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.

Beginning this coming Friday night/Saturday morn, TV Land is running episodes of The Monkees, Fernwood 2Night and Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman on the weekends.  I never quite warmed to the ongoing tale of Ms. Hartman but most episodes of The Monkees are still funny and Fernwood is a scream.

I don't have anything particularly interesting to say about any of them.  Just wanted to make sure you didn't miss them.

Dear Friends of Mine —

Thank you but I have now received quite enough copies of the w.32.Klez.H virus.  You all seem to have it and, while I appreciate your generosity and eagerness to share it with me, I must respectfully decline.  I have not even been receiving your swell, unsolicited and perhaps unintentional gifts.  Fifty-some times in the last few weeks, the Norton AntiVirus program that I have installed on my computer has alerted me that an e-mail has been sent to me containing said virus.  Each time, it has prevented it from getting through, God bless it.

I don't wish to point fingers or assign blame but it seems to me that simple consideration for others on this World Wide Web would suggest that you should have such a program installed.  Nothing personal but I think it is bonehead stupid not to have a good anti-virus scanner on your computer, just for your own sake.  Add in the likelihood that you will probably someday not only get a virus but spread it to others and we have a situation where you can be both foolishly self-destructive and inconsiderate to others at the same time.

Even with proper protection, you might contract and spread a computer virus.  There are no Zero Defect defenses, and many worms and trojans, like the w.32.Klez.H will use your computer to spread themselves to others without your knowledge.  That one searches your computer for e-mail addresses and sends a random file from your hard disk to any addresses it finds, accompanied by a disguised version of the virus.  Without you even lifting a finger, your friends may receive e-mail from you and open it and contract the virus.  (Some of these noxious booby-traps even spoof the "From" address so the virus may not have come from the person the e-mail seems to be from.)

So it is impossible to be 100% safe.  Nevertheless, we could cut way, way down on these if everyone would at least make the effort and install anti-virus software.  You can download a trial copy of Norton AntiVirus by clicking here.  And if you have that nasty old w.32.Klez.H virus, you can rid yourself of it by downloading this program.  If you won't do it for others, at least do it for yourself.  Better still, do it for me.  I'm sick of getting pipebombs in my e-mailbox.

Thanks…
me

P.S. Representative Cynthia McKinney just announced that the Bush Administration had advance knowledge of the w.32.Klez.H virus.  And Vice-President Dick Cheney just accused the Democratic party of playing politics with the accusation instead of doing something patriotic like passing large tax cuts for Texas-based energy producers.

It was not so long ago that Republicans were throwing fits: No matter how much sexual dirt they released about Bill Clinton, they couldn't seem to put a meaningful dent in his approval ratings.  Lately, Democrats seem baffled that revelations about pre-9/11 bungling aren't causing George W. Bush's numbers to drop.  I think the two situations are even more similar than that…

The American people saw the move against Clinton — as they are seeing the criticisms of Bush — for Politics As Usual…or perhaps Politics As Usual, ratcheted up to a bloodthirsty level.  Then, as now, there is/was no national doubt that the folks defending or assailing would instantly swap rhetoric if the other party was in the firing line.  Moreover, there's this: In politics, you don't get done in by your enemies attacking but by your allies deserting.  Nixon did not call it quits because Democrats were assaulting his integrity but because key Republicans were tip-toeing off the reservation.  Clinton had a few Democrats lobbing mudballs his way but there was never any real jeopardy that they would vote to remove him from office.  If a few had so indicated, it might have started a save-your-ass stampede…but when Senator Robert Byrd introduced his motion to dismiss the impeachment trial, Clinton was home-free.

Byrd was the elder statesman Democrat most likely to break ranks and, since he didn't, no one did.  These days, Republicans seem pretty solidly behind Bush, at least in public, at least as long as he has the power that comes with that kind of seeming voter support.  A few are asking hard questions — more about the FBI than the White House — but Bush is in the same reflexive, safe position: His poll numbers are high because it's only the opposition party attacking him.  And it will only be the opposition party attacking him because his poll numbers are high.

Will this last?  I dunno.  I think we're going to hear a lot more about Bush not responding to advance warnings, about his Enron connections, about other past business arrangements that paralleled the Enron debacle.  I think we're going to hear an awful lot more about Dick Cheney making millions off dealing with nations that now reside on the Axis of Evil.  And, of course, we haven't heard the last of Florida.  I doubt the president's rep will get too tarnished until we get closer to the moment when some Democrat challenger — or perhaps John McCain as an independent — starts looking like a viable, preferable alternative.  That's assuming anyone ever ascends to that position and, yes, I know it may seem pretty unlikely, these days.

But when Democrats are out there bashing Bush, as they have been lately…I don't think that means much.  It may make Talk Radio and the cable news channels more interesting…may shake loose some campaign donations to Democrats…may even give some vicarious satisfaction to the 15-20% of Americans who think we have weasels in the White House.  But I don't think it means much.  The American people never gave much weight to Democratic criticism of Republicans or vice-versa but nowadays, I think it's really meaningless.  After the whole Clinton-Lewinsky thing, we now presume that if the guy in office so much as hiccups, the opposition party will be out there screaming it's proof that he's immoral and incompetent.  Democrats may be able to hassle Bush, investigate him, embarrass him and stall his agenda…but they cannot bring his poll numbers down.  Only Republicans can do that.

The Oxygen Network is running the old half-hours of Love, American Style from the late sixties/early seventies and I'd forgotten what an amazing mixed bag that series was.  Many episodes are unwatchable but some are quite fun, either for the guest stars or the funky 1970 sensibilities and fashions.  They ran one the other day where a wonderful character actor named Eddie Mayehoff took a dreadful script and just made it soar.  (If you don't recall his name, he's the guy who played Jack Lemmon's lawyer in How to Murder Your Wife.)

And there was a haunted house episode wherein Vincent Price sure raised the level of the proceedings, and another where Shecky Greene and Cass Elliott played a very funny couple.  Against this, you had an awful lot of episodes that now look like they were cast out of the commissary staff — "stars" who I don't believe were even known entities then, let alone now.  Others suffer from two different strains of "pilot" error.  They're either failed pilots that were played off as episodes of Love, American Style…or "backdoor" pilots, meaning that the producers were trying — usually, too hard — to whip up something with spin-off potential.  (Happy Days evolved out of an unsold pilot that was folded into the series but that was a singular exception.)

Most episodes aren't that wonderful as entertainment but there's a certain charm to the period and a fascination in seeing some of the great character actors at work.  As I write this, I'm watching one with Louis Nye, Eve Arden, Robert Q. Lewis, Michelle Lee and Joanne Worley…struggling and occasionally succeeding in the deathless sport of triumphing over one's material.  Tomorrow, I believe they're going to run one with a very young Albert Brooks playing — you'll never guess this — a cold, self-absorbed Yuppie-type.  I've set the TiVo to record every episode but I often bail out about three minutes in if there's no sign of treasure.

Dozens of folks have sent me copies of or links to obits for Dave Berg.  It took a week but he made all the major newspapers and services.  Now, let's see if anyone in the comic industry press will do anything.