I'm not posting much these days about the virus or politics because I figure you're already getting way more than you need of such content anywhere else you look. But I thought I should note that in a time of unprecedented amounts of erroneous information — some of it potentially deadly — Politifact is doing a great job of telling you what to believe and what not to believe.

Some of what they tell you not to believe are things you'd like to believe but you're man enough (or woman enough) (or a little of each) to handle that, right? You don't want to be one of those people who — to use one of my own oft-quoted lines — thinks that never admitting you're wrong is the same thing as always being right.

Here's an article to show anyone who claims that most Americans want to see stay-at-home orders lifted right away.

Oh, goodie. An earthquake. Just what we needed this morning. It was just after Midnight. I was on the phone with Stu Shostak. I felt it where I was. He didn't feel it where he was. Amber was much closer to the epicenter of it than I was but she slept right through it.

I have much writing to do today plus a couple of business-type online conferences. We will look back on the 2020 Quarantine and say, "That's when video conferencing became a way of life and displaced a fair amount of in-person meetings forever."

I haven't posted any Cat News here lately. That's because the two of them just lay around in the yard all day and eat and sleep and don't do anything interesting. Don't these animals know I have a blog to fill? Anyway, here's a photo I took the other day of Lydia, who has now been in my backyard (literally) longer than a bush I had my gardener plant and which is now taller than my gardener…

And here's one of Murphy, whose gender is still unknown and who is still practicing Extreme Social Distancing, remaining at least ten feet from me, even when she or he is famished and I'm putting out food. He or she does this, even when there's a locked glass door between us because you can never be too careful around me. I'd stay that far from me if I could.

Lydia now kinda asks for food for the both of them, pacing back and forth on the porch until I get the hint and break out the Friskies. She takes a bite or two, then leaves the rest of it for Murphy who's there and devouring, just as soon as there's no sign of me. It is not easy getting these pictures of Murphy…

Many of you are asking when I'll be doing another one of those video conferences. It will be soon, it will be via a different format and it will guest star my best friend — who has been known to look at me with the exact same expression that Murphy has above — Sergio Aragonés. You do not need to write in for an invite for this one. Just stay tuned to this blog for the details. Evanier out.

Many of you remember the situation comedy Green Acres, which was on CBS from 1965 to 1971. It was a "rural" show but much funnier and hipper than most of them. For instance, often odd things would happen with the producer, writer and director credits. Someone compiled these examples…

Just got this from Robert Rose…

Hey, it didn't occur to me till just now, but what does the cancellation of the 2020 San Diego Comic-Con mean for this year's Bill Finger award? Will it be skipped for this year or awarded remotely? And if it is awarded, might the lack of an in-person presentation affect the selection, since I gather you normally try to hand the "living" award to someone who can and will be present to accept?

Like many things in our lives now, it will continue but in a slightly-different manner. It will not be skipped. There will be Bill Finger Awards this year. And there will soon be an announcement about the form they will take. We're on top of this.

There will also be Eisner Awards. We just won't be gathering in the Indigo Ballroom at the Hilton Bayfront for their presentation…though if I win one, I just may drive down there, find a way into the Hilton and deliver an acceptance speech anyway.

David Evanier, cousin of the person whose blog this is, has written a long, perceptive review of Woody Allen's autobiography. And what David has written is also a review of some of the other reviews that have appeared, some of which made me wonder if the reviewer had read the book with any kind of open mind…or at all.

I found Mr. Allen's book very entertaining in a laugh-out-loud kinda way. In a way, it's two books — one, the story of an oft-brilliant filmmaker and one of the great comedians of the previous century. The story of his life…his early career as a comedy writer…his later career becoming a maker of movies…that's all fascinating. And funny.

Then there's this book in the middle someplace about a bizarre relationship with Mia Farrow, his romance with and subsequent marriage to her then-18-year-old adopted daughter (not his) and the accusation of molestation of a seven-year-old daughter. You can make of them what you want but my view of the latter, for whatever it's worth, lines up with (a) the investigation by the Yale-New Haven Hospital, (b) the one by the New York State Department of Social Services, (c) the testimony of the then-18-year-old and another sibling and (d) Allen's denials.

If you want to pursue the matter past David's review, he helps you out with links to varying opinions on the whole matter. Not many people who profess to believe in hearing both sides of a story do that. Heck, not many people these days who profess to believe in hearing both sides of a story really do.

Quite a few of you wrote to say you enjoyed that Spike Jones clip I linked to here the other day. I was and am a huge fan of Mr. Jones and his music and a collector of nearly all of his records…and I was, well before one of the more bizarre moments of my bizarre life. That would be when I discovered that the lady I'd been dating for around three years was his niece. I wrote about that here.

Here's fifteen minutes from one of Spike's live TV shows — and do keep in mind as you watch this that it was live. All those stunts and physical bits had to be done right the one time it mattered when they were on the air. Clearly, some of what happened (perhaps Hugh Herbert's second entrance) was not planned or rehearsed.

And I should mention who Hugh Herbert was. He was a popular comedian on vaudeville and later in talking pictures from about the time pictures began talking until his death in March of 1952. That's probably not long after this show was broadcast. His mannerisms and laugh were often-imitated and you've probably seen theatrical cartoons of the thirties and forties where some character looked and acted like Hugh Herbert.

It also may help one of the jokes here if you know that "Petrillo" refers to James C. Petrillo, the longtime president of the American Federation of Musicians. Mr. Petrillo was quite combative and willing to order work stoppages for the financial well-being of those who made music in this country.

With that in mind, I hope you're ready for some truly sophisticated comedy…

Yesterday, I took a baby step — well, maybe half a baby step — towards getting out of the house more. I got my car working again. It's been in the garage with a dead battery for about two and a half weeks and I decided it was time to rectify that. I called Triple-A and I guess their drivers aren't busy these days because a fellow was here in under eight minutes.

He checked the battery and said all it needed was a jump to get it started and then I needed to drive it around for about 45 minutes. So I drove it around for 45 minutes, unable to think of anyplace in all of Los Angeles, California that I wanted to go. The last time this happened to me — must have been twenty years ago — I drove to a store I'd been wanting to visit that was about a 45 minute drive away. This time, no such destination came to mind so I drove west for about 22.5 minutes and then turned around and came back.

Most interesting thing I saw: At the legendary corner of Pico and Sepulveda Boulevards — made famous on Dr. Demento's radio show and nowhere else — there's usually a guy on the southeast corner selling flowers. He was there but, so help me, he was selling masks.

There wasn't much traffic. Almost everyone I saw was wearing a mask. One lady who was walking her dog had a kerchief on and so did the dog.

I paused for a red light near a little park-like area. There, I saw three young folks lounging on a blanket enjoying a picnic lunch. They were all wearing masks and carefully tucking bites of food behind their masks for consumption.

And I saw an awful lot of restaurants that I would have thought would be open for take-out and delivery but were instead shut tight. I hope they all reopen after this is over but I bet some of them won't.

When I got home, I put the car in the garage and made sure that no door was open and no interior light was on. One of those, I suspect, caused my battery to drain when I went two weeks without driving the car.

I wonder why someone can't invent a component that stops all drawing off the battery when it reaches the minimum level necessary to get the engine started. Maybe someone has and the Lexus folks don't make it standard because they want to drum up business for the American Automobile Association. A car that costs that much shouldn't be rendered useless because you forgot to turn off your friggin' dome light.

Here's me at a party some time ago with three men of music. Going right to left, we have Stan Freberg, then me, then Richard Sherman, then Ian Whitcomb at far left. Ian died last Sunday at the age of 78, not from the coronavirus but from, apparently, whatever had been keeping him ill for some time. He was a delightful gent, a delightful performer and a great scholar of popular music, especially old popular music, especially funny old popular music in the U.K. and U.S.

Once upon a time, he was one of those British rock stars of the sixties. He had a Top Ten hit in 1965 with "You Turn Me On" but to see him perform in the last few decades was to enjoy a delightful evening of obscure funny tunes. He loved performing and I enjoyed hearing him and also talking with him about…well, about the songs but really about anything. He was witty and friendly and I think you can tell that from the musical selection I've made below.

This could easily have been a video of him performing "You Turn Me On" but the Ian I knew was more likely to burst into this kind of song. This is from a Tonight Show from the seventies. He was one of the good guys…

Christopher Orr discusses the enduring (amazing, actually) popularity of Scooby Doo. As he notes, "Scooby-Doo, believe it or not, has over the years been the subject of at least 19 TV series (on CBS, ABC, the WB, Cartoon Network, and Boomerang); more than 40 animated films; and two live-action movies in the early 2000s, the first of which grossed $275 million worldwide."

He gives credit to producers William Hanna and Joseph Barbera, "story writers" Joe Ruby and Ken Spears, and animator Iwao Takamoto. I could name a dozen or more folks who deserve mucho credit but none more than Don Messick, who invented and performed for 27 years, the infectious and funny sounds of the title character. Mr. Orr also offers a quote from Carl Sagan (our national "science guy" before Bill Nye) that the show was a "public service…in which paranormal claims are systematically investigated and every case is found to be explicable in prosaic terms."

As one of the legions of soldiers who worked on the Great Dane, it pleases me to think of the show in those terms. It never occurred to me before quite that way and I'm one of those people who believes that there are no such things as real magic or paranormal occurrences, and it didn't dawn on me that that was an underlying premise of what I was writing. But yeah, if we taught some kids that there's always a real-world explanation, that might be the most valuable lesson that was ever in any cartoon show or comic book I worked on. (The other lesson — which I believe in and was aware I was conveying — is that it's always better to out-think the bad guy as opposed to overpowering him.)

I was not fond of Scooby Doo when it debuted on TV and would have passed on writing the comic book had not I been eager to work with Dan Spiegle, who was drawing it at the time. I'm still so very glad I did…but I also came to appreciate the simplicity and beauty of the original, unimproved Scooby Doo format. The umpteen variations on it have prolonged the property's existence while at the same time demonstrating how they can't improve upon it. Wait'll you see how the next five or ten "new looks" prove that.

As we hit the big Four-Oh here in the Fortress, I'm still fine and feeling quite fortunate that I'm feeling fine. The other day on the phone, a friend who follows these dispatches said to me, "I like the way you're taking it one day at a time," and I thought, "No, that's not what I'm doing at all."

I mean, there's a sense in which you have to take everything one day at a time because that is how you live them. There's no option in my life to experience Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday simultaneously. You have to plan ahead in this world, especially when if you place an Instacart order for groceries today, they don't have a delivery date open until a week from Tuesday, by which time they'll be all out of Miracle Whip.

But it does help — or at least it helps me — to not try to plan too far ahead. Like you, I have no idea when this thing will end or what the world around me will be like when it does. Which businesses will reopen and when? What activities in my life can resume and when and how? I dunno. And since I dunno, trying to plan for that is (a) a waste of time and (b) an avoidable frustration when some or all plans, as they inevitably will, prove futile.

I also think that obsessing about Donald Trump is bad for me. He's bad for the country and thinking too much about him is bad for me. If he's driving you bugfuck, you might want to try it. It's one of those "que sera, sera" deals. Whatever will be will be. Or at least that's how I feel at the moment. I can start caring more when we're closer to Election Day — that is, if he's even on the ballot.

So many unpredictable things have happened this year already that it wouldn't surprise me if Trump or even Biden wasn't. (That's not a prediction. I'd put it at about a 5% chance. Just saying that it wouldn't surprise me.)

I wouldn't feel this way if I could do anything about it. But sometimes when you can't, the best thing is to enjoy the luxury of not being able to do anything about it. I can however do something about finishing writing assignments and cleaning my house so those take precedence.

Something else I can do is more of those online chats…though I've also decided that Zoom is not the ideal platform. It gets unwieldy with more than about fifty people participating and I have about 350 requests for invites to the next one. Zoom is great for conferencing and it has become an integral tool in my life but I need something else. Tonight, I'm doing a test of a different method and if it works out, I'll be setting up more online panels and interviews and they'll be open to all. So there's no need for you to write in and ask for an invite.

I love this video. Take it full-screen on your monitor. 44 performers in the Broadway revival of A Chorus Line demonstrate what the show would look like in The Age of Social Distancing…

Groucho on The Dick Cavett Show in 1969…

Here's my all-time favorite musical group…Spike Jones and the City Slickers with their massacre rendition of "Twelfth Street Rag." Yeah, The Beatles were great but could John or Paul play a clarinet that went through several human heads? I think not. And I'll betcha that's Billy Barty playing the bottom half of Elvis, back in the days when other shows wouldn't show him below the waist…

Properly masked and gloved, I took a walk yesterday afternoon — to the ATM at my bank to deposit a $12.47 check, to a corner mailbox to mail off my WGA dues statement and, since I was in the area, a McDonald's. Since this thing started, the closest I've been to a place that prepares food, not counting my kitchen, was the drive-thru at a Pollo Loco. Before any wiseguy suggests that what McDonald's offers is not food: You oughta see what comes out of my kitchen.

I ordered via their app on my iPhone then walked over and actually went into the McDonald's. I've heard that a lot of their outlets have closed the going-inside part and just operate the drive-thru. This particular McDonald's has no drive-thru and the alterations within were impressive and serious. Everyone in the place was masked and gloved and the counterpersons were behind large, stylish plexiglass panels. The entire counter was not shielded; just the part where you stand when you place your order.

The floor was marked with one-way arrows to lead you into a curving line that snaked all through the dining room up to where you order and it was marked off with WAIT HERE signs spaced six feet apart. At the same time, other signs informed you that to sit at a table and consume your meal there was forbidden. Someone had given this a lot of thought and I felt about as safe as I could have felt in a public place.

When I walked in, I was the only one there so I short-cut the long-and-curving line and showed the counterperson the order number on my app. My credit card had already been charged so all he had to do was hand me my bag o' fries, burger and McNuggets, which was not ready yet. As I waited, a kerchiefed lady came in and as she waited for her order, we got to talking from behind my mask and her kerchief.

On the way in, we'd both passed a rather sad-looking homeless gent outside, leaning on a shopping cart that probably contained everything he owned in the world. He asked me to help him get a meal and I said, "On my way out" and went on in. She'd done the same and she said to me, "I feel like I should give that poor man five or ten bucks." I said, "You put up ten and I'll put up ten and we'll get him a $20.00 gift card." She agreed, we bought one and on our way out together, I handed it to the fellow. He was very grateful and thanked us about eighteen times.

As we walked off, he was still looking at that card like a tiny miracle in hand. You can't get much of a miracle these days for twenty bucks but I guess when you have nothing, anything can be a miracle. I can't quite explain it but I think that meant more to him than if we'd just given him a twenty-dollar bill.

And I felt a strong connection to that lady even though I didn't know her name or even what she looked like. It was a nice moment and when I got home, the fries were still warm and so was I. I think I need to get out of my house and take more walks.

A lesson in dating with Rowan Atkinson…