Thursday Thoughts

The Greatest Mystery Of My Life

There have been a handful of moments throughout my 35 years on this planet that I might deem as “life-changing”.

The problem is, life rarely tells you that a moment is life-changing as you’re going through it, which means you fail to recognize the true significance of what you’re experiencing until much later. So, when that rare moment does come along, when you can mark the calendar and see a life-changing moment rapidly approaching, you should do everything in your power to truly appreciate it.

That’s where I find myself these days. There’s a big red “X” on the calendar marking the arrival of my firstborn child. Yes, my wife and I are having a baby.

Sometime in the next week or two I’ll wake up a husband and go to sleep a father. And when that happens I want to appreciate the sheer immensity of the situation. I want to mentally freeze that moment in time and hold onto it forever. I want to be fully aware of the gravitas of this miraculous, marvelous, truly life-changing experience.

When I tell people we’re having a baby they always want to know what we’re having. But we chose not to find out. We have no idea. We chose to keep it a mystery.

The response is overwhelmingly the same: “Oh, I could never do that.”

Why not?

Why would you not want to preserve the moment? Why would you not want to appreciate the mystery and relish in the excitement of this turning point in your life? Talk about a missed opportunity.

In a world of endlessly scrollable information this has been an absolute joy. We’ve gotten to wonder and speculate daily, not knowing what the future holds but growing more and more excited with every passing day. When that incredible, life-changing moment finally arrives we’ll get to find out together, just the two of us.

Well, better make that three.

The Mystery Of Wordle

Over the past couple weeks I, like much of the people I follow on the internet, have also become addicted to a new online game called Wordle.

The rules are simple. You have six chances to guess a five-letter word. Each time you guess a word your chosen letters change colors to let you know how you’re doing, either grey, yellow, or green.

Grey means that letter is not in the mystery word. Yellow means the letter is in the word but not in the correct position. Green means the letter is a correct guess and in the correct position.

There are no timers, no hints, no ads, no excess. It’s just up to you to puzzle over the letters you have until the correct answer occurs to you.

As I’ve written about before, I’m on a never-ending quest to add more mystery back into my life. I’ve embraced analog tech, deleted social media, limited screen time, and more. It’s increased my curiosity and forced me to appreciate the little things in life. And Wordle is the newest source of mystery in my daily routine.

The mystery word is not where Wordle’s mysteries end. The game is also limited to one puzzle per day. You can’t purchase more games or unlock more levels, you simply have to wait for the next day to tackle the next puzzle. I think part of the reason Wordle has gone viral is that people are longing for a slower, more thoughtful experience in their life, both online and off. In a world of constant information and overstimulation, having to wait 24 hours is wonderful.

Additionally, the creator of Wordle has turned sharing your results into a mystery as well. Your guesses are simply shown as colored squares in a Tetris-esque array of cascading blocks. For instance, here’s what my progression of guesses looked like just the other day:

I’ve read many articles about Wordle over the past few weeks but many of them seem to miss the mark. People are trying to optimize the game by suggesting strategies for the best possible first word, the best possible combination of letters, an algorithm to decode the puzzle, and more. It’s an all-too-common occurrence online when many people come together in a desire to streamline an experience instead of appreciate it for what it is.

Part of what makes Wordle (and on a greater level, mystery) so worthwhile is the feeling of not knowing. I love going into something without having a clue where it’s headed. It could be a TV show, a good book, a museum, a new album, or a simple word puzzle. It’s why I’m obsessed with puzzles, codes, the Hardy Boys, Sherlock Holmes, David Fincher, David Lynch, Alfred Hitchcock, Agatha Christie, Orson Welles, and more. I want to be taken on a ride and I don’t need to know where I’m headed to appreciate it.

When I play Wordle I prefer to let a new word pop in my head instead of just using the same word each time. Maybe it’s something I heard during the day or see in my current environment. It doesn’t matter. I just go with it and see where it takes me. It’s a good life lesson — sometimes you just need to get going if you want to end up anywhere at all.

If you aren’t playing Wordle yet I think you’ll enjoy it. And if you already are I hope you appreciate the mystery just as much as I do. It’s a good feeling when something allows us to learn, enjoy, think, and relax so we can appreciate the small things. All of which would be great starting words for today’s puzzle.

But I’ll leave that up to you.

My Favorite Things From 2021

Before we get too far into the new year I thought I’d do a quick round-up of some of the best things from last year.

A major bummer of 2021 was dislocating my shoulder and spending over a 4th of the year wearing a sling. But, after six months of rehab I felt strong enough to play tennis for the first time in a decade. I’ve been playing consistently for three months and it feels great to return to an activity that I greatly enjoy.

Vermont - Last February we spent a few days in southern Vermont to celebrate our tenth anniversary. It snowed the entire time so we holed up in our cabin to read in front of the fire and enjoy some time without cell service. We loved it so much that we went back to Burlington over the summer. If you’ve never been to Vermont I highly recommend it!

Zion National Park - In July we spent four days hiking and exploring the canyons of Zion National Park. It’s one of my favorite places I’ve ever been.

Bo Burnham’s Inside was easily the best piece of art to come out of the pandemic. My favorite song was “All Eyes On Me”, but you should really watch the whole special for full context.

The latest season of Succession did not disappoint and it remains the best show on television.

Mare of Easttown was also fantastic and Kate Winslet was brilliant.

While recovering from surgery I rewatched the original Mission: Impossible TV series. And I started Twin Peaks.

Movie wise, I really enjoyed Edgar Wright’s Last Night In Soho and Guillermo del Toro’s Nighmare Alley.

I also watched a ton of classic films, some I’d seen before and others for the first time, including: Citizen Kane, E.T., Network, Dog Day Afternoon, 12 Angry Men, Anatomy of a Murder, Annie Hall, Chinatown, Taxi Driver, The French Connection, All The President’s Men, The Graduate, and more.

Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse

A World Without E-Mail by Cal Newport

Making Movies by Sidney Lumet

The Hardy Boys by Franklin W. Dixon - My favorite book series growing up. I set out during the past year to complete my personal set, searching for books at antique shops and discount stores. It’s been a fun quest and I have 5 more to go!

Live shows: Black Pumas, Hasan Minhaj, Louis C.K.

Music & Podcasts: Martin Sexton, Black Pumas, Jack Garratt, The Joe Rogan Experience, Tim Dillon, Bo Burnham, Girl Named Tom, John Mayer, Moby, Colin Hay.

Cat Video Fest

The World Chess Championship was more epic and more impressive than you realize and I really enjoyed watching it.

I also took a woodworking class, got into 3D Printing, and worked more on cinematography and video editing. I have too many hobbies.

Finally, all of my shows feel like a blur over the past twelve months, but one that stands out is The Mystery Show back in January 2021. I spent way too much time working on that show but it was definitely worth it. A big thanks to Stephanie and Frank for their help behind-the-scenes to make it a huge success.

Thoughts From The Road - Part #6

Every December is busy. As a service entertainer I’m typically in high demand for holiday events. This year is no different, but I’m doing a mix of in-person shows and virtual events. (It still feels weird to qualify what sort of gigs I’m working, even though we’re nearly two years into the pandemic.)

There are two stretches of hard days, then the year is over.

First, I’m off to the northwest for an event in the middle of nowhere. The closest airport is three hours away. I take the first flight in and immediately hit the road, with only enough time to stop for a quick meal.

This client is poor at communicating and has left me in the dark on most of the details for tonight’s event. You’d be surprised how often that happens.

Many years ago I flew to an event not knowing the exact venue, showtime, or even the phone number of my contact. But, they’d already paid me so I had to go. Luckily, they pulled through and I made the show happen. I prefer to know everything weeks in advance so I’m not stressed the day of an event. Unfortunately tonight is nothing but stress.

I can’t get ahold of the client, so I pace the grounds pulling on doors of conference rooms. Eventually I ask an employee and they direct me to the correct room. I have an hour to set up before the audience arrives. We’ll be okay.

The audience is great and everything goes smoothly. The client barely says anything to me and I hit the road again. I have to drive three hours to be back by the airport for another flight early tomorrow.

The entire exchange has been so weird with this client that I don’t even ask about the hotel room they neglected to provide me. Sometimes you have to pick your battles.

I break the drive up into sections and sleep in my rental car at a rest stop. It’s not the first time this has happened…and it won’t be the last.


I always get lucky with my flights this time of year and never seem to have cancellations. But, that doesn’t mean I’m not exhausted. These rest stop naps and early mornings have worn me out.

After the show in the northwest I’ve spent the past three days hopping across the country. Six states and four time zones later, I’ve almost neared the end of this stretch.

I catch myself getting frustrated. Little things are bothering me, like the longer wait times at the airport or slow drivers. I’m too exhausted to pull myself together and I end up taking that negativity onstage tonight.

It’s a wasted opportunity to connect with an audience and I head back to the hotel dejected. I can’t sleep so I stare at the ceiling, playing back tonight’s show in my mind. I regret the sarcastic jokes I made and my poor attitude. I promise myself that I’ll make the next show better.

I wake up and get back to Chicago for the last show of the week. And I keep my promise, erasing the previous night’s outing with a phenomenal show.


It’s time for the final week of shows for 2021. I do seven virtual shows in two days, before hitting the road for one last out-of-state event.

I’m still frustrated by last week’s show, so my wife texts me a few minutes before I take the stage: “Stay positive and have a good show!”

It’s exactly what I needed to hear and exactly what I do.


In over ten years of professional entertainment I have NEVER cancelled a show. I’ve performed events around the world and never missed one. I’m very proud of that fact.

Five years ago a fire broke out at the airport in Chicago the night before a show. They shut that location down, along with the other airport here, too. Since it was suspected arson every airport within five hours cancelled their flights out of caution.

Around 11pm I got a text from the airline saying my flight has been cancelled. There were no flights available on any airline and I was dismayed that I might have to cancel the next day’s show.

As a last resort I checked the driving distance. It was 17 hours from Chicago to make it to the East Coast, but I had to leave by midnight to make it happen.

So that's what I did. I drove overnight to get to Boston with only 30 minutes to spare. But I made it, did the show, and didn’t have to cancel. I’m super proud of my track record on reliability for my events and clients.

But somewhere along the way this month - somewhere across the U.S., somewhere at the airport or a Starbucks, somewhere in-between a good show or a really bad one - I got Covid. Always willing to share, I brought it home and gifted it to my wife - an early Christmas present.

She had obvious symptoms or I wouldn’t have known I had it at all. I had no symptoms myself, just a general feeling of tiredness from being on the road. But, to be safe I let my final client of the month know that I couldn’t make it to their event this week. It’s the first cancellation of my entire career.


There you have it.

That’s the entire last six months of my return to live shows put together into six blog entries. I hope you enjoyed this “Thoughts From The Road Series”. Now I’ll be getting back to some standalone essays and thoughts in the coming weeks and months ahead.

I love starting a new year and there’s absolutely no way that 2022 can be any where as bad as 2021 was. Right? I mean, I hope so.

Every year I document every day with video clips and compile it into a video recap, with one second of video for each day of the previous year. I’ve been doing the project for seven years running.

So as we reach the end of last year and the start of another, here is my 2021 Year In Review:

Thoughts From The Road - Part #5

It’s the day before a long trip and I just got a last minute request from this weekend’s client.

“Mark - you need a Covid test before Saturday’s show.”

A lot of times when I’m working it feels like people I work with seem to think they’re my only client. This show has been booked for two months and yet they’ve waited until today to ask for a negative test, which is a huge hassle on top of everything else I have to do.

I have the usual day-before-I-leave responsibilities: pick up the dry cleaning, pack my bags, dishes, laundry, reach out to all the clients for the next five days, double check my travel plans, etc. Now I have to add a Covid test to the mix, too.

I find a Walgreens with a free appointment. It’s 20 minutes away. I glance out the window. It’s mid-afternoon, early November, clear skies. “Hm, better plan on 40 minutes.”

I’m dead on with my ETA, a sort of spidey-sense for city traffic developed over years of gigs in the Chicago area.

The results are back within the hour and I forward them to the client. I don’t have Covid so I’m good to go. I don’t mention that I’ll be in three airports, two hotels, four cities, and a ton of restaurants before I get to their event and could easily get Covid in any of those places. They didn’t consider I might have other gigs to deal with so why bother correcting them?


I’m the first half of a double feature tonight, which means I’ll be sharing the stage with another performer. And also the dressing room.

Other performers only talk about themselves. I always forget how this goes. I’ll try to talk about art, new movies, writing, showmanship, creativity, theater, show ideas, or any of the dozens of things that fascinate me about this craft.

Most other performers don’t give a shit about that stuff. They only want to talk about themself. They love to posture and tell you all the hacks they’ve figured out about the business.

That’s what I’m dealing with now. I’m sitting in the dressing room and instead of talking about art or life or the new season of Succession, I’m having to listen to this guy tell me about how much money he saved on hotel rooms this trip.

“What do you use to research the best deal on flights?”

I explain that I don’t research flights. I tell him that I never wanted to be a businessman and that I prefer to spend my time writing, watching classic movies, and learning new things. He doesn’t get it.

“You need to be using such-and-such booking site…”

I’m so bored that I can’t even recall the site he mentioned to include it in this post. I’m not even listening, instead I scan the wall of posters of previous acts that have performed here. I try to envision Yo-Yo Ma or Jerry Seinfeld checking Hotwire or Travelocity for the best rates on their flights.

I glance back. Yep, he’s still talking. About himself.

Yawn.

“…and that’s how I saved over $50 on tonight’s hotel room. Where are you staying?”

I calmly explain that, just as with my flights, I prefer to stay with one brand, and I don’t mind the (potentially) more expensive prices because I prefer to accumulate points for end of year bonuses, rewards, etc. He looks at me, but he’s only thinking about the next thing he’s going to say. And, if I’m being honest, I’m only trying to play along because I’m trapped in this room for the next hour. But my heart isn’t in it. Nothing is less interesting to me than the mundane details of planning a trip.

The only way out of this is to take the stage and destroy this room. And I do. The audience goes crazy and I nail time - exactly 50 minutes - so I can take my props offstage and leave space for the next act.

Ordinarily I’d stay and chat a bit more after the show, but I’m done for tonight. Besides, he doesn’t want to talk to me, just anyone who will listen.

Oh well, back to my overpriced, super comfy, quiet hotel room.


More shows in more cities, come and go like ripples in a pond. Georgia, Nebraska, Texas, South Dakota, Michigan, Illinois. Finally, I’m back in Chicago and have a little time off for Thanksgiving.

Time to take a deep breath before the brutal December schedule begins. It’s been a long, exhausting few months on tour so far this fall, but for just a few days it feels good to be home.

Thoughts From The Road - Part #4

Today I’m in the middle of Iowa for another college show. It’s in a tight coffeehouse setting, perfect for my style of show.

I love a venue like this - couches, tables, and chairs on three sides of the stage, with people as close as they can get. It thrusts people into the show and makes it more fun for everyone.

I have a good feeling about this one. Something tells me this is going to be a good show and I start to get amped, but then the client drops a bomb with five minutes until the show begins.

“People will probably come and go throughout the show. They’ll mostly be eating dinner or studying in the back,” they tell me.

My heart sinks. I never understand this sort of show, where the performance takes a backseat to everything else. If that’s your venue book a musician or play a movie silently on one of the screens. But when you force me to travel 12 hours to get somewhere and I’m just background noise? Well, that just pisses me off.

Even so, the room is packed and the show starts with a bang. I pick a good volunteer for my first piece and he freaks out accordingly.

A few people glance up from a table in the back. Others have their backs turned towards me while eating their dinner or making conversation with their friends.

Unbelievable.

I launch into my second piece and it goes about the same. Good volunteers but no reactions from anyone else in the room. Some polite applause when I ask for it but nothing else. No spontaneous laughter, no actual amazement. I’m treading water onstage and it’s a horrible feeling.

The show is designed with intention: The third piece in the show is where it starts to get crazy. I stop with the introductory bits and increase the level. It goes from “Wow, that’s pretty amazing!” to “HOLY SHIT THAT’S FREAKING CRAZY!” in two minutes time.

But this audience won’t go along for the ride. They barely acknowledge what I’m doing.

“What am I doing? Why am I even up here?” I think to myself.

I’ve had enough. I throw aside my props and climb atop a table in the front row.

I shout for everyone’s attention and wait until everyone stops talking. I stare around the room, making eye contact with all corners of the audience.

“I’m not on script any more,” I begin, as people start shifting uncomfortably.

“I came a long way to be here tonight and so far you aren’t giving me anything. And I get it, there’s a million Tik Toks to scroll through, you’re eating chicken wings, your friends are here. Fine. But let me tell you something…the past 3 or 4 years I’ve been having a bit of an existential crisis. I spent over two decades trying to build this career and now that I have I’m not sure this is what I want to be doing any more. So like many of you in this room, I also have no clue what I want to do with my life…”

Half the room breaks into applause. A few people shout out “Yes!”

Now we’re getting somewhere…

“But I’ll tell you this much…I refuse to phone this in. I’m here to show you something awesome. So if you’ll meet me in the middle I promise this will be worth it. I promise you we’ll have a great time. But you’re as much a part of this as me - okay?!”

Everyone applauds and I can feel a seismic shift in the room. I went to war with this group and I won. I pick up where I left off and the rest of the show is killer. The programming board even tells me it’s the best turnout and response to a show they’ve ever had.

For years I’ve been trying to find a way to be more relatable to college students. I’ve tried changing my wardrobe to something a little more hip, using current slang, keeping up with memes, using popular music, and more. None of it worked. It fits me like a loose glove and the students could tell.

But tonight I was honest. I was my true, authentic self. I confessed a big, personal fear in front of a room of strangers and they applauded in agreement. Turns out I didn’t need to change anything, I just needed to double down and be myself. That’s all it took but it’s the most relatable I’ve ever been.

Thoughts From The Road - Part #3

September is over. Go wake up Green Day.

Oh, and today is my birthday.

I’m booked tomorrow afternoon in Philadelphia, so I have to travel today. The flight is on time and my show bag is the first bag to slide down the ramp at baggage claim. I grab my suitcase and walk to the curb. It’s not until I’m on the shuttle that I realize I just lifted a bag with my right arm for the first time since surgery. I hadn’t even thought about it.

Progress.

I wait over an hour for a rental car, which is quickly becoming a theme of travel this fall. It's past midnight when my car is finally ready and I can drive to the hotel.

I have a headache, my feet hurt, and I’m tired. I guess this is what it feels like to be 35.


On to Las Vegas for a corporate event. Today will be an easy gig - I’ve been hired to stroll around a corporate reception, dazzling people up close with some mysteries of the mind.

I spend the entire day at the Cosmopolitan, watching people come and go. A day in Vegas is a microcosm of the entire pandemic. People begin the morning with masks on, keeping their distance and following the rules. But by the time my gig is over people have moved on, reverting back to their pre-lockdown ways.

I’ve never liked Las Vegas. I treat it the way I handle a visit with certain family members, with a self-imposed 48 hour rule. Get in and get out before it drives me too crazy.

But somehow tonight feels different. I stand on my balcony, feeling like Danny Ocean as I watch the Bellagio Fountain reach for the sky twenty floors beneath me. I’ll be here less than twenty-four hours but for a brief moment I’m not thinking about what comes next; I’m just enjoying the view.


Your phone is ruining my life.

Everywhere I go, every line I stand in, every sidewalk, every store, every show I perform — there’s always a phone messing it up.

You have to understand: I could be doing a show for a hundred people and there might be 99 people leaning forward, smiling and enjoying the show. But all I can see is the one lone person checking their texts in the third row.

The phone shines on your face like a lighthouse beckoning a ship to shore. It’s distracting and annoying and easily the worst part about performing live shows in 2021.

One time another performer gave me some unsolicited advice: “It’s your job to keep them off their phones.”

I couldn’t disagree more. Phones are perhaps the first piece of tech in history that actively controls the user. They’re designed to keep us addicted, coming back again and again for another micro-dose of likes and shares. It shouldn’t be my job to de-program Silicon Valley’s grasp on your psyche in the short hour I spend onstage. I’m not going to fight the algorithm.

It’s not just my show either. A few years back I took my wife to see Hamilton downtown. We waited years for the show to arrive in Chicago and looked forward to it with eager anticipation. The show was great but the experience was soured by a person in front of us, using their phone throughout the show.

Who would pay over $500 for a ticket just to spend the show on their phone? I’ll never understand.

It’s the same at concerts and movies and plays. From Broadway to Hollywood, phones are ruining everything.

That’s not to say that experiences are anything special these days either. Most things I go to are very forgettable. Movies, restaurants, live shows, museums, and more. None of these establishments seem to care about my experience. They herd me through like cattle, only stopping to collect my data or encourage me to promote their venue online.

I feel that a lot of performers think the experience starts when the curtain goes up, but that’s not true. The audience’s experience starts when they buy the ticket or the babysitter knocks on the door. They think about the show all day, get dressed up, and go out to dinner. If anything goes wrong along the way, those small disasters can start to compound until the entire night becomes a disappointment. So, the show itself can’t just be pretty good. It needs to be absolutely jaw-dropping. It needs to be out-of-this-world, take my breath away, crazy good. The performer has to strive to give us the best experience we’ve ever had, so they can overcome anything negative that might have happened to us leading up to the show itself.

For my birthday I bought tickets to see comedian Hasan Minhaj in Milwaukee. I’ve been wanting to see him live for a long time, having been a big fan of his first comedy special and his Netflix show. We drive north and I’m cautiously excited, fully prepared to be let down.

I park five blocks away and have to walk to will-call to get our parking pass and back to the car to place it in the windshield.

Strike one.

We have to line up around the building to show our vaccination cards and get a wristband for proof of entry. It’s raining and the line moves slowly. The show is going to start late.

Strike two.

But wait, what do we have here? They’re locking up our phones. We slip them into pouches and the pouch is sealed with some kind of magic I’m not familiar with. I’ll still have my phone with me all night but I won’t be able to look at it unless I make my way out to the lobby.

Suddenly I’m thrust into a room of 1500 phone-less people, all of whom are excitedly buzzing about the show. The lights dim and Hasan Minhaj is here.

The show is phenomenal. Not just because of his writing and performance, but because no one is distracted by a phone or smartwatch. They have no choice but to become fully invested in the show. We forget about the rain and our masks and the parking lot and the delays. For the first time in a decade I get so lost in something that I never want it to end. It’s the best show I’ve seen in quite some time.

As we leave the theater an usher removes my phone from the pouch and hands it back to me. I feel a small pang of disappointment. I wish it could stay locked up forever.

Thoughts From The Road - Part #2

Another week of travel has arrived, with shows in Maryland, Kansas, and Minnesota. Each one has their own set of rules.

Masks On (for everyone).

Masks Off (for everyone).

Masks On (unless I’m onstage alone).

I spent a few hours this week adding more music to the show. It’s a laborious process.

I search Spotify for music I like, then branch off to similar artists until I find something that sounds mysterious and unfamiliar. I don’t want people singing along, rather I want it to be an intriguing soundtrack to the show itself.

There’s no real information out there on how to find music or how to use it effectively. It’s all trial and error. And the music you use depends on the moment.

Walking onstage? I need something upbeat to set the mood.

Bringing a volunteer up? I want something exciting to fill that dead time.

Reading someone’s mind? No music, because I don’t want it to feel canned. The show has to have aura of spontaneity. If a track plays the instant I reveal something I’m subconsciously telling the audience: “This is how it happens every night.”

So I use a brilliant suggestion my wife came up with: Reveals happen without any music. Let the person react and let the moment sink in. Only then do I thank the person and send them back with some music. It’s subtle but effective.

I control the music myself, with a remote in my pocket, but I’m hoping you’ve never noticed. Hopefully it’s invisible. I once saw a show where a guy held the remote out in front of his body, visibly changing the playlist from track to track. How am I supposed to get lost in the show when you make me aware of what’s going on behind the scenes?

It takes a few shows but the music is coming together. I know it’s a good mix when someone from the backstage crew comes up afterward and says they loved the playlist so much that they had to Shazam it. Now we’re getting somewhere.


Back home I’ve been doing a gig at a restaurant once a week. I work the tables, reading minds between appetizers and the main course. The groups I encounter are always different.

One week it’ll be nothing but tables of well-dressed, intelligent adults eager to be amazed. They love it. They ask for business cards and tip well. Nights like that can be fun.

Tonight, on the other hand, is nothing but tables of families. For two hours I’m nothing but a glorified babysitter. I do my best, but mind reading isn’t for children.

I used to do kids shows at libraries and schools and even Disney World, but that was a different time and a different show. I already paid those dues.

The drive home is long. I’m tired and dejected. Wrangling kids is not how I thought this career would go. My wife is too tired to listen and we end up fighting. I just want to vent for a minute but she thinks I’m mad at her.

After a gig - good or bad - there’s always an adrenaline rush that lasts for a few hours. It keeps me up for a while as I come down off the natural high of being onstage or the depressing lows of pondering what went wrong and how to fix it.

Tonight I stare at the ceiling, unable to sleep. I hate fighting with Stephanie, especially over something so dumb. My alarm goes off. It’s 3:45 am.

Back to the airport.


Missouri. Just east of where I grew up in southeast Kansas.

I have time to workout before the show but the elliptical and treadmill are both broken at the hotel. I run outside - a single mile, for time. The run takes me through three parking lots and along the shoulder of a road. It’s less than ideal, but I make it happen. I wish I could run more but I don’t have enough time. I can’t be late for tonight’s show.

It’s a women’s college and they’re fantastic. I meet many of them beforehand, during my preshow teaser.

A teaser - much like the restaurant gig - is where I work small groups before a show to try and build buzz for that night’s event. I’ve done teasers in cafeterias, student unions, dorms, plazas, outdoor spaces, rooftops - you name it.

Tonight it’s at the dining hall. So I walk around introducing myself and reading minds. My close—up act has gotten better, thanks to the extra reps at the restaurant. (If only they could see my children’s material…)

I think back to my childhood, growing up an hour away from here. Sitting cross-legged on my bed with a book and a deck of cards, working on sleight-of-hand for hours on end. I remember my first show and how I pictured one day performing in large venues, with my name in lights.

But tonight is not that night. Tables tents are on every table in the room promoting tonight’s show and my name is spelled wrong. There’s an extra “L” in my last name, a surprisingly common mistake.

They apologize and I assure them it’s no big deal. And it really isn’t. It’s happened before and it’ll happen again.

“Oh and by the way,” they say, “We also spelled it wrong on the shirts.”

I look at the front table and see a hundred shirts with a name I don’t recognize. I take one for myself so I can always remember this. So much for my name in lights.


Off to the Big Apple for a show on Long Island. I booked this flight last minute and got a great deal on a discount site. Today I’ll fly first class for the first time.

It’s great to have the extra leg room but if I’m being honest it’s not all that exciting. Air travel is horrible these days and first class is underwhelming. Like many things in life, it sounds exciting at first but ends up not being all that special once you get to experience it.

New York just issued their vaccine card mandate. Proof of vaccination is required to enter any restaurant and many other places of business. I swore to myself I wouldn’t show my card because I’m not a fan of the mandate.

That’s right, I’m double-vaxxed but I also don’t like the mandate. It seems like an overreach and might even be discriminatory. Unfortunately when you hold a nuanced view these days you’re considered a whack-o conspiracy theorist so I don’t voice my opinion. “But,” I tell myself, “I won’t be showing my vaccine card to anyone while I’m in NYC.”

I’m a man of my word…until I get hungry. Then all of my principles and hot takes go out the window. I begrudgingly get in line to show my card to enter a restaurant in Brooklyn. The hostess is a 16 year old high school student who doesn’t even bother to look up from her phone. She waves me in without even checking my card.

Turns out whether you’re a fan of the mandate or completely against it - it doesn’t matter. It’s just theater; an illusion of comfort to those of us willing to comply. But it’s not actually doing anything and the people in charge aren’t either.

I head out to Long Island and a traffic accident adds two hours to the drive. I call the client and tell them it’s going to be close.

It’s pedal-to-the-medal the whole way but I can’t seem to subtract any minutes from my ETA. I pull up to the venue with ten minutes to spare until showtime. Just enough time to set-up, sound check, and catch my breath. They hold the audience outside until I’m ready. The students have no idea that I almost didn’t make it. As far as they’re concerned, everything is going to plan.

Even with all of the delays and my rushed arrival, we only need to start five minutes late. These things happen. I don’t even have time to think about the show, I just launch in and give it my all for an hour. And it’s goes great. Sometimes you wait around and have too much time to think. Other times you just have to dive in and trust yourself.

I wonder about shows I’ve seen and whether those performers were rushing in the stage door while I was patiently waiting for the curtain to rise. You never get to see the other 23 hours of a performer’s day. Only the single hour when they’re onstage sharing the carefully rehearsed, perfectly polished representation of themself.

Onstage tonight I’m in control, fluctuating between mystery and mischief. It’s part psychological skullduggery and part improvised audience interaction. I have better posture onstage and my words are carefully chosen. Music plays at my command and people rise to their feet when I leave the stage.

Offstage I drag my suitcases across a dark parking lot and load them into the car. I’m mentally and physically exhausted. It’s been such a long day that the thoughts aren’t forming clearly like they were onstage just moments ago. Nothing decent is open, so I eat fast food in a parking lot then drive back to the city, barely able to keep myself awake.

Thoughts From The Road - Part #1

It’s been a while since I’ve done live shows. For over a year I’ve stared down the barrel of a camera while presenting virtual shows from the comfort of my home studio. There are no mask rules or restrictions to worry about on Zoom, so I hadn’t considered what rules I might encounter on the road.

As travel starts picking up I begin to realize how silly the restrictions have become. You can be on one side of a state line and people will be wearing double masks when sitting alone in an outdoor space. Ten minutes away, on the other side of a border, people are living their life like it’s 2019.

Some shows I have to wear a mask the whole time. Others I only have to wear a mask when I have a volunteer onstage. And for many I don’t have to wear a mask at all.

I’ll do an entire show masked up, then people will come up to take a photo and we both pull our masks down. It makes no sense.

At one school they tell me they have the best vaccination rate in the entire state. Yet, they still have to wear masks. As the lights dim I see the students quietly lower the masks beneath their chins. They’re over it.

I’m not saying masks don’t work - they clearly do. But, the fact that the rules are so different across many parts of the U.S. really makes it seem meaningless.

And - not trying to brag - I’m double-vaxxed. Wasn’t the vaccine supposed to end this? Wasn’t I supposed to get back to my normal life once I got vaccinated?

I’ve been in places that require everyone to be vaccinated, yet we still have to wear a mask. It makes no sense.

It’s one thing to watch the news and think “My city is correct! I chose the correct colored state!” But it’s quite another to travel to all of these places and actually see it for yourself.

And that’s what I’ve been doing the past few months.


The fall schedule starts off in Florida, right when the only news you read is about Covid cases spiking there. But the truth is, it’s not that big of a deal. Some people are wearing masks, others aren’t. Everyone is minding their own business. No problem.

Tonight’s show is at a college. I arrive early, set up, and wait. I’m always early and I’m always waiting.

The show goes well. The students are fun. They don’t realize that I’m performing a lot of this material for the first time. It’s impossible to practice alone so I’m rehearsing here. Even so, they freak out at all the right moments.

After the show the kids line up for signed posters and selfies. I always stay and talk to everyone, no matter how long it takes.

At the end of the line a girl asks me to make a video for the school’s Instagram account. I nail it in one take. She asks me my handle so she can tag me in the post and I calmly explain that I don’t have social media.

“You don’t have social media? But how do you promote yourself?”

I smile politely and shrug, but I’m really thinking, “You’re here at MY show! Right now! What do I need social media for?”

But it’s not worth explaining myself. She’s already back on her phone, scrolling to the next post.


From Florida I head to Missouri. No one is wearing a mask anywhere near the campus but on campus everyone is masked up. I guess I’m wearing a mask onstage tonight.

Fuck.

I can’t speak for other performers but I don’t really like to phone it in. I like to perform with high energy and race around the room to make sure everyone feels involved. Sometimes I’ll run up the aisles to choose volunteers or jump up and down onstage to drive home a point. (One time years ago I leapt off a chair and ripped my pants. It was worth it.)

But wearing a mask really makes it hard to breathe. Just a brisk walk onstage to start the show is enough to have me gasping for air. Forget running the aisles or jumping off the stage.

And my glasses keep getting fogged up, which is very frustrating. I need my glasses. It’s not a wardrobe choice. I need them to drive and read, and get headaches when I go long intervals without wearing them. But, since I’m wearing a mask tonight I clip the glasses to my shirt and do the show without them.

The venue is beautiful, the audience is pretty fun. I know the new material is good because it just brought down the house in Florida. But, I can’t focus on any of that. I only think about this annoying mask and how hard it is to connect with people when there are so many obstructions in the way.

My show is dependent on reactions. Smiles, dropped jaws, gasps of astonishment. The secret to my show is that it’s not about the mind reading. It’s actually about the people onstage and how the show plays out on their faces.

I guess it was a good show tonight but I’ll never know, because all of those reactions were hidden, safely tucked away beneath those damn masks.


Back to Chicago for a virtual show. Yes, I’m still doing those.

I’ve got this down to a science.

Fifteen minute walk to the studio. My props are already laid out, ready to go.

Lights, camera, action.

I do the show without thinking. Not on auto-pilot, but with perfect muscle memory because I’ve done it over 300 hundred times since last year.

“That was the show! I’m Mark Toland - thanks everybody!”

The show ends and goes from 55 participants logged on to only me in a matter of seconds. No applause, no one coming up to the stage to say thank you, nothing.

I sit in silence at the studio and sigh to myself. A train passes the window and I hear a police siren in the distance.

I’m not sure which is worse:

Getting applause from actual people in-person but being alone on the road?

Or performing into the online void with no feedback but getting to go home after?

I can’t decide. But one thing I do know for certain: they’re both making me miserable.

Time to walk home.


5 am flight.

I’m up before the sun or the traffic. I make coffee, take a shower, pet the cats, kiss my wife, and hit the road. It’s going to be a long day.

Tonight I’m outside Philadelphia. Another college.

It’s a great room and a great group. Fortunately I don’t have to wear a mask so I can actually focus on the show.

It’s a great show and I fall asleep exhausted but proud.

My hotel room only needs to be two things: pitch black and ice cold. Tonight’s accommodations have both, yet I still wake up with a start in the middle of the night.

I feel around the nightstand for my phone and check the time. It’s 3am.

“Where the hell am I?”

I think for a few minutes but can’t remember. I roll over and try to fall back asleep.

“Oh right,” I think to myself, “I’m in Philly.”

I forgot what it felt like to be on the road, but it’s all coming back to me.