Right now, I have the world’s worst leak in my bathroom. We’re talking mushy bulbous protrusions in the wall and ceiling with occassional showers of brown murky liquid. Calls have been made and, at least for today, my shower was creatively taken, with deft acrobatic movements across dry areas of the floor birfurcated by an orange bucket and a sporadic downpour. Couldn’t happen to a shadier guy.

All this is a great inconvenience and it means that the hours I have set aside to relax this weekend will instead be spent contending with maintenance men. But instead of panicking, I’m thinking to myself: What would Jack Warden do? RIP Jack. You played a fantastic S.O.B. with a heart of gold.