Here's something for you to read.  Shelley Berman is, as we all know, one of the great comedians of all time.  A very funny, innovative man.  Many years ago, in a clever book called A Hotel Is A Funny Place…, he set down a series of letters describing his war with the staff of a hotel in which he was residing.

The war was about the distribution of little soaps in his room.  It was very funny in the book and even funnier, later, when he performed it on stage.  For some reason, the text of it became one of those stories that people pass around on the Internet, claiming it actually happened to a friend.  A year or three ago, someone e-mailed it to me claiming it was the actual, no-kidding correspondence of his pal, Harvey…this, despite the fact that the person authoring "Harvey's" half of the letters clearly signs his name, "S. Berman."

Anyway, as many of you know, the site, www.snopes.com, does a fine, fascinating job of debunking, verifying or clarifying popular rumors and urban legends.  They have this one therefore, properly identified, and therefore you have the chance to read the entire text of it by clicking here.  (It was also on Mr. Berman's most recent comedy CD — Shelley Berman Live Again — which is, alas, outta-print and hard to come by.  If you glom onto one and hear the routine on it, one of the audience members you'll hear howling is me.)

By the by: Mr. Berman is still performing and still as funny as ever.  A few years ago, when I was writing/voice-directing Garfield & Friends, we had him in once to play a role and he was terrific.  We also had Stan Freberg and Jonathan Winters on the show.  Once upon a time, my entire collection of comedy records consisted of Stan Freberg, Jonathan Winters, Bob Newhart and Shelley Berman.  And, but for a scheduling conflict, we would have gotten Bob, too…

P.S. (Added at 3:45 AM)  Just noticed that Shelley Berman has it posted on his website.  Much better place for you to read it…and check out his message board.  Here's the preferred link.  Good night.

Don't expect any updates here for a few days.  I had a computer crash last night.  Didn't lose any files but I lost about a day just getting things back to normal.

Also: In what I'm sure is an unrelated event, one of my domains (evanier.com) got "spoofed" by a spammer.  This means that he sent out thousands — probably, hundreds of thousands — of e-mails to people offering some sort of loony investment deal and giving them a link to a website that explains all.  But he set it so that the e-mail appears to come from an address at my domain.  This means that recipients will think they're being spammed by someone from my domain and, if the recipient's address is invalid, the spam e-mail bounces back to me.  Before I arranged to filter them out, I'd received several hundred messages telling me that the e-mail I "sent" was undeliverable.

Between the two problems, I'm thinking of chucking the computer and hauling out my old manual Olivetti-Underwood.  A friend of mine once told me that, after spending three days purging his system of a virus, he was thinking much the same thing.  Said he, "If I could figure out a way to download porn on an IBM Selectric, I'd go back to it."

Another plug for a friend's website: Daniel Will-Harris knows more about computers and page design than anyone else I know, and there's loads of interesting stuff about fonts and layout on his site, which is at www.will-harris.com.  However, what I really want to refer you to is his other site, which is www.schmoozeletter.com, which is full of interesting writings, mostly of a non-computer nature.  And I especially want to call your attention to this installment of his Schmoozeletter, which is the extraordinary story of how he responded one recent evening when he smelled smoke.  Knowing Daniel, I have no doubt his account is totally honest and accurate.

Well, last Sunday's Tony Awards are now being pegged as the lowest-rated ever.  The show averaged a 5.6 household rating and 9 share which, according to Nielsen fast nationals, is down from last year's 6.3/10 and even beneath the previous record low 6.2/10, which was the year before.  By contrast, the NBA game opposite notched a 16.9 rating and a 27 share.  I'm not sure any supporter of the Tony Awards can spin this one as anything but a disaster.

I got to thinking: What would I do with the broadcast?  The best solution I can come up with would be quite a change, and it would certainly offend some members of the Broadway community.  But if they're determined to keep this thing on one of the major networks, it may take something of the sort.

My idea would be to do the show in two parts, both on the same day.  Nominees and important members of the theatrical community would be able to get tickets to both and the extra tickets, if any, would be distributed to enthusiastic theatre fans.  Sunday afternoon, starting around 2:00, they'd give out 18 of the 23 awards in a show that would be televised live on PBS (or some cable network) and allowed to run two hours, plus a little overage, thereby allowing plenty of time for presenters to present and winners to thank.  There would be "behind-the-scenes" and historical clips, such as are seen on the current PBS "first hour" and there would be a minimum of production numbers. This would end by 4:15.

At 8:00, the second show — the one done for CBS — would take place in the same theater.  Most of this show would consist of generous helpings of scenes from current Broadway offerings and perhaps a few "re-creations" of great moments from the past.  The latter might make it possible to secure some important stars whose presence might matter to the more casual viewer at home.  In any case, the mix of the evening show would be more entertainment than awards show.  In the first hour, two awards would be presented and then there'd be three more at the very end.  The rest of the show would be entertainment, plus two or three long montages that would summarize the 18 awards from the matinee.  They do a montage now that recapitulates the PBS hour but what I have in mind would show more of each acceptance speech.

Notice also that I'm suggesting starting the evening ceremony at 8:00 even though it doesn't go on the air until 9:00 in the East.  The delay would allow a bit of on-the-fly editing if someone takes an unanticipated hunk of time.  That way, no scene would have to be dropped and it wouldn't be necessary for everyone to talk like a tobacco auctioneer at the end to get it all in.  The tape delay, along with the afternoon broadcast, would of course kill any suspense about who wins but I'm assuming that hardcore theatre fans would watch anyway, and the casual fans aren't wagering on who's going to be named Best Choreographer.  The five awards presented on the air would be Best Musical, Best Play, Best Revival of a Musical and then the two most interesting of the remaining competitions, probably in Leading Actor/Actress categories. (This would not be completely unprecedented in the annals of televised awards shows.  The Daytime Emmy Awards select certain categories to be on the broadcast, whereas others are not televised at all.)

There would be some moaning, of course.  There always is.  But under this plan, every award would be televised and, if winners kept their acceptance speeches short, most of what they say would get on in prime-time.  Someone who wanted to (or had to) attend both sections would be sitting quite a long time.  Still, I'm not sure four hours — with a long dinner break in the middle — is that much worse than the current three hours with no break.  The last two hours would be a lot more fun than they are now.  The biggest complication would be that shows that do a Sunday matinee would be asked to move that performance to whatever evening they're dark…but they'd have plenty of advance notice and they already do things like that to accommodate holidays.

Would this make the Tonys into a ratings smash?  No.  I don't think even full frontal nudity could make that occur.  The overwhelming majority of Americans don't go to Broadway shows, aren't going to go to Broadway shows and don't have the slightest interest in seeing people they never heard of win for shows they never heard of.  That is why, if the broadcast is to remain on CBS, they ought to trim that aspect of it to the bare bones.  Most people still wouldn't watch but I can't see that the plan I've outlined here could possibly hurt.  And if it makes for a more entertaining show, it might even help.

One last note about Elaine Stritch getting chopped off during her acceptance speech.  While writing the above, I had David Letterman on and heard him scolding CBS for their actions.  He was doing a bit — he ran a clip they'd edited so that Stritch got to say nothing at all — but he did seem to think it was rude of the network.  One might note that Mr. Letterman's new contract limits the network's freedom to let a prime-time show run over, thereby delaying the beginning of his program.  He's not the reason the Tonys have to end sharply at 11:00.  (They're on Sundays, he isn't and, besides, local news shows also insist.)  But Dave probably wouldn't let her speech nudge his show to later than its usual 11:35 start.  He also probably wouldn't book Elaine Stritch as a guest.

The newly remastered CD of the Li'l Abner Broadway show has been released.  Why am I telling you this?  Because it's an excuse to run another picture of Julie Newmar on this site and every time I do that, I get a load of donations which I then blow on something really, really stupid on eBay.  As good a reason as any.  It's a darn good CD with a number of extra cuts, and if you click on this link, you can order it from Amazon.Com and this site will get a tiny percentage of your purchase price, which I will also spend to buy something really, really stupid on eBay.  (And while I've got you here, some more thoughts on the Tony Awards: If the overnight Nielsens are to believed — and in the TV biz, they always are, especially when they show you winning — the broadcast drew about half the audience of the NBA Playoff and slightly outpointed the feeble competition on other networks.  My chum over at CBS who read me the numbers wasn't sure if these will be considered disastrous ratings because, he says, "expectations are always so low."  In other words, these are bad numbers but not as bad as some feared, so it could go either way.  Those who are inclined to keep the Tony Awards on CBS for moral/cultural reasons may be able to spin them as encouraging, while those who think it's a drag on the schedule certainly have the ammo to argue their case.)

Bolstering the latter side, the preliminary numbers would also indicate that the audience skewed extremely old, though perhaps that's to be expected opposite a big basketball play-off.

Inherent in the Tony Awards, you have a basic problem, which is that various factions want the show to be different things.  Those concerned with the heritage and artistry of Broadway decry the time constraints and the tendency to favor stars with TV and movie recognition. They'd like an open-ended broadcast over on PBS where Elaine Stritch can take five minutes to deliver her surly thanks.  Against this, you have those more concerned with Broadway's box office who think it's an annual chance to "sell" the glory of Broadway to that large part of America that doesn't attend…and also doesn't know or care who Elaine Stritch is.  Catering to them means a faster-paced show on CBS and trotting out Mary Tyler Moore and Alec Baldwin to present.  Doing the first hour of the show on PBS was a compromise move that arrested the big complaints…though one occasionally hears grumbling from folks whose categories have been relegated to the less-watched part of the telecast.

But you know what the real problem is?  It's a problem that infests all awards shows and much of television.  It's that terror of allowing ten seconds of non-interesting material to occur, lest viewers grab up their remotes and go elsewhere.  It's why, on all awards shows, it's become standard to have a voice-over announcer giving trivia facts about the winners as they make their way to the stage and having little pop-up windows on the screen showing you something more interesting than a happy person heading for the mike.  God forbid we should lose your attention for half a second.  Another manifestation of the same concern gives us those crawling headlines on all the news channels and even on some sitcom reruns, and it prompts Leno and Letterman to pick their reruns from not months but weeks back.

That problem works against the Tonys because so much of it doesn't matter to those who haven't seen the shows and, like I said before, I don't have a solution to this dilemma.  That's becoming the nature of commercial TV and the Tonys seem to need commercial TV.  And, of course, you have the other end of the problem, which is that commercial TV doesn't need the Tonys.  Maybe the answer is for the Tonys to find something that's guaranteed to grab attention — like, say, pictures of Julie Newmar in her Li'l Abner outfit…

I just browsed some Theatre Chat Boards and found the expected wailing about how last night's Tony Awards Ceremony was dreadful: Nobody who sang could sing, everyone's gown was ghastly, most of the speeches sucked, the winners shouldn't be so rushed, yadda yadda yadda.  Such remarks were expected because (a) most everyone says, of every awards show, "this was the worst ever" and (b) no one can be as bitchy about theatre people as other theatre people.  They all seem to be out tonight, bashing last night's event, which I thought was okay: Not wonderful but certainly watchable.  I liked most of the singing, the gowns, the speeches, etc.  I thought the main problem with it was that it's an awards show.  That's what awards shows are…and they usually only rise to memorable status if memorable people win or memorable unpredictable events occur.

Yes, the presenters and winners shouldn't be cut off after 20 or 30 seconds but, unfortunately, the deal with CBS requires that the show not spill a moment over its allotted two hours.  The broadcast does so poorly in the ratings, it doesn't have the clout to get that changed.  So they do the first hour on PBS and the last two on CBS, and theatre buffs moan that it should all be on PBS where — presumably — it could run a bit longer.  (But only a bit.  I can't believe even the greatest lover of theatre would sit through a 4-hour Tony telecast.)  That would make sense except that the Broadway community wants it on CBS where it'll get a larger audience and serve as an infomercial for theatre-going.  So there it stays, getting lousy ratings but — theoretically — helping sell a few tickets.

Several folks were upset that Elaine Stritch was cut off in mid-acceptance speech.  That kind of thing's regrettable but she knew how long she was supposed to go and chose to prattle on as if the rules didn't apply to her.  The reason for the rule is that they only have so much time and they want to get all the awards and musical numbers in.  (Three years ago, an overage of thank-you orations forced them to decide, in the middle of the telecast, to eliminate a planned/rehearsed musical number from a show called Ain't Nothin' But the Blues, which closed soon after.  Being bumped might not have been fatal to the musical but it was sure rude.)

I don't think there's a real solution to this.  You have X number of awards to present and, even with presenter chatter and entrances cut to the bone, it takes Y minutes per award.  You also want to have the numbers from the shows and, if you do the math, it just makes for a cramped two hours.  I can't see any way to make it go faster and, for all the kvetching everyone does every year about how awful they thought the show was, I don't see any workable suggestions.  We may have to face the fact that the show is what it is, and if it's dull…well, so are some sporting events.  That's not the fault of the folks who produce the broadcast, either.

Due to a ridiculous number of aspiring voiceover actors e-mailing me their demos — or even writing to ask if I'll hire them just because they ask — I have had to institute one of those silly, hardass policies.  I will never (repeat: NEVER) hire or refer anyone who approaches me via e-mail.  Please don't do this.  You can ask legitimate questions but not, "Will you hire me?"  If you ask, the answer is NO.

While posting the previous item about the Oscar streaker, I was reminded of another incident.  Years ago, when I labored on Welcome Back, Kotter, I worked with a fine comedy writer named George Tricker.  George had previously cranked out mirth for Johnny Carson and he'd authored the joke that then held the record for the longest laugh in the history of The Tonight Show.  It was in one of those pieces Johnny used to do where he'd show photos from the news and announce funny captions for them.

The picture was from a then-recent (1974) Rugby match at Twickenham.  You can pretty much discern what happened from the photo, which Johnny displayed as part of a desk bit on supposedly-forthcoming TV shows.  This picture, he announced, was from a new series entitled "A Hatful of Ralph."

Like I said, it got one of the biggest laughs ever on that or any show.  In fact, it came in waves.  First, the audience howled.  Then they laughed again, remembering what they'd just laughed at.  Then they saw Johnny and Ed sitting there, laughing so hard that they couldn't continue the routine and the audience found that funny, too.  Tears were coming to Ed McMahon's eyes.  It was so funny that Johnny re-used the photo and caption, with slight variations, several times in succeeding weeks and repeated the bit on at least one anniversary show.  It was a great joke…one that even worked for people who were unfamiliar with the name of the play — A Hatful of Rain — on which it was based.

George Tricker wrote that joke.  In fact, he wrote it at the perfect time because his contract was then up for renewal and Johnny was disinclined to keep him around.  Following the explosion of laughter over A Hatful of Ralph, Carson picked up Tricker's option for another 13-week cycle.

Flash-forward just a few years.  George and I are working on Kotter and we're doing a Christmas episode about a homeless old man whose life is rescued and renewed by Mr. Kotter and the Sweathogs.  To play the hobo, the producers hire a veteran character actor named Michael Gazzo.  That's him in the photo below.  Mr. Gazzo had a long, distinguished career in the theater and in motion pictures.  Mr. Gazzo had a long, distinguished career in the theater and in motion pictures (here's a link to his entry in the Internet Movie Database) but he was probably best known for his role as Frankie Pentangeli in Godfather, Part II.  He also taught acting and, off-stage, he was a very serious, intense man who kept talking about anger — his and others'.

When he and our director discussed his role on the show, he kept discussing the character's anger at his station in life, the other characters' anger at having a vagrant around, how the audience would identify with the characters in the episode through their anger, etc.  Some actors and coaches interpret everything through sex; others, through fear.  With Mr. Gazzo, it was all about anger.

Now, what does this have to do with the photo and anecdote above?  Answer: Along with being an actor and acting teacher, Michael V. Gazzo was also a playwright.  He wrote A Hatful of Rain.

So one day, we're sitting there on a break from rehearsals — the director, some cast members, Gazzo, George Tricker and me.  And someone asks Gazzo something about A Hatful of Rain, which was a huge success on Broadway in 1955 (the cast included Tony Franciosa, Ben Gazzara, Harry Guardino and Shelley Winters) and a movie and maybe the greatest success Michael Gazzo ever had.  And before he can tell us much about the play, someone else says, "Hey, did you see that bit that Carson did last year?  A Hatful of Ralph?"

Everyone recalls it and laughs — everyone except Gazzo who recalls it and summons up his anger.  Great anger.  He stands up and in his hoarse, tortured voice, yells, "I CANNOT EVEN BEGIN TO TELL YOU HOW UPSET I WAS ABOUT THAT!"  With roughly the emotion you or I might use to describe the murderer of a close relative, he speaks of the hurt at having his beloved play held up to such ridicule — not just by Mr. Carson but by supposed friends who called him about it, asked him about it and somehow expected him to laugh about it.

I give George a look.  Gazzo is a small man and George is a large man who, strictly in terms of bodyweight, could probably crush the small man under one foot.  But the small man is so passionate and outraged on the topic that George looks a bit afraid of him.  He shoots me a look that says, "For God's sake, don't tell him."  And I shoot George back a look that says, I hope: "I won't…for the right price."

Gazzo is going on and on about his thoughtless, inconsiderate friends who thought he'd take it as a joke — but the main target of his wrath is Johnny Carson.  Finally, he asks, "What kind of man would come up with a joke that defaces and ridicules a man's work?"

There's a pause and George Tricker says, "You know, I'm ashamed to admit it…but I know guys who write jokes like that."

[P.S., added a few years later: I recently heard from another writer who worked for Mr. Carson at the time of the "Hatful of Ralph" joke and he claims that he, not George, wrote it.  I don't want to get into the middle of that debate because I have no info other than that George said he wrote it and that at least one other Carson writer supported him in this claim.  It's a good anecdote though and I offer it here strictly as that.]

Below is a little banner ad that invites you to donate moola to this website.  Every day or so lately, someone writes me and says, "I've never done this before…how much do I tip?"  Obviously, that's an awkward question for me to answer.  I've received amounts as high as $50 and as low as under a buck.  To be quite candid — not just about this website but any to which you might want to extend a gratuity — the little $1 and $2 tips are kind of a waste, all around.  Paypal takes, as their commission for processing the transaction, 30¢ on each payment plus 2.9%.  This means that on a ten dollar transaction, they only get 60¢ but on a one dollar tip, PayPal takes a third.  Amazon, which some folks use for this purpose, charges 15¢ plus 15%.  This means that they get 30¢ on a dollar tip and $1.65 on a ten dollar tip.

The vast majority of the donations we receive here are $10 or $20, and those are the amounts I tip other sites.  My feeling is that it's better to tip one site $20 than to tip twenty sites a buck apiece.  The latter sends too much of the money to Paypal or Amazon instead of to the proprietor of the website you like.  (In case anyone's interested, whatever you give to this site is either re-donated to other sites or, more often, spent on silly stuff I purchase on eBay.)

I just posted two more old columns on this site.  One is this one about understudies and stand-bys in Broadway shows — those arguably luckless folks who sometimes have to go on for the stars but who occasionally wind up being the stars.  The other newly-posted column is this one, which was written back in 1997 about that year's Academy Awards.

I decided to illustrate the latter with the above, rather famous photo of the streaker who crashed the 1974 Oscar ceremony while David Niven was presenting.  You've probably seen this picture before.  So have I, and it didn't strike me until just now but doesn't it look like the photo is a fake?  I'm no expert but if you were a photographer who was there at that moment, what you'd ideally want is a shot of Niven and the naked guy that could be cropped so as to include both but exclude penis.  Now, perhaps by dumb luck, the cameraman got one in those few seconds…but something about the angle suggests to me it's a composite.  Also, this is not the sharpest copy but it looks like the resolution and grain on Mr. Niven is slightly different and there's a tiny hint of a halo around his head, as if the picture of him was cut out from another print and pasted in.  Perhaps I'm wrong or perhaps no secret was made of it being a patch job.  Just thought I'd mention it.

By the way: In our eternal quest to pass on useless info to you: The streaker was a guy named Robert Opel who later spent time in jail for showing up nude at meetings of the L.A. City Council.  (I once attended a meeting of the L.A. City Council and I'm amazed that anyone was awake enough to notice.)  In fact, Mr. Opel did an array of really stupid, attention-getting stunts before he found the worst possible way to get his name in the papers.  In 1997, he was shot to death, reportedly because he hadn't paid a huge bill to his drug dealer.  What some people won't do to get a little publicity…

Want to meet your favorite TV soap opera stars?  Soap Talk — the new soap opera TV talk show — now taping in Los Angeles at ABC Studios.  The hosts are Lisa Rinna (from Days Of Our Lives) and Ty Treadway (from One Life to Live) but they welcome guests from all the soaps.

The folks at TV Tix, a service that rounds up audiences, can set you up with free tickets to be part of the live studio audience.  Seating is limited to 80 seats, so you will be up close with your favorite stars.  Everyone must be at least 16 years old, and be willing to be seen on camera.  To get your reservations, go to TVTix.com or call (323) 653-4105.

And while you're there, they also have free tickets to many other talk shows, game shows and sitcoms.  They can even put you in the movies.  They're rounding up fans to appear in a crowd scene in the forthcoming film, Anger Management, starring Jack Nicholson and Adam Sandler, filming this June in New York.  For info on that, go to BeInAMovie.com or visit the TVTix website.

A semi-scary thing happened to me the other night: I discovered I couldn't do something I used to be able to do.  Allow me to explain…

I used to draw a lot and letter a lot.  I never had any delusions or even desires that I might make either my primary line of work…but when writing and editing comic books, for instance, it sometimes came in handy to be able to do a little art touch-up or letter a balloon.  I've drawn, or sometimes laid-out, a number of covers and even a few stories, and I would often design the cover lettering on comics I was editing.  Sometimes, when an artist had fallen behind, I'd ink some backgrounds.  I had enough control of a pen, brush or pencil to be able to do that.  In fact, Tom Orzechowski — who some folks felt was the best letterer in comics when he was doing more of it — once said in an interview that I was a better letterer than half the guys doing it full-time.  Beyond all this, I used to simply enjoy spending an hour or two a week at the drawing board instead of the keyboard.

But I got away from it — or perhaps it got away from me — for several reasons.  One, of course, was the computer.  Back when I was doing comics in the eighties, I designed and lettered the logo for a book I did called Crossfire and it took me about eight hours over three days to get it where I wanted it.  The Crossfire logo we use now is a version I did recently on the computer.  It took about seven minutes.

So there's one good reason I'm not doing as much lettering as I once did.  Another is that I'm not editing a whole line of comics at the moment.  Yet another is this: I've been honored to work with some of the best comic artists of the present-day…folks who are not only much, much better than me but much, much better than most professional artists.  Working with those guys only made me see my work as even less adequate than it already was…and one day, one of them made a rather thoughtless remark that I think helped erect a little mental block on the topic.  He didn't mean it maliciously…probably wouldn't even remember that he said it.

Last evening, I was called upon to do some fancy calligraphy.  It was the first time I'd really lettered something by hand in years and I was appalled at how poor my work was.  Way below whatever my previous standard was.  It's jarring to discover you can't do something as well as you could five or ten years ago.  I wasn't so good five or ten years ago that I could afford to lose any of it…but I have.

I have resolved to practice and to get back whatever I once had.  But I thought it was worth mentioning it here as a kind of cautionary note: Use it or lose it, people.  Computers are great but you might not want to wake up one morn and discover that you've lost some organic, personal skill just because you found a good software program to do the same thing.  This is what killed the dinosaurs, right?

Game shows of the MTV generation usually look for physical player involvement, so I'm surprised no one has thought to revive Video Village, a silly but fun series that ran from 1960 to 1962 on CBS.  Format-wise, it was pretty simple: Two players competed as life-size "pieces" on a studio-sized game board.  Each would bring a friend or relative along to roll the dice for them and, based on that roll, contestants would move one to six spaces along the "street."  Some spaces paid little prizes — merchandise or money — some spaces cost you a turn or took your prizes away.  On the last of the three "streets," the prizes became considerable…and, of course, the object of the game was to reach the finish line before your opponent.

There was also a kid's version of the show briefly on Saturday morning.  As I recall, it was called Video Village Jr. in the TV Guide and it was called Kideo Village on the show itself — or perhaps it was the other way around.  I was ten at the time and bothered more than anyone should have been by this discrepancy.  Years later, when I met its host, Monty Hall, I saw my chance to finally get this age-old riddle answered and off my widdle mind.  I asked him why the show had one name in TV Guide and another on the air.  His reply was, "It did?"  Thank you, Monty Hall.  (In 1964, the same production company — Heatter-Quigley — did another kids' version of Video Village.  This one was called Shenanigans and was hosted by Stubby Kaye.)

Monty Hall was actually the third host of Video Village, following Jack Narz and Red Rowe.  As was the custom in the board game version of TV quiz programs, no real host is depicted on the box cover of the Milton Bradley version above.  I had always assumed that this practice was because the owners of the show didn't want to share the loot with the host, and that may have been the reason in some cases.  But an expert at such things — a collector of board games based on TV shows — once told me that wasn't the main reason.  The main reason was so that the board game could be sold overseas (where game shows were often produced with local hosts) and so that the toy company didn't get stuck with an out-of-date box on already-manufactured items if the show changed hosts.  Changing stars in mid-stream was more common then than it is now…although, at some point, every one of us is going to get to be the host of Family Feud.

Back when I was twelve, I loved to play the home version of Video Village, often with a friend of mine named Alan.  Oddly, Alan didn't want to play against me.  The only way he enjoyed the game was if we found a third person to compete, whereupon Alan could function as Monty Hall.  Though the board game was designed to be played one-on-one with no emcee, Alan loved to preside and to do all the unnecessary game show host patter that Monty did on the air, even asking the announcer (whose voice he'd also do) to tell us what we'd all won.  Unfortunately, when I went over to Alan's house, the only third party available was usually his younger sister who was thoroughly uninterested in his silly games.  I'd say to Alan, "Let's play Stadium Checkers, instead."  But Alan wanted to play Game Show Host, so he'd start bribing Sis the way an older brother can bribe a sibling: "If you'll play two games with us, I promise not to yell at you for a week and to let you ride up front next time Mom takes us to the market."  His sister would counter, "Throw in that you'll take the trash out and tell Mom that you were the one who broke her vase."  It all foreshadowed Monty's subsequent TV program, Let's Make A Deal, except that it was more mature since no one had to dress up like a giant hubbard squash.

It also never worked.  Once we got into the game, Alan, being the gracious host, would ask her, "So, where are you from and what do you for a living?"  He'd expect her to say, "Well, Alan, I'm a stenographer from Lansing, Michigan and I have three wonderful children," but she'd say. "I'm from the same place as you, doo-doo head, and I'm ten years old.  I don't have a job."  He'd scream at her for not playing along and she'd scream at him for using her toys in the swimming pool and that would be the end of today's episode of Video Village.  Come to think of it…though we didn't know it at the time, we were actually playing the home version of The Jerry Springer Show.  You know, I bet that would sell.

Mark is backed up on deadlines again so this site may not have many updates the next few days.  As usual, we promise to make it up to you when we can.  And a special thanks to all of you who've lately used the "tip" function and sent us cash.  (I'm even behind on writing my thank-you e-mails for them…)

Spent a lovely evening at a special seminar at the Museum of TV and Radio in Beverly Hills — a show about the early and late days of Monty Python, with Eric Idle present to intro and answer questions.  They ran an episode of Do Not Adjust Your Set, a show he did, pre-Python, with Terry Jones and Michael Palin.  He described it as a "kids' show," as perhaps it was based on its time slot.  But the sketches therein — and in other episodes I've seen — would not have been outta place as prime-time Python.  This was followed by a documentary about the guys' later work, shot on the set of Life of Brian.

In the pre-screening Q-and-A, Mr. Idle was charming and very funny, even in the face of one or two geeky questions.  (One lady asked, "Would you sing for us?")  He said that his sequel to the Rutles — All You Need is Lunch, which I saw at a previous screening in the same room — will air soon, as will a program made up of concert footage from his touring show, Eric Idle Exploits Monty Python.  He politely dodged questions about The Men of Python ever reuniting for anything but gave the impression that he isn't expecting it to happen.

He opened his little talk by quoting a line of George Harrison's — "If we knew at the time we were going to be The Beatles, we would have tried harder" — and said (approximately), "At the time, we all just thought of Python as just our next show and we had no idea it would become what it's become."  Later, he said that he thought it was a fortunate thing that all 45 episodes of the TV show were completed before the series reached America and their fame exploded.  Success, he said, changes a show…as witness what happened to Saturday Night Live once (another approximate quote:) "everyone in the cast became Chevy Chase."

He's an enormously witty, bright man.  The only thing that could have made the evening better would have been if they'd chucked the films, good as they were, and had Eric Idle talk about an hour longer.