Sometimes, you just can't resist a sale. When The Complete Rowan & Martin's Laugh-In — all six seasons of it — was released on DVD, it cost $250. Now, it's down to $61.60.

That buys you 126 hours and 4 minutes on 37 discs. You could watch them for more than five straight days and when you finished, we could send men over to take you away to a very small room with very soft walls for the rest of your life. I just ordered one so guess where I'll be headed 126 hours and 4 minutes after it arrives.

Actually, I'm not sure why I ordered it. I know the shows seem very dated now and repetitive and if I do watch them, it'll be something like one episode every few weeks. But I have a certain affection — and maybe a lot of it is my nostalgia and my brief crush on Judy Carne — but…well, it's like I said: Sometimes, you just can't resist a sale. If you're like me in this regard, and I certainly hope you aren't, here's a link to order.

The New Yorker has a nice article about the enduring appeal of Buster Keaton's work. Adam Gopnik wrote it reviewing two new books on Buster and it's worth reading but some of us are puzzled by this one passage…

In 1933, he was fired by Louis B. Mayer, essentially for being too smashed, on and off the set, to work. Keaton's M-G-M experience, despite various efforts by Thalberg and others to keep his career alive as a gag writer, ruined his art. The next decades are truly painful to read about, as Keaton went in and out of hospitals and clinics, falling off the wagon and then sobering up again. His brother-in-law, the cartoonist Walt Kelly, recalls that "nobody really wanted to put him under control because he was a lot of fun."

Walt Kelly was Buster Keaton's brother-in-law? I consider myself something of an authority on both men and I never heard that. I checked with Walt Kelly's son Peter and he never heard it either. You'd think he'd know.

One might also note that during the period discussed — the years Keaton was in and out of hospitals and clinics — he was in Los Angeles and the cartoonist Walt Kelly who drew the Pogo comic strip was in Connecticut and/or New York. And nowhere in Kelly's voluminous writings have I seen any mention of Buster Keaton. So what's the deal here?

If you watch episodes of the old game show Tattletales, you'll see a lot of celebrity couples bickering and arguing and you may wonder how their coupling, married or otherwise, could endure. In many cases, it hasn't. A lot of those couples separated or got divorced or otherwise uncoupled. It might even be most of them.

But a few didn't. I caught an episode a week or three ago and two of the three couples are no longer together but the third couple is. It was the comedy team of Charlie Brill and Mitzi McCall.

Charlie and Mitzi met in 1959. They were both students in a comedy workshop at Paramount Studios that was run by Jerry Lewis. They teamed up professionally and personally. By 1964, they were a hot enough act to appear on The Ed Sullivan Show. Unfortunately, the episode they were on was the one on February 9 that year when the audience was full of teenage girls who were there to see some act called The Beatles make its first appearance. Things did not go well for Charlie and Mitzi that night.

But if they could survive that, they could survive anything…and they have. Today is their 62nd anniversary.

They're still together. They're still performing. They're two of my favorite people. Happy Anniversary, Mitzi and Charlie! I think it's for keeps.

And now here's another photo that I took on a walk. This was a few weeks ago but I didn't get around to posting it here before.  It was on the side of an AT&T repair truck that was parked directly across the street from where I saw the Jetsons truck in the previous post.  It of course raises the question: You and I should be wearing masks when we're around others…but do these seven people need them? Really?

Some of them can breathe in outer space or underwater. I suppose Batman might be capable of getting or transmitting COVID…but Superman? Really?

It's the year 2022 and Mr. Spacely finally fired George Jetson, once and for all, from the Sprockets company. So what does George do? How will he make a living and feed Jane, Judy, Elroy and Astro? How can he afford Rosie the Robot? How will he keep the Foodarackacycle filled with protein pills?

The other day on a walk, I saw what he was doing and I took this photo…

Sheldon Sturges saw the previous item on this blog, noticed the credit "Produced by Allan Sherman" and sent me this e-mail…

My Dad had that Cosby record and played it all the time when it first came out, so I used to say "rightttt" a lot in the first grade, which confused my teacher, the lovely Miss Jolicoeur. Just curious: what does a producer do on a comedy/spoken word record?

Well, it could mean many things on other records but I believe on this one, it meant they paid Allan Sherman some money to let them put his name on there. He was the hottest seller of comedy records ever at the same time while Cosby — then largely unknown — was putting out his first and for the same company. Someone there probably thought it would help sales and it probably did.

Speaking of Allan Sherman: I will be in the next day or so. Fans of his work will enjoy what is to come here.

Stephen Colbert has this thing he does on his show — The Colbert Questionert, pronounced "Colbaire Questionnaire" — in which he asks guests fifteen questions that supposedly enable us to "know" them. A friend made me answer it the other day and one of the questions is: "Name something you own that you really should throw out."

My answer? My Bill Cosby records.

Actually, I should probably throw out all my records. There are a thousand in my living room and among those, there are maybe ten I might want to listen to again but don't have on CDs or as MP3 files. I also do not have a working record player.  But "My Bill Cosby records" sounded like a clever response…and I probably will never listen to them again. It's not just that I think he's guilty of heinous crimes.  I just never found his records — or him on TV — uproariously funny.

My qualified admiration for him as a comedian all flows from seeing him perform live at Harrah's in Reno in the early eighties. Had he not done it all sitting down, I would call his act one of the three-or-so greatest stand-up performances I've ever seen. (Albert Brooks would be one of the others and I'm not sure who'd fill out the list…probably Carlin, maybe Klein.)

But I still kinda have that quandary about separating the art from the artist…and not just about him. There are comic book guys and authors and other kinds of folks who produce creative work who disappointed me as human beings for one reason or another. I dunno how many of you could look at their work and enjoy it just as much after that disappointment. I don't think I can.

If you told me Mr. Cosby was performing down the street from me doing the same kind of show he did in Reno and doing it just as well, I don't think I'd go. Even if my attendance would not put another dime in his pocket and would not be taken as forgiveness or denial of his misdeeds, I don't think I'd go.

I've been thinking about this since I read about a four-part documentary that is soon to commence on Showtime. It was written and directed by comedian W. Kamau Bell and — well, here: Watch this trailer…

It starts next Sunday night and I just set my TiVo to record all four parts. I'm not sure what it will tell me about William Henry Cosby Jr. that I don't already know. I'm just thinking it might help me figure out how to deal with the kind of disappointments I mentioned a few paragraphs ago. I'll let you know if it does.

Vanity Fair's website will sometimes let you read an article or two for free, then pounce on you to subscribe to read more. You may be able to read this article by Michael Riedel about the revival of The Music Man. It covers how the show came to be, how it was almost done in by COVID, how it survived the loss of its producer in an employee-abuse scandal and on and on. Worth your time.

Since I have zero interest in tennis, I should have had zero interest in King Richard. This is the movie in which Will Smith plays the father of Venus and Serena Williams and raises them to be two of the greatest athletes of all time. I'm not sure why I liked it as much as I did. It might have had something to do with how convincing and natural Smith and all the lead actors were. The film was brilliantly written in that it didn't feel written. It just felt real…and well worth the journey.

At the end of the screener, I looked up how long it was and was surprised to find it was 2 hours and 24 minutes. It sure didn't feel like that. By contrast, I recently watched the eighty-seven jillionth James Bond film, No Time to Die and it was "only" 2 hours and 43 minutes. It felt like twice that and more…though I'll give it the benefit of the doubt and suggest that maybe it would be better on a real screen instead of the 43" one in my office. Since I ain't goin' to no movie theaters these days, that's how it's gonna be for a while.

Anyway, I recommend King Richard even if you couldn't care less about competitive tennis. And I guess I'd recommend No Time to Die if you really enjoy beautiful scenery and something blowing up every 60 seconds. Or so it felt.

My pal Bob Bergen is not only one of the best voiceover actors working today — in animation and elsewhere — he's also one of the best teachers of his art 'n' craft. You may not be able to get into one of his classes but you can go to his Instagram page and watch the little videos he posts about tricks of the trade. Better still, follow him.

Here's a piece that will give you some deep insight into Rogers: The Musical, better known to some as the Broadway show about Captain America and The Avengers. The story about how it came to be and almost didn't exist is as gripping and real as the show itself…

Referencing my piece on Louie Anderson, Jerry W. wrote to ask…

Once a comic was big enough to get inserted into the Comedy Store lineup, wasn't he or she much more likely to be working out new material than hoping to impress Jim McCawley?

My observation was that if a comedian had never been on with Mr. Carson and it was likely his scout, Jim McCawley, was on the premises, most comics would treat their stage time as an audition for The Tonight Show. They would go with their strongest material. If they had a 1 AM slot, no, they wouldn't assume there was anyone there they wanted to impress. But they sure didn't want to bomb in front of McCawley or someone from the network or a big agent.

They generally knew. Someone would tip them off that So-and-So was in the audience. Budd Friedman at The Improv — the other comedy club frequented back then by industry people — would sometimes make an extra effort to provide a good showcase for a specific comic who'd shown loyalty to the club.

Let's say you were a comedian working his room and someone had arranged for some V.I.P. from NBC to come see you. Budd or his staff would make sure you got the time slot you needed and that your V.I.P. was treated like one. They might even make sure the comic on before you was someone strong — but not too strong — and wouldn't hog the stage and cut into your time. They might even offer/suggest a time slot the night before so you could practice the set you'd be doing for the V.I.P.

Some comics didn't need Carson (or other) exposure so they might break in new material at the Store. But I once heard a comedian say, "That's what Igby's is for." Igby's was a small comedy club over in West L.A. where few industry people went and where no one ever got discovered. Mitzi Shore, owner-manager of The Comedy Store, might feel betrayed if someone she regarded as one of "her" comics did a set at The Improv but she didn't get too angry if they occasionally went on at Igby's. She was especially forgiving if they said, "I just went there to break in some new stuff I wasn't sure was good enough to do at The Store."

I had a passing friendship with McCawley. I may never meet another human being who had his butt kissed so much and so obviously. He was a nice guy, though I don't think his talent was that he knew what audiences would like so much as that he knew what Johnny would like.

Here's a nice piece on Louie Anderson by Peter Sobczynski. Mr. Sobczynski makes a point I wish had occurred to me when I wrote what I wrote here. Anderson's comedy was rarely if ever mean or hostile…and this was at a time when a lot of the newer comics seemed to be trying to outdo each other in those categories. We need more comedians like that.

It's 11/20/84 and a new comic is making his network debut on The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson. His name is Louie Anderson and I think he "won" a career with his very first joke.

To not have to pay use fees, Mr. Carson's company has edited the music out of clips like these. I understand the reasons but it's a shame that you don't get to hear the sensational ovation that Louie got at the end of his act…

No, I'm not writing or posting an R.I.P. for Michael Lee Aday, aka "Meat Loaf." I can see he was loved by many, but I don't know that I ever saw or heard him perform. That might have nothing to do with his success and everything to do with my sometimes-narrow tastes. So I have no insights, no observations, no anecdotes. This is true of most famous folks whose passing goes unmentioned on this blog.

The one thing I remember about Meat Loaf is from one of the times Tom Snyder had him on the Tomorrow Show and kept addressing him as "Meat Ball." Mr. Aday looked annoyed but didn't seem inclined to say anything about it. And I think if I'd asked everyone to call me "Meat Loaf," I wouldn't get that upset if they called me "Meat Ball."