My entire face and head are sunburnt.
Dyna Moe is sunburnt.
Ellie Kemper is sunburnt.
Paul Rondeau is sunburnt.

For some reason, I didn’t imagine this happening when I decided to film on the beach in April. It wasn’t particularly warm. The sun did not seem particularly bright. But here I am—my face feeling as though its been stung by a hundred wasps.

Have you seen my show “Mister Glasses”? It’s good, I think.

The next episode will prominently feature this Western Electric model 500 telephone:

It was designed by Henry Dreyfuss and released in 1949. When you think “rotary telephone” you think of this phone. This is the phone of your early childhood, but perhaps it was in beige or green, maybe with touch-tone buttons. AT&T was responsible for the upkeep of these phones. As I understand it, when you signed up for phone service, you were given one of these, but they were owned by the company. Strange. It explains why they’re so mind-bogglingly sturdy. Nothing today is designed like a model 500 telephone; it is a phone designed as if under a Communist regime, a phone where the makers were hoping it would never break down. Today we design phones to be thrown in the garbage.

a woman’s business suit and blouse.
a beret.
a replica 9mm pistol.
another pistol.
a bb gun.
a mirror.

Or, rather, I used to be an improviser. But because I’m not up on stage that much anymore, what I do now doesn’t really feel like comedy. It feels like filmmaking. It feels slow. I miss improv.

In late 1998, I came to New York and got a job working as an admissions counselor at the School of Visual Arts. Half of the year, I’d drive around to High Schools in New Jersey and give slide presentations to aspiring young artists on the wonders of an SVA education; the other half of the year, I’d sit in an office and do paperwork and give the occasional portfolio review to a prospective student. I’d sit in my office typing out information about Northeast High Schools into fields in FileMaker Pro and I’d think, “so this is what my life will be like…” So I decided to have a mental breakdown.

And then I enrolled in improv classes at the Upright Citizens Brigade Theatre. And after a while, I was able to force myself onto one of their house improv teams. I liked improv. longform improv, passed down from Del Close to me.

And then I was kicked off of the team and I thought, “I guess I’ll start doing sketch shows or something.” At the UCBT, you’re not kicked off a team by your fellow teammates, you’re kicked off by the artistic director of the theater.

Here are some reasons why I think I didn’t make it as an improviser:
1. frightened on stage.
2. a dislike of fellow teammates
3. characters always assumed “gay”

Does anyone want to improvise with me again?

This morning, Kaveri held up a torn piece of toast covered in jam and asked if it would make a good painting.

Yes.

Also, on the Helvetica front, our five-dollar bill now has a big purple 5 on it. People don’t seem to like it. For me, I would like a bill with only a big purple five on it.

I am alive.

Here is a leather messenger bag I bought in India:

It was made by Hidesign—a leathergoods company based in Pondicherry.
Here is an article.

India was like this: