WTF WTF?

Well, here we are. The sky is orange. Billionaires are arguing about whose rocket is better. Democracy is hanging by a thread. So naturally, Marc Maron has decided now is the time to wrap up his WTF podcast.

I get it. Sixteen years. Over 1,400 episodes. Hundreds of "lock the gates!" intros, cat updates, coffee slurps, refrigerator bitching and brutally honest introspective spirals. That’s a lot. And that’s enough. For him.

But what about me, Marc? What about us?

Let’s be clear: WTF was never just a podcast. It was an emotional scavenger hunt with a healthy helping of neurosis. It was a comforting ritual—like therapy, but cheaper and with better celebrity cameos. Marc didn’t conduct interviews; he had conversations. Real, raw, occasionally meandering, frequently hilarious conversations.

And I was there for it all. Every Monday. Every Thursday. Want to know how deep I was in? I even listened to the Orny Adams episode. The Orny Adams episode, Marc.

Sure, there are other entertaining podcasts. Polished. Clever. Hosted by duos and trios that make it a misplaced point of pride to avoid politics and meaningful discussions while they keep referring to each other as “besties.”

But WTF had something different. Bravery. Heart. Humor. Insight. Chutzpah. The nerve to let silence sit. The guts to go weird. The refusal to put on a fake voice or banter.

And Marc wasn’t just talking to his guests. He was talking to us. He was there for us.

So now, as the world is melting like a cheap popsicle on a Vegas sidewalk in August, Marc has decided to sign off? Really? Is this the moment we’re saying goodbye?

I'm not saying he can’t take a break. He's more than earned it. But what if, and I’m just spit balling here—what if instead of stopping WTF, he just...tapered? Like a prescription med (he knows a little about those).

Maybe just one episode a week. Or biweekly. Or once a month. Just a little something to keep the darkness at bay and remind us that we are, in fact, still here.

Because the truth is, Marc Maron you’re the hero we need. Flawed. Funny. Smart. Sad. Human.

Thank you Marc. For the laughs. For the tears. For the time you had President Obama in the garage. Thank you for all of it. I’ll miss you. I already do.

But seriously—Orny Adams?

CPK WTF

The California Pizza Kitchen I knew and loved is no more. It was acquired about three years ago by private equity firm Golden Gate Capital.

Sounds appetizing doesn't it?

Originally, CPK was the poor mans answer to Wolfgang Puck's legendary Spago restaurant, which ushered in the era of individual pizzas.

At the beginning, CPK felt upscale even though it was reasonable price wise. There were linen napkins. The waitstaff work black slacks, white buttoned up shirts and black ties. Somewhere down the road they changed to black shirts as well, which made it even more ritzy-ish.

And of course, there was the food.

It's hard to imagine now, but at the time their Original BBQ Chicken Pizza was all the rage. Plus they offered an original selection with toppings no one had thought to throw on a pizza before. California Club pizza (essentially a BLT on pizza dough). Hamburger pizza. Thai pizza. They had those and more - something for every taste.

I can't even count the number of meals, meetings, dates and family dinners I've had there over the years. And because they were a quality chain, from my first meal at the original restaurant on Beverly Drive, to the one in the Mirage in Vegas, to the one on Geary St. in San Francisco, I always looked forward to my meal and knew I was going to enjoy it.

But of course, as my high school girlfriend told me on our final date, there's a last time for everything.

Since Golden Gate Capital acquired them, everything has gone downhill except the prices. The uniforms are now open-collar checked or brightly colored shirts and jeans. It feels more like a Texas Roadhouse than a CPK. It's only a matter of time before there's sawdust on the floor and a mechanical bull.

And under the heading of fix it when it's not broken, they've changed the crust of the pizza to something considerably less tasty. They've taken many of my favorite items off the menu - Roast Garlic Shrimp pizza, I'll never forget you.

They've also done a little Three-Card Monte with the names of some menu items. What was their spectacular Original Chopped Salad is now called the Italian Chopped. And the BBQ Chicken Chopped now has "The Original" in front of the name.

One change I'll admit to liking is the bread, now a more Italian look, taste and presentation.

But the bread isn't enough to justify the ridiculous prices they now charge for a decidedly lower brow, too casual experience. With a family of four, ordering the very minimum we can get by with and no drinks (water for everyone), we're hard pressed to get out for under $60 before tip.

Fortunately, the new owners realized one thing missing from the old CPK was a manifesto - that precise group of words to let the dining public know their philosophy about what California stands for, what it means and why they needed to rework the menu into something really special.

Manifestos are something I happen to have some experience with. I've written my fair share of them, and since Apple have yet to encounter a client that doesn't want one.

Reading theirs, it's apparent to me the words, sentiment and their take on California are as authentic as the notion they won't unload the chain in a heartbeat for the right price.