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Need a job? You might be able to get one here if you're blue enough.

This is to remind you once more that tomorrow, my pal Earl Kress and I will be back on Stu's Show, the keystone program on Shokus Internet Radio, which is part of the vast Live365 network. We'll be blabbing about TV animation for two hours, beginning at 4 PM Pacific Time. The show is live and you can call in and ask questions or you can call in and answer host Stuart Shostak's trivia questions. Or you can just listen to us yak.

But now here's the big announcement! We'll have a special, surprise guest on the program. Who is it? Earl and I are keeping it a secret and not just from you. We haven't even told Stu yet who it is…and we won't until after we're on the air. He loves game shows. We're going to make him guess who it is.

Our surprise guest, who'll be joining us via phone for a little while, is a great cartoon voice performer. Way back in the late fifties and on into the early sixties, this person did voices on a number of classic cartoon shows that you've probably heard. In fact, one of my all-time favorite cartoon characters was voiced by this person. What's more, this is a voice performer who to my knowledge has never been interviewed about those days in any public forum, so this will be a "first."

You can listen to the show tomorrow afternoon by going to this website and selecting an audio browser. (Note: If you log in just before the show starts at 4PM Pacific, there's a slight chance that you'll get bumped off when the show starts. If that happens, just log right back in and it shouldn't happen again. There's some sort of glitch in the Live365 software that occasionally does that when a station switches from pre-recorded programming to live.)

Hope you'll tune in. If you love old TV cartoons, you'll very much enjoy "meeting" our surprise guest star.

This Thursday evening — and again, early next Monday morning — Turner Classic Movies is running They Shoot Horses, Don't They? This was the 1969 feature directed by Sydney Pollack and starring Jane Fonda, Michael Sarrazin and Gig Young in a downer tale about old time marathon dances. Depressing? No more than watching small, helpless animals die. But the film was oddly entertaining in its way.

I saw it twice when it first came out, both times at the Picwood Theater in West Los Angeles. The first viewing was with a bunch of guys I knew, one of whom I discovered that afternoon had a dread fear of the cinema device known as the Flash Forward. He believed that films should be structured in a linear, chronological manner with one event after another. He could occasionally tolerate a flashback because, after all, in real life we sometimes talk about things that occurred in the past. But we do not have a clear glimpse of the future and this fellow hated it when a movie did.

They Shoot Horses contains a couple of Flash Forwards. When the first one came on the screen, we all felt our friend freeze and shudder. Softly, we could all hear him mutter, "Oh, dear God…no. Not Flash Forwards!" The second time, he rocked in his seat as if slammed in the face and after that, he sat there whimpering until the next one. When the third Flash Forward occurred, that was all he could take. He jumped to his feet and screamed out, "No, no! Not Flash Forwards! NOT FLASH FORWARDS!!!" And he began squeezing past everyone's feet, trying to get to the aisle with the same urgency as if the theater was ablaze. Everyone told him to shut the hell up but there was no stopping the guy. In fact, he couldn't understand how the rest of us were sitting there so peacefully, pretending to be enjoying a movie that contained the unspeakable horror of Flash Forwards.

When he reached the aisle, he sprinted up and out of the theater. Being true friends, we decided to just forget about him and enjoy the film, which we did. After it was over, we found him sitting in the lobby with half a box of Milk Duds, still shivering and murmuring to himself, "Flash Forwards…brrr…"

A few days later, walking in Westwood, I ran into a young lady I'd known casually in high school and lusted after from afar. This was early 1970, as I recall…seven months or so after we'd both graduated and gone our separate ways. We got to talking and as I attempted to angle the conversation around to the topic of perhaps dating, she noticed a bus go by with an ad on it for They Shoot Horses, Don't They? Unknowingly making my job easy, she said, "You know, I really want to see that movie. Have you seen it?" I said no — not the biggest lie a male ever told a female, but a lie nonetheless. When I suggested we view it together the following Saturday evening, she agreed and even offered to drive since I didn't. (I started to ask her, "You aren't bothered by Flash Forwards, are you?" but didn't just in case she was and that would cause her to cancel.)

As dates went it was among the worst of my life, starting with the moment she picked me up and I asked her how she was feeling. She began a non-stop monologue about how she hated her mother, loathed her father, wanted to see her brothers and sisters all killed in a fiery car crash, thought her boss at work should be in prison, was deep in debt, hadn't slept in weeks, thought all men were evil and was experiencing menstrual problems that were agonizing to her and everyone around her. This went on all the way to dinner, throughout the meal and up until the moment the movie began. The graphic descriptions of her cramps and bleeding were expertly timed to coincide with the arrival of our entrees at the restaurant. I didn't eat a lot.

Finally, we made it to the Picwood and They Shoot Horses, Don't They? The people exiting from the previous showing looked depressed because, well, the film just had that effect on the normal person. Having listened to Sunshine Sally for the previous hour and a half, I was thoroughly dejected on the way in and I recall thinking, "Boy, I'm really going to be cheery by the time this is over." But an odd thing happened when the movie started. My lady friend loved it. The cynicism and pessimism didn't bother her one bit…and neither did the Flash Forwards. She just sat there, enjoying the hell out of the movie. The more miserable the people were on the screen, the more she liked it. In the first scene where one of the main characters dies (I won't tell you which one in case you haven't seen it), she had a big grin on her face and she emitted a small but audible cheer. The worse things got for the people on the screen, the more she liked it.

I was so amazed at my date's reaction that I hardly watched the film at all. At the end, she was happier than when she'd gone in and I had to ask her why. The answer was along the lines of, "It cheers me up to see people whose lives are so much worse off than mine." She told me that sometimes, she liked to page through the newspaper, savoring all the stories about people who'd died in horrible accidents. I guess I can understand that…but not really. This was not exactly schadenfreude. It was some sort of even more perverse enjoyment of the misery of others.

After that, she drove me home, parking a few doors away so, I guess, we could engage in a bit of physical contact without the chance that my parents would look out the window and see us. I think that's what she had in mind but for the only time in my adolescent life, I wasn't interested in any of that. I didn't know if she'd have a bad time if she liked it or a good time if she didn't. Matter of fact, I felt like I needed to end that date a.s.a.p. and did. There was no second date.

I haven't seen They Shoot Horses, Don't They? since then. I've set my TiVo and I'm going to watch it in the next week or so, but first I'm going to try to get myself in the same frame of mind as that lady. She obviously enjoyed it a lot more than I did. You will too if you watch it from her point of view. Especially if you don't mind Flash Forwards.

This is the finale from the revival of A Chorus Line currently playing on Broadway.

It seems like a pretty good performance of the number but I dunno…I'm planning my next New York trip at the moment and deciding what I want to see. Somehow, A Chorus Line ain't making my list. I liked the show the first time I saw it…and the second time and the third time. Around the fifth, it started to feel like a parody of itself…and of course, the movie version ruined it further. So I can't summon up the interest just now, though I will admit this is a pretty snazzy version of the closing song…

Various comic book news sites (Newsarama, for example) are reporting that artist Marshall Rogers has passed away — at the age of 57 from as-yet unknown causes. I have nothing to add to what is being posted elsewhere. Condolences to his friends and family.

I've been telling you people about the Monster Crows that I've been seeing in my area lately. Some of those birds must be three or four hundred pounds and every so often, I see them cracking open a Mazda the same way normal-sized birds break into peanuts. Here, thanks to my pal Dana Gabbard, is an article about the crows. It doesn't mention anything about how huge they're getting but I understand that's because no one wants to alarm the population.

The L.A. Times has a report on last Saturday's memorial service for Richard Jeni. I almost attended this but I'm on a deadline and had to choose between this one or the Sunday memorial for Ron Carey.

At the Carey memorial, a couple of folks were talking about the Jeni memorial, complaining that at least one speaker treated the event like an Open Mike audition of his stand-up act. That is (sadly) a not-uncommon occurrence at show biz memorial services. There always seems to be at least one person at the lectern who forgets about the deceased and talks at length about themselves. As you might expect, it's never the Biggies who do this. It's the folks for whom it's a rare treat to be in front of an audience…especially an audience that contains someone who might give them a big career break. You wish someone would tell them that no one has ever been "discovered" at a funeral.

Someone else was saying the true tragedy of Richard Jeni is that death-by-depression is always curable. I don't think that's so, even with properly administered medication. I'm thinking now of a couple of acquaintances who took their own lives…but those lives were in such disrepair that being depressed was perfectly understandable and maybe even not the least of their problems. The sad, stunning thing about Jeni is that apparently his life wasn't in bad shape. One reader of this site wrote me to suggest that Jeni had cause for gloom; that he wasn't as successful as a Leno or Letterman or Seinfeld and that most of his upcoming bookings were at grindhouse comedy clubs in hick towns. I don't think that's a true picture…and even it was, the man had still attained a stature that most comedians would envy. Based on the success of his recent cable specials, he certainly had offers and opportunities for even better things.

Still, you never know quite what others want out of their lives. I certainly know people who've set impossible goals for themselves, almost to the extent of ensuring their own inability to reach them. Was Jeni that kind of guy? I have no idea and the folks who knew him well don't seem to, either. I suspect that's why a lot of them went to that memorial service…to see if they could get a clue or two towards solving that riddle.

At the end of every episode of the old game show, What's My Line?, there was the famous Mystery Guest segment for which the panel would don blindfolds and attempt to guess the identity of some celebrity. Over the years, hundreds of stars from the world of show business and sports signed in, then attempted to disguise their famous voices while answering the panelists' questions.

The big achievement, of course, was that the show managed to get someone every week. It was done live for most of its existence so it was not possible to delay if someone didn't show or showed up late or even showed up drunk. The producers were quite prepared for this to happen and they had two emergency plans if they were suddenly caught without a Mystery Guest at the crucial moment. One was for the show's Executive Producers, Mark Goodson and Bill Todman, to go on as Mystery Guests. The other was for the show's host, John Daly, to pretend to be a Mystery Guest.

In the show's eighteen year history, they came close a number of times to using the first of these fallback plans. At least twice, Goodson and Todman were backstage, waiting to "enter and sign in, please" when the actual Mystery Guest made a last second appearance. (Goodson and Todman did go on as Mystery Guests a couple of times for anniversary episodes but these were planned, not because someone hadn't shown up.) The idea of Daly as Mystery Guest occurred to a lot of people over the years and it was constantly suggested to the program staff. They agreed it would be funny but wanted to save it for the night when it might be needed.

When it came time to select a Mystery Guest for the final broadcast on September 3, 1967, someone realized there was no point in saving the idea for the future. The show had no future. It was also, obviously, appropriate for the last show. So Daly pretended to be a Mystery Guest, attempting to stump a panel that consisted of Martin Gabel, Arlene Francis, Steve Allen and Bennett Cerf. Let's see how he did…

Andrew Sullivan on how Karl Rove has bungled his attempts to forge a "permanent Republican majority."

So about forty minutes ago, I'm in my friendly neighborhood CVS Pharmacy and a lady shopper comes up to me. She says her "favorite actor in the whole world" is over in the next aisle…and I guess she's so excited about it that she has to tell someone. So she tells me and naturally, I ask, "And who might that be?"

She says, "John Candy," and my immediate thought is just what yours would be in this situation: "I don't think so." As I'm thinking that, she's telling me how much she loved him in Planes, Trains and Automobiles.

Let's leave aside the question of how someone could be your "favorite actor in the whole world" and yet you're unaware they died thirteen years ago. Let's just focus on what I should do. Should I tell this young woman (she's about forty, I'd guess) that she didn't just spot John Candy in the Toothpaste Section, across from where they sell the Just For Men hair color? Or should I let her keep her little fantasy of having seen her fave in person? She'll probably find out one of these days…but is it my business to shatter her happiness?

Just then, she points to a gap in the aisles and says, "There he is," and I can see the person she thinks is John Candy. There, wearing a green t-shirt and shorts, is Andy Richter. "Do you think it would be okay if I went up to him and asked for an autograph?" she asks me.

I think to myself, "Hmm…I wonder if Andy Richter would enjoy being mistaken for John Candy. He might get a great anecdote out of it, one he could tell on his next talk show appearance. Or he might just feel insulted…I don't know." I decide to save the lady the embarrassment and I break it to her, as kindly as I can, that John Candy passed away some time ago.

She asks me, "Are you sure?"

I tell her I'm sure.

She turns and walks off, looking very sad indeed. I don't know if she's sad just because her "favorite actor in the whole world" is dead or if she's sad because she feels humiliated by her mistake. Either way, it sure doesn't feel like I've done this woman a favor. I should have let her go up and tell Andy Richter how good he was in Planes, Trains and Automobiles. If he was insulted, too bad. He could handle it.

Here we see the cast of a great TV show named Barney Miller. The short guy in the center is Ron Carey who, as noted here, passed away in mid-January.

This afternoon, a bunch of his friends — and he had many — gathered at the Improv in Hollywood for a lovely memorial service. Among those who spoke were the two men on either side of him in the photo, Max Gail and Steve Landesberg. We also heard from Mel Brooks and from the team of Jerry Stiller and Anne Meara, and others, plus there was a lovely tribute video edited by Chuck McCann.

(Forgive the abrupt change of topic but I seemed to have picked up Billy Connolly's disdain for sticking with a topic. People keep asking me about this. There are two Chuck McCanns in show business. There's the Chuck McCann who got famous hosting a kid's show in New York and who's now a busy character actor and cartoon voice actor and one of my best pals. There's also the Chuck McCann who's a film editor, whose credit you'll see on most of the Charlie Brown cartoons, among other places. Those are totally separate Chuck McCanns…but just to confuse you, the film I'm describing was edited by Chuck McCann the Actor. Back to Ron…)

The afternoon went long, as these things so often do. At the end of it, Anne Meara yelled out, "When we got here, I was still menstruating!" Everyone recalled Ron as a lovely, friendly guy who never missed a chance to help his friends and even some total strangers. Many recalled that before he was a successful character actor, Ron had quite a career as a stand-up comedian. Emcee Budd Friedman, who operates the Improv, remarked, "The thing about Ron — and I remember this with a lump in my throat — is that he was the first comedian I had to pay." That alone assures the guy his immortality.

We pause now for a commercial…two of them, in fact. Both are for Kellogg's Corn Flakes and feature Cornelius, the rooster who for many years has been intermittently seen on boxes of the cereal. Kellogg's tried a couple of times to use Corny as a commercial spokescritter but he never quite caught on as a real character. For this series of spots, his voice was done by the legendary western actor, Andy Devine. For a time before that, Mr. Devine was associated with Kellogg's Corn Pops, doing their commercials and appearing on the box.

I don't know who the little kid is in these commercials, though he looks a little like Brandon Cruz, who starred with Bill Bixby in the seventies sitcom, The Courtship of Eddie's Father. Whoever he is, his voice in these spots has been dubbed by Dick Beals, whom we mention often in this weblog as we speak of old commercials and cartoons. In the second of the two ads, we have Paul Frees voicing a supporting character. I think Hanna-Barbera did the animation in both. Here they are…

Yesterday, the House okayed a bill that would provide funds to continue the war in Iraq but with a mandatory timetable for withdrawal. I have no idea if that's a good idea or even if the representatives who voted for it all think it's a good idea. My omnipresent cynicism suspects the more immediate goal may be to force Bush to veto the bill, thereby taking even more responsibility for the war.

That was my suspicion when they passed it. I thought it was Political Theater, even though that precise term didn't pass through my noggin at the time they did it. I picked it up a little later when George W. Bush appeared in front of a microphone and accused the Democrats in Congress — though oddly not the three Republicans who voted for it and gave it a scintilla of non-partisan veneer — of "Political Theater."

And I thought, "Hey, he's right." If Bush knows about anything, it's Political Theater. In fact, he made this pronouncement from a lectern, flanked by members of the Armed Forces in uniform. Why were they there? They were props in a display of Political Theater staged to denounce someone else's Political Theater.

I think both sides are more interested in scoring points with voters than in doing what's right for our country and our soldiers. If the Democrats were primarily interested in doing the right thing, the bill wouldn't have been loaded down with irrelevant spending, thereby muddying its purpose and giving a few swing votes a chance to oppose it and claim they did so because of the pork. And if Bush were primarily interested in doing the right thing, he'd stop using our troops as window dressing and engage Congress on a bi-partisan basis…and I don't mean "bi-partisan" the way he always does, which is to demand they give in to him on everything.

The sense I get after following all the back-and-forth is that if we pull out of Iraq now or even soon, an awful lot of people are going to die…and if we stay there, an awful lot of people are going to die. And whichever way we go, we're going to have to listen to the side that didn't get their way blame all the deaths that occur on the side that did. So at the moment, it comes down to deciding which of two bad alternatives will do less damage and destruction. I'm not sure I trust either side to make that decision on the proper basis. Not as long as they're more interested in engaging in Political Theater.

Following a sumptuous repast at the Souplantation, my friend Carolyn and I went to see one of the funniest men on this planet, Billy Connolly. It was his closing night of a brief stand at the Brentwood Theater in Westwood and the place was packed with celebrities. If Billy hadn't shown up for some reason, half the folks in the audience — which included John Lithgow, Eddie Izzard and Ricky Jay — were probably qualified to get up on stage and perform in his stead.

Fortunately, Mr. Connolly was there. He came out around 8:05 and talked until about 10:20, careening madly from topic to topic with A.D.D. delivery. He'd start Anecdote #1 and stop halfway through to discourse on the completely unrelated Topic A. This would remind him of Anecdote #2 which he'd start and get most of the way through before he was suddenly reminded of Anecdote #3, whereupon he'd stop #2 (which he never would finish) and tell #3, then rattle on for a while about Topic B, then go back and finish Anecdote #1, which would lead into Anecdote #4 and Topics C, D and E, interrupted by additional thoughts on A. By halfway through, people were not only howling at the anecdotes and topics, they were laughing at the sheer speed with which he jumped from one to another.

It's difficult to tell you what all he talked about. He discussed Los Angeles and weird people in his native Scotland. He told a story about a dwarf on a bus and another one about a dog howling on a movie set. He discussed drug use, his career as a musician, a couple of cars he used to own, religion, obnoxious people, women who vomited on him and a great many other issues of vital concern. What he talked about didn't matter a whole heap. It was just enormous fun being with him for that spell of time.

I don't know where he's appearing next but if it's anywhere near you, get a ticket. And if you can stop at the Souplantation on the way there and have the Creamy Tomato Soup, so much the better. A great evening.

Over on the BBC website, there's an article about Stan Lee that may set some sort of record for the most errors ever in an article about someone in the comic book industry. They don't even get his birth name right, which you can do with about ten seconds of Googling.

If you know about comic book history, take a look but treat it as one of those "How many mistakes can you find in this picture?" exercises. If you don't know about comic book history, don't click. No wonder the author didn't take a byline.