I dearly appreciate your ongoing concern for my health but I got my flu shot at my doctor’s office. I don’t need a text message every twenty minutes reminding me that you have them available. Thank you.

Consider this a Head's Up! that the coming week will, like the last few days here, have a few less posts than usual. The long ones like the saga of my 2006 Gastric Bypass Surgery take longer to write and I'm also immersed in publicity stuff for my new book.

It may already be obtainable from a vendor you patronize and if you pre-ordered from Amazon, your copy is probably on a truck somewhere at this very minute.

Speaking of what I was speaking about in the first paragraph above, a reader named Trevor wrote to ask…

My question is about writing the many multi-part blog entries you have featured on the site over the decades. Do you tend to do them individually as you go along? Tell the whole story/ies in a longer writing burst and then break it up? I'm curious as to your process for all of this.

It's not much of a process. I just write one chapter ahead of myself. When Part Four is almost ready to post. I post Part Three. Some of the fun of having your own blog is trapping yourself by choice.

Writing comic books, especially "Marvel Method" if you know what that is, I always hated it when I had to do my end of the first part of a multi-issue storyline and have it go off on the assembly line to publication before I was sure what was happening in subsequent issues. Once, I even had to write the dialogue for pages 2, 3, 6, 8, 9, 11 (etc.) before I was sure what was happening on pages 1, 4, 5, 7, 10 (etc.).

But at least when I'm recounting a true story that happened to me, I know where it's going so I can take it as a challenge to post Part Six while I'm writing Part Eight. Which is what I'm doing at the moment.

This is the sixth in a series of I'm-thinking-two-or-three-more-but-don't-hold-me-to-this parts about a gastric bypass operation that I underwent in 2006. To read the first part, click here, to read the second part, click here, to read the third part, click here, to read the fourth part, click here and to read the fifth part, click here. Simple?

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Let us review. So around Noon on Wednesday, May 24th, I got a call from Beth, the Surgical Coordinator for Dr. Perfect, the surgeon who was going to be performing Gastric Bypass Surgery on me. This would take place, I'd thought, on July 26…just days after that year's Comic-Con International in San Diego. Beth was calling to discuss perhaps moving me up to Friday, May 26th. Instead of having the operation right after Comic-Con, I would have it less than 48 hours after that call. Which would mean plenty of time to recover from the procedure before Comic-Con.

But it would also mean a lot of hurried rearranging. The conversation went like this. As you read it, try to imagine a slowly-increasing tone of mild panic in my voice…

BETH: A patient we had scheduled for Friday afternoon has canceled. He says he's too scared. Dr. Perfect told me to find someone else from our list to put in that slot as I told him I wanted to put Mark Evanier in there. He said, "Who's Mark Evanier?" and I said, "He's the patient who made that joke about Minimally-Invasive Sex, remember? And Dr. Perfect said, "Oh, I liked him, yes. See if he can get the necessary tests done in time!"

ME: What are the necessary tests?

BETH: It pretty much amounts to a full physical — x-rays, blood draws, stress test, the works. I'm not able to find any way to get it all done here so you'd have to find some way to get it all done in time.

ME: Arrange for a full physical by Friday morning?

BETH: No, I'm afraid that in order to put you officially on the schedule for Friday, you'd have to have it all done by tomorrow.

ME: Get the whole thing done by the close of business tomorrow?

BETH: Well, actually, first thing tomorrow. Like by 9 AM, I'm afraid. I know it sounds impossible but I figured if anyone could figure out how to arrange it…

ME: Okay, okay. Can you fax me the list of what I have to get done? I'll do it. I don't have any idea how I'm going to get it done but I'm going to get it done.

She agreed to fax over the list, we hung up the call and I dialed the cell number of my great physician and friend, Dr. Preston. I caught him at lunch and blurted out what I needed. He said, "Get over to my office. If we have to, we'll keep it open late today to make sure you have all those tests!" At that very moment, my fax machine was printing out the list from Beth. As it did, I called a friend of mine, the great magician (and now, voice actress) Misty Lee.

Misty had a live magic show coming up and I'd agreed to spend Friday acting as a kind of director/consultant, helping her stage portions of the show. I explained to her what I'd been offered for that day and she instantly said, "We can get by without you. Go ahead and get the surgery!" Thank you again, Misty. I dunno if you saved my life but you sure saved me a lot of guilt for canceling on you.

I drove over to Dr. Preston's office where there was a jam-packed slate of patients that afternoon, many of them needing the x-ray facilities, the treadmill, the lab that did the bloodwork, etc. But they squeezed me in where they could. The office closed at 5 PM but the necessary technicians stayed late and around 6:30, I was handed a big manila envelope with all the required test results in it. I drove it over to the hospital where most departments were closed but I finally found someone who would accept delivery of the envelope. I then went home and made the necessary calls to cancel or postpone some other plans for Friday and the weekend that followed.

At 9 AM Thursday morning, Beth called to say, "I don't know how you did it but you did it. You're all set for tomorrow!"

She gave me instructions about where to be, when to be there and what not to put in my mouth that morning or the night before. If you've ever had a colonoscopy, you'd recognize most of the instructions.

People ask, "Weren't you afraid?" Nope, not really. I knew I was in good hands and I was probably more afraid of not doing something about my weight. Even though — Spoiler Alert! — it worked out well for me, I still stop short of recommending this procedure to anyone else. I will however recommend that if you need to do something about your weight, that you actually do something about your weight.

(I also recommend that you not forget that the story I'm telling you here took place in 2006. There is no medical procedure on this planet that is now performed the exact same way it was nineteen years ago.)

The next morning, I got up early and my great friend (then, now and forever) Jewel Shepard drove me to the hospital and gave a last hug to — as of that day — around 340 pounds of me.

MORE TO COME

Today was Returning Registration Day for next year’s Comic-Con International in San Diego. A specified number of tickets were available for folks who paid attendance last year and here, according to one online report, is how long they took to sell out…

• 9:00 AM – Sale starts
• 9:32 AM – Preview Night sells out
• 10:05 AM – Saturday sells out
• 10:10 AM – Friday sells out
• 10:23 AM – Thursday sells out
• 10:28 AM – Sunday sells out

I can't vouch for those precise times but I bet they aren't far off. This is 291 days before the con starts. Amazing.

I know a few pretty famous people who don't go to this convention because other cons will pay them a hefty guarantee and/or appearance fee to attend and sell autographs and the Big One in San Diego won't make those deals.

A couple of those famous people have complained to me — as if I had a smidgen of power to change things. Still, I ask them: "Why should the con pay you to be there?" And they're shocked that I or anyone would ask such a thing.

They reply, "Do you realize how many people my name will draw in?" And of course, the reply to that is that the San Diego Con sells out in a couple hours without advertising a single guest! They don't need to advertise anyone. There are just plain no more badges to sell.

This is the fifth in a series of I-still-have-no-friggin'-idea-how-many parts about a gastric bypass operation that I underwent in 2006. To read the first part, click here, to read the second part, click here, to read the third part, click here and to read the fourth part, click here.

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As you may recall, during my hospital stay in early February of 2006, I kicked my addiction to Coca-Cola, Pepsi-Cola, 7-Up, Sprite, Canada Dry Ginger Ale, Hires or A&W Root Beer and a few others…and without even trying! I'd never liked the diet versions of any carbonated beverages so I'd quaffed the sugary versions for years and they'd contributed to a lot of my weight gain. When I gave them up forever, I also increased my daily walking regimen and cut way, way back on desserts and bread.

As a result, I began losing a pound or three a month. That ain't nothing but when you're teetering at or about a top weight around 365, you need to do better. Dr. Preston was estimating that with Gastric Bypass Surgery, I would lose somewhere between a hundred and a hundred and fifty pounds. That is, if I could actually get the damned operation. I was on Dr. Perfect's esteemed list for Mid-August and I was scheduled to meet him for the first time in Mid-April. I was also told that was probably the only time I would see him before I was being prepped to be wheeled into surgery.

I was more nervous about that pre-op visit with Dr. Perfect than I would be about the operation itself. This may sound silly but I wanted Dr. Perfect to like me, to know my name and think of me as more than just Operation #7,296 or whatever number I was for him. I'd always had very good experiences when I could feel a little bond with my doctor. That was my goal the day I arrived for the appointment at his office which was in a complex called The Center for Minimally-Invasive Surgery.

The sign on that office door gave me a certain amount of confidence. This operation would have a very big impact on my life but it would be done via Minimally-Invasive means, otherwise known as Laproscopic Surgery. They made tiny holes in the patient, not big ones, and the whole process was…well, Minimally-Invasive.

Dr. Perfect's Surgical Coordinator greeted me cheerily. She was the person in charge of The List and she was so nice to me that I wish I could remember her name now. Since I can't, I'm going to call her Beth. She showed me on the schedule that I was penciled-in for August 11 and she said, "I may be able to move you up a week or two." She was surprised when I said, "Please don't." I still wanted to go to the Comic-Con in San Diego from July 20-23 and if my surgery suddenly got moved to those dates or just before, that would not be a good thing.

We got to talking and I asked her what the point of this appointment was. I asked, "Is it so he can get to know the patient?" She said, "No, it's strictly medical." Leaning in so only I could hear her, she added, "Dr. Perfect tends to not get too friendly with his patients. He's very, very good at what he does but if you're expecting him to become your buddy, I'm afraid that's not going to happen."

She was very nice and I found myself talking to her the way I talk to a close friend. I said, "I don't want him to go play basketball or hang out with me. It's just that….well…I usually don't feel comfortable around people until I've made them laugh at something I said, something I did." She gave me one of those "Poor Baby" looks and said — again, so no one else could hear — "I've known the doctor for quite some time. I wouldn't count on that happening." I'm sure she could see the disappointment on my face.

When I finally went into the examining room with Dr. Perfect, she seemed to be right. He was, of course, excellent at what he did but it was All Business. I said a few friendly/funny things (I thought) but got no reaction out of the man. As the two of us exited that room, I felt like I'd failed.

Dr. Perfect gave her some notes to add to their massive files on my physical condition, then he asked her, "Where's Dr. Miller? I haven't seen him all day." Beth told him, "Oh, today is his twentieth wedding anniversary. He took the day off so he and his wife could celebrate."

I suddenly heard myself saying, "Yeah, they're home having Minimally-Invasive Sex!"

Suddenly, Beth was laughing. Some other folks who'd overheard the exchange were laughing. But the amazing thing was that Dr. Perfect was laughing…a lot.

Beth flashed me a "thumbs up" sign as Dr. Perfect asked me to come over with him to another doctor in the office and he had me recount the exchange. It was, Dr. Perfect thought, the funniest thing he'd heard in years. He asked me, "How were you able come up with that so fast?" I replied, "I'm a comedy writer. It's kind of my job. It's like if someone asked you, 'How were able to take out that guy's gall bladder?'" And he laughed at that, too.

Dr. Perfect had other patients waiting so we shook hands and Beth walked me to the door. She said, "That's the first time I've seen that man laugh." Later that afternoon, she called and told me that my tentative surgery date of August 11 was now my firm surgery date of August 11.

It didn't stay my firm surgery date for long. The next day, she called to say they'd had some cancelations and that I was now scheduled for August 4. That was still after Comic-Con so that was fine. Then a few weeks later, I was set for July 26 — still after Comic-Con but just barely. I thanked Beth but I asked her, "Please don't move me up anymore. I'll be at Comic-Con in San Diego until the 23rd or the 24th." She said she understood and wouldn't move me again…

…but then around Noon on May 24th, Beth called and told me there were more changes on their calendar. Before she could tell me some new surgery date, I said, "Please…don't move me up another week. I've agreed to host twelve panels at Comic-Con and I don't want to have to cancel on them."

Beth said, "Don't worry. I'm not going to ask you to have the surgery during Comic-Con in July." She heard me exhale a sigh of relief and then she asked, "But how would you feel about the day after tomorrow?"

TO BE CONTINUED

TV Guide didn't realize this was the debut of one of the best comedy shows ever on television and my personal favorite. They also didn't realize that none of Sid Caesar's several TV shows was called The Sid Ceasar Show or that his name was not spelled "Sid Ceasar."

Down Memory Lane with Tim Conway…

Today is the 75th anniversary of the day a comic strip called Peanuts by someone named Charles M. Schulz first appeared in, at first, just a handful of newspapers around the country.  It eventually became the most popular comic strip in the history of mankind…and that's putting it mildly.  As you may know, I have a book coming out — apparently already for sale by some vendors — with an official release date of next week.  It looks like this…

The cheapest place to buy it is apparently Amazon and here's the link that will enable you to do that. I'm pretty pleased with it.

Your Internet and this blog will be cluttered the next month or two with interviews and podcasts and publicity about it. For instance, Forbes magazine has this interview with me which is pretty good except that it makes it sound like I picked out all the strips in the book. I did not. A whole committee listed in the book made the selections and I was but one voter.

And here's a podcast with an hour of me talking about the book…and some other things. It's John Siuntre's popular Word Balloon and I've promised to return another time soon so John can ask me about other aspects of what he thinks I've done. There will be a lot more podcasts and links on this blog in the coming weeks as I make the rounds of the Internet talking Peanuts…

Which candy is the most popular handout in your state on Halloween? I'm not sure I trust the methodology of this research but here it is. Make of it as you will.

While we're on the subject of Halloween Candy: I have frequently on this blog expressed my dislike for candy corn…and I still don't like the stuff. Readers send me a lot of jokes about candy corn and they seem unaware that around nine years ago, I gave up all candy as well as cookies, cakes, donuts, pies and anything else in the dessert category. So my feelings about candy corn now aren't that different from my feelings about M&M's, Hershey Bars, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, Milky Ways, etc.

The difference — subtle though it may be — is that I can understand how people could love those other candies. I can't understand how anyone could like candy corn. It's like hearing, "Mmm…I love a delicious mouthful of hot gravel!" But until I am granted the power to rid the planet of all food items I can't imagine ever eating, this shouldn't concern you. And if I ever do gain that power, candy corn is not even in the Top 20 on my list. Number one is, of course, cole slaw. And someday, you'll thank me for that.

A nice rendition of one of my — and, I hope, your — favorite TV theme songs…

This is the fourth in a series of I-still-have-no-idea-how-many parts about a gastric bypass operation that I underwent in 2006. To read the first part, click here, to read the second part, click here and to read the third part, click here.

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By January of 2006, after months of trying to get on Dr. Perfect's waitlist for Gastric Bypass Surgery, I was starting to seriously think I might not go through with it. That is, if I ever got on the list and if I didn't have to wait until the following decade. One thing that scared me a bit was a remark by one of the many technicians who administered medical tests I had during 2005. I don't remember which test — there were a helluva lot of them — but I remember talking to this one gent about the process and he said — well, let me see if I can re-create the conversation for you. It went something like this…

HIM: I had a buddy who had it done and it did wonders for him. He dropped a ton of weight.

ME: Did it have any downsides for him?

HIM: Well, the obvious ones…buying all new clothes, getting used to ordering tiny meals in restaurants and not being able to finish them. I'd say the biggest problem he had was the carbonation thing.

ME: What carbonation thing?

HIM: After the surgery, you have to give up carbonated drinks. No Coke, no Pepsi, no Mountain Dew…none of that stuff. Didn't anybody tell you?

No, no one had told me. That afternoon, I was on the phone to Dr. Preston who said, "Geez, I could've sworn I told you. It's not an absolute no-no but you kind of need to cut those drinks out. After the surgery, your stomach will be about the size of an egg and it'll be enough of a struggle to get enough protein into it every day without those gas bubbles filling it up. Is that a problem?"

For me, it was. One of the reason I'd gotten so large was that I was addicted to soft drinks. I was putting away around a six-pack a day…usually Pepsi or Coke during daylight hours, something without caffeine (usually 7-Up or Canada Dry Ginger Ale) in the evenings. That was so the caffeine didn't keep me up all night. Sometimes though when deadlines required me to be up all night, I used a cola or two or three to make that happen…and no, I never liked coffee.

Working well into the night was one of the things that caused me to get hooked on the stuff. Another was that there were times I'd find myself dozing off during the day or at inopportune moments like — and I actually did this — when I was driving on the freeway.  I downed a lot of colas to keep awake in those situations.

This was before I was diagnosed with Sleep Apnea. Once I was, I managed to get the dozing-off under control but I still had the addiction to sodas and, believe me, I tried to quit. Many times. I was honestly afraid that even after Gastric Bypass Surgery and massive weight loss, I'd be suffering whatever G.P.S. patients suffered as a result of chug-a-lugging a Pepsi.

On a scale of one-to-ten with "10" denoting certainty I'd go ahead full speed with the operation and "1" denoting a complete chicken-out, I was at about a "7." The news about having to quit sodas knocked me down to a "5" or "6." Fortunately in February, three things occurred that got me back up to…oh. I'd say a "9."

The first occurred on February 5, 2006. I took my lady friend Carolyn up to Freud Hall at U.C.L.A. to see the musical City of Angels — book by Larry Gelbart, lyrics by David Zippel, music by Cy Coleman. It was an excellent production of an excellent musical and because I was with Carolyn, we were late getting there. Carolyn was a lovely, talented, wonderful lady but whenever we went anywhere, even when I lied to her about when we had to be there, we were late. We got to our seats about one second before the show started and on the way in, I was in too much of a hurry to grab a program book.

Everyone in the cast was terrific but the standout performance was by the guy playing the head of the movie studio, Buddy Fidler. I didn't recognize the actor but he was incredible — funny, energetic, dynamic. I made a mental note to grab one of the ersatz Playbills at intermission and find out who this person was. When I found out, I was amazed. It was Stuart Pankin.

I'd seen Stuart Pankin in many TV shows and movies. He was very talented but he was also very chubby. Somehow, he'd lost a pretty significant amount of weight…enough to look slender and to have tremendous energy on stage. There was even one scene where he had his shirt off and I thought, "Oh, if I ever lose as many pounds as I want to, I hope I look that good with my shirt off." I left the play more determined than I'd been in a long time to undergo the Gastric Bypass Surgery.

That was 2/5/06. On 2/9/06, I was scheduled to fly up to San Francisco to be a guest and conduct panels at that year's WonderCon. I didn't make it because on 2/7/06, my feet started hurting a lot — both of them — and they were uncommonly pinkish in color. The pains kept me up much of the night and the next morning, Carolyn came over and we took a cab (since she didn't drive and I couldn't) to my podiatrist, who I'll call Dr. Bunion. He took one look at my lower extremities and asked me who my physician was. I told him it was Dr. Preston, whose office was conveniently in the same building.

Dr. Bunion phoned Dr. Preston and I heard him say, "I've got Mark Evanier in my office and I think he has Cellulitis. I'm sending him up and you need to take a look at him." We went upstairs and Dr. Preston confirmed the diagnosis. For those of you wondering what Cellulitis is…wonder no more. Here's another cut-'n'-paste from Wikipedia…

Cellulitis is usually a bacterial infection involving the inner layers of the skin. It specifically affects the dermis and subcutaneous fat. Signs and symptoms include an area of redness which increases in size over a few days. The borders of the area of redness are generally not sharp and the skin may be swollen. While the redness often turns white when pressure is applied, this is not always the case. The area of infection is usually painful.

Cellulitis, I learned, can be a very serious condition but as Dr. Preston assured me, we'd caught it so early that it was extremely treatable. "Here's what you're going to do," he said. "We're going to check you into a hospital and you're going to lie there for four or five days while they pump antibiotics into you through intravenous therapy." So they checked me into a hospital and I was in bed there for four or five days while they pumped antibiotics into me.  But first, of course, I called the folks at WonderCon and told them I wasn't coming.

It was the first time I'd been in a hospital since my age was in single digits and my appendix needed to flee my large intestine.  I remember thinking of it as kind of a rehearsal for if and when I ever got to avail myself of Dr. Perfect's specialty.  The nurses brought me three kinda-edible meals a day and then every evening, one would come by at 10 PM and check my blood sugar.  If it was below a certain number I don't remember, she'd have the hospital kitchen send up a hamburger for me, then check a half-hour after I'd eaten it to make sure my blood sugar was now in the proper range.

I'm not sure if that was the main reason but it was probably a contributing factor to what was for me, a minor miracle.  On my last day there, I suddenly realized I'd gone the entire time without a carbonated beverage.  It was not a conscious effort.  In those strange surroundings, ordering my meals from a menu that didn't include sodas as an option, it had simply not entered my mind.  I vowed then and there I would never consume another one and as I write this, I've kept that vow for over nineteen years and seven months.

So that problem was solved…and the day after I was released from the hospital, I got a call from someone in Dr. Perfect's office telling me I was on the list.  That was the good news.  The bad news was that I was scheduled for January of 2007 — eleven months away.

Dr. Preston told me to not to take that seriously.  A lot of people would drop off the list, either because they chickened or because they grew impatient (or couldn't afford to wait that long) and went to another surgeon.  A week or two later, he worked whatever magic he had at his disposal and suddenly, I was scheduled for mid-August of 2006.

I remember thinking that was a fairly good date.  That year's Comic-Con International in San Diego was July 20-23 and I didn't want to miss it.  Dr. Preston had told me that following the surgery, I should spend at least two weeks — preferably more — staying home, taking it easy.  So having G.B.S. after Comic-Con seemed preferable to having it…say, in early July.  By now, I had pretty well decided to go through with it.

There was just one possible snag: I hadn't met Dr. Perfect yet.  I had a date in early April to go in and meet him and be examined by him, after which he would do a thorough review of the medium-sized mountain of test results and scans his office had accumulated about me.  I asked Dr. Preston, "Is it possible he'll look all that and me over and find some reason not to do the surgery on me?"

"Highly unlikely," Dr. Preston said.  "I wouldn't worry about it."  And he didn't…but I did.  To be, as they say, continued.

If you grew up in Southern California, you probably got sick of TV commercials from a gent named Earl Scheib who boasted he'd paint any car any color for only $29.95. That was cheaper than any mechanic or service department but we had my mother's car painted by them once and…well, you know the old saying, "You get what you pay for?"

As I recall, there was also a lot of upselling going on — offers to do body work and other services they'd try to convince you your car desperately needed…suggestions you might be happier with the $39.95 paint job or the $49.95 paint job…various hidden charges, etc. But Mr. Scheib's $29.95 offer got you and your car onto his lot. That was the point. Here's a flashback to the commercial which back then, interrupted every old movie I tried to watch on television at least once, sometimes more than once in a single airing…

As you may know, I get an awful lot of unsolicited phone calls from solicitors who want to sell me stuff I would never in a trillion years buy or just have me give them money. They come in waves and the latest wave — because my info has gotten onto another list somewhere it shouldn't be on — is for Student Loan Settlers. These are companies that propose to somehow refinance my Student Loan so that instead of owing tens of thousands of dollars, I can make a few payments of seventy bucks and be done with it all.

At least, that's my limited understanding…limited because the callers never get through the entire sales pitch. I inform them that (a) I was last a student around 1974 and (b) I never had a Student Loan. It says something that they're placing these calls to a 73-year-old man. Are there still people who are 73 who are struggling to pay off their Student Loans? Possibly.

I've also had a recent flurry of calls asking to speak to my mother who, they are unaware, died in 2012. These calls are either about selling of fixing the home she owned but which I sold…or they're asking for donations because she sent their charity money fifteen years ago. The ones calling about the house go instantly away when I tell them the house is no longer owned by her or her heir (me). Most of the charities hang up when I tell them she's deceased and some apologize greatly for calling…

…but some of them suggest I have a duty to donate in her memory to a cause she supported a decade and a half ago. If my mother was still alive, she'd be 103 years old. I'm going to start telling the charities that call how she can't afford to donate to them because she's still paying off her Student Loan.

Who invented the Top Ten lists on David Letterman's talk shows? Well, if we're to believe this oral history, just about everyone on the premises at the time.

Donald Trump seems to have this idea that if he merely claims he's settled a war, he has, end of story. He and Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu met and proclaimed "one of the great days ever in civilization…a historic day of peace…let's call it eternal peace" and you could kind of hear Trump thinking, "My Nobel Peace Prize should be arriving any minute now." As Fred Kaplan points out, there is one thing wrong with this new peace plan: Only one side has agreed to it and the other will regard it as Near-Total Surrender.