My lovely friend Amber is crazy about the chicken fried rice they make at Benihana Steakhouses. If you have a joke about how that corresponds to her taste in men, keep it to yourself.

We go to those places often but probably not often enough to suit her.  By that, I mean we may not be at one whenever you're reading this. Alas and alack, the one nearest to my home closed and now the closest one is 10.2 miles away in Santa Monica and the next-closest, which for the love of God is in Encino, is 13.8. Both are reachable at most hours by highways and by-ways that can make it feel like double or even triple the actual distance.

For a delusional hour or so, I toyed with the notion of learning to replicate Benihana Chicken Fried Rice in my own kitchen. There are dozens of recipes online that essentially say, "Do as we tell you and you won't be able to tell the difference." I do not believe anything that ever comes out of my kitchen will ever hit that standard. I don't think I could replicate putting peanut butter on Ritz crackers to match the way the professionals do it.

Then I looked at all the ingredients necessary to make Benihana Chicken Fried Rice on these premises. I also noted how much time it would take to buy them all then chop what has to be chopped, sauté what has to be sautéed, etc. I decided it might be easier and faster — to say nothing of safer — to make a round trip to Santa Monica, even if I go on one of those little Bird scooters, than to do it at home.

It might even be cheaper, plus I know what I get out there will at least taste like Benihana Chicken Fried Rice. Given my dubious culinary skills, I could follow the directions down to the last abbreviation and wind up with candy corn or banana pudding or even (shudder!) cole slaw. I sure don't wanna make no cole slaw by accident.

So my eyebrows recently shot up — clear over my head, just like Dennis the Menace's — when I heard that Benihana now has a line of frozen foods. It includes Yakisoba Chicken, Yakisoba Beef and — wait for it! — Benihana Hibachi Chicken Rice!!! I don't care about anything with Yakisoba in its name but I did think, "Wow…maybe I could make something that even vaguely resembles Benihana Fried Rice at home! And in the microwave, no less." And yes, I did notice the absence of the word "fried" anywhere on the product. And yes, I did know that "fried" is the key element in what they make at Benihana. And yes, I did know that there was a real good chance that it was going to suck…

…but I had to try it anyway.

Trying it was harder than I expected because buying it was harder than I expected. I found out that the Benihana frozen chow line is being sold in Los Angeles at Ralphs markets and at Von's — but not every outlet of each. Over a period of approximately three weeks, I went to ten different outlets of those two chains. Four didn't carry the Benihana line at all. Of the ones that did, in every single instance — and I am not exaggerating — the display cases had plenty of the Benihana Yakisoba Chicken, plenty of the Benihana Yakisoba Beef and zero boxes of the Benihana Hibachi Chicken Rice. Empty spaces on every shelf in every freezer compartment!

Immediate Deduction: That's a powerful bit of branding power there…but only for the rice. Like me, no one cared about anything with "Yakisoba" in its name but many were mesmerized by the chance to have something close to Benihana's fried rice in their home freezers. I asked one Ralphs employee and she said, "No, we're out. They just flew off the shelves!"

Finally, I found one in a Von's…by accident. The shelf where they were supposed to be had been cleaned-out…but there, misfiled about fifteen feet away, there was one lonely package of it nestled among the Steak-Umms. Bought it, took it home and I decided to pre-test it before I told Amber about it so as not to get her hopes up. It turned out this was a very good idea. I thought it was awful.

A two-biter, it was. Took it out of the microwave, let it sit for a bit so the flavors could infuse (a term I learned watching Alton Brown) and it could cool to just below "scalding." Took a bite. Couldn't believe how bad it was. Took another bite to verify…and into the sink it all went. Even my garbage disposal sounded disappointed.

But I read some online reviews and a couple of folks seemed pleased. They said it wasn't anywhere near as splendid as what your chef whips up before your beady little eyes just before he sculpts it into a heart on the grill and then makes the volcano. But they said it was an acceptable substitute..and I suppose it is if your only other choice of a side dish is gravel.

Don't not try it because of me. I dislike many foods that you love. Amber's asked me to find another package of it so she can try it herself…and she might like it. I mean, she likes me so she's pretty unpredictable with her liking. I just wanted to tell you it's out, it's hard to find (at least around here) and you shouldn't expect The Real Thing. That's usually good advice, not just for frozen foods but for most things in this world. Especially if you vote.

Apart from the fact that he's dead, it's looking like a good year for Hervé Villechaize, the diminutive actor known for his role in the movie, The Man With the Golden Gun, his role in the TV series, Fantasy Island, and just about nothing else. He is the unlikely subject of an HBO movie, My Dinner With Hervé, which debuts October 20 and which stars Peter Dinklage. Would this film even have been made if we didn't have a major star who was roughly the proper height?

This is another one of those "someone famous playing someone famous" movies which as I mentioned here, usually don't work for me. I worked with Hervé once. It's a story I told when I appeared earlier this year on Gilbert Gottfried's Amazing Colossal Podcast. In fact, it was the second thing Gilbert asked me about. I don't feel like telling the story again here right now but if you subscribe to Stitcher Premium, you can hear it there. If you don't subscribe to Stitcher Premium, you should have listened to it back before it disappeared behind their paywall.

Anyway, here's how I intend to judge Peter Dinklage's performance: If I can understand more than about 25% of what he says, I will feel he has not captured the true Hervé.

I have conflicted feelings about Mr. Villechaize. His life had a very sad ending when his career got ice-cold. On the other hand, it's kind of amazing that he ever had any sort of career at all.

Please don't think I'm trying to ridicule him or mock his later years because I'm not. But in show business, there just aren't a lot of job openings for a 3'11" man with a thick French accent and not a lot of acting ability. Imagine you were living in your car, as he was at one point, and you knew that there was almost no chance of any sort of stardom, fame or riches in your future. Then The Devil or a C.A.A. agent appeared and told you you could have all that. You'd probably be wise enough to ask, "What's the catch?" and he'd tell you it was only for ten years and then it will all go away forever.

Would you take that deal? A lot of people would with zero hesitation. A lot of them would think that as sad as the post-stardom period might be, it would still be preferable to no stardom period at all. I'd like to think Hervé thought it that way but he probably didn't.

Anyway, I want to give him an additional credit here. As you may know, he started out as a painter and had a fair amount of success in France. I'll let Wikipedia pick up the story…

In 1964 he left France for the United States. He settled in a Bohemian section of New York City, taught himself English by watching television. Villechaize initially worked as an artist, painter and photographer. He began acting in Off Broadway productions, including The Young Master Dante by Werner Liepolt and a play by Sam Shepard, and he also modeled for photos for National Lampoon before moving on to film.

During that artist period, he somehow made contact with an artist named Jacqueline Roettcher. When I met Jacqueline, she was working quite successfully in animation in Los Angeles while also continuing a long career as an inker of comic books, mainly for the Harvey company. She inked many of their books but mainly the Casper and Richie Rich titles, particularly the ones penciled by Warren Kremer. She told me she'd often hire assistants to help her out and one of the assistants she had for a few years was Hervé Villechaize.

This was back when Hervé was still able to grip a pen or brush. As I mentioned on Mr. Gottfried's podcast, by the time I worked with him, some complication of his physical condition had made it impossible for him to use his hands for much more than gesturing. On our show when he had a costume change, he was unable to zip up his own fly. That show was in 1985. Mark Arnold, who is the world's foremost authority on Harvey Comics, estimates that Hervé worked on the comics between 1971 and 1973. (The Casper cover I selected above is from that period and it almost certainly has inking by Jacqueline Roettcher somewhere in it. We have no way of knowing if Hervé assisted on anything in that issue but he could have.)

I suppose he'd be happy to know he has not been forgotten and that people are still talking about him. Just in case he'd be annoyed that they don't know he once worked on Richie Rich, I thought I oughta put that information on the Internet. Spread it around…for Hervé.

The wonderful Kelli O'Hara performs a rousing tune at "From Broadway with Love: A Benefit Concert for Orlando" at the Disney Theatre in July of 2016. The conductor is Michael J Moritz Jr…

Moneywise lists two dozen restaurant chains that are still "hanging on," despite most of their outlets closing. I've never heard of some of them and the only ones there I've patronized in the last decade or two are Big Boy and Hometown Buffet.

I wonder which ones decreased in popularity due to not responding to changing tastes in the marketplace and which ones were mismanaged in other ways. I suspect in many cases, a new CEO and various cronies made out very well for themselves despite making all the wrong decisions.

A YouTube series I sometimes enjoy watching is Hellthy Junk Food, which stars the married couple of J.P. Lambiase and Julia Goolia.  They were not married when they started doing this and their website still refers to Julia as J.P.'s girl friend.  In each episode, they do one of two things…

They try to make something bizarre in their home kitchen…like a giant devilled egg or a KitKat bar the size of a Mazda.  Or they go to some fast food joint, order everything off the menu and critique each item.  In the first category, they're very big on putting one kind of food inside another — like a hamburger inside a giant French Fry inside a pizza inside another hamburger. Or something like that. A lot of what they deal in is what some would call "junk food" and none of it seems particularly healthy or even hellthy but I guess it's a success if they can knock 20 calories off something that has 2000+ of them.

So, uh, what's the point of making a Skittle the size of Hervé Villechaize? Just to see if they can do it and to entertain those of us who watch. I find them funny and if I ran the Food Network, they'd be on in prime time.

Today is apparently National M&Ms Day, at least around the M&Ms factory. In recognition of this, they decided to see if they could make the world's largest M&M. It turned out to be a lot more difficult than you might imagine…

The power came back on here at 3:05 AM and my life resumed. How come my computer can stay on for a while when the electricity goes out, thanks to my Uninterruptible Power Supply, but traffic lights don't?

Yesterday, I got a call from a gent who's running a comic convention in a faraway town, says he's a huge fan of my work and wants to fly me in to be a guest and he'll give me a nice monetary guarantee. I asked him, "Guarantee against what?" He said, "Well, you know…you sit there and sell sketches to your fans and if your gross doesn't hit the guarantee amount, we'll buy sketches from you to make up the difference so you're guaranteed to go home with that amount."

It's not that difficult to spot the people who are "a big fan of your work" but have no friggin' idea what you do. One tip-off: They use the words "legend" and "icon" a lot, as he did in every third sentence. Everything you've ever done or will ever do is "legendary" and/or "iconic." This morning, for example, I took a legendary shower and then ate an iconic bowl of cereal. I told the guy…

1. I don't do sketches.  I really don't draw much anymore and even when I did, what resulted was not the kind of thing discerning folks would shell out actual cash to acquire.  Long ago, I decided I had a future in writing and enjoyed it way more.  Also, lack of ability had something to do with it.  Had I stayed with drawing and practiced and practiced, I would now be about one-fourteenth as good as most of my artist friends (one twenty-eighth as good as Sergio) and I'd probably be homeless and sleeping on the back stairs of a Chipotle.
2. At conventions, I don't sit behind a table.  Been there, done that, bored silly by it.  Maybe when I get older, the "sitting down" part will matter more to me but right now, nope.  I can manage it for an hour or two here and there but not three whole days.

His reaction to these revelations was along the lines of "Then what the hell am I doing talking to you?"  He didn't say those words but it was there in his accusatory tone.  Ergo, I will not be a guest at this convention which, I see from its website, thinks anyone who works in comics is an Artist, including folks who don't even draw as much as I once did, which was not a lot.

Come to think of it though, I have a reason for wanting to go to Chicago some time between mid-April of 2019 and mid-October.  I'll tell you the reason shortly but for now, if any convention operator reading this would like to pay expenses to the Windy City (or anywhere near it) during those months for me and my lady friend, I will be a guest at your convention.  I'll even sit behind a table and sell sketches…but I warn you that if you give me a guarantee of anything over around twenty bucks, you're going to lose money on the deal.

Forgive any typos in this post. It's thunderstorming in Los Angeles, my power's gone out (as it does at the slightest sign of actual weather in this town) and I'm posting this on an iPad in a dark room with 11% power remaining.

As I've mentioned here, I'm a member of The Academy of Magical Arts, the group that operates the World Famous Magic Castle as its clubhouse and no, I won't (can't, really) give you a pass to go there; not if I don't know you really well. But I can show you this brief tour of the place hosted by the multi-talented Misty Lee.

I'm not sure why they made this. It feels like a recruiting tool but the Castle is now more successful than it's been since I joined 38 (!) years ago. Every night, it's packed to the point where members are complaining they can't get reservations. There's also a waitlist to become a new member. Still, the video will give you a good sense of the place. (Small Quibble: Not every magician performing there produces live doves outta nowhere.)

I love the place even if I do have to put on a tie to go there in the evenings. I'd tell you more but I'm at 8% power. No, make that 7%. See you when my electricity's back on. Given the swiftness of the DWP, we might be looking at Thanksgiving and maybe not the next one. Good night.

It used to be fashionable to refer to Broadway dancers as "gypsies" but that noun has gone out of fashion. I kind of understand why but it doesn't seem like a huge slur. Then again, I'm down with the idea that people should be called by whatever name or term they choose…and there doesn't seem to be any outcry among the folks in question over the rebranding. So the "Gypsy Robe" — a famous Broadway tradition which I wrote about here — is now the Legacy Robe…and it's probably a better name of it.

Also, there is or was this annual event called "The Gypsy of the Year Awards." If you're ever in New York at the beginning of December, try to attend this. It's only two performances and both are filled with folks from the theatrical community both onstage and in the audience. The companies of the most of the currently-running shows each put on a little sketch or musical number, often burlesquing one another and they're always very entertaining.

If you go from now on though, look for the Red Bucket Follies, which is also probably an improvement in the Name Department. Again, this does not seem to be a controversial change. The term I'd like to see changed is "Ticket Resellers." Let's call them why really are: The Unofficially Sanctioned Ticket Price Raisers. But I'll settle for just "pirates."

I linked the other day to a video about a gent named Igor Vovkovinskiy and said he was the tallest man in the world. That was the title of the video posted by the folks who do the version of 60 Minutes in Australia but many of you have informed me that that's wrong. Mr. Vovkovinskiy, at 7'8" is the tallest man in America but not the world.

The Guinness Book of World Records people say that honor belongs to a Turkish-Kurdish farmer named Sultan Kösen, who is 8'3". Both men are still growing and both apparently have the same condition: A tumor that is pressing against the pituitary gland, causing it to secrete an abnormal amount of growth hormone.

Apparently, there are also a few other men who are an inch or two taller than Igor. I am correcting the record because I don't like having people get pissed at me, especially if they're over seven feet tall.

A movie is coming out shortly in which Tom Hanks plays the popular kid show host, Fred Rogers. I don't think there's a better actor working today than Tom Hanks but if we were ignoring box office heat — as few films can afford to do — I think there might be someone around more suited to play Mr. Rogers. It would be someone who didn't keep looking or sounding like Tom Hanks.

Maybe it's just me but I have trouble with well-known people playing well-known people. They rarely seem to disappear into the roles for me.  I feel the same way when someone familiar acts with a lot of makeup on…Billy Crystal in The Princess Bride or Mr. Saturday Night, for example.  In those cases, I didn't see an older man on the screen.   I saw Billy Crystal with a lot of stuff on his face.

When I watched the movie of Lenny, I did not see Dustin Hoffman becoming Lenny Bruce. I saw Dustin Hoffman doing Lenny Bruce's material. When I saw Will Smith playing Muhammad Ali, I saw Will Smith telling people he was Muhammad Ali.

In Saving Mr. Banks, we were supposed to buy Tom H. as Walt Disney and I'm afraid I didn't.  To me, one of the charming things about the real Walt was that he was so non-slick in front of a camera; like they'd randomly picked someone's uncle to host a TV show. He was not a natural for that position, whereas Tom Hanks just twinkles with stardom on screen.  He can dial it down but he can't shut it off.

I'm not saying those weren't great performances or great movies. I'm just saying that the better known the actor is — ofr for that matter, the person he or she is playing — the harder it is for me to stop seeing it as an actor playing a role. I did a little better with Bryan Cranston in Trumbo (though I didn't much like that film) and Philip Seymour Hoffman in Capote, in large part because I didn't know the sound of Dalton Trumbo's voice and I had no particular memory of this Hoffman in any other role.

I am trying not to pre-review a movie that isn't finished and which I haven't seen yet…but it would seem to me that the same thing applies with Hanks as Rogers, only more so. Fred Rogers' every word and gesture reminded you that he was not an actor; that he had never attended the Columbia School of Broadcasting or any other place to give him a polished, professional screen presence. It just seems to me he shouldn't be played by a fellow with two Oscars, four Golden Globes, six Emmys and a whole mess of other awards and nominations.

Then again, Mr. Rogers did win five Emmys, one of which was a lifetime achievement award. Another was a writing award which he got in 1985 and one of the nominees he beat out for it was me. I was not unhappy about that.  To the extent such trophies actually recognize achievement, he probably deserved it way more than I did. If he'd been at the ceremony, I would have told him so.

A few years later, I was at the Licensing Show in New York and he was there to sign autographs for a few hours. Someone I knew there knew him and asked me, "You want to meet Mr. Rogers?" Well, of course I did.  How could anyone pass up that opportunity?  (At another one of those conferences, I met "Buffalo" Bob Smith of Howdy Doody fame.  Have I told that story here?)

Introductions were made…and I was instantly struck by how Mr. Rogers was exactly the same in person as he was on-screen. Exactly. He talked the same, he smiled the same, he acted the same — which meant that on TV, he wasn't acting at all. I should have known better but, trying to get a chuckle out of him, I said, "It's an honor to meet you even though you beat me out for an Emmy Award."

Big mistake, Mark. Mr. Rogers suddenly acted like I was in need of medium-level grief counseling. He said, oh so kindly, "Now, young man, you shouldn't feel bad about such things. Awards are not the measure of what we do. I'm sure you did something of great value if it was nominated and the pride in that work should be your reward…"

"Well, I was just kidding. Actually, I thought it was great that you won and —"

"Because if you feel good about yourself, that's all that should ever matter.  The approval of others is nice to have, of course, but it should never be a necessity in your life."

"It isn't," I said — and at that moment, all sorts of smartass quips, most of them self-deprecating, were racing through my mind. They were drowned-out by some part of my brain shouting at me, "Don't try to be funny! He takes things literally!"

So I said to him, "I'm sorry. I gave you a wrong impression. I was just trying to say it really was an honor to meet you."

And so help me, he grinned and said something that to him at that second I'm sure was absolutely true. He said, "Well, it's an honor to meet you, too!" And then he turned to some people near us and introduced me to them as his new friend. Even remembered my name and pronounced it properly, which I don't always do.

Even if Tom Hanks is the best actor alive — and I'm not saying he isn't — I don't see how he or anyone in show business could capture the total delight and complete lack of guile or sarcasm or artifice in Mr. Fred Rogers at that moment. In life, we sometimes play roles, acting nicer or more sincere than we really are because that seems to suit the situation.

I will keep an open mind and cheer if Mr. Hanks can make me accept him totally as Mr. Rogers. But in my one Mr. Rogers moment — the one I've just described — my then-new friend was totally honest and not playing any sort of role of any sort. Tom Hanks will be.

Here's a nice remembrance of Neil Simon that was assembled upon his recent passing…

Lately, almost every time I talk on the phone with some employee of a large company, I am asked afterwards to rate that employee on their knowledge, their courtesy, their efficiency, etc. Sometimes, I'm asked to remain on the line after the call with the live person so that I can take a brief survey, rating them 1-to-5 or 1-to-10. Sometimes, it happens in a follow-up call to me. Both kinds of surveys are conducted by a computer voice.

With rare exceptions, these surveys are only about the specific staff member to whom I spoke. They are almost never about my total experience dealing with the company. They do not ask how many times I had to call and how long I waited on "hold" to get to that staff member. They do not ask how confusing it was to determine which button to press to be connected to the proper department or even what the proper department was. Yesterday, I was asked to rate a woman I spoke to at Spectrum Cable, a firm I believe has as its only goal to make you wish you were back with Time-Warner Cable.

Yesterday's Spectrum journey began with a robocall to me. It was a message delivered by the recorded voice of their lady-who-answers-the-phone — the one who sounds like she's still bitter she didn't get to be Siri. She informed me that there was a problem with my system and that I should call the "800" number she gave me to resolve the situation. There was no hint as to what was wrong or even what division it was in — my Internet service, my phones, my cable TV, me paying my bill, etc.

I called the number — and it would have been nice if it had connected me directly to someone who could tell me what the heck this was all about. It did not. It connected me to the same Main Menu you get when you call Spectrum without being asked — you know: the one you call when your Internet is out, your phones are out, your cable TV is out…

The wanna-be Siri told me to press 1 for Technical Support, 2 for Billing, 3 for God Knows What, 4 for Something Else, etc. Having zero idea what this was about, I punched 1 for Technical Support, whereupon I was asked to press 1 for Internet Connectivity, 2 for Telephone, 3 to Get Ready, 4 to Go, 5 for Texas and so on. Since I still had no idea where the problem was, I picked one at random.

Then the lady's voice told me that due to a high volume of calls (i.e., they don't have a large enough staff), there was a wait time of 6 to 9 minutes. Given the choice of having them call me back (I would not lose my place in line) or spending 6-9 minutes being told my call was very important to them, I went for the callback…and they actually got back to me in about four minutes. I found myself talking to a live lady who asked me how she could help me.

I said, "I was hoping you could tell me that" and I explained about getting a call telling me there was something amiss but it didn't tell me what. She looked me up on her computer and it took about three minutes for her to load my information. Apparently, the Spectrum company's technology doesn't work any better for them than it does for me. I wonder who they call to complain.

Finally, she told me what the problem was. It's a problem we fixed a week ago.

So they wasted some of her time and a lot of my time for no reason. Shouldn't someone there be able to fix this computer problem — sending out alerts for things that are no longer alert-worthy — in about twenty minutes? And if they can't fix that, what makes them think they can fix the problem on my cable TV that causes the signal to pixelate every time Steve Harvey is on? That's not a bad thing in itself but, jeez, that's like half the shows on TV these days. He has the talk show, he has the game show, he has the show with the kids…any week now, I expect them to reboot Gidget with him in the title role.

I hung up and then some computer at Spectrum waited just long enough for me to get back into working before it called me to take a brief survey. Thinking I might get an opportunity to complain about the previous waste of my time, I plunged into yet another. All the questions were about how nice and polite the lady in Tech Support was.

Well, I didm't want to give her a bad rating. She didn't do anything wrong except to go to work for that company. It wasn't her fault the computer called me about a non-issue. It wasn't her fault the callback number didn't reach the department I was supposed to talk to. It wasn't her fault that Steve Harvey just signed to put on a fur coat and take over for Smokey the Bear…

So I gave her a good rating and then I had sixty seconds to record comments. I was about twenty seconds into itemizing my complaints for whoever listens to such things — and I'm not convinced anyone does — and then the computer hung up on me. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Too bad they don't do follow-up calls to their follow-up calls.

This runs close to 14 minutes but I think you'll find it worth at least that much of your life. It's the heartbusting story of Igor Vovkovinskiy, the tallest man in the world.

The story was produced for the Australian version of 60 Minutes. I don't know if it's run in America…or if not, why not. But I guarantee you, it'll give you a lot of things to think about…

For an hour or so a few weeks ago, there seemed to be a fad of burning one's Nike shoes because…well, it never made a whole lot o' sense and I wonder if all the shoe-burners were clear on the concept. Somewhere online, I found this explanation which raises as many questions as it answers…

A day after Nike unveiled their new "Just Do It" ad campaign featuring former NFL player Colin Kaepernick, several Americans shared photos and videos of them burning Nike products in protest. Kaepernick, a former quarterback for the San Francisco 49ers, gained attention for taking a knee during the American anthem in the 2016 NFL season. He was protesting against the way the state police treated people of color. Since then, he kneeled in protest in several other games.

It has always struck me that the folks who are irate over players "taking a knee" are deliberately misrepresenting the protesters' statement to make it more attackable and less defensible. They're taking a protest that's clearly defined as being against the way some police departments mistreat minorities and reframing it as "Those players are showing disrespect for the flag and all those who have fought for it in our armed forces." It's a lot easier to whip up hatred of the protesters for the latter than for the former.

And when we make it about shoes, we're really changing the subject from the issue that this is all about: Police mistreating minorities. They really don't want to talk about that.

But wait. It gets sillier. And more off that topic…

Back when Donald Trump was President-Elect Trump, the folks who make New Balance shoes showed some support for him, mainly because he was promising to cancel the Trans Pacific Partnership, which had been championed by the Obama administration. This is not exactly a hard-right position. There's reason to believe that President Hillary Clinton or President Bernie Sanders would have done much the same thing. From what I can gather though, some of the shoe-burners — angry at Nike for treating Colin Kaepernick as the kind of hero you feature in advertising — vowed to henceforth buy only New Balance because (a) New Balance has made like 98% of their shoes in America and (b) they backed Trump.

(b) seems like an exaggeration to me but I'm all for (a). I've been wearing nothing but New Balance shoes now for close to forty years and the "Made in America" reason is a big one. Remember back when the news was full of footage of President William Jefferson Clinton out jogging? He was always wearing New Balance running shoes, possibly because he liked them as much as I do, probably because they were the only shoes he could wear without risk of reporters noting, "The president was wearing shoes made in Bangla Desh by eight-year-olds being paid a nickel a day."

Honestly though, a more important reason I wear New Balance is that I think they make real good shoes and my feet like them.

They're odd feet — so odd they might have kept me out of the Army had I been drafted. From about age 10 until I was about 27, I had to wear special shoes that cost a lot and didn't last long. They were only available as one model of leather dress shoes so that's what I had to wear all the time, including in gym class or when engaging in exercise or sports. Only two or three stores in all of Los Angeles sold them.

There were two good things about shopping at the one we went to, one being that they gave out March of Comics giveaways. My father (and later, I) was shelling out tons of cash for my shoes but at least they came with free hard-to-otherwise-procure comic books.

And the other was that I was buying shoes from real experts; not some kid who was in his second week working at a Foot Locker because he got fired from Hot-Dog-on-a-Stick.

One day around 1979, one of those experts did some re-examining and then said that a kind of athletic shoe they carried might work fine on my feet. I said, "When I was ten, I was told I couldn't wear athletic shoes."

He said, "That was probably correct…then. But your feet have changed and so have athletic shoes. They now have more structure and sole support and they're much, much better made." The best, he said, was the one brand his store stocked — New Balance. I tried on a pair, they felt fine and after a few weeks of them feeling fine, I bought two more pairs and abandoned forever the expensive leather ones. In fact, I abandoned the stores with the experts because New Balance shoes were much cheaper at other shops.

The other day I was in my bank and a lady customer spotted my New Balance shoes and asked, about 90% jokingly, "Are you a White Supremacist?" I did a double-take that would have been over-the-top on The Benny Hill Show and asked her to explain. It seems she read online somewhere that since Nike has shown themselves as unAmerican by lionizing Mr. Kaepernick…and New Balance had demonstrated its patriotism (albeit for business reasons) by backing Mr. Trump on something…and since there are no other shoe companies in the world except those two…

…well, of course. New Balance shoes are the official shoe of White Supremacists anywhere. A bit of Googling shows that some of this has been going around for a while, even before the whole Kaepernick thing. The rest of a man may be covered by a sheet but you can always identify a racist by his New Balance shoes.

I don't think I'm a racist. I can't recall a single moment in my life when I treated anyone differently or had the slightest fear of anyone because they weren't Caucasian. My best male friend is Hispanic. My lady friend is black and one before her was, as well. When I've been in hiring positions, I've hired folks of all races and genders. But I do like these shoes I'm wearing at the moment, the ones which have a big "N" on the sides.

To steal an oft-said line from Donald Trump and others, I don't have a racist bone in my body. But apparently, that doesn't include my feet.

Hey, we haven't had a barbershop quartet on this site for a while. This is a group called After Hours and they're favoring us with "Butter Outta Cream," which is a song I really liked in the Broadway show, Catch Me If You Can. The songs in that musical were by Marc Shaiman and Scott Wittman and most of them were pretty darned good. I don't know why it didn't run longer.

Here are the After Hours boys…