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Episode 154:
Ritch Shydner
Notes: Released Aug 08, 2016
Ritch Shydner talks about his long career in comedy, his upcoming book and how the definition of manhood has changed through the year. Incredible episode!

Letting go…

Sat Sep 03, 2016

First off, I want to thank everybody that came along for the ride these last three years. I had no idea what I was in for when I started The Mick Betancourt Show podcast. Pretty soon, people from all over the world were reaching out, responding to the hustle theme of the show. It was a tough decision to let it go but I wanted to explain why I did.

1) It was getting harder and harder to book guests, partially because of my demanding work and family schedule and also because of the same for the guests. A podcast has to have a schedule or people move on. I didn’t want to lose you because the distribution was sketchy. I could have booked other guests, but I also wanted to keep the level of quality high and most importantly as well as the message.

2) It had run its course. It felt like the show had, like all great stories, a beginning, a middle and an end.

So I am letting go…

Letting go of this podcast, stand up comedy and a few other things that I hope will prove to be building blocks to bigger and better things. Not financially, but creatively and emotionally.

I am letting stand up go after a twenty year battle with it. To be honest, the only thing I really loved about it was being on stage and making people laugh, which tragically is only an hour of the entire stand up experience. I only like a handful of comedians, the business side of it is abysmal which motivated me to get quiet and make a pros and cons list. By doing do, I realized what I love to do was never really stand up to begin with. To be even more honest, I don’t know if I have ever given myself enough time to truly understand what I love and what I want to do or most importantly – what I can drive to my own personal best.

In any given year I was performing stand up one to four times a week, working full time in a dramatic writers room 50-60 hours a week, developing 1-4 shows, working on a book, recording a podcast, booking my own stand up room as well as being married with two kids and managing my own sobriety as well as sponsoring 6-8 men.

None of those things have the potential to be my personal best with that kind of schedule.

So now you know why I am letting go…

I am letting go to find my personal best.

What does it look like, what does it feel like?

I got quiet and had to look at the things that both challenged me and brought me consistent joy. If something continued to bring me anxiety or depression, I made the decision to let it go. If there was something that I could not improve on, could not drive to my personal best,  I had to let it go.

It is not gone forever, it has been let go of so that I can excel, achieve and experience my personal best.

My schedule became an unconscious excuse for mediocrity hidden in the shadows of my success.

But I knew the truth.

I could do better.

What will challenge me? What terrifies me to really try and fail at? What can I be the most service to?

And most importantly – why am I doing it?

To look cool? For the money? For the power?

None of those work. They are all dead ends.

So now I get quiet….

As well as make you a promise…

I am going to give you my best.

I am close to figuring out at what, but I remain steadfastly patient, hustling and grinding toward the answer, refusing to cower when it arrives, but rather open my heart, mind and hustle muscle and get to work.

I am letting go…

taking that giant leap once again

and hoping you will walk beside me once again when I return

for I promise it will all be worth it.

Much Love, Mick


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Sex, Nuns and Exploding Dollhouses

Thu Jun 02, 2016

It was eleven at night, but we were seventeen and still had some trouble in us. I was seeing a girl who lived five blocks away named Fiona, a luscious Irish lass with milky skin and thick red hair. She had a cute sister so I convinced my cousin Clay to head over there to see if I could hook up with Fiona while he hooked up with her sister.

Fiona lived in a beautiful stucco house with a screened in porch that featured a beautiful large dollhouse Fiona’s Dad had been working on for the entire last year. He built everything by hand, down to the little tiny furniture and windows.

There were nine kids in her family. Her mother was actually a former nun who fell in love with her father, known as Big Tommy, coming in at 6’ 5” and three hundred pounds, which made her leave the convent. I one rang Fiona to let her know we were on our way over. She met us on the steps. Clay waited on the porch while Fiona quitely led me upstairs to see if her sister was still awake.

As we tip toed down the hallway, she playfully yanked me into her room where we quickly started making out. She tore off my tshirt and I quickly took off her shirt and shorts. She laid down completly naked on the edge of the bed. I put her legs up by her shoulders. Just as I unzipped my jeans and slid myself inside her, the door opened. I thought it was Clay messing with us. The lights came on and it wasn’t Clay standing in the doorway but her Mom! She went to let out a scream but nothing came out but a low hiss. Forgetting I was all the way inside her daugher, I jumped back. My cock slid out of Fiona and slapped against my stomach. It sounded like a firecracker going off. I thought her mother was going to faint. She screamed again but this time a scream did come out.

“I’m so sorry,” I said as I bolted past her out into the hall and down the stairs just in time to  see the shadow of a giant grizzly bear barreling down on me. It was Big Tommy.

“What the fuck is going on,” he yelled!

I ran onto the porch and locked the door behind me. I looked around for Clay but didn’t see him.

“Clay! Where are you,” I yelled?

That’s when the doll house, Big Tommy’s pride and joy, the gift he was deligently hand-crafting for his children the entire last year… exploded into a thousand pieces.

How?

Clay was hiding in it.

“What the fuck were you doing in the dollhouse,” I yelled?

“Somebody screamed. The front door was locked so I hid in the dollhouse.”

Big Tommy started ramming the door with his shoulder. I opened window, pushed out the screen and jumped into the bushes. Clay followed right behind. When somebody takes off in the middle of sentence and there is a Man-Bear trying to smash down a door to get at you, you don’t ask quesitons, you just start running. We ran as fast as we could back to Matt and Laurels. When we got a few blocks away, Clay looked over at me.

“Where’s you shirt,” he yelled while we sprinted?

“Back in Fiona’s room,” I panted, the adrenaline still pumping through my veins.

He looked down.

“Why’s your dick out?”

“I was hooking up with Fiona and her mom walked in. Her father tried to grab me in the hallway. He’s coming after me for sure We gotta be ready.”

We got home and went right into the kitchen. My Aunt and Uncle were out of town for the weekend so we had the apartment to ourselves. We grabbed a couple knives and slept on opposite ends of my front porch. The plan being when Big Tommy arrvied with a gun, one of us would jump him from behind. That’s when you know somebody has your back – literally – when they’ll sleep on a cold front porch with a knife in each hand waiting for the father of the girl you just got busted screwing, on his way over to murder you, with a coin flip of who he will shoot first, and that man still sticks around.

You call that man a brother.

Big Tommy never came. Fiona got grounded for a year and had to see a shrink. I felt awful. A few years later, her parents invited me over right after I graduated. I thought it was a set up. The Irish never forget. They lie in wait for revenge, whether it takes ten days or ten years, they’ll get you back. I walked in, two years since “the incident” and all her brothers and sisters snickered, well aware of what went down and why I was there. Big Tommy sat at the kitchen table shaprning a huge knife.

“Very fitting, sir.” I said trying to break the ice.

He turned and stared at me. I had to man up.

“I’m sorry I disrespected your home. It was really selfish. I hope you can forgive me,” I offered with as much dignity as I could muster amongst giggling grade schoolers and a former nun who saw my dick high-five my belly button.

He set down the knife, got up and shook my hand.

“All is forgiven. You’re a good kid. What’s done is done. It’s behind us.”

I hugged everybody, wished Fiona well and got the hell out of there before Big Tommy changed his mind and shanked me to death. I’m positive if his wife hadn’t been an ex-nun I would have died that night. Just one more Moment of Grace.

master-RL070


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I was almost a Carnie…

Fri Apr 29, 2016

The following is an excerpt from my upcoming memoir – Moments of Grace.

I was tired of begging for money on corners or in front of the Tastee Freez at the end of my block. I will never forget the looks people gave me when I asked them if they could spare any change. Pity or disgust, never anything in between. I switched from begging to making up various lies about having to catch a bus or buy my Mom a present for her birthday. Whatever heartfelt shit I could come up with. After awhile, I couldn’t take the looks from the lies either so  I stole a few paint by numbers from the arts and craft store, painted them and sold them to old ladies at the park and ice cream shop for a buck a piece. A real bargain for a budding Rembrandt. I even had a hustle where I offered to clean the parking lot of the Tastee Freez for a burger and a shake. The guy who owned it was always cool but sometimes I’d show up and his parking lot was spotless. So I’d toss trash everywhere then offer to clean it up.
Create the problem. Sell the solution.
One time he caught me throwing napkins everywhere and that was the end of the burger and shake train. So now what? As I stalked the hood for a new hustle, I spotted the carnival setting up.  I loved going to the carnival. The neon lights. The sounds of the rides going, people screaming with laughter and most importantly the girls. We would follow them around, throw them “looks” when they turned around and try to spit as much game as we could. Always on the hunt for the prettiest girls to hit on, get numbers and hopefully more. Most of the girls in Berwyn would let you stick your hand down their skin tight black stretch pants or up their shirts, the older ones at least, which I was always good at getting. I was 14 and it was the summer before my freshman year at high school. I was already “seeing” two seniors who were on their way to college, falling for one pretty hard even though I lived alone, had no parents and was hustling to eat.
While they were setting up the rides and booths, I approached a guy that looked like he just finished tuning up Gregg Allman’s guitar and asked if they were hiring. He pointed to a long haired skinny biker working the booth where you pay a buck to throw a few softballs at three lead bottles.

knock-the-bottle

If you knock them down you get a prize. His name was Daryl. He said he’d pay me 20 bucks to work the rest of the night and 60 bucks to work tomorrow and Sunday 10am to midnight, but only after I convinced him I wasn’t a narc. He gave me his dirty apron and showed me how to set the bottles up. He was going to leave me alone to run the booth and “call out” to get as many folks to try as I could. He had to focus his time on more important tasks like smoking shitty brick weed and trying to fuck high school girls behind the big rig that pulled The Super Slide.
This particular carnival was for Italian Fest so everybody was rocking sweat pant cut offs shorts during the day, with greased back feathered mullets (some permed or heavily curled) then at night the Z Cavaricci pants came out, rolled up at the bottom with Zodiac shoes and white socks. The men wore satin jackets with the Italian flag blazoned across the back with their names in cursive across the top with “wife beaters” underneath. The woman wore the same jackets, usually their boyfriends, with tank tops themselves and black stretch pants that clung to every thick inch of their pasta filled bodies. Their bangs were sprayed straight up. We called them Statues of Liberty because the bangs jutted up so high. The men slathered themselves in Draqoir Noir cologne with little gold horn or crosses clasped to gold chains dangling around their necks. The car of choice was IROQ Zs, Monte Carlos or Delta 98s with the handheld swivel lights mounted by the drivers side door mirror. Fuzzy Dice dangling from the rearview.
Daryl came back to the booth at midnight. His face turned white.
“What the fuck happened to all the stuffed elephants?” He hissed.
“People been knocking down these bottles left and right man. I don’t know what to tell ya.”
“The fuck they are, man. It’s impossible. You set ‘em like I showed you?”
“I dunno, I just set them up.”
“Fuck man, you gotta pay attention in this life, man. We’re not here fucking around. I gotta pay for them elephants. That comes outta my pay. A normal motherfucker woulda’ beat your ass but I ain’t cruel. I’ma take 20 off your pay tomorrow and that’s being cool. Now look here…”
Then he showed me how to set the bottles up the right way so nobody wins. You can knock down two but never all three. The real point of the game is to make you think and feel like you’re almost winning every time so you keep trying and most importantly, spending more money.
A sucker and his money are soon parted. The game is rigged for you to lose so be on the right side of the game.
I showed up the next day and Daryl gave me a warm Budweiser that I drank out of a plastic cup. Girls I knew from school passed by, giggled nervously and waved. I felt like a king, a bartender or the bouncer at a great club. What more could a 14 year old ask for than run the bottle booth at a carnival! Well, I was actually about to find out.
Sunday night rolled around and they started breaking down rides and booths.
“You ready?” Daryl said.
“For what?” I asked.
“To head to the next town. Chesterton, Indiana, then we’ll move through the south until we hit Florida and can’t south no more. Then do it all over again.”
“You want me to go with you guys?”
“Hell fucking yeah. You proved yourself these last two days man. Chicks don’t wanna stare at my fucking old ass anymore. They wanna get that pussy juice going for your young ass. I seen a few moms get wet for you too. You can be the future of this carnival.”
The future of the carnival? Didn’t expect to hear that when I woke up that day. Everything about that made sense. I wanted to travel. Uncle Matt had given me Kerouac’s “On The Road”and it grabbed me by the throat.
“I think I gotta go to high school,” I blurted out from a place of reason I didn’t know existed.
Daryl studied my face then dropped the hammer – “You ain’t lived ’til you got a blow job on the Tilt-A-Whirl…”
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
A blowjob on the Tilt-A-Whirl. That would be like telling a 40 year old “you never have to worry about money again and you’re kids will never die.” That’s the weight a blowjob on the Tilt-A-Whirl carried to a 14 year old in the heat of his 8th grade summer. But again, that voice of reason blurted out…
“Thanks man, but I think I’m gonna check out high school. But if it sucks, I’ll try and find you.”
“Suit yourself, man. But opportunity only knocks once.”
Then he strutted off, oddly enough toward the Tilt-A-Whirl. It was a long walk home back to my lonely apartment. Every time I came inside the building, I’d walk past my mother’s door and wonder where she was. Was she alright? Was Pete beating her? If he was, was somebody getting in there to make sure she’s okay or calls the cops? I finally made it upstairs to my apartment. It was starting to smell. I never did my laundry because I ran out of detergent months ago. I showered at the pool. There were so many mice running around inside of the walls, it sounded like it was raining. I laid down the my bare mattress on the floor. I’d taken the sheets off weeks ago after they started stinking from sweat. But now there was a brownish yellow outline of my body on the mattress from where I had sweated through that. I laid down and stared up at the ceiling hoping I hadn’t just blown the opportunity of a lifetime. I finally fell asleep and morning brought fresh ideas and fresh hustle. And to think… I almost traded in high school for a blow job on the Tilt-A-Whirl.

tilt-a-whirl-carnival-ride-eye-shutter-to-think-prints


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Conor McGregor – Don’t believe the hype!

Mon Jul 13, 2015

I was there. I saw it. McGregor Vs Mendes at the MGM Arena this past Saturday July 11th, 2015.  Between the cocky yells and drunken  hordes of Irish waving flags screaming that they were there to “take over.” I am Irish and Puerto Rican so I was only allowed to partially take over the mostly downtrodden parts of town the sharply suited Irish left behind. I have been an MMA fan before UFC 1 and remain one to this day. It is my sport. I love it. I not only go to UFC events all over America, I also support local “smoker” fights at MMA gyms all over the West Coast. I am not an expert. Nothing more then a tremendous and supportive fan. That being said, here are are few thoughts on the fight:

1) He is the number on draw of all time so now current fighters and almost all those coming up underneath will act like him. Why is this bad? The reason why the UFC is so great is it is the exact opposite of boxing. Because there is a martial arts current running underneath, right next to the wrestling current, there is a mutual respect for your opponent. The UFC has been able to be extremely profitable and still have the fighters respect one another. Sure there were rivalries but 99% of the time there was a genuine respect for the other fighter. I don’t believe Connor McGregor just made his fortune by breaking that mold. Every fighter just learned that if you want to be a draw and make money, all you have to do is act like a drunk douchebag at last call and money will fall from the sky. The UFC just became boxing – over night.

And just like drunk douchbags at last call…

2) Connor McGregor is all talk. But Mick, he just won the belt. He’s the CHAMP! So was Brock Lessnar. Connor McGregor had full camp cardio against a guy who only had two weeks. Sure you can say Mendes shouldn’t have taken the fight on two weeks notice but you take the shot when you can. He gassed out. He didn’t have the cardio. There are rumors Mendes doesn’t keep his cardio up between fights and we saw proof of that Saturday night. We saw proof of something else – McGregor can only fight standing up. ZERO Jiu Jitsu skills. ZERO wrestling. None. Zilch. Mendes picked him up and slammed him down at will. Connor, in full McGregor form, acted like he was being patient and waiting. That’s better then shitting your pants in panic when you realize somehow/someway your camp has let you believe your 1985 Karate Kid fighting stance will work. And the worst thing of all happened – it did. He won. So now… he talks himself deeper into a whole where a full rounded fighter waits to destroy him.

3) All the hype sold tickets. All the other fighters saw that being a dick and disrespecting your opponent broke every record in the history of the UFC. Something else might have been broken Saturday too – the UFC itself. I see nothing but a slide from here on out unless Dana rights the ship, which based on the recent Reebok deal prohibiting fighters from garnering their own sponsors, I doubt will happen anytime soon. And let me go on the record saying I am happy for McGregor. He hyped himself, first he believed it, then he got other people to believe it to. I thought Aldo dropping out and Mendes getting the fight was the worst thing that could have happened to McGregor. But it turned out to be the best because he gets to drink his own Kool Aid until his next fight. I don’t believe McGregor is the same kind of athlete as GSP, who somehow picked up wrestling at an insane elite level and rounded out his game. I saw this because McGregor couldn’t even sprawl against Mendes.

My prediction: McGregor is an accurate powerful puncher with a great chin who will move up to 155 after October. He is an incredibly GREAT and FUN fighter to watch. He knows how to promote a fight (even if I don’t agree with the way in which he does it) But I truly believe the first time he faces a fighter with Mendes’s wrestling and striking power with FULL CARDIO – HE WILL GET DESTROYED. DOMINATED. I cannot believe the hype. I was there. I saw a fighter lying on his back talking shit to the man punching him the face to quell the raging storm inside of him screaming out “Connor, keep talking shit because some day… some day.. they are all going to find out the truth… and until then, keep running your mouth and cashing those checks.” Like Lessnar, there was a crack in the time/space continuam that allowed a one dimensional fighter to become champ. NOT FOR LONG.

MMA: UFC 189-Mendes vs McGregor


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Amazing piece about #TMBS 100th episode!

Sun May 31, 2015

Hey Everybody,

Just wanted to share an incredible piece of writing a fan of the show emailed me in celebration of the 100th episode. I attached a screen grab of her email  as well as cut and copied her actual essay below that. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did! Thanks for being a part of the journey! Mick

Screen Shot 2015-05-31 at 4.52.49 PM

And her is Rachel Newcombe’s essay…

THE MICK BETANCOURT SHOW

                                          CONGRATULATIONS

from rachel newcombe

100th Podcast Episode

 

 

 

Trust me.

 

This is what I’ve been telling my friends, patients and colleagues for the past year. “You will want to listen to this podcast,” I tell them.

 

Trust me.

 

Just listen.

 

I tell them if they listen to The Mick Betancourt Show they will not be disappointed.

 

How could I not fall for Mick, a guy whose podcast’s tagline is: Half Comedy. Half Drama. All Heart. There’s an important detail I tell my therapist friends who have gone to psychoanalytic institutes, I tell them Mick has established an institute too, The Institute for Advanced Hustle. Affectionately referred to as TIFAH. Although it’s not a psychoanalytic institute I tell my friends that Mick’s institute has many stories about civilization and many stories about its discontents. Life lessons that get to the heart of the matter.

 

Betancourt, host/headmaster of the institute created his podcast show from a life of absences. An absent mother who eventually landed in jail for bank robbery, an absent father who died in his early twenties, a grandfather who died in Mick’s arms when Mick was 14 years old, along with the absences of food, safe shelter, guidance or any form of maternal protection. Mick was a scrappy kid. But a scrappy kid who figured out how to survive.

 

I tell my friends that Betancourt entered my life through Paul Gilmartin’s podcast the Mental Illness Happy Hour, in May of 2014. I had no idea who he was prior to this podcast. But, when the interview with Gilmartin was winding down and Mick mentioned that he, too had a podcast I knew this would not be last I heard of Mick Betancourt.

 

“But who is he?” my colleagues ask.

 

I tell them, “Mick is the real deal.”

 

The minute I hear the words “real deal” come out of my mouth I know that it sounds like a ridiculous overused cliché so I explain why it works.

 

These are the things Mick is not:

 

Affected

Gratuitous

Pretentious

Calculating

Contrived

 

 

Here is what Mick is:

 

Kind

Indomitable

Creative

Funny

Gracious

Curious

Open

Kind

 

I use the word kind twice. This is not a mistake. It’s deliberate. I have listened to Mick interviewed by other podcasters and even if a question seems inane or the host is “off the rails” (Mick’s term) he stays present and doesn’t get cranky.

 

My friend from New York listens to his first Mick Betancourt podcast:

 

“Of course you love him,” he says. Later I find out that he, too, has become a regular listener, this psychoanalyst friend of mine. We’ve started a club.

 

Mick often asks he guests “What is your walkabout?” He describes what this means in the recent episode # 99 with author Jerry Stahl. Micks wants to know how people navigate life, what propels them to walk on the earth, struggles, fears, dreads and hope.

 

Mick wants to get to know the essence of someone. I do too.

 

I think all of us on some level want to know how to be, how to wake up each morning and walkabout. How do we do it?

 

Mick’s podcast points us in that direction. Every Monday Mick gives us another opportunity to hear someone tell how they navigate the world.

 

I imagine someone asking me to describe Mick Betancourt’s walkabout and I immediately think of the lyrics from a Grateful Dead song:

 

“Uncle John’s Band”

Well the first days are the hardest days, don’t you worry any more,
‘Cause when life looks like Easy Street, there is danger at your door.
Think this through with me, let me know your mind,
Wo, oh, what I want to know, is are you kind?

 

This past September I make a plan to attend the LA Podfest and decide to email Mick to see if I can interview him. Mick doesn’t know me yet he responds quickly. “Of course,” he says.

 

So on a sunny Saturday morning in September I take my first Uber ride headed to Mick’s office in Studio City

 

This is my hustle.

 

Interviewing Mick Betancourt.

 

Nervous about getting stuck in traffic I leave the Sofitel in Beverly Hills early and begin talking to the Uber driver who I find out is a screenwriter. I tell him why I am going to Studio City and who I am about to interview. The driver asks me about the podcast. I describe an interview I just listened to and my Uber driver tells me he took an acting course with this man. Bobby Moresco (Crash, Million Dollar Baby) an Academy Award winning writer, director and producer. During his conversation with Mick, Moresco talks about his life that began in the Hell’s Kitchen section of New York City and how with perseverance, talent and hustle he found his way to Hollywood. It was fascinating. Energizing.

The Uber driver asks me about my life and when I tell him I am a psychoanalyst he tells me about an ex-girlfriend who went to school to be a therapist. Our conversation unfolds, we share stories and when it is time to go interview Mick we exchange business cards. Somehow this encounter that takes place outside of Mick’s office feels fitting. It makes sense. Mick is all about change encounters.

 

My friends start listening to TMBS.

 

“You’re right,” they tell me.

 

So what is it about Mick? What’s his story?

 

On his IMDb page you can quickly glace at his background: Co-executive producer for Necessary Roughness, Supervising producer for Breakout Kings, he’s worked on other shows –too, Detroit 1-8-7, Chicago P.D., Law and Order: SVU, and also he wrote his own movie, No Place Like Home.

 

My friend who is a recovering alcoholic listens to her first TMBS podcast.

 

When I run into her in the produce aisle of our local market we spend 20 minutes in front of the eggplants and carrots talking about the podcast she just listened to, the Nestor Rodriquez (comedian/podcaster/producer) episode. She loved it.

 

Another club member.

 

I knew she would like Mick. On his podcast Mick talks about his own struggles with alcohol and drugs, his path to sobriety and being in recovery. He speaks with honesty about his addictions and his guests often share stories about their addictions and recovery.

 

So here is what happens when I finally meet Mick Betancourt.

 

He greets me outside of his office, we go inside, and I settle down on a couch across from him. After seeing me fumble around with the recording gadget on my phone Mick offers to use his equipment to record it and later he sends me a copy.

 

I tell Mick I want to write a story about podcasting for the LA Times and that I want to ask him some questions. I ask if it is okay to have more of a rambling conversation and I am not at all surprised when he agrees.

So for the next hour and a half Mick talks and I listen. I talk and Mick listens.

Mick feels more somber, a bit more serious than he does on his podcast. But his presence is palpable. Within minutes I am following his train of thought, all else becomes quiet, there is just something about Mick that embodies a knowingness about not knowing, when he speaks there is just no artifice.

 

I hear stories about his childhood friends and their capers and I also hear stories about hunger, loneliness and fear.

Flying back to Seattle a few days later, thinking about my interview with Mick, a persistent thought plants itself inside my brain: Mick Betancourt has experienced far too many traumas for any young boy to endure. For anyone to endure.

 

Yet, Mick is not bitter. In fact, he leads with gratitude. A lot of gratitude.

 

Mick’s own hustle and how he figured out how to thrive is what motivates him to do a podcast each week. He interviews people who share their stories of how they became who they are.

What is hard?

What did you have to overcome?

What lessons do you want to share?

 

Toward the end of our conversation I ask Mick what it is like for him to do interviews and how he gets his guests to open up and talk about adversity and hustles.

Mick tells me, “I trade horses.” Embarrassingly, I’ve never heard this expression so he explains it to me. Mick believes that in order for his guests to open up and be more revealing then he too must be willing to do the same thing. Hence, trading horses. After listening to about 60 of Mick’s interviews this is what I know for sure, Mick Betancourt is a damn good horse trader.

 

Some of my favorite interviews are with Nikki Toscano; writer and producer, David Rodriquez; writer and director, Joe Sabatino; writer, director, pro football player. The majority of Mick’s guests are in the entertainment field but Mick also interviewed his hairdresser, Jason Edwards because he found his life story and hustle interesting.

 

There are a few interviews where Mick is laughing so hard he is gasping for air. I love these moments. One that stands out for me is an episode in December 2014. For the second time, Mick was interviewing Nick Santora, writer, producer, director, husband, dad, and author. I listened to Nick’s first interview and loved hearing how he went from New York lawyer, to his first writing gig for the Sopranos and all his shows that followed.

 

Nick had just come out with a children’s book, I Want an Alien for Christmas. Mick starting talking with Nick and listeners could sense that these two men had a history, a familiarity. Mick was trying to ask Nick questions and Nick was being silly, avoidant and quite funny. The more serious Mick got the sillier Nick became, farting noises included. Mick gave into the mood and joined in with the goofiness. I felt like I was listening to two fifth grade boys during recess except these two fifth grade boys have enough combined talent and energy to light up all of California.

 

I continue to tell my friends to listen to the Mick Betancourt Show.

 

Now, in addition to saying, “trust me” I add:

 

Mick is one of the most inspiring human beings I’ve encountered.

 

 Congratulations on your 100th episode, Mick Betancourt.

 

****

I am truly humbled by her essay. I never imagined in a million years I would move somebody like that let alone try and do it a 100 times. Thank you all so much for being a part of this and THANK YOU Rachel for taking the time to let me (and now the rest of the listeners) what you think of the podcast!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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