Bob Hope died July 27, 2003. The day after, I posted this…

Fans used to complain that DC Comics had misleading covers but this one sure was accurate: "America's Favorite Funnyman." Bob Hope was that, and he held the title far longer than anyone else ever has or will. I haven't really cruised the Internet much since I awoke to the news that he's passed away but I'd wager every current events/news website is making that point, probably under a banner that says "Thanks for the Memories."The obits were prepared long ago, and about all I can add to them is to recall a few times I had the honor — and he sure made you feel like it was one — of being in the presence of Mr. Robert Hope. He also made you feel like he excelled at being Bob Hope; that he knew precisely who and what he was, and that it was who and what he wanted to be: A very big, very busy star but eminently approachable in spite of the fact that you couldn't get near him. I felt this instantly the first time I met him…in, believe it or not, the bargain basement area of a May Company department store.

It was the one at the corner of Pico and Overland in West Los Angeles, a few blocks from where I then lived. It was January of '75 and Hope had just published The Last Christmas Show, a book about his overseas tours to entertain the troops. He was appearing at the store to sign copies and I was thinking of going, not so much to see him in person as to get an autographed book. But I figured the line would extend to around Bakersfield and I didn't want one that badly. As it happened, it was pouring rain that morning and it suddenly let up around a half-hour before the time of Mr. Hope's signing. "Aha," I thought wrongly, "There'll be a very low turnout."

So I threw on my raincoat and walked up to the May Company, all the time pondering what Bob "Mr. Topical Monologue" Hope might say or do. At the time, Olympic swim champ Mark Spitz seemed to be the punchline to every joke so I imagined Hope saying something like, "I wouldn't say it's wet out there but on the escalator up, I passed a halibut, three salmon and Mark Spitz."

When I got there, I went up to the third level, where the line snaked all around the floor — hundreds and hundreds of people waiting for him. I decided not to wait in it. The signs said he was appearing for an hour and there was no way even "Rapid Robert," as some called him, could sign books for all those folks in that time. (Some people had already purchased and were holding three or four copies.) He was due in twenty minutes so I decided to wander the store and return when he arrived to catch a glimpse of the man and — and this interested me more — see how he'd handle that huge crowd.

I went down to the store's basement where they sold cheap art supplies. I'd been there about two minutes when some doors behind me flew open and an entourage of men stormed in from the parking garage. In the center of the group, flawlessly attired in a pale blue-grey suit, was Bob Hope. And by dumb luck, I was standing between him and the elevator to which they were leading him.

As if I mattered in the least, he walked up to me and shook my hand. Then he took note of my damp raincoat and said, "Hey, looks like it's wet outside." How had he not noticed that on his drive there? In reply to him, I threw my line: "I wouldn't say it's wet out there but on the escalator up, I passed a halibut, three salmon and Mark Spitz." He laughed…and I guess I thought, "Hey, I just made Bob Hope laugh."

Before I could grasp the significance (if any) of that, Hope's men swept him into the elevator and he was gone. I wasn't entirely sure he'd ever been there. So I sprinted for the escalator and managed to make it up to the book-signing area just as he was arriving. The line of buyers broke into applause as he strode effortlessly to the front table and picked up a little microphone. "Hey, I wanna thank you all for coming," he said, and everyone laughed because he sounded just like Bob Hope. "Boy, it's wet around here," he continued. "On the escalator up, I passed a halibut, three salmon and Mark Spitz." Everyone laughed again. Even I laughed a half-second before I realized: Hey, that's my line.

(It is perhaps worth noting that we all laughed in spite of the fact that we all knew he hadn't taken the escalator. It worked in the joke, and that was what mattered. There's an oft-quoted story about Hope appearing once in England and telling a joke where the punchline was something like, "They went to a motel." The audience howled even though at the time the word "motel" was largely unknown in England. An American journalist who was present asked one of the people who'd laughed if they knew what a motel was. The person said they didn't. The journalist asked them why they'd laughed then. The reply was, "Because we know he's funny and it seemed like the end of the joke.")

At the May Company, Hope sat down and began signing books and I suddenly decided that no matter how long I had to wait, I was going to get one. It took about ninety minutes — longer than the announced time of his appearance but still a lot less than I'd have guessed, given how many people were ahead of me.

They had it down to a science: One of Hope's helpers gave you a slip of paper on which you were to write what you wanted Bob to write.The helper would then look at it and edit it down or make you rewrite it to keep it brief or to remove things that Bob didn't want to write. They'd then pass your book to Bob with it open to the signing page and your slip placed just above where he signed, and he'd sign. The assistants were in control and they kept it moving so swiftly, you were almost afraid to try and say something to Hope. It disappointed a lot of people who'd come, hoping to exchange a few words or perhaps get a photo ("No pictures," the aides scolded) but you had to marvel at the efficiency: A ton of books were sold and signed, and Bob didn't look like the bad guy for not engaging you in a leisurely chat.

When it was my turn, I tried to remind him of our basement encounter, hoping he'd thank me for the joke or something. He grinned and said thanks but I'm not sure he had any idea what either of us was talking about. He just had to keep the line moving. I went home, pleased to have an inscribed first edition, proud that I'd gotten even those few seconds of individual attention in the basement…and proud that I'd "written" something that fit Bob Hope so well, Bob Hope had used it. I tried telling some of my friends about it but I wasn't a professional comedy writer back then and they obviously didn't believe me.

Back then, I was occasionally spending afternoons at NBC studios in Burbank where I had an almost-legal way to get in. Once you were in, if you acted like you belonged there and knew where you were going, no one ever stopped you from visiting tapings and rehearsals. In earlier years, I'd spent most of my time watching Laugh-In tape but that show was over by '75, so I'd go watch The Dean Martin Show rehearse (without Dean Martin) or watch The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson (which sometimes even starred Johnny Carson). If Hope was there when I was, I'd watch from afar as he taped a sketch for one of his specials. My most vivid memories of those moments are of him yelling at his eternal cue card man, Barney McNulty, when the cards weren't in the right order or properly legible. Shortly after that day at the May Company, I was present when he was on with Johnny. I think it was a Friday show and he was plugging his latest special, which was to air Monday.

Poaching on the set, I managed to see how it was done: About thirty seconds before Johnny introduced him, Hope strode into Stage 1 with the inevitable entourage, perhaps even the same one. He was still reviewing a piece of paper with a couple of jokes on it as the band struck up his theme song. Then he handed the page to an aide, walked out to tumultuous applause, and sat down next to Carson, who expertly fed him the questions that elicited the just-studied jokes. The segment went about as well as such segments ever do, and my overall admiration was not so much at the wit but at the sheer expertise in the delivery. Bob and Johnny were both utterly in control and things went precisely the way both wanted them to.

At the first commercial break, Hope stepped out and told Johnny's studio audience that they were so good, he had decided to ask them to stick around after The Tonight Show was finished so that he could use them to tape the monologue for his special. The crowd almost gasped with delight. Hope explained that the rest of the special had been recorded a week or two back but he always did the monologue at the last minute so it could be more topical. He also explained that the stage we were in — Stage 1 — was his design. The steep rake was because when he was performing, he liked to be able to look up and see as many laughing faces as possible.

Sure enough, not one person budged from their seats as the Carson show concluded. A different curtain was flown in for Bob to perform in front of, and he took a few minutes to run through his cue cards with Barney McNulty. When all was in readiness, Hope stepped into position and did the monologue three times. The first time through, everyone laughed a lot. The second time through, they laughed a little less. And the third time through, they laughed more than the second time, because Hope began screwing with the wording and muttering things like, "We'll cut that one." Johnny Carson was just off-camera throughout and at one point in the middle of the third take, Bob stepped over to him and whispered something that I suspect was very dirty, and Carson got hysterical. Then Hope thanked everyone for sticking around — like they'd all done him a favor —and he and the entourage disappeared. Again, my overwhelming impression was of efficiency more than inspiration. The following Monday night, what aired was most of the first take with maybe five jokes cut, and perhaps one or two inserted from Take Two.

I met him one other time and actually got to talk to him when he appeared on The Barbara Mandrell Show when he did a guest appearance and one of the producers, Marty Krofft, introduced us. Among the things we discussed were that I told him I'd just been reading a book about Walter Winchell and asked him if he was ever going to make the long-rumored movie in which he would play the gossip columnist. He said, "Oh, definitely," though he never did. He started telling me what a fascinating son-of-a-bitch Winchell had been — though he chuckled when he told the following story, which I'd already heard.

One of his first screen appearances was in a dreadful short comedy called Going Spanish. Shortly after viewing it, Hope ran into Winchell who asked him how it was. "When they catch Dillinger, they're going to make him sit through it twice," the legend-to-be replied. Winchell printed the remark in his column and the movie studio dropped Hope's contract, proclaiming they had enough trouble selling his films without him knocking them in the press. I said to Hope, "Well, that sure hurt your career" and he grinned. He could grin because, I suspect, that was the last mistake he ever made.

A lot of journalists are dumping on NBC newsman Brian Williams, who has had to apologize for repeatedly telling a story about something that happened to him but really didn't. I know Mr. Williams as a bright, funny talk show guest and before this, I had no opinion of him as a newsman. I'm still not entirely sure I have one now.

As Ken Auletta notes, the story Williams is now retracting was not entirely untrue. Since I think that's about all we can expect from TV news these days, I have trouble getting too excited over this. If I had a history of hating the things he reports or the way he reports them, I might see this as a chance to ramp up the outrage and maybe get him fired or at least castrated a little. But like I said, I have no feelings one way or the other about him as a newsman. I don't think he did anything that a lot of folks in broadcasting don't do except that he got caught.

This is really clever. You've all seen videos where magical things seem to happen because the video is being run in reverse. Well, Video Artist Eran Amir made this video that looks like one of those — but this is not running in reverse…

And then when you do run it in reverse, it looks like this…

If you want to know more about how he did it, here's a behind-the-scenes video. Quite ingenious.

It's 1967 and KHJ Channel 9 here in Los Angeles is airing this late afternoon show for teens called Groovy. It's done live (or nearly live) from the beach in Santa Monica. Michael Blodgett is the host. Teens in swimwear dance to records. Popular recording artists of the day appear to mime their current releases on the sand.

The sight of young people wearing very little clothing is obviously the main appeal of the program and nowhere is that better exemplified than in the daily Groovy Bikini Contest. Half a dozen young ladies are selected for their loveliness and near-nudity and they are interviewed by Mr. Blodgett about their hobbies, where they go to school, what they want to be if and when they grow up, etc. Each then walks a little runway so the judges and the cameras can get a good look at them. The judges are the members of the band that's performing that day and they select a winner who wins a cheap prize — usually free passes to some local dance club.

I am attending University High School (rah) in L.A. and like many of my fellow students, I make sure I'm home and in front of the set when Groovy comes on. Among its many delights is that I may well see a female classmate parading about on that runway. Many girls at Uni rush to Santa Monica to try and get on the show even though that involves cutting (i.e., not showing up for) one's sixth period class. The Uni girls are as attractive as any girls in the Los Angeles Municipal School District but none of them win.

This tale is about one girl in particular. She is lovely enough that she could very easily win the contest…but then so are all the others each day who vie for the cheap prize and the attendant bragging rights. I shall call her Abby because I do not recall a student in my class named Abby.

No, wait. I do recall an Abby so instead, let's call her Hortense. We didn't have one of those. Hortense decides that she wants to be the first Uni Hi girl to win the Groovy Bikini Contest so she tells everyone to watch that day and see her win. She has sufficient confidence — some might say over-confidence — in her own looks that she knows she will win. When not in school, she is known to frequent the dance clubs and hang out with musicians and they all think she is gorgeous…which she is.

So one Tuesday, she ditches her Algebra class, goes down to the beach and gets in the line to be considered as a contestant. She gets selected. She gets on the show. Michael Blodgett interviews her about her hobbies, which are riding horses and swimming. She walks the runway. That day's musical group then selects another, also-lovely lady.

The next day at school, Hortense is humiliated and angry. Everyone watched her lose because she'd told everyone to watch her win. It is not really an embarrassment. As I said, many girls from Uni have been in that stupid contest and lost and it's no big deal. But Hortense refuses to accept defeat. She waits a few days, during which she works on her tan. Then the following Tuesday, she again tells everyone to watch because she will get on again and she will win. Some remind her the show has a "no repeat" rule but Hortense is one of those people who believe rules are for others to follow.

So she cuts Algebra again, goes to the beach, gets in line and she somehow manages to convince the contestant-selector to give her another shot at it. On the air, Michael Blodgett even asks, "Hey, weren't you on last week?" Nevertheless, he again asks her about her hobbies — still riding horses and swimming — and she again walks the runway and she again loses. The next day at school, she is even angrier and more determined to triumph.

For the next three weeks, Hortense manages to get into the contest every few days. I'm going to guess that the contestant-selector decided she was a running gag or that maybe viewers would be amused at her "try, try again" attitude. Each time though, the judges select someone else.

Finally, she sees a can't-miss opportunity. TV Guide always tells who the musical guests (and therefore, the judges) will be and one Thursday, it's a very popular group with many hit records. My memory vaguely recalls it was the Lovin' Spoonful but I'm not sure so let's just say it was some group as popular as the Lovin' Spoonful was that week. Hortense knows that if she can get into the contest, she will win.

Why? Because in one of her many forays to the dance clubs of L.A., she hooked up with one of the musicians in the group which may or may not have been the Lovin' Spoonful and certain acts of passion were performed. Surely he will not only vote for her but will persuade his bandmates to follow suit.

So that day, Hortense tells everyone to watch Groovy. She tells her fellow students, especially those who have smirked at or mocked her frequent losses. She tells the teachers. She tells the school administrators. If they would have let her, she would have gotten on the P.A. system and done a commercial for the damned show.

She even tells me. We aren't particularly close friends but we do share several classes…and since her string of losses began, I have taken to giving her very silly, useless advice at every opportunity. I tell her, "Next time you're on the show, try juggling Indian Clubs." Or "Next time you're on the show, tell them that the doctors say you have eight minutes to live and your final wish is to win their contest before you die." Or "Next time you're on the show, hide a can of Bardahl Motor Oil in your bikini, pull it out on camera and deliver a brief commercial. You won't win but you might make a little money."

Despite her anger at her continuing losses, Hortense finds these remarks very funny. One of the few things I learned in high school is that if you can't get cute women to go out with you, the next best thing is to make them laugh. Since none of them will go out with me, I get lots of practice in amusing them. Hortense especially laughs when I suggest that she tell Michael Blodgett, "I think it's time you had some good music on this crummy program" and then sing the entire role of Violetta from La Traviata.

That day, Hortense is not only AWOL from her sixth period class but fifth period as well. That is so en route to the beach, she can stop at her beauty parlor and have her hair and nails done. All of Uni is watching that day as Mr. Blodgett announces the bikini contest.

The third contestant is Hortense and by now, he doesn't even bother asking her any questions. He just tells the camera, "Okay everyone, this is Hortense and she goes to University High and her hobbies are riding horses and swimming." Hortense does her turn on the runway, winking to the judge she knows intimately, then she joins the other competitors to await her christening.

And the winner is…not Hortense.

At home, I can hear her shriek and start yelling. Friends who were there describe for me the next day how she tried to barge back onto camera, grab the mike and tell all of Los Angeles that she was sixteen years old and had been molested by the band's lead guitar player. She was physically restrained and informed that she was banned for life from Groovy. That meant about eight weeks since the show, despite its obvious commercial appeal, was cancelled. Personally, I think Hortense somehow arranged it as an act of revenge.

The students who were present for her final loss and her outburst tell me (and everyone) about it the next day at school. Later, I find myself walking down a corridor and I realize I am about to pass Hortense. She does not look happy.

I think of something silly to say but before I can get it out, she comes up to me and says, "You were right. I should have sung La Traviata."

But that is not the end of this story. We both graduate in 1969. Twenty-seven years later, we have our 25-year reunion. That should tell you the kind of class we had. I attend, accompanied by a lady friend and at one point, I am mingling without her, running into classmates and exchanging updates on our lives. Suddenly, I run into Hortense and her husband of 20-some-odd years.

I am about to say hello to her when she breaks into song and there, in the middle of the hotel ballroom, she sings me eight bars of "E Strano" from La Traviata. And then she says to me, "You were right. If I'd done that, I would have won that fucking contest!"

I posted this here on 5/6/07. It's about a TV show that aired briefly on a local Los Angeles station and as you'll see, I hoped it would cause someone to come forth with photos or video of the program. I heard from a lot of folks my age who remembered the show and/or appeared on it who desperately wanted to see it again. The ones who were on it especially wanted to get a copy of their appearance. I also heard from enough folks who worked in L.A. TV and who knew what no longer exists to believe that no episodes exist of the original Groovy and maybe not any of its subsequent variations.

However, someone has come up with a few video moments and I'll share it with you on the other side of this reprint. Here's the original posting…

The other day, I was telling a friend of mine about a memorable show that ran on Los Angeles TV in the late sixties. It was called Groovy and it was an afternoon "teen dance party" show on KHJ, Channel 9. What made it unique from dozens of other knock-offs of American Bandstand (and many such shows that preceded that one) was that when it debuted, Groovy was done from the beach in Santa Monica.

The following is not any sort of official history. It's what I remember and some of it may be incorrect. I'm putting it up here mainly to see if I can jar any other memories (or photos or — dare I dream? — videos) loose. I recall the show premiering around March of '67 and ping-ponging back and forth between the 4 PM-5 PM time slot and 5 PM-6 PM, Monday through Friday. I believe it was done live when it started and then, for reasons that will become obvious as I tell you more about it, its producers began taping it an hour or so before it was broadcast. Once or twice, it got "rained out" and a slapdash broadcast was assembled in the KHJ studios over on Melrose.

The show went through several versions but its first and most notable period was when it was done from the beach and hosted by the gent seen in the above photo. His name was Michael Blodgett and he had a nice little acting career, which included the unforgettable Beyond the Valley of the Dolls (from which that is a still) before he moved on to considerable success as a novelist. He was a pretty good host on the Groovy show but I suspect even he would admit that he wasn't the main appeal of the show. The main appeal was young ladies in very tiny bikinis — and by "young," I mean sometimes fifteen or sixteen years of age, if that old.

Much of the show was, of course, teens dancing to records. There was one real musical act each day…usually a group that would come on to pantomime/lip sync to their current record, which made for an odd sight. There would be these musicians acting like they were playing on the beach…with their amps and electric guitars plugged into absolutely nothing. Most records of that era ended with the track fading out and I guess the acoustics out there weren't great insofar as hearing the playback was concerned. As a song drew to its close, you could see the performers become unsure if it was through so they'd keep "playing" and then one guy would stop and maybe another. And then you could tell someone had yelled, "It's not over! Keep playing!" And they'd scurry back into mime mode. Very odd stuff.

But the real "treat" — the reason thousands of depraved Southern California males tuned in — was the daily Bikini Contest. Blodgett would do short interviews with five or six young ladies selected not for their loquaciousness but for the elegance of their figures and the brevity of their swimwear. You got the idea that whoever was picking the contestants was rating them by subtracting their I.Q.s from their bust measurements. Blodgett would ask each where she went to school, what she liked to study and if she had any hobbies, and the lasses would giggle through their replies. Then each would parade down a little runway to show off her physique to hoots and hollers from the crowd. That day's musical act would be the judges and they'd select the victor. Usually, whichever lady looked the sluttiest would win passes to Gazarri's on the Strip or the Cinnamon Cinder or some other local dance club.

Other things I remember about the show: The cameras were always panning the crowds who were there to watch the proceedings. At least once per show, someone would either flash or moon or give the finger. (This, I assume, is why they stopped broadcasting live.) At the very least, you'd see an awful lot of young teens smoking and/or brandishing bottles of liquor. One person who worked on the show told me that they got very few complaints about the flashing or the mooning or even the 14 year old girls popping out of their microscopic bathing suits…but there were constant objections to the smoking and drinking.

I also remember a corollary to something I'd already formulated by then, which was the Cheap Movie Swimming Pool Scene Rule. That's the rule that says if you're watching a cheap or even medium-budget movie and there's a scene by a swimming pool, someone is going to fall or be pushed in with all their clothes on. There was no pool on Groovy but there was an ocean…so at least once per show, someone who wasn't dressed for it would get carried out against their will and thrown in the water. You can just imagine the hilarity of that.

I have a few other memories — including the story of a girl from my high school and her travails in the Bikini Contest — but I'll save them for a follow-up posting which, I hope, will contain additional info that someone reading this will send in. One thing I'm really not clear on is how long the Blodgett/Beach era of Groovy lasted. I do remember tuning in one Monday and discovering that with no advance notice, it had turned into a different show. Groovy was suddenly shot indoors at KHJ with all the dancing teens fully clothed. This version — which was quite ordinary and therefore inferior to The Lloyd Thaxton Show, a dance party series over on Channel 13 — was hosted by local deejay Sam Riddle. Later, Riddle was replaced by another local radio guy, Robert W. Morgan. By then, it was well on its way to becoming one of those shows that is watched by so few people that when it's cancelled, no one notices.

So does anyone have any stills or footage from the beach/Blodgett version of Groovy? Does anyone else at least remember it? Come on. Someone must have been in Los Angeles in the late sixties and watching TV besides me.

---

And now this is me back live and in 2015 to say two things. One is that I never got around to posting the story I promised of the girl in my high school who declared a personal war to win the Groovy Bikini Contest. I will set that down and put it up in the next day or so.

Secondly, though no episodes seem to exist, someone has come up with some home movies shot on the set. The video starts with the show's variation on the Cheap Movie Swimming Pool Scene Rule with someone fully-clothed (sorta) being dragged into the ocean. You will also see, as I described, guest rock bands "playing" electric guitars plugged into nothing. The bands on this episode were Thee Midniters and The Standells — and pay attention because you may be seeing the last time those groups worked. Mr. Blodgett is parading around and…well, it's not an actual episode but it may turn out to be the only video record of what is still one of the dirtiest shows ever broadcast on actual mainstream non-cable television…

Here's a good article by Sam Reisman on the Anti-Vaxx movement. It contains many links to other pieces that expand upon and verify what he says. A particularly interesting point is when he notes, "The to-vaxx-or-not-to-vaxx issue has forged a strange fellowship between black helicopter right wingers, who believe vaccination is just a step away from martial law, and crunchy granola left wingers who buy into the fallacy of an 'all-natural' lifestyle." Yeah.

The witty Dawna Kaufmann sent me this link to a heartbreaking story about a witty gent named Johnathan Szeles. Mr. Szeles might be better known to you as The Amazing Johnathan who, depending on your point of view, is either a very funny magician or a very magical funnyman. You cannot go see him perform anymore because he has retired, and it is not a voluntary retirement. It's a medical one.

I am not a fan of magic that is all about appearing to maim one's self or splash gallons of stage blood around but I always found enough other stuff in The Amazing Johnathan's act to appreciate it. He's really a clever guy and I regret having to miss his recent "farewell" appearances at the Magic Castle. The world of magic especially needs more performers who get up on stage and do things that no one has ever done before.

We're going to hear a lot this month about the 40th anniversary of Saturday Night Live, including a special that airs February 15. I'm not sure why they're commemorating then because the show debuted on October 11, 1975 but maybe they just can't wait. Or maybe the idea here is to get two anniversary celebrations out of the deal — one this month, one in October.

That show has sure changed over the years and so has the way some of us watch it. In '75, it was a must-see and I remember actually arranging Saturday evening dates with the requirement that we be home — hers or mine — and in front of a TV at 11:30. Neither I nor any lady I went out with then wanted to miss the show because it was live and it so often did things that all your friends would be talking about the next day. Sex, if any, could wait 'til 1 AM. (One girl I dated then suggested it could wait 'til 1 AM on a honeymoon.)

When we all got VCRs, it became possible to watch the show without being home by 11:30. It also became possible to fast-forward through commercials or weaker segments. Today, it's simple to TiVo the show and watch it later, often at a rapid sprint…but I don't even do that. I just assume that if anything wonderful happens on it, I'll hear about it the next day on the Internet and there will be a dozen places to watch that wonderful thing online. I'm afraid I don't see much of it lately.

Hollywood Reporter has a lot of interesting features online about SNL. Here's an interview with Lorne Michaels and if you're over there, you might want to browse around and check out some of the other goodies.

The topic on Stu's Show today is collecting 16mm motion pictures, which not that long ago was a good way to get in legal trouble. I never was into 16mm but I had friends who owned (and in a few cases, sold) prints of Disney films, Marx Brothers movies, etc. Your host Stu Shostak was in the thick of it, as was his guest today, film preservationist Eric Grayson, and they'll be discussing the history and ethics and intrigues of that now-defunct hobby and network.

Stu's Show can be heard live (almost) every Wednesday at the Stu's Show website and you can listen for free there. Webcasts start at 4 PM Pacific Time, 7 PM Eastern and other times in other climes. They run a minimum of two hours and sometimes go way longer, as today's probably will. Given Stu's enthusiasm for this topic, this one may run 'til sometime Saturday. Whenever a show ends, it's available soon after for downloading from the Archives on that site. Downloads are a measly 99 cents each and you can get four shows for the price of three. That's a lot of entertainment and enlightenment for not much moola.

The National Portrait Gallery is running an online vote to determine which of three comedians will be featured on the museum's Recognize Wall this spring! I'm not entirely sure what a Recognize Wall is but I know which one I'd pick out of the three. The choices are Groucho Marx, Ellen DeGeneres and George Carlin.

Granted, there's something wrong with any poll where one is expected to compare Groucho and Ellen. Actually, none of these three people are or ever have been in any sort of competition. In this case, the goal is "to salute those who have had a significant effect on American politics, history, and culture." I would say that would be Mr. Marx by a wide margin with Mr. Carlin in a respectable runner-up position.

If you care enough about this to vote, here's a link to the page where you vote for Groucho. Apparently, you can vote every 24 hours until the voting closes on February 17. This wouldn't happen to be nothing more than a way to get clicks on their site, would it? Naw.

This appeared here during a supermarket strike in Los Angeles in December of 2003. It was on 12/11/03 to be specific. When the strike was settled, the local news was filled with stories that the markets regretted allowing it to happen; that they lost way more than it would have cost to settle, including a lot of steady customers who migrated from the struck stories to the unstruck. A few years later, perhaps as a means of luring back those shoppers, Ralphs got a lot better than it had ever been…and I wasn't the only one who noticed that.

Each year at the Comic-Con International in San Diego, I host this fun panel called "Quick Draw." We get Sergio Aragonés up there and Scott Shaw! and two other swift cartoonists and I throw challenges at them. It's kind of like Whose Line Is It Anyway? with drawings and without Drew Carey, Ryan Stiles, Colin Mochrie, Wayne Brady and a very large staff of comedy writers billed as "Creative Consultants." Anyway, the cartoonists in the "Quick Draw" panel have overhead projectors putting what they sketch up on large screens so everyone can see. This year, kidding around during set-up, I started sticking items from my wallet under the lens and I projected my Ralphs Club card. For those of you who don't have the privilege of membership in this esteemed organization, it's a card you flash when you go to a Ralphs market. You get a few items at a discount and they get to chart a profile of your buying patterns. Deep within the Ralph's corporate headquarters, there's a computer that knows exactly how many Skinny Cow ice cream sandwiches I've purchased there and what flavors.

Sergio, being Sergio, grabbed my card and in about 1.8 seconds added the little editorial cartoon you see below. Since then, when I hand the checker my Ralphs Club card, I've gotten a wide array of snickers and giggles, plus some odd reactions. One checker actually asked, "Is that the guy from MAD Magazine?" Another insisted on calling the Manager over and showing it to him to make certain that we had not voided the card with Sergio's enhancement. (The Manager laughed out loud.)

It turns out Sergio was anticipating my recent experiences with Ralphs. There's a supermarket strike on in Los Angeles and it's not going well for anyone, except maybe the markets that aren't on strike. The union struck the Vons chain which is part of a coalition with the other two major retail outlets, Albertsons and Ralphs. The latter two locked out the union workers and the strike was on. After a month or so of no progress, the union withdrew its pickets from Ralphs, figuring that it would put pressure on the other two markets if their main competitor wasn't suffering as much. The move does not seem to have made much of a difference. A month later, the strike remains deadlocked and Ralphs has lost $145 million in third quarter sales because of the strike. This may be because even without pickets, customers don't want to go to a non-union market…or it may be because they've gone and discovered that Ralphs is now a terrible, terrible market.

I've always done most of my shopping at Gelsons anyway, but Ralphs is handier for a few items. Last week and today, I stopped into different outlets and found, first of all, that the shelves were only about half-filled. The Ralphs I went to last week was out of most kinds of bread. The one today didn't have any carrots. These are not exotic items. At the one last week, I bought a chicken and while the date stamped on it was still in the future, the chicken turned out to be seriously past-tense and went into the garbage as soon as I got it home.

Today, the checker mixed up my purchases. I bought one can of cranberry sauce and was charged for two. But then I also bought a can of soup for which I wasn't charged, so it almost balanced out. I bought twelve packages of luncheon meat, got down to the car and found they were not in my bags but about six items I hadn't purchased were. I took them back and the bagger realized he'd mixed my purchases in with the lady after me, who went home without her flour or her dishwashing liquid but with a dozen packets of honey-roasted turkey she may not have wanted. There were a few other screw-ups but basically, it was a pretty unpleasant place to market. No wonder they're down $145 mil.

While I'm at it, I might as well mention that I have a pre-strike bone to pick with Ralphs. Last July, I won a prize in their "Great Escape" promotion, which gives me two free nights in a hotel in one of 38 cities. I was given a voucher and told to either mail it in with my choice of city or phone the "Reservations Center." The voucher told me I had to do one of these two things by August 15 and I would receive my prize. It further said, "All travel must be completed by December 15, 2003." So I tried phoning the Reservations Center for two weeks and received naught but busy signals. Finally, around August 6, I got a recorded announcement that said they were no longer processing vouchers via phone and that I should mail it in. I mailed it that same day and that's the last I've heard of my free vacation. When I called the Reservations Center throughout September and October, I got a new recording that said that prizes would soon be mailed out. Mine has never come, the Reservations Center number is now a disconnect, and when I recently called the main Ralphs office, I got a lady who said she didn't know anything about any contest and that everyone there who might was too busy because of the strike to talk to me. I'm hoping they're out stocking the shelves with bread and carrots.

The New York Times write about Scott McCloud and his forthcoming graphic novel, The Sculptor. I would link to this even if it didn't quote me.

Not a lot of posting today. I have to finish a Groo letter column and then start on a new project unrelated to fictional characters who eat cheese dip or lasagna.

A friend of mine who used to work in the Washington press corps (and who wishes me to not use his name here) sent me the following…

I see you're puzzled why Huckabee's running for president. I don't think he knows what else to do. He may also have handlers who have convinced him he can win and they're not telling him that because they think he can win but because it could be extremely profitable for them if he runs even if (when) he crashes and burns. I think Huckabee's fighting to be relevant somewhere and it isn't Fox News because they won't treat him as a major on air personality. Also, we all know some of the clowns running for the GOP nom are going to self destruct and it's at least possible Huck could be the only man left standing. That's the only way I can see him getting the nom. He's about as popular with Repubs as Ben Carson and Carson is one of those guys who like you always say is going to get the same number of electoral votes as you.

Hey, I think I'm going to get more electoral votes than Ben Carson. I'm a shoo-in to get zero and he's likely to wind up owing some. When was the last time someone even came within a mile of the presidency who didn't have experience as a governor, a senator or a real prominent congressperson? Eisenhower, I guess…and we don't have war heroes like that anymore.

I'll be back later to post something. I don't know what yet.

I think I reran this once before but it's my blog and I'll run it as many times as I damn well please. Its first appearance was June 2, 2006…

For no visible reason, I'm going to tell a story from my past. Back around 1970, our local comic book club would sometimes adjourn its Saturday meeting and then a band of us would car pool to a local movie theater and take in a cheap double feature. One time, we caravaned to the Meralta in Culver City for the parlay of Kelly's Heroes — starring Clint Eastwood, Telly Savalas, Don Rickles and Donald Sutherland — followed by House of Dark Shadows.

I think it was a buck to get in and I hate to think what they could have charged us to get out. The Meralta (seen below) had probably been a lovely theater at some point but by the time we got to it, it was the kind of place where the cashier wore No-Pest Strips for earrings and the ushers were just cockroaches in uniforms. The seats were shabby and one out of every four was either broken, missing or filled with a dead body. The curtains no longer operated so (and this is critical to our story) the screen was open between films. And out in the lobby was a refreshment stand that sold popcorn that was stale when you could have purchased it to munch throughout D.W. Griffith's latest.

There were about ten of us there, crammed in a section of two rows with a gap or two where the seats were unsittable. We watched Kelly's Heroes and I don't think any of us particularly enjoyed it. Then came intermission. Some of us went out to the lobby but one of our group (a guy named Gary) stayed in his seat — he may have become permanently affixed by then — and handed some coins to another of our group (a guy named Barry). Said Gary to Barry, "Hey, while you're out there, get me a candy bar. Any kind." Barry was annoyed at being treated like an errand boy so he decided to go out and spend Gary's money on the lousiest candy bar he could find.

The Meralta refreshment stand had many to pick from but when Barry spotted a display of Idaho Spud bars, he knew that was it. The Idaho Spud is a popular candy in some parts of the country but apparently not in Southern California. None of us had ever heard of it before and I've never seen one since even though it has been manufactured since (their website says) 1911. The site also explains that it's "a wonderful combination of a light cocoa flavored marshmallow center drenched with a dark chocolate coating and then sprinkled with coconut."

And maybe it is. But you know what it looks like, in or out of its wrapper? It looks like a chocolate-covered potato.

Isn't that the first thing you'd assume? It's called an Idaho Spud and it has eyes all over its packaging. So what's the first thing you think of? Chocolate-covered potato, right?

And the Idaho Spud people have no one to blame but themselves. No one forced them to call it that. There isn't even a logical reason to call it that except that they're made in Idaho where, contrary to popular belief, not everything is a potato. In fact, I developed a theory that the guy who invented it turned to his wife and said, "Muriel, I've invented a new candy bar but I don't know what to name it" and she asked, "Well, what is it?" To which he replied, "It's a wonderful combination of a light cocoa flavored marshmallow center drenched with a dark chocolate coating and then sprinkled with coconut."

Muriel said, "That's easy. Call it an Idaho Spud." And the inventor, who was drinking to celebrate his new invention, was so plastered by this point that it sounded good to him. Especially because people would think it was a chocolate-covered potato. "That'll be great for sales," he said just before he passed out, face down in a bowl of vodka.

Anyway, Barry bought Gary an Idaho Spud, took it back to where we were sitting and handed it to Gary. "Here's your candy bar."

Gary looked at it and said, "What the hell is this?"

Barry said, "It's an Idaho Spud. I think it's a chocolate-covered potato or something."

Gary recoiled in horror. "I didn't ask for a chocolate-covered potato."

Barry replied, "You didn't say not to get you a chocolate-covered potato." Gary had to concede the point. Sadly, he pulled the wrapper from his candy bar, took one bite, hated it and hurled the remainder of the Idaho Spud at the screen…

…where it stuck.

This was still during intermission and the curtains were open, the screen was exposed. We all saw the Idaho Spud sail onto the screen of the Meralta and just stay there, about two-thirds of the way up, slightly to the left of center. Then House of Dark Shadows started. For us, House of Dark Shadows starred Jonathan Frid, Grayson Hall, Kathryn Leigh Scott, Nancy Barrett and an Idaho Spud candy bar. And the Idaho Spud should have had top billing because it was in every damn scene. Prominently featured, in fact.

My friends and I paid no attention to the movie. We just stared at the Idaho Spud. Every time the camera cut, it had a new role in the film. Sometimes, it was a beauty spot on one of the actresses' faces. Sometimes, it was a fly on a wall. There was a shot of a door where it looked like the doorbell. At one point — I don't recall the exact dialogue — one of the actors said, "What is this thing?" And we all answered, referring to the brown lump on his face, "It's a chocolate-covered potato." This was years before The Rocky Horror Picture Show and home video made yelling back at a movie screen a national and annoying fad.

Other members of the audience picked up our fascination with the alleged candy bar and by the end of the film, I don't think one single person at the Meralta was paying any attention to what the actors were saying or doing; only to how the lump figured into each shot. At one point, there was an odd lighting effect that made it look like the Spud had fallen off and a moan of disappointment echoed through the theater. But then, in the very next scene, you could see it was still there and a little cheer went up. It was still there when we left, having little idea what House of Dark Shadows was about. In fact, it was still there three weeks later when I took a date to the Meralta to see Airport. On the sheer strength of superior acting ability, the Idaho Spud stole the movie from Dean Martin.

That's about all there is to this story. I'm not sure I ever went back to the Meralta so as far as I'm concerned, the Idaho Spud remained in place until they tore the place down, maybe even after that. It probably didn't but I'd like to think it did. Even now, when I find myself trapped in a particularly boring movie and my mind wanders from the storyline, I find myself wishing I had something of the sort to focus my attention on. A good movie, of course, needs no external help. But a bad movie can always use a chocolate-covered potato somewhere.

Mike Huckabee is out there lately attacking Gay Marriage. I understand that the guy's running for president and he can't get near the nomination without the support of the extreme right, which is lukewarm at best to him. Actually, I doubt he can get near the nomination with their support but that's a separate discussion. Anyway, he's talking a lot lately about wedding cakes.

It's amazing how much of the argument against Gay Marriage is about wedding cakes. I just read a bunch of sites and speeches opposing same-sex wedlock and I was noticing how much the case against it has evolved. It used to be that letting Adam marry Steve would bring down The Wrath of God upon the Earth and destroy us all. Then after quite a few Adams married quite a few Steves and nothing of the sort happened, the dire result was the annihilation of Straight Marriage, which also somehow hasn't occurred. So now, the horrendous consequence of Gay Marriage is that somewhere, someone with a cake decorator is going to have to write two male or two female names on the same application of frosting.

Huckabee also says that expecting Christians to accept marriage equality is "like asking someone who's Jewish to start serving bacon-wrapped shrimp in their deli." No, Mike, it's like expecting someone who's already serving bacon-wrapped shrimp to not refuse to sell it to anyone who walks into their deli with money. You know…the way we don't let realtors say they won't sell to a black or Hispanic family that's financially qualified.

The former governor of Arkansas would probably make the argument that being gay is not the same as being a racial minority and in some ways, it isn't. In this way, it is. When asked if homosexuality is a "choice," Huckabee usually dodges or double-talks. Saying it is is just going to get him the inevitable "When did you decide to be straight?" question which makes that position look foolish. Saying it isn't just makes the analogy to racial discrimination fit better.

He usually opts to talk about how he has many "gay friends," which makes me wonder how a gay person could be friends with Mike Huckabee. I suspect the gay people he knows are more like acquaintances he doesn't know very well. That's if they exist at all. Could you be friends in any meaningful sense with someone who often said that you lead "an aberrant, unnatural, and sinful lifestyle?" and was not deserving of equal rights?

Like I said, I don't think Huckabee has a chance at the nomination. I don't even know why he's running. It's not, like some of the others, to get a good job on Fox News. He had one and he gave it up to run. Maybe he thinks that if enough people see him as a hateful bigot, he can steal Donald Trump's job on Celebrity Apprentice.