing self-care and compassion is more important now than ever. 

Be kind to yourself and others. Feel free to send me a message about how you’re feeling or what you’re doing to stay entertained. In other words...

Break it down tell me how you feel ‘cuz we all have our own Achilles’ Heel.