I find myself this morning in receipt of many an e-mail telling me, in terms only slightly more polite, that I'm a lunkhead and that the Disney TV series on which Texas John Slaughter appeared was called The Wonderful World of Color and not, as I asserted, Disneyland. No, I'm right about this. When it was in black-and-white on ABC, it was called Disneyland and when it switched in 1962 to NBC and was broadcast in color, then and only then was it called The Wonderful World of Color. It would not have been called The Wonderful World of Color when it was on ABC, back when I had Scarlet Fever. At the time, ABC was not in color. I, however, was a delightful shade of crimson.

I finally got around to watching the new production of Company that debuted recently on PBS. It's a record of the recent Broadway revival that was much-praised for its unique staging which most notably had all the actors carry instruments and occasionally play them. I was curious as to how this served the material…and I think I get it. Everyone on stage is making music from the start…everyone except Bobby, the guy who can't commit to a relationship. He only makes music twice in the show: Once, at a point where he still isn't ready to open himself up to another, he hauls out a kazoo and fakes a tune, only to find himself playing an awkward, unfinished solo. All his friends who are then on stage with him are couples and therefore able to perform in satisfying duets. Then at the end, when he comes to his moment of realization that this is not how he chooses to live, he instantly learns how to play the piano and sings "Being Alive." Because we all know you can't play a real musical instrument if you aren't in a relationship.

It's a cute, probably effective idea then and there, especially because Raúl Esparza really does sing the hell out of "Being Alive." That tune alone is worth, as they say, the price of admission and probably was on Broadway when tix were a hundred per. The actors-as-orchestra concept seems counter-productive in other moments, especially when others in Bobby's world seem to be hiding behind their instruments. One of the problems I've always had with Company, and why I like parts of it a lot but not the whole, is that the couples he knows seem so utterly dysfunctional. I don't like any of those people and don't see why Bobby has any reason to covet their lifestyles, other than the questionable premise that if you're going to be a neurotic, maybe it's better to pair off with another neurotic and share the experience. There is, of course, a solid case that can be made for the show's premise that you have to love somebody, not some body, but I don't think the show makes it. Matter of fact, I think on some levels, it argues the opposite.

The capper, "Being Alive," is a great song. I just don't see how Bobby gets to it…or why he gets to it. All of his male friends envy Bobby his freedom. All his female friends strike me as the "wrong" woman for him, especially the one he claims to want to marry. One friend of each gender wants to have recreational sex with him. How does any of this lead him where it leads him?

Still, the music was quite good, and Company was probably in dire need of a true staging rethink, getting away from the "seventies" look and feel that most productions seem to have. I always find this show fascinating and usually worth watching, though every time I see a version of it, I find myself looking past the great moments and regretting that they never seem to add up for me.

I recently found an old photo in my files and I thought you might enjoy hearing the tale behind it.  That's not it up above.  We'll get to it.

Around 1958 at the tender age of six, I came down with Scarlet Fever, a nasty little disease that had me confined to bed for several months. Most of this was spent reading — my obsession with comic books became especially acute during this period — and my father borrowed a little black-and-white TV from someone and set it up in my room so I could watch my favorite shows. He did this when he wasn't scurrying out to buy me more comic books or more comic books or more comic books. Did I ever tell you what a terrific father I had? Nicest man in the world and that's not just my opinion. They had a big vote and he won in a landslide.

One program that I watched often was Disneyland, the Walt Disney extravaganza that was then on ABC, and I especially watched it the weeks they featured a recurring western series called Texas John Slaughter. Every third or fourth week, the show would be given over to the adventures of the pioneer/cowboy hero, who was played by a handsome actor named Tom Tryon. More importantly, his wife was played by a wonderful actress named Betty Lynn. Betty has had a splendid career in films and television, working with practically everyone since the days she was a child star under contract to Twentieth-Century Fox, but if you know of her, it's probably for one role in particular. After Mr. Disney stopped making episodes of Texas John Slaughter, she went over and took the role of Thelma Lou, lady friend of Barney Fife (Don Knotts) on The Andy Griffith Show.

Why was I so interested in Betty Lynn? Easy. She lived next door to us. Betty was like my surrogate aunt. I still talk to her all the time and treat her as one would treat a close relative. A lovely woman…and she was not only our neighbor, not only a TV and movie star…she was even, in a Dell comic book drawn by my future collaborator Dan Spiegle, a comic book character!

One day, Tom Tryon was visiting her. Mr. Tryon later got out of acting and became a very successful author, but this was back when he was not only acting but Texas John Slaughter was a hit series and he was a pretty big star. Before they left for wherever they were going, Betty happened to mention to him that the little boy who lived next door was quite ill. Tryon instantly said, "Well, let me go visit him," and they came over…

…and you want to know what I remember of that visit? Absolutely nothing. Because I slept through it.

I'd been given some sort of medication that knocked me out and my parents were unable to wake me up to meet Tom "Texas John Slaughter" Tryon. They finally gave up and it was only later that evening, when I finally did come out of my drug-induced coma, that they told me he'd been there.

So that's the story of how I didn't meet a then-famous TV star…though I do have a souvenir of his visit. Look at what he left me!

For the first time in I-don't-know-how-long, I'm putting up the can of Campbell's Cream of Mushroom Soup, which is an ancient Internet tradition, first invented by Leonardo da Vinci in the year 1502, I believe. It's the universal symbol for "too busy to post on the weblog or answer most e-mail."

In Lennie's case, he was busy painting the Mona Lisa and inventing Spaghetti-Os, the neat round spaghetti you can eat with a spoon. In my case, I have scripts that are due. I will be back with you as soon as the fiery hordes of deadlines are no longer singeing the hairs on my neck with their flaming exhales. Might be a few days. Might be sooner. Aloha!

Quite a few people (more than fifty) have written to tell me that Gary Gygax, the inventor (or maybe the co-inventor) of the game, "Dungeons & Dragons," died the other day. Many are writing on the presumption that since I haven't noted his passing here, I must not have noticed…or that I have and am deliberately ignoring it. One fellow on an Internet message board has vaulted to an especially erroneous assumption. Noting that I developed the Dungeons & Dragons cartoon series that was on CBS in the eighties, the fellow presumes that I am snubbing Mr. Gygax, "speaking volumes" with my silence in not honoring a man, he is sure, I must have worked with and for. He wrote, "What kind of grudge could Evanier be nursing that he has ignored the death of a close associate?"

Here's a pretty simple reply: I never met Gary Gygax, never worked with or for him, know absolutely nothing about him and — and here's the part you may not believe but it's true — never even played "Dungeons & Dragons." I was sorry to see the passing of a man who was responsible for something that brought so much joy to so many…but that's about all I can think of to say here. I'm sure there are others on the 'net who have something of substance to offer, and I'm sorry I don't. I'm especially sorry (in a different way) that anyone would assume any disrespect being implied to anyone's passing.

Stu Shostak's got a pair of great guests for tomorrow's live webcast of everyone's favorite Internet radio program about vintage television, Stu's Show. Tomorrow, he welcomes Ken Osmond and Frank Bank, who played Eddie Haskell and Lumpy Rutherford (respectively) on the classic sitcom, Leave It To Beaver. How great is that? You can listen in as Stuart interviews them or phone in and interview them, yourself. They'll tell you about working on that legendary program and about their lives since. (Frank is now a successful investment counselor, Eddie Ken has retired from the L.A.P.D.)

If you're a Beav fan, you are so there…and "there" is Shokus Internet Radio, which can be heard on any computer that receives the Internet at anything faster than about ten words a minute. This is not a podcast that you can access at any hour or download. This is a live broadcast and you have to listen in when it's on, which is tomorrow (Wednesday) at 4 PM Pacific Time, 7 PM in the East. (The show repeats throughout the week, usually in the same time slot, but it's more fun to listen live.) Just go to the website for Shokus Internet Radio at the proper time and do as instructed. In fact, you can go there right now and see how easy it is and maybe find another show you'll enjoy. The station is up and on the web 24/7 with programming that oughta delight anyone who finds it worth their time to come to this site.

It was Bob Williams who had the act with the dog that didn't do anything. See? I remembered the "Bob" part. Thanks to Bruce Reznick, Stu Shostak, Kevin Greenlee and Dan Varner, who all e-mailed me within ten minutes of each other. Two of them also suggested this video link to a clip from Hollywood Palace. The first minute or so is a montage of novelty performers and the last few are Bob Williams with his dog, Louie. I think he had a couple of different dogs over the years, including one named Red Dust.

It's odd…I remember thinking this was the funniest act in the world when I was younger. Now, I'm a little more conscious of the fact that some animal acts are not very good to the animals and I can't help wondering how this pooch was treated. Maybe Louie was well fed and very happy but wondering about it gets in the way of enjoying the act for me.

I worked on a show once where they tried to book Bob Williams. As I recall, he wanted a sum of money that our producer thought was excessive and some agent had an imitation act that was priced more reasonably…so they hired this other guy, who wasn't nearly as funny. He treated his dogs (he used two) quite well and we even had a Humane Society rep on the set who concurred. So I tell myself Williams did likewise. Here's the clip. Bob Williams and Louie turn up for the second half of it.

There used to be a performer with a "dog act" where the dog did nothing. He'd trained (or maybe doped) the dog to just sit there and do nothing while he delivered a monologue that started with making excuses for the dog. It then segued to talking about his wife and his mother-in-law and the usual stand-up topics, and every so often, he'd turn to the dog and say, "Not going to do anything, huh?" A very funny act.

I remember seeing the guy on Ed Sullivan's show and on Hollywood Palace and all the expected venues. I remember reading that he made less money doing the act than he earned suing others who ripped off his act. What I don't remember — and someone just asked me — is the guy's name. Can anyone out there supply it? I'm thinking Bob Something.

On Friday, a couple of stops after the D.M.V., I went to Costco, intending to buy one particular piece of electronic equipment and then leave. Yeah, like there's a chance of that happening. The way things turned out, I found the item I'd come in for and put it in my basket. Then, since I hadn't eaten all day, I went to the rear of the store for some of what I call Costco Dim Sum. Those are the wonderful little free samples of food that the ladies in the shower caps dispense, in and around the refrigeration cases and at the ends of some aisles. Since Gastric Bypass Surgery reduced the length 'n' breadth of my stomach, I can just about make a meal out of free samples and, of course, the price is ideal.

Except, of course, that Costco employs the same principle via which one suckers one's self in Las Vegas casinos. They offer you something free but you have to go all the way to the rear of the building to collect it. In Vegas, they know that on your way to and/or from the back, you'll be tempted to drop a few bucks in a slot machine or at a Blackjack table. At Costco, you'll probably pick up a case or two of Chips Ahoy or Kikkoman Soy Sauce — a particularly tasty combination, I hear. I ended up selecting a lot of stuff I didn't go in for…and to top off my own foolishness, I decided against purchasing that piece of electronic equipment I'd come in for. Feeling just as sheepish as you'd imagine, I returned it to the shelf and just bought all the stuff I didn't stop in for.

Some of what I hauled home were food items. I bought a fresh, just-cooked rotisserie chicken and it was very good. I bought a tub of their rotisserie chicken noodle soup (made, I suppose, from the chickens that are cooked at the store but not purchased within X hours) and it was not very good. But the real find was packaged corned beef from the Carnegie Deli.

I love the Carnegie in New York. I also like the Stage, which is a block away, and a place called the Ben Ash, which is across the street. I don't know which of them has the best corned beef but any of 'em are better than any corned beef you can buy in a market out here. I also like the corned beef at Canter's and several delis in my native Los Angeles but when you buy it at the counter and take it home, it doesn't keep for long. I wind up eating it when I feel like having something else.

The local Costcos now sell Carnegie Corned Beef…or you can buy Pastrami if that's your preference. What you get is 1.5 pounds of meat for about ten bucks, which ain't a bad price at all. It comes divided up into two plastic containers so you can eat three-fourths of a pound now and three-fourths of a pound next week. (The package I bought on 2/29 was dated as good 'til 3/25.) Eat it cold or stick it in the microwave for 60 seconds and eat it hot. I just did this and it's pretty good…a little tougher than what you get at a real deli but pretty darned good for the convenience of having it at home to feast upon when the mood strikes.

Meanwhile, in other food news: Last year on this site, I made a ridiculous pest of myself asking you all to lobby the Souplantation chain (aka in some states, Sweet Tomatoes) to make their creamy tomato soup a regular selection. Many of you wrote that you went in, tried it, agreed with me it was dee-lish and so informed the Souplantation Customer Relations people. Some of you didn't try it but you acted on faith and phoned in for my cause. Thank you all…but I'm sad to report my favorite soup is still not a constant at the chain. It's probably another one of those Antonin Scalia decisions, subverting the will of the masses.

On the other hand, I'm happy to report that the creamy tomato soup is back for the month of March. In fact, it starts today so I'm going to pretend they brought it back in honor of my birthday…and gee, that was thoughtful of them, don't you think? I'm going to go often this month and at some point, I'll get a big "to go" container, bring it back here and enjoy it with my Carnegie corned beef. This will probably be my favorite meal for all of March, not counting the dim sum at Costco if I go there again or Carolyn's chicken pot roast if she makes it.