I'm watching a little of the news coverage of the arrest of Brian Nichols, the Atlanta courtroom shooting suspect. It's another one of those situations, so familiar in the age of 24/7 reporting, where everything the reporters know could be summarized in about three minutes…but they have to keep stretching and repeating and wringing variations out of the information. I'm surprised no cable news channel has tried selling itself the way a lot of all-news radio stations promise to give you the whole world in 20 or 22 minutes. There are times you don't want in-depth coverage. You want the three-minute version.

I am amused by the occasional appearances of the words "alleged" and "suspect." Everyone is unhesitatingly discussing how Nichols grabbed a gun and shot this person or that person. Every ten or twenty mentions of his brutal crimes, someone — usually a law enforcement official — feels they're being responsible to toss in an "allegedly." On CNN, and I guess this is some sort of style guide thing, they also keep referring to him as "Mr. Nichols." Glad to see they're protecting the man's dignity and, every once in a while, the pretense that there is any presumption of innocence anywhere.

That's what a lot of us enjoyed last night, courtesy of the Museum of TV and Radio: An evening with a member of Monty Python. The museum is having its annual William S. Paley Festival which, once upon a time, was all about classic TV shows of the past. Now, it almost exclusively honors current shows (Lost, Boston Legal, Desperate Housewives, etc.) with Mr. Palin's appearance being a notable exception. That's the bad news for some of us. The good news is that after years of poor interviewers from the museum's staff, this year's seminars have more qualified, usually famous moderators. Palin was interviewed by Harry Shearer, who did a fine job of it.

Clips were run, not just of Palin's days with Python (The Argument Sketch, the Spanish Inquisition, et al) but of his work before and after. The excerpts from his travelogues for the B.B.C., to which I paid not enough attention when they first aired, looked especially wonderful.

Palin did not offer much encouragement to those yearning for a Python reunion of some sort. There has intermittently been talk of a new stage tour but Palin is against it because, says he, it wouldn't be the same without Graham Chapman. He also thinks the probable success of the new Broadway musical, Spamalot, will fill any possible need there might be to see Monty Python on stage. He said he had been interested in a movie idea that Eric Idle proposed — a sequel to Monty Python and the Holy Grail with them all playing the same knights several decades later — but the idea has never gone anywhere.

Mostly, he told wonderful stories and to the delight of the audience, kept lapsing into characters from Python routines — although when one lady asked, "What's your favorite color?", he and Shearer both seemed to miss the reference to a key scene in Holy Grail. He impressed most of us as very humble and very, very nice. When we left, he was still there signing program books for people and he looked like he was going to stay until he'd signed for everyone who wanted an autograph. For all I know, he may still be there.

Before you take any more prescription medicines, you might want to watch this nice bit o' animation. (If that doesn't play, try this link.)

This morning, a man on trial in Atlanta grabbed a gun from a deputy and shot his way out of the courthouse, killing several people, including the judge. Obviously, a great tragedy.

However, I have to share this with you. I hadn't heard about it when I turned on CNN and the first words out of my TV were: "…and he seized a weapon in the courtroom and shot at least three people, including the judge, before getting away."

My immediate thought, for about three seconds, was: Oh, no! Was this Michael Jackson or Robert Blake?

I've pretty much given up linking to articles on the future of TiVo. There are hundreds of them out there, many employing the phrase "death watch," which is never a good sign. There seems to be no doubt that TiVo has suffered from the kind of technological lag that doomed the Betamax. For whatever reason, its makers simply have not advanced the product at a sufficient rate to remain competitive, and TiVo is taking body blows from the many breeds of Personal Video Recorder now being offered by local cable companies.

I remain mildly skeptical of claims that TiVo's demise is a foregone conclusion. We've heard that about too many things that are still around, including the Democratic party, and if TiVo is acquired or comes through with a breakthrough upgrade, it could be a brand new ballgame. Even as matters stand, the company's fourth quarter earnings report (this one) contains a fair amount of encouraging news. Hidden in there though are details of the vast amounts of cash that have been spent to buy much of that good news via rebates and giveaways. You can get long lines outside your restaurant if you're giving the food away…but only for so long.

Many futures are possible, including TiVo merging into some other computer-based product. There's talk of acquisition by Apple, which could make TiVo an adjunct to its iPod line, the two devices interfacing and morphing into one another. At some point soon, we're all going to be buying or upgrading to some sort of omnipotent Media Machine that will reside in our homes, connected to all sources of entertainment: Satellite TV and/or radio, cable, the Internet, maybe a DVD library, etc. Such devices will capture everything we wish to listen to or view and output it to DVDs or CDs or MP3 players or route it to various players around our home network. It remains to be seen whether TiVo will be a component of a leading brand of one.

Worst case scenario, of course, is that TiVo goes under, which it well might. What that will mean to those of us who own one (or in my case, three) is probably a brief period of chaos as it goes Open Source, releasing the necessary codes so that new companies can sell us the programming information guides that we now download from TiVo. Then we can all continue to use our TiVos until we give up and switch to those fancy-shmancy Home Media Machines. Or maybe someone will be wise enough to market one that will interface with your old TiVo and allow you to continue to use it. I just hope they keep that cute little TiVo logo guy around. I've grown accustomed to that fellow. He's on my TV more often than Regis Philbin…and he's a lot funnier.

In his current column, which I linked to yesterday, Frank Rich makes mention of a roast for Hugh Hefner that was taped not long after 9/11. I see that Comedy Central is rerunning the TV version of it on Monday night or Tuesday morning, depending on which time zone you're in.

It's an odd show, indeed. At one point, Sarah Silverman is roasting Hef and she makes a comment about how he has no idea where he is. At times, it sure looked that way. For most of the show, he sits there quietly and acts like he's enjoying a steady stream of jokes about his age, his declining sexual abilities, his use of Viagra and the low I.Q. and morals of a bevy of blonde lady friends who escort him about. Some of the jokes will make you cringe but there are moments of brilliance, and an occasional oblique reference to the tragedy that was still hanging over New York on the night they taped the thing. You'll get frustrated at all the bleeps and at a number of bad edits that hint that much material (probably dirtier and funnier) has been excised.

If you want to really enjoy it, do this: TiVo the show and watch it with remote in hand. Catch a little of Sarah Silverman, then skip ahead to watch Ice-T, not because he's any good but because what he does is the set-up to Gilbert Gottfried. Then leap to the end and watch Gilbert, who is absolutely hilarious. (On second thought, you might want to miss the part where Ms. Silverman says to Alan King that a nursing home in Florida just called to say, "The last person who thought you were funny just died." It kind of loses something since Mr. King's passing.)

As I'm sure we all agree, there should be a whole series of books in print of Walt Kelly's classic newspaper strip, Pogo. One of these days, there will be…because Pogo was maybe the wittiest, liveliest comic of all time. And you know what? It hasn't dated. Even though it was at times political, everything old is new again and its commentaries are frighteningly relevant today. Plus, it's funny and filled with some of the best-drawn comic characters ever. The good people of Italy found out some or all of this recently when one of their leading newspapers sponsored a new paperback reprinting material from two of the American paperbacks of yore.

Okay, so it's not the kind of Pogo book we crave. But it is a new Pogo book, and Pogo completists have been eager to get their mitts on a copy of what may turn out to be the rarest Pogo item in this country.

The management of the Official Pogo Website (which includes me) has managed to get hold of, and is now selling copies of this book. We don't have many, and they're in Italian. But we know some folks who'll have to have one, and they can order them over on that webpage. If you've seen the way prices skyrocket on Pogo collectibles, you know what a big-deal bargain this is. If you want to hold out for something in English, we certainly understand…but it may be a while.

I turned on the news this morning just in time to watch it erupt with reports that Michael Jackson was not showing up in court and that the judge had issued a warrant for his arrest and a time limit. One could hear the newsfolks practically salivating at visions of helicopters tracking him as per the infamous O.J. Simpson freeway chase. Unfortunately for that dream, Jackson did show up…but as a consolation prize to the media, he arrived in pajamas, thereby providing them with plenty to talk about, at least for a while. For some ungodly reason, I'm watching Court TV, where people who've never met Michael Jackson are constructing a psychiatric profile of him based on this morning's actions.

This whole thing is like a traffic accident: You hate it but it's hard not to look.

Hold it. This just in: The jury deliberating in the Robert Blake case is having lunch. They're in a private lunchroom at the Van Nuys courthouse and they're having pizza and lasagna.

I'm not going to wait around for someone to try and connect this information to the fact that the murder occurred outside an Italian restaurant. Someone will. But I'm turning off the TV before they do.

June Foray got a warm reception last evening when she appeared at a Barnes & Noble to sign her new book, Perverse, Adverse and Rottenverse. A lot of her fans turned out to hear her talk about her career and read from the book, and it was just a very nice time. I even learned something I hadn't previously known about June. When director Arthur Hiller was assembling the movie, The Hospital, he needed some dialogue looped by co-star Diana Rigg. Unfortunately, Ms. Rigg was back in England and the release date was drawing near…so June was brought in to do an imitation. I'm going to dig up the DVD and see if I can figure out which lines are June.

Frank Rich makes an amazing but not illogical leap: From Gilbert Gottfried telling a dirty joke at a Friars Roast to current attempts by some in our government to stifle political dissent.

Okay. So when we last left the saga of Mark's Garage Door, the top of its frame had suddenly and tragically split in two, rendering it useless insofar as opening and closing was concerned. In other words, the thing was broken. This occurred the evening of February 28. The afternoon of March 1, a man came by from the garage door company and — with the kind of perception that distinguishes a true craftsperson from the rest of us layfolks — looked at the split wooden frame and ventured the professional opinion that the door was broken. Following a bit of math, it was further determined that, given what it would cost to repair, I might as well kick in a few more bucks and get a whole new door. I've been arranging for the garage to be re-roofed so a new door would fit right in. (The new sign of status in Southern California is no longer that you have a development deal or a hit movie or series. It's that you have a roofer coming.)

I wanted the door installed as soon as possible. In my neighborhood, there are all sorts of complex rules: You can't park on the North side of the street between 8 AM and 10 AM on a Wednesday unless you have a certain sticker on your car, in which case you can park on the South side on Tuesdays and Thursday between Noon and 2 PM except during a total eclipse or if you bought the car from a guy named Artie…something like that. Anyway, it's much simpler for me, to say nothing of convenient, to be able to park in my garage. This, I could not do until the new door was installed. The Garage Door Man assured me this could be done the following Friday (3/4) or, at the latest, the Tuesday after that (3/8). I gave him a deposit and he said that as soon as they knew when the new door was ready, they'd give me a call — like, the night before — so I could be here then.

All week, I played the little, annoying game of parking on the street, figuring out where to leave my car at night. Thursday evening, I received no call. I cancelled an appointment on Friday so I could be here, just in case, but I didn't hear from them all day…which meant that parking on the street would continue throughout the three-day weekend. Monday, I called to ask if, as promised, I would be receiving my new garage door on Tuesday. No one at the garage door company seemed able to tell me yea or nay.

First thing Tuesday morning, I phoned and politely demanded to know if and when that day, my new garage door would be installed. I spoke to a succession of people who did not know, each of whom transferred my call to someone else who did not know. When finally my query arrived at the owner of the company, I was informed that they had no record of my order. The new door had not been made. No one was scheduled to come out to my place that day. They didn't doubt that I had ordered it and paid a deposit but, frustratingly, they would have to send someone out to re-measure the door and begin the process of making me a door and it might take another week and…well, you can just imagine how delighted I was with the situation. Fume, snarl, pout.

Five minutes later, the proprietor called me back with a wild theory. They had no current paperwork on my order, true. But was it possible that this was because it had already been filed? That the door had already been installed? I told them this seemed unlikely since no one from their company had ever phoned to say they wanted to come over, and I had not been away from the house much in the previous week. Still, it was not a metaphysical impossibility. My house is on a corner and my garage does not face the same street as my front door. I realized I had not driven past or walked by my garage in several days.

So my friend Carolyn and I went out and looked…and sure enough, there was a new garage door on my garage. Further consultation with the company yielded the data that it had been installed the previous Friday, perhaps even while I was home. Instead of calling ahead or even knocking on my front door when they got here, the installers had just gone in, taken the old door off and put in the new one without telling me. I'd been doing the park-on-the-street shuffle for days when I could have been opening my new door and parking in my old garage.

I felt an odd mix of emotions: Pleased was I that the garage door problem was behind me…but annoyed was I that it had been resolved four days earlier and no one had told me. The gent at the garage door company was embarrassed, and also puzzled to find himself apologizing that his men had done a job when they'd said they were going to do it.

So anyway, let this be a lesson to you all. I'm not sure what you might learn from it but let it be a lesson of something to you. Maybe it's that before you complain that they haven't installed your new garage door, you ought to go out and check to see if they've installed your new garage door. Or something like that. Anyway, today's the day when a different outfit is supposed to begin putting a new roof on that garage. But I haven't heard a word from them so maybe they've already done it.

Paul Krugman on the new bankruptcy bill. What it comes down to: Mismanaged corporations can still declare bankruptcy but if unexpected medical bills plunge your family into debt, you're outta luck.

Last night, GSN ran an episode of What's My Line? from 1955 (I believe) where one of the contestants signed in as Mrs. Dale Strom. She was introduced that way because one or more of the panelists might have recognized her maiden (and professional) name, Dale Messick, as the creator of the comic strip, Brenda Starr. Dale, who will be 99 years old in April, began drawing the adventures of the intrepid lady reporter in 1940 and, it is said, never missed a deadline — not even to birth her children — until she handed the strip off to others in 1980.  The above photo is from around the time that happened.

Brenda Starr was a popular feature that never quite made it onto the radar of comic strip buffs. I'm not sure why. It was drawn with great energy and humor, and the writing stands up far better than many strips of its era. Years ago, afforded the opportunity to read long runs of classic funnypage faves, I found some were readable and some were not. Li'l Abner was, Flash Gordon wasn't…though with Flash Gordon, looking at the pictures was sometimes enough. The Phantom, I could read. Mark Trail, I could not…and Harold Gray's talky, preachy Little Orphan Annie actually induced some form of Attention Deficit Disorder in me. I would read Panel One and literally forget everything about it while making the brief trip over to Panel Two.

But like I said, Brenda Starr was fun and while it's probably not on anyone's short list of Comic Strips That Deserve To Be Republished In Their Entirety, the way Peanuts is now being reprinted, you could do a lot worse. Seeing its maker on What's My Line? last night prompted me to suggest that there's a strip worthy of more attention. (The current version by June Brigman and Mary Schmich ain't bad, either.)

"Stavner" (that's how he signs his e-mails) writes to ask the following…

RE: Michael Jackson: Could you please be more specific about why you think he'll walk?

I can't be that much more specific about why I think The King of Pop will go unconvicted…and it's certainly not something about which I feel certain. (There could still be one of those startling Perry Mason-style revelations, either way.) It's more of a hunch, taking off from the fact that there seems to be no paucity of evidence that the parents of the allegedly-violated lad are of low moral fibre and perhaps not above trumping up a molestation charge to get cash. That doesn't mean Jackson didn't molest the kid but it goes a long way to helping his attorneys cast reasonable — or maybe unreasonable doubt.

The case against O.J. Simpson (you remember him) was an overwhelming case. For God's sake, his blood was found at the murder site. Still, a well-financed defense squad managed to sell the idea that there was "something wrong" with that case in unspecified ways. They never offered a coherent theory as to how and why all of this evidence could have been phonied up and planted. No one ever has. In fact, the most serious attempt I ever saw didn't even come from Simpson's lawyers. It was a website — no longer up — that tried to explain every damning exhibit and circumstance in pro-O.J. spin. It yielded a conspiracy wherein about a hundred different people with no motive whatsoever decided to frame Simpson and made a series of incredible guesses as to how to accomplish this…and, of course, were damn lucky that no evidence of the "real killers" was found and that O.J. just happened to not have an alibi for the time in question.

Simpson's actual legal team didn't even do that. They just convinced the jury that a frame-up was in the air, and if the facts said Simpson did it, the facts could not be trusted. It's starting to smell like something similar is happening in the Jackson case. His lawyers can't possibly explain every bit of evidence against him but they can come up with questions on some, alternate theories on others…and for the rest, they've got the argument that the D.A. is pursuing a personal vendetta and that the parents are just the kind of people who would phony-up a case.

Today, the brother of the supposedly-molested boy testified about Jackson giving them alcohol and playing sex games with them. Then, on cross-examination, Jackson's side got the witness to admit he'd lied in a lawsuit the parents once filed against J.C. Penney. So now the argument will be that if he'd lie in that case, you can't trust what he says in this one. That raises a doubt and if the jury decides to give Jackson the benefit of that doubt, he'll go free. I'm not suggesting it's inevitable; just that it's starting to feel like things are drifting in that direction. And who knows? Maybe that's the truth of the situation. Maybe Jackson is innocent, at least of this particular accusation. I just think it's unfortunate that if he goes free, it will be because they put the parents on trial, the same way the O.J. lawyers turned things into a trial of the L.A.P.D. Over the years, studies have shown that a lot of rape victims decline to report the crime or testify because they fear their morals will be impugned and misinterpreted. Somewhere out there, there's a set of parents who will feel much the same way if their child is abused, especially if it's by someone rich and powerful. They won't even call the police because they won't want to find themselves in a trial that's all about them and their motives.