My buddy Anthony Tollin writes…

You've devoted several blog entries to the final episode of The Colbert Report. Just curious: What did you think of Craig Ferguson's last episode?

I thought it was pretty good. Their musical opening was overshadowed by Colbert's but it really was quite wonderful on its own terms. I liked the conversation with Leno — two guys in the same line of work bantering with what seemed like genuine respect for each other, neither of them plugging anything.

I guessed Ferguson's twist ending in advance but I still liked it. They made a mistake, me thinks, not taping it in front of a live audience. It made it feel artificial…not a part of the actual show. And it meant they didn't have that big "Whoop!" audience reaction, which is what made the original version work so well on Newhart.

Most of all, I felt it had the proper scale. Colbert's last show, impressive as it was, had the feel of Stephen going away forever…not "Stephen's moving from this 11:30 show to another 11:30 show." You could argue that we were saying farewell to that character but that's not the same thing.

While I'm rummaging through the old e-mailbag here, I have a message I got last week, thought I'd posted and didn't. Steve Winer went to see the first "live" performance of one of my favorite animated specials as a stage production…

I thought you might like to hear from someone who was in the audience for last night's live production of Mr. Magoo's Christmas Carol. It was, as you hoped, "as wonderful as it should be."

They kept the show to one act. They added only some additional dialogue from the original story, some short dance sequences and an overture.

It was staged very like the Encores shows — with the orchestra on stage and some of the actors carrying books. Bits of animation and backgrounds from the original show were put on a screen for "scenery."

Douglas Sills played Magoo/Scrooge and, wisely I think, made no attempt to imitate Jim Backus's Magoo voice. But, unlike Backus, he can really sing and I realized this is actually the first time I could hear the full melodies for the Magoo numbers. Hearing all of the songs with talented Broadway singers in front of a full orchestra made it clear what a fine score Jule Styne and Bob Merrill wrote for that little show.

The audience loved the whole evening and responded with great enthusiasm. I wouldn't be surprised to see a production like this open next year at this time in a commercial theater. I think they might have a surprise hit on their hands. However, if they're really smart, they'll sell razzleberry dressing in the lobby.

That's all great to hear. I have a feeling we're going to see a lot of this next holiday season.

They've put up a plaque to honor Graham Chapman at his childhood home.

I had a couple of requests for this one, which was first seen here on November 14, 2010. It's about an incident from elementary school and you'll notice in it I mention the full names of several classmates, including Ricky Kamen. Well, not all that long ago, I heard from Ricky Kamen who found himself in this article. Isn't the Internet amazing? I hadn't spoken to Ricky in over forty years. We had a phone conversation and among other things, he informed he wasn't in that class. I don't think I thought he was. I was just plugging in random names from my school days.

It's so strange to hear from someone like that after so many years. Once upon a time, I talked with Rick Kamen every weekday, ate lunch with him, cared a hell of a lot about him thinking well of me, etc. He was for a time on the staff of a little underground magazine a bunch of us put out in junior high school called The Phinque, which was our version of MAD. Then one day, we graduated high school…and almost all those people totally disappeared from my life. I suppose this is not such a strange thing for kids who moved and had to jump from one school (and one group of friends) to another school (and a totally different group of friends) but it was jarring to me. Suddenly, none of those folks were in my life anymore…including many I was glad weren't in my life anymore. Rick was not among those I was pleased to lose.

I kept in touch with a few…mostly girls I'd liked in school but had been afraid to ask out then. I didn't like the idea that they could turn me down (or go out with me and have a rotten time) and then I'd have to see them every day after that in Algebra. But I went out with several of them after high school and kept in touch with a few of the guys. I'm still in contact with a few of them, in some cases because they found me on the Internet.

Rick wasn't in the class I put him in in this essay but I heard from Don Bassford, who was. He remembered Travis. He even remembered Travis grabbing the bread. He wrote me and speculated that Travis now has a lucrative career as a hedge fund manager. I wouldn't be at all surprised…

For some reason, I got to thinking recently about a kid named Travis who was in my third (I think) grade class at Westwood Elementary. Travis was one of those "me, me, me" guys who wanted what he wanted and he wanted it right away…and that was it. Nothing mattered in the world except what Travis wanted. He stole things from other kids. He lied left and right, often for no visible reason. He misbehaved constantly and blamed everyone else. But his finest hour came one morning when our teacher, Mrs. Reed, decided to show us how bread was baked.

There was a small stove in the Teachers Lounge and the whole class crammed in there to watch her break the eggs and sift the flour and such. Before long, the air was filled with the most wonderful smell of hot cinammon-infused bread and we were all salivating something awful. Mrs. Reed did a headcount. Including her and the student teachers, there were 40 of us…so she carefully cut the bread into forty pieces of equal size. One by one, we were to walk up to the table and each take our one piece. So Jeanette Bingle went up and took her one piece. And Ricky Kamen went up and took his one piece. And Cindy Segal walked up and took her one piece.

And then Travis walked up and grabbed about eight pieces.

Before anyone could stop him, he licked five of the pieces and crammed the other three in his mouth, thereby laying claim to them all. Mrs. Reed shrieked at him and all the students booed and yelled at him. His response? With his mouth full of cinnamon bread, he kept saying over and over, "I want it! I want it!" One of the student teachers scurried up and grabbed the rest of the bread away before he could get his hands on any more of it.

Travis was sent off to the principal's office while Mrs. Reed dealt with the reassignment of the remaining slices. I think she and her aides decided to forego their shares and a few other pieces were cut in half. I do remember getting half a slice.

Travis did not return to class that day. The following morning, Mrs. Reed asked me to go to the principal's office, not because I was in any trouble — my entire time in school, I was never in any trouble — but because I was needed there. I soon found myself in a meeting with Mrs. Kermoyan (the principal), Travis and the father of Travis, who'd come in at Mrs. Kermoyan's request. My initial impression was that I could have picked Travis's father out of a crowd with great ease. He looked exactly like his son but older and pudgier…and I would soon learn that selfishness is apparently hereditary, as well. The father was annoyed he'd had to take time off from work and come in.

I'd been brought in as a kind of witness. Since Mrs. Kermoyan hadn't been present for the incident, Mrs. Reed had sent her most trustworthy student to describe what happened. I felt a brief twinge that maybe I shouldn't "rat" on a fellow pupil…but it wasn't exactly a secret what had transpired. I was just saving Mrs. Reed from having to leave the class alone and come down to this meeting. And also of course, this was Travis, who'd been nothing but rotten to all of us and who certainly wouldn't have hesitated to speak ill of anyone else, even to the point of lying.

So I politely told what had occurred and underscored the fact that I'd been cheated out of half a slice of bread. When I finished, Mrs. Kermoyan asked Travis if my account was accurate. He agreed it was. Then she looked over at the father to await his comment…and when it came, I couldn't have been more surprised.

He didn't see what the problem was. In fact, he was rather proud of his boy.

"In this world," he said, "you have to grab for everything you can get. You have to knife the other guy before he can knife you…because he will." Then he turned to his son and said, "Good work."

I vividly recall the expression on Mrs. Kermoyan's face. I would not see that expression again for seven more years…not until the release of the movie, The Producers and the "Springtime for Hitler" number. She stammered as she told me I could go back to class and I left her there, pondering I suppose what she could do in this situation. She couldn't exactly punish Travis for being the lad his folks had raised him to be.

An hour or so later, Mrs. Kermoyan's assistant came in and cleared out Travis's desk. We never saw him again, which did not disturb anyone. I'm guessing he was transferred to some other school which was better equipped for dealing with "problem" students. Unfortunately, I don't think the L.A. Unified School District has ever had any schools equipped to dealing with problem parents.

I remember a lot about those days…but I probably recall the incident with Travis most vividly. It was my first real understanding that real people (i.e., those not on television) could be bad people…though in later years, I would substitute other, more nuanced adjectives for "bad." I'd like to think he outgrew that all-encompassing selfishness — a lot of kids I knew did an absolute one-eighty from what they were in school — but who knows? I do know I encounter people from time to time who remind me of Travis and I see an awful lot of them on news talk programs.

As alleged adults, they're usually a lot better at couching their general hoggishness in terms that suggest they're motivated by principles and concern for others. But it's still "me, me, me" all the time. As the economy in this country continues to suck and the job market recovers at about the speed of soil erosion, I see Travis everywhere and I hear echoes of his father, from whom I got a valuable lesson. I don't recall learning anything from Mrs. Reed in fourth grade but I sure learned I didn't want to be like, or even around people like Travis or his dad.

The legendary Time for Beany puppet show went on the air in 1949 and ended in 1955. My mother told me she watched it when she was pregnant with me — I was born in '52 — which led me to a strange theory. You know those stories of how an expectant mother will listen to great music hoping it will somehow seep into her womb and inspire the fetus to become the next Mozart? Well, if there's anything to that theory, I figure that listening to that show — which on and before my birthday starred Daws Butler and Stan Freberg — put me on the course of my silly career.

My mother says I watched the show every day after I was born but I have no memories of it. So maybe I didn't watch it. Maybe it was just on and I was in the room where it was on.

I do however have a very vivid memory of being taken to a fast food restaurant themed around the show. There were several and the one we went to was not the one in the film embedded below. We went to one on Washington Boulevard in Culver City next to a large automotive dealership where my father was pricing used cars. He priced and then he, my mother and I went over to Beany's and dined. That, I remember.

When I met Bob Clampett, who'd produced the TV show, I asked him about the restaurants. He couldn't place for me the precise year the last one closed but he recalled that a couple of them outlived the series by a year or two. He told me they were a rotten deal from his end. He'd gotten involved with some people he wished he'd turned down…and though he said the places were gorgeous and had pretty decent chow, they never made money, at least for him.

This is an eight-minute home movie taken at one that was located in Long Beach, California. From the video, we can see it was next door to the Circle Drive-In Movie and further research tells us the Circle was located at 1633 Ximeno. If you click this link, Google Maps will gladly show you what's there today. The drive-in opened in April of 1951 and closed in January of 1985. The marquee in the video tells us it was showing Assignment: Paris (which opened in September of '52) and Golden Hawk (released in October).

I don't think anyone in this film is anyone famous but the architecture is great and you might enjoy just looking at the cars — and at the 1952 price of a burger, fries and a shake…

The New York Times calls for the investigation and prosecution of U.S. officials who okayed and carried out a policy of illegal torture.

It'll never happen just as 99% of those who manipulated Wall Street to steal zillions will never see a barred window from the inside. But at least someone's bothered about it.

I'm oddly fascinated about bizarre pricing practices in business. I often notice in supermarkets that they're selling Friskies canned cat food for 50 cents a can or a box of 20 cans for eleven dollars. This is presumably known in the trade as a Reverse Quantity Discount.

Last evening, I went out on some errands and on a whim — and because I had a coupon — I decided to pop into a Subway sandwich shop. On the way in, a homeless gent asked me for spare change and I made a mental note to give him any I had on my way out.

As I mentioned here, I occasionally like Subway and when I do, I get either a meatball marinara sandwich or a tuna sandwich. The coupon I had said, "Buy ANY 6-inch sub with a 30 oz. drink and get ANY 6-inch sub of equal or lesser price FREE!" So I went in, figuring I'd get one of each — one meatball, one tuna — for the price of one of them.

The lady behind the counter said I couldn't do that. She pointed to fine print on the coupon that said, "Not valid on $2 subs or Flatzilla." And then she pointed to the big menu board where I could see that the meatball marinara sandwich was on sale for $2.00. "You can't get a $2.00 sandwich in the special," she explained.

I said, "I don't think that's the intention of the offer. They don't want me to get two sandwiches for $2.00 but they're fine if I get any two for $4.50." $4.50 was the list price of the tuna sandwich and most of the other ones on the menu board.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't make the rules and the $2.00 sandwiches cannot be purchased on the coupon deal."

I explained to her that I wanted to buy a tuna sandwich for $4.50 and also pay for a 30 oz. drink (and they could keep the drink since I don't ingest soda) and then get a meatball marinara sandwich for free since it was, as the coupon said, an "equal or lesser price."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't make the rules and the $2.00 sandwiches cannot be purchased on the coupon deal."

"No, no," I tried to explain. "You're telling me that if I buy the tuna sandwich for $4.50 and pay for a 30 oz. drink, I can have a $4.50 sandwich for free but not one that usually costs $4.50 and is on sale at the moment for $2.00!"

"Exactly," she said.

"Okay, let's try it this way. Let's say I come in and ask for a tuna sandwich and a coke. You make them up and then I show you the coupon. You say, 'Oh, for the same price, you're entitled to pick another sandwich for free!' Are you with me so far?"

She said yes.

"Fine. So I say I'd like the meatball marinara. Do you then say, 'I'm sorry, sir. For your free sandwich, you have to pick a more expensive one'?"

"That's right," she said. "Would you like to talk to the manager?" Just then, the manager walked in, probably returning from taking his dinner break at a better, saner restaurant. I explained the whole thing to him, concluding with: "So if I want two of your most expensive sandwiches, they'll run me $4.50 but if I want one of your most expensive sandwiches and one of your least expensive sandwiches, that'll be $6.50."

The manager said, "Yes, sir. Those are the rules."

By this point, I realized that they weren't the stupid ones here. The stupid one was the guy spending all this time arguing over two dollars…actually fifty cents since to get the deal, I was also going to buy a $1.50 soda I didn't want.

So I went out and asked the homeless guy what kind of sandwich and drink he wanted. He said, "Black Forest Ham on 9-Grain Wheat with plenty of mustard, and a Diet Coke." Then I went back in and used my coupon to get a Black Forest Ham on 9-Grain Wheat with plenty of mustard and a Diet Coke and as my free sandwich, I got tuna, plus I bought a $2.00 meatball sandwich. Then on the way out, I gave the ham sandwich and the drink to the homeless gent and went home with my meatball sandwich and my tuna sandwich.

Yes, it cost me way more than it should have but I got to use my goddamn coupon. Don't tell me I don't know how to save money.

I'm still accepting nominations of old posts from this site that are worthy of a reprise. This one is from March 3, 2004 and I chuckled when I read the line I'd written then about being a Marvel completist. Back in '66, you could be that for under two dollars a month. I haven't done the math but I suspect that even if one adjusts for inflation, to be that today would cost a few thousand percent more than it did then. One of the foundations of Marvel's success in the sixties was that they achieved a kind of brand loyalty that is not possible in this era.

Back around '66, I used to occasionally baby-sit for a family down the street. "Baby-sitting" is probably the wrong term. I was 14 and the kid in question was 10 and we often hung out together and played games and such. When the kid's parents went out for the evening, they'd pay me to play with him 'til it was his bedtime, then stick around downstairs until they got home. I made about six bucks for this but that was enough then to buy all the DCs and Marvels — and the output of a few other small companies — for an entire month. I could even "gamble" money away trying to get all the Marvel Mini-Books. Here's what I wrote about them in '04…

Long before comic books discovered the mini-series, there was the mini-comic. In 1966, Marvel issued six "comic books" that, depending on the size of your monitor, may have been even smaller than they appear in the above photo. They actually varied a tiny bit in size but were generally under 7/8" in height and a bit less than 1/4" thick with black-and-white interiors. Each was bound along the left ledge with the kind of rubbery glue used to bind a pad of writing paper and featured jokes and an occasional smidgen of story. I dunno who wrote them but some of the art was stats from the comic books and some of the new art was by Marie Severin.

I first heard about them in the Marvel Bullpen Bulletins page when they said…well, here. I'll let you read it for yourself:

Upon reading that, I immediately began checking out every vending machine I passed. As a more-or-less Marvel completist, I had to have them. For weeks, the search was fruitless but then one day, my father took us to a White Front department store down in the Crenshaw district…down where white folks never went in '66 unless they wanted to save money buying a washing machine or something of that size. While my parents priced portable room fans, I scoped out the vending machines and sure enough, there was one with with Marvel mini-books therein. Alas, it also had other stuff. You put in a quarter, turned the handle and you got a little plastic egg with a cheapo toy in it — a ring, a balloon, a little top, something of the sort. From what I could estimate as I peered in the glass, the odds seemed like about one in five that you'd get a Marvel mini-book.

I ran off and found a nice snack bar lady who changed three dollar bills (all I had) into twelve quarters. Then I ran back to the machine and began feeding in those quarters. By the time I'd used them all up, I'd scored mini-books of Sgt. Fury, The Hulk and Millie the Model as well as a lot of plastic whistles and other things I didn't want.

In later years in Vegas, I would see grown men and women look almost hypnotized as they pumped quarters and silver dollars into slot machines. I experienced some of that at the White Front that day. By the time my parents had made their purchase, I had squandered every quarter but I had half a set of the Marvel mini-books. To make matters worse, I could see some of the missing ones in their little plastic modules inside the glass dome of the vending machine. They were distributed across the top of the pile and the machine picked from the bottom, so what I was seeking was perhaps unattainable without injecting a few hundred more quarters.

"Let's go," my father called and I headed for the car, defeated. I knew full well I'd never see another vending machine that sold Marvel mini-books; that there would always be that aching void in my life…sigh, weep, moan. Fortunately for me (unfortunately for my parents), the room fan didn't work right so we had to go back a week or so later. I was well-armed with quarters this time and while they exchanged, I gambled some more. My luck wasn't quite as good. I think I went through $5.00 of quarters and got lotsa dupes but came away one mini-book short. I still needed a Captain America.

But sometimes things work out. A week or three later, a new kid showed up at our Saturday afternoon comic book club and he brought along his almost-complete Marvel Mini-Book collection. He had an extra Captain America but no Hulk. I had an extra Hulk but no Captain America. You didn't have to be Monty Hall to close that deal.

At the time, it seemed like I'd spent an awful lot of money to amass that complete set, especially when you compared the cost-per-mini-book to what it then cost to buy a full-sized real Marvel Comic but it was worth it, just to not have to feel unfulfilled and to scratch that all-consuming itch. And if you look at what those mini-books sell for today on the collector market, it wasn't that bad an investment.

Looking for last minute gift suggestions for yourself? Well, at this moment, Amazon has the complete Blu-ray set of The Dick Van Dyke Show (list price: $349.98) for $49.99. That's a great set of one of the best TV shows of all time for an incredibly low price. If you don't have it, get one.

I was watching a rerun of the TV series M*A*S*H the other day and I was just amazed at the awesome, almost mystical powers of Corporal Walter "Radar" O'Reilly, portrayed by Gary Burghoff. Not only could that character sense what others were thinking and when helicopters were about to arrive with wounded soldiers…but he could even, in the midst of the Korean War, read a comic book that wasn't published until November of 1968. Astounding.

We heard a number of different versions of what happened in Ferguson, MO when Michael Brown was killed. William Saletan looks at the case and notes that a lot of beliefs were unsupported by the evidence.

And of course, it's really odd that the chief prosecutor in this case — the one who convened the Grand Jury and in the view of some manipulated the process to achieve a desired outcome — now says he was well aware some of the witnesses were lying. Apparently, that's now okay in our legal process.

President Obama said that Sony Pictures Entertainment "made a mistake" by withdrawing The Interview from its Christmas Day release. I'm not sure I agree. Depending on some facts that are not in our possession, it might be a highly responsible action…or at the very least, a course of action in which they did not have much choice.

And I guess I should preface what I'm about to say with the reminder that I am not in favor of terrorists "winning" and that I'd like to think I have a fair amount of street cred as a defender of the First Amendment. I'm also not convinced this is really a First Amendment issue.

The First Amendment says our government can't stop free expression. It says nothing about other governments or parties which may be acting in accord with other governments. A couple of folks on the local news last night seemed to think we have some Constitutional right as Americans to see this movie. Well, no. Sony has the right to withdraw it and bury it and we have no "right" to see it. (Reportedly, some highly-placed folks at Sony were considering not releasing it even before the computer hacking occurred.)

To me, I don't see this as a First Amendment issue so much as an issue of criminal extortion. It's also an issue of the folks at Sony deciding what's best for the folks at Sony and for exhibitors deciding what's best for them.

Right now, I can think of two things I don't know and you probably don't know that might make a difference in how we view this whole matter…

1. How good is this movie? I don't mean as Fine Art. I mean as something that will sell tickets.

Thursday night at the screening I attended, there was what we call an Industry Crowd, meaning the entertainment industry. I heard much talk about the whole matter and I kept hearing — this is the rumor mill speaking now — that everyone at Sony thought the film was awful and that they were just hoping to get it into theaters and make some bucks before reviews and word of mouth killed it. It's common knowledge the film's release was delayed from last August because Sony demanded changes.

I'm not suggesting that good films deserve to be defended and bad ones don't. But before the hacking and threats, Sony had the right to decide the film was a lox that wasn't worth releasing. Some execs at Sony felt that way; that the film shouldn't be released…or maybe wasn't worth the problems it might cause. (No one in the film business is dense enough to think a movie about assassinating a foreign leader couldn't possibly get anyone upset.) And they had the right to make that decision. I'm suggesting they still have that right. Which brings me to the other thing we don't know…

2. How credible are the threats of "9/11 style terrorism" against theaters that show this film?

The Department of Homeland Security says they're not credible and they're probably right. Then again, someone at Sony probably assured the execs there that their computer system was unhackable.

Imagine you're the operator of a multi-screen cinema that was booked to show The Interview. You've heard there are threats of terrorism against any theater that shows this film. Even if it's only a 1% chance, do you still book the movie? And I'm thinking you're not even worried about someone bombing your theater. I'm thinking you're worried about people not coming to your theater, not even to see the other movies you're showing, if The Interview is also on the marquee.

You have a lot of great, potentially-lucrative movies opening on or around Christmas Day: Unbroken, Into the Woods, The Gambler, Big Eyes, Leviathan…plus recent releases like The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies, Night at the Museum: Secret of the Tomb and Annie. You don't need The Interview to sell tickets. Why risk even the teensy chance of violence or the greater risk of people deciding not to go to a movie where there's that teensy threat of terrorism?

On a purely financial basis, which is the only consideration in so many businesses today and not necessarily a wrong one in this matter, I understand the theaters bailing on it. I further understand Sony deciding that if not enough theaters are going to show it, maybe it doesn't make sense to let any show it…now. And I really understand them saying, "Look, let's take some time and figure out the best other way to exhibit this film."

Is this giving in to terrorists? Probably. We do that in this country. We cancel airline flights if there's even a vague threat. We evacuate buildings if there are suspicious packages. In a sense, the terrorists/hackers have already won this one. At least one movie — it was to be Steve Carrell's next — has been cancelled due to its anti-Korea theme. And you can pretty much bet that no one in Hollywood is green-lighting anything that involves showing Kim Jong-un's head exploding or which might even annoy him.

Also, cybersecurity experts are saying that just dealing with the computer hack will cost Sony upwards of $100 million and you can imagine what other businesses are suddenly spending to beef up their security. They're terrified it'll happen to them. Add all this up and it's not a bad victory for whoever decided to terrorize someone via computer. Even if The Interview does get released eventually, they'll have won a lot.

And experts are saying there are many other ways Sony can release The Interview. I'm wondering if the company will decide they're cost-effective. They may just seize on it as an opportunity to dump (and perhaps take tax write-offs on) a movie that some folks there didn't think should be released in the first place.

But you're saying — I can hear you — a crime has been committed. What about that? And if Sony did decide they wanted to give it a full release, what should be done? Well, let's forget for a moment that this is about a movie. Imagine foreign hackers break into the computer system of a big company in this country the size of Sony. Or even say it is Sony. They steal data, they publicize things that are embarrassing, they throw panic in all directions because they now have everyone's banking information, etc. Then instead of demanding that a movie be withdrawn or edited, they demand ten billion dollars to not use or disseminate that data. That's as likely to happen as what did happen.

What should be done in that case? I dunno. But whatever it is, I think that's what should be done in this case. Treat it as extortion, which is a very serious crime, not as an assault on our Free Speech. Sony should be free to decide on the disposition of The Interview based on whatever they think is best for their business.

It will not destroy the First Amendment if they decide it ain't worth it. Our Congress will still not be able to make a law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances. But before we take up arms to defend its spirit in this case, let's see if the guys who financed this movie still think it's worth fighting for. Because I think it's quite likely they just want to cut their losses and get out before their kids' PlayStations get hacked. Or someone really gets assassinated.

Yesterday, we had a neat bit of animation set to The Drifters' recording of White Christmas. He's a cappella specialist Nick McKaig doing his version of the classic Drifters record. Nick's a good singer and he's good at making funny faces, too…

One more thing about the finale on The Colbert Report: If you showed that musical number to someone who'd never heard of any of those people, I think they could do a pretty good job of figuring out which ones were professional entertainers (singers, comedians) and which ones were professional politicians, newspersons or journalists. Most in the latter category looked so awkward and even though their individual voices could not be heard, many could not even bring themselves to mouth along with the lyrics.

I've written a long piece about the decision by Sony not to release The Interview, at least not now. I'm going to read it when I wake up, see if I still agree with it and post it if I do. I don't think this is as big a First Amendment issue as some seem to think it is. And I'm usually pretty militant about First Amendment issues.

And I'm still welcoming nominations for older posts on this site that are deserving of an encore here.

This was originally posted to this site on August 4, 2003. It's still a very important memory for me and I hope everyone who has kids will take them when they're the proper age to a show they'll remember as well as I remember this one…

My Fair Lady was the first real musical comedy I ever saw performed live on a stage. This is discounting a couple of "kiddy theater" productions I saw at an earlier age which failed to entertain me or, insofar as I could tell, anyone else on the premises. I remember a probably-unauthorized musical version of The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins I saw when I was around seven that was so low-budget, they were short 499 pieces of head gear. A lady was playing Bartholomew and she kept doing inept sleight-of-hand to make it appear as if new chapeaus were magically appearing on her head, but she didn't fool anyone. We all knew she wasn't a boy and that it was the same hat, over and over and over.

A few other such plays failed to get me interested in theater. Fortunately though in 1961 when I was nine, my mother took me to see the touring company of My Fair Lady at the Biltmore Theater in downtown Los Angeles. A gentleman named Michael Evans — who spent much of his career playing Henry Higgins in various productions — played Henry Higgins, while research has suggested that Liza was played by either Caroline Dixon or Anne Rogers.

Anyway, I'll tell you what I remember of the experience. I remember my mother briefing me for days about what I was going to see, explaining and perhaps over-explaining the story. I also remember going there with a certain familiarity with the songs, inasmuch as my folks played the cast album over and over and over. I still own their copy of that record and it's a wonder you can even get a sound out of the thing today, so worn down are the grooves. I remember getting dressed up for the event and I remember my father, for God knows what reason, dropping us off at the theater and picking us up later, rather than coming in with us. Most of all though, I remember The Orange Drink.

At the time, it was apparently quite customary for legit theaters to sell orange drink at intermission. I assume they had alcohol and soft drinks but one could also purchase a certain orange-hued beverage that they all sold — or at least, they sold it at the Biltmore. For days before we attended, my mother not only told me about the show but explained that at intermission, she would buy me this terrific orange drink. I realize now she was very worried that I would find My Fair Lady an utter bore but she figured, I guess, that I would at least enjoy the orange drink. I heard so much about it that I began thinking, "This must be some orange drink" and presuming that it was so special, you could only get it if you sat through an entire musical comedy.

Our seats were high in a balcony, several kilometers from the stage and all the way on the left. I sat there in my suit and tie all through the first act, trading off with my mother on using a pair of very old binoculars she owned. I enjoyed the show a lot but my mind kept drifting to thoughts of the wonderful orange drink I would be savoring at intermission. When the moment finally came, my mother took me out to the lobby and bought me a small carton, like a milk carton, of what turned out to be a pretty mediocre orange drink. It was very much like Kool-Aid — sugared water with artificial coloring and flavor, and I didn't particularly want to drink it but figuring it was part of the ritual of the theater, I did. For all I knew, the second act couldn't start until every child in the place finished his or her orange drink.

As it turned out, I liked the show a lot more than the orange drink. And it's funny what you remember from an experience like that. I remember the "Wouldn't It Be Loverly?" number with the buskers pushing Liza around stage on a flower cart and whistling. I remember Alfred Doolittle and three other characters singing, "With a Little Bit of Luck." I remember Doolittle doing, "Get Me to the Church on Time" and in it, I vividly recall Doolittle in his tuxedo saying goodbye to someone. He did an elaborate gesture of removing one of his gloves so he could shake hands. Then he shook with the still-gloved hand. Then he put the glove back on the hand from which he'd removed it. Big laugh.

It all added up to my first real memory of the theater. It was many years after that I began attending on an even semi-regular basis but when I did, something connected with that first experience. First time I took in a show on Broadway, I found myself flashing back to that balcony at the Biltmore and thinking, "This is the same wonderful experience." Maybe it was even better. On Broadway, they don't make you drink the rotten orange drink.

An annual Christmas tradition on this blog…