On January 16th, 2020, the world lost a beloved artist and true blue weirdo, a man who I consider to be one of the

greatest creators and teachers of our time. Because he's meant so much to me throughout my life,

I wanted to do something on our show to honor David Lynch, who worked in every artistic medium he could get his hands on,

but is most known as the director of Twin Peaks, Wild at Heart, Blue Velvet, Lost Highway,

the Elephant Man, Inland Empire, Eraserhead, and the subject of today's episode, Mulholland Drive.

2001's Mohol and Drive changed my life when I was 14, and I'm so grateful to Sarah

Marshall and Alex Steed of You Are Good for having me on their show recently, allowing me to

try to summarize this famously baffling plot, muse about the concept

of Duende, and yes, cry on Mike about the unified field he is helping me to uncover

inside myself again. After the recording of this episode, something absolutely incredible happened to me that I wanted to

share. A couple days ago, I went to the Real Twin Peaks Festival in a nearby town called North Bend,

Washington, where the series was filmed, and the event that kicked off the weekend was a very sweet memorial

for David held in the Eagles Lodge, where a bunch of adorable eccentrics crammed in together

to honor this artist. It started with a 10-minute meditation, everyone in the almost Lynchian Eagles Lodge room being silent together,

a practice that he said was the deep source of all his creativity as well as his palpable, goofy,

unrestrained joy. After several people spoke about David, a surprise guest was announced, and then there she was

on stage, Rebecca Del Rio, the woman who sang her Spanish version of Crying by Roy Orbison

in the club Salencio scene of Mahaland Drive that we talk about at length in this episode.

She sang that song for us from my favorite scene of any movie ever, and it seemed like the

whole Eagle's Lodge was crying together. I was absolutely stunned. There was something, is something about David Lynch that can bring the realm of the great unknown into the realm of the known. When no one else has been able to, he has cracked the stubborn skeptic inside me and helped me move towards something far more vast and far more real.

After the memorial, I had a burger and Coke at Tweets, known as the Double R Diner, made famous

by Twin Peaks, and then stood outside, looking at all the little offerings people like me had left there for him.

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