Certain people just carry with them a layer of crust, the accumulated grime of take-out food, unwashed laundry, and skin that has been exfoliated at inopportune times. This is not to say such people are dirty. They are not (necessarily). They aren’t (always) like the Peanuts character Pigpen, surrounded by an aura of filth. Instead, this kind of crust is an invisible but tangible derma, a second skin protecting the clean, pink underskin from the world’s brutalities. Perhaps certain people are just too sensitive to interact with the world in such a direct and raw way. Perhaps these people simply need an additional, protective layer of crust to keep them safe, the same way a hermit crab cannot survive without its shell. Nobody says that hermit crabs are gross; so why do we say this about David? Hate, that’s why.

David Wain and his family came home with me last night after our super-secret warm-up Stella show at Brooklyn’s Union Hall. It was great to see them all and their little boy is adorable, despite the fact that he looks exactly like David Wain. Some would undoubtedly say that David is adorable, and there are times when he certainly is, but adorable isn’t the first word I think of when I think of my dear friend David. The first word I think of is crusty.

Last night when we arrived David helped himself to several slices of leftover pizza that we had been saving for a special occasion. But he didn’t know that, and so while it certainly would have been polite for him to say something like, “Can I eat this pizza” before doing so, there’s no way that he could have known that those humble slices represented the entirety of our Thanksgiving dinner. That’s okay - we still have a few cans of garbanzo beans and tuna and I’m sure we can do something really special with them.

Meanwhile David’s movie, “Role Models” continues to do very well, which he reminded us every fifteen minutes or so. For example, when I asked him if he wanted to go for a hike this afternoon, he answered by saying that “Role Models” was number three last week. After I said that had nothing to do with whether or not he wanted to go for a hike, he responded by saying he knew that but pretty soon it was going to be impossible to go for hikes like this because the success of “Role Models” would make being out in public pretty much impossible. “Now I know how Barack feels,” he said. We didn’t go on the hike.

I took them to the train this evening, after a fantastic home-cooked meal prepared by my wife. For those of you who think that I’m a sexist for not helping, think again: I did help. I made the rice and the green beans, just enough so that when dinner was over I could claim that I had cooked and therefore did not have to do the dishes and clean the kitchen. I left that to my houseguests. There is a school of thought that says you shouldn’t allow your guests to clean your kitchen and do your dishes and fold your laundry and sweep out your garage. I am not of this school. To me, one of the fun parts about visiting a foreign country, for example, is seeing how the natives live. I like to take this approach to houseguests. When people come to my estate I expect them to “pitch in.” David was up on the roof cleaning out my gutters, his common-law wife was put to work polishing the brass. I even put his little guy to work licking stray dog fur up off the floor. I budgeted just enough time to get them to the train. Which would have been great except that my clocks are apparently two minutes slow because we arrived at the train station just as the train was pulling out of the station. It was really cold outside, so I suggested warming ourselves up in a nearby coffee shop while we waited for the next train to arrive. They said they didn’t want to put me out, which I thought was very considerate. So I dumped their shit out on the street. As I drove away, I noticed the passenger seat of my car, and indeed the entire vehicle was covered in a very fine, very thin layer of crust.