From the Jill Schwartz Memorial Library here in the wilds of Connecticut.

This is obscure season four in American tragedy.

I'm your host, your friend, your ear lover, and literary, mansplainer-in-chief Michael Ian Black.

And all this past week, the Jill Schwartz Memorial Library has been in a state of squalor.

You might even go so far as to say disrepair.

You know, when you move into a, in a home, no matter how lovely the home is, even if it is a mid-century masterpiece,

there's things you're going to want to change.

And the Jill Schwartz Memorial Library, located as it is in the lower level of the mid-century masterpiece,

it's not a basement, it is a lower level.

Came complete with bookcases, but friends's not a basement. It is a lower level. Came complete with bookcases,

but friends, not nearly enough. So we have been in construction this last week. And when I say we,

I'm not including myself in that because I do not construct. But we hired some guys. They're building bookcases.

They're also building like a built-in storage media center slash bookcase. It's basically a built-in for the TV.

And, you know, because we downsized the house, we've got more stuff than the house can accommodate.

So we've been trying to get rid of stuff, but we also just need more storage.

So this new built-in will create storage.

The result of all of this is a library in squalor.

So much so that when Robin nudged me earlier in the week, and she said,

are you recording or what? Dickhead? And she didn't use the word dickhead, but the tone suggested.

I said, truthfully, I can't, I don't even know where the book is. You know, there's just so much

mess and construction detritus and all the rest of it that I

had to don biohazard gear to come into the Jill Schwartz Memorial Library.

...