I'm getting another flurry of calls from contractors and/or folks who want to sell me Solar Power for my house. My number got on some list someplace and the calls come hot and heavy at times. From what I can tell, about 25% are from actual contractors…that is, folks who actually would do the work if I was interested in having work done on my premises, which I am not. The other 75% are people who are just cold-calling to try and earn a commission. They answered some ad somewhere — probably on Craig's List — that said they can make $XXXX dollars a week…and it turned out to be this: "Here's a list of names and phone numbers, here's a prepared speech. Call people. If they're interested, you turn it over to us and if we close a deal, you get a commission."

And since the person needs money and has no other prospects, they give it a whack. One suspects it isn't very lucrative and that no one has ever made anything close to the advertised $XXXX. So I feel sorry for these folks but since I already have a great contractor, I figure the nicest thing I can do for them is to end the call quickly so they can get on to the next one. Of course, that's also the best thing for me.

I get especially annoyed with the ones where their script calls for them to say, "We spoke to you last August and you were very nice to us. You said to call you back next [this month] and you'd be ready to start some work on your home." Usually, I just tell them they're lying but when a fellow called a few minutes ago, I decided to lie back at him. He said his firm did all forms of home construction and repair. I asked if he, himself, was the contractor because I'm sick of these calls from kids who answered an ad somewhere who don't know anything about construction. He unconvincingly assured me he was a contractor.

I asked him if his firm can do Floor Candling. If there is such a thing, I don't know what it is. I just made it up. Nevertheless, he told me his firm was quite experienced in Floor Candling. I asked if he, himself, had done the Floor Candling or if he subcontracted it out. I added, "Because I don't need a contractor for that. I can call a Floor Candling firm directly myself." He told me no, he'd candled quite a few floors in his day. I said, "Great. Now, when you come over to give me an estimate, that's all I want done. I don't need my ceilings strip-screened and I don't need my walls krebulized or anything like that. I just want an estimate on having my floors candled. When can you be here?" He said he'd have to check his calendar and call me back.

Let's see if he does. I have a few questions I want to ask him about the specific techniques he employs when he candles floors. Like, does he strip the filaments off the bleen or does he coat the entire flooring with Baker's Wax?

This is the third part of the story of my grandmother's passing. If you haven't read Part One and Part Two, you could do worse than to do that before you tackle this one. (I thought this was going to be the final installment but I have one more left in me after this…)

The funeral was set for Wednesday. Monday, as mentioned, my mother and I flew to Hartford and checked into a Holiday Inn a few blocks from the airport. On Tuesday, we had four stops to make…

Stop #1 was the office of the lawyer I'd engaged via phone to monitor my grandmother's affairs and, more importantly, to leverage her into the Assisted Living Facility where she happily spent the last years of her life. We discussed the disposition of her estate, which consisted of almost nothing, and handled the kind of paperwork that's necessary when someone leaves this world for good.

Stop #2 was the Assisted Living Facility. We collected some of her remaining belongings and designated others to be either thrown away or put to use elsewhere in the building. Two visits before, I'd bought my grandmother a very nice radio that she played every night. One of the nurses there told me of another guest there — a woman close to my grandmother's age and perhaps her best friend on the premises — who'd been asking about fifteen times a day, "What will become of her radio?"

"I think she'd really like it," the nurse told me. So I went to this woman's room with it, introduced myself and told her, "I think Grandma would have wanted you to have this." As I set it up for her, she told me, "Thank you so much. It will remind me of her every time I play it. I'll never forget…"

…and she meant to finish that sentence with my grandmother's name but couldn't come up with it. "I'm sorry," she said. "Please remind me."

I scattered some tip money amongst the staff and thanked them and then we moved on to Stop #3. Stop #3 was the church where the funeral would be conducted the next day. There were forms to fill out, papers to initial, decisions to make. A burial site had already been selected but we had to okay a tentative design and text for the headstone. It was at this moment that my mother learned that her birth father had not been her mother's first husband.

She'd thought her mother first married in 1920. It turned out there was an earlier marriage — in 1916. Or at least, that's what the church records said. The proposed draft of the headstone listed the first names of all three husbands and my mother decided to remove them all. It just seemed odd to her to have that name on there of someone she'd never heard of.

Then we met with the priest who'd be officiating at the funeral the next day — a serious, older gent who had a reaction when he learned that I was not Catholic and that my mother had strayed enough from the church to have married a Jewish man. I'm not sure how to describe his reaction. It was not overtly negative or critical…but it definitely was a reaction. The best I can do is to suggest you imagine a salesman who has devoted his life to selling Chryslers and he learns you buy only Cadillacs. He forces a smile and thinks to himself, "Another sale we should have had."

He asked all sorts of questions to gather material for his speech. He asked me all about my life and career, and he had another one of those hard-to-describe reactions when he learned I was in television and yet another when he learned I was unmarried with no desire to father children. I think he was straining to not say, "None of that would have befallen you if you were part of my church." After a few more questions, he had what he wanted from us and then it was on to Stop #4.

Stop #4 had nothing to do with my grandmother. My mother and I merely decided that we couldn't travel to Hartford and not visit my last remaining uncle, Uncle Seymour. Uncle Seymour was 94 — a very sweet, if slightly nervous man who from some angles looked exactly like my father, who'd died six years earlier. None of my other uncles looked that much alike but every so often during our visit, Uncle Seymour would turn a certain way and there would be my father…alive again for a moment. It shook me the first time but after that, I kind of enjoyed it.

Uncle Seymour was living, as my grandmother had, in an Assisted Living Facility. His was a little different from hers because his was a Jewish Assisted Living Facility. It was a lot like the non-Jewish Assisted Living Facility except that at the Jewish Assisted Living Facility, everyone was yelling at everyone else.

There was not only Yelling but there was Pre-Yelling and Post-Yelling. Pre-Yelling precedes the actual Yelling. It's when the person yelling yells something like, "Now, listen to what I'm gonna tell you! I'm gonna tell you now so pay attention!"

Then after the Pre-Yelling would come the Yelling, which would be followed by the Post-Yelling. Post-Yelling goes something like this: "All right, I've told you! Remember what I told you and don't make me tell you again!"

I heard a lot of that there…but not from Uncle Seymour. Uncle Seymour was delightful and happy to see us and we were glad to see him, even though all three of us knew it was probably the last time. (Which it was. He passed away two years later.)

My mother and I sat for about a half-hour with him in his little room. He kept talking about how proud he was of the two writers in his family — his son David and me. He had several shelves of large print books and on one, there was a copy of David's latest novel and a Groo graphic novel I'd worked on. Ours were the only two that weren't in large print format…but then I can't imagine Uncle Seymour reading (or understanding) Groo. The copy was just there so he could see my name on it. He talked a lot about how much he enjoyed seeing my name in the credits on TV.

That's one good thing about having an odd last name. If you're Bob Johnson, your name on a book or a screen doesn't uniquely indicate you and your relatives can't get too excited about seeing your shared surname on something. After all, they see it lots of places where it isn't you. But any time Uncle Seymour saw "Evanier" anyplace, he could swell with pride. He was almost certainly related to whichever Evanier it was.

By an amazing coincidence, my life abounds in coincidence. They just happen to me. As my mother told him about her mother, I picked up and idly paged through a large print TV Guide on a table next to me and I happened to notice something. An episode I'd written of Superman: The Animated Series was on that afternoon. In fact, it was on Channel 5 in about 45 minutes. When I told Uncle Seymour, he got way more excited than the news warranted. "Is your name going to be on it?" he said.

Come to think of it, he may have said, "Is our name going to be on it?" but either way, the answer was yes. "Is it going to be on at the beginning or the end?" he asked. I told him the beginning and I remembered how my father used to always ask the same two questions.

It started at 2 PM and it was about 1:10 as he excitedly got to his feet and began to lead us out of his room. My mother and I followed him out into the hall, down a large corridor, then this way and that way and this way again through the complex. He knew where he was taking us. He didn't seem sure how to get us there but he was going to get us there a.s.a.p. Via the longest-possible route I'm sure, we soon arrived at what I guess you'd call a Rec Room.

About thirty people over the age of 80 were sitting around, watching Days of Our Lives on a TV set. Uncle Seymour walked in, walked right up the set and changed the channel from 4 to 5.

For a moment there, I feared Uncle Seymour was not going to live to see 95. All the people watching the soap opera began yelling, "Seymour! What are you doing?" and "Hey, we were watching that!" Uncle Seymour gestured to me — so now it was my fault — and said, "This is my nephew from California! He wrote a TV show and his name's going to be on it and we all have to watch it!" Before Uncle Seymour and I could be caned to death, I hurried over and changed the TV back to Days of Our Lives.

"We have plenty of time before my show's on," I told Uncle Seymour as I steered him to a chair. My mother sat down just far enough away from us that she could deny being related to us in any way.

We all sat there watching Days of Our Lives for the next forty minutes. I had no idea what was going on but someone was leaving someone and some woman was losing her man to some other woman and everyone was wondering if someone else, or sometimes they themselves was pregnant.

Every time a scene looked about to be ending, Uncle Seymour would say, "We have to change the channel" and he'd start for the set. I would gently force him back into his chair and say, "We have plenty of time" and he'd say, "I don't want to miss your name." When the show went to commercial, he'd leap up and say "It's time!" and I'd guide him into sitting back down and I'd say something like, "We still have twenty-two minutes! It doesn't take twenty-two minutes to change the channel from 4 to 5."

As we sat there, I had a strong sense of "I wish I hadn't started this." The TV set did not have a very large screen and the average eyesight in the room was only above Quincy Magoo's because I was there. Most of those "watching" it were more listening to it…

…and I remembered how fast the credits flashed on that show: On and off in what seemed like an eighth of a second. It was more than that but not by much. During each commercial, Uncle Seymour would tell all his friends that they had to stay and see his nephew's name on TV. I think he was prepared to plant himself in the doorway — much like George Wallace trying to block racial integration — if anyone tried to leave. The difference was that Uncle Seymour would have succeeded.

Watching him…sitting there looking like my father from most angles, I was reminded how happy my father was when he saw my name on TV. He somehow had it in his head that a week my name was on TV was a week my career was thriving and I was making money, whereas a week he didn't see my name on the screen was a week when my income was zero. I explained to him over and over that I often was paid in April and the show aired in August but the concept somehow didn't take.

My pleasant little mental flashback was interrupted by Uncle Seymour asking, "Is it time yet to change the channel?"

"No," I'd tell him. "Seventeen more minutes."

Finally, credits rolled on Days of Our Lives. "Quick," Uncle Seymour shouted. "Change the channel!" As I changed it, he ordered everyone in the room to stay put.

A man about his age told him, "Seymour! I have to go take a leak!" Uncle Seymour said, "You can take a leak later. This is your one chance to see my nephew's name on TV."

The man said, "I'm incontinent!" Uncle Seymour said, "We all are. You got your diapers on? Just sit there!" I was thinking, "Well, at least they won't have to look at my name for very long." I got up and stood next to the set in a way that blocked no one's view. I said, "Now, I'm going to point to my name and show you where and when to look. It won't be on for very long."

I looked over and my mother was laughing her ass off.

The show started. Every time writing came on the screen, someone would ask, "Is that it? Is that your name?" and I'd say, "No, just keep watching. I'll show you where to look!"

Finally, the "Written by…: credit came on for a flash and I pointed and shouted, "There!" And a whole room of old people reacted like some nearly-extinct rare bird had swooped past the window and disappeared: "I saw it!" "Where was it?" "I think I saw it!" "Can you show it again?" "What did it say?" "I saw the first part!" "Was that it?" Quite a few asked, "Why do they make the writing go by so fast?"

Uncle Seymour got up and, beaming with pride, said, "That was my nephew's name." A few of his assembled facility-mates were impressed. Most slowly filtered out of the room. One elderly woman made a point of stopping to tell me, "I really enjoyed seeing your name, young man."

Another asked, "Will your name be on tomorrow?" When I told her no, she shook her head as if to say, "Too bad you can't hold a job" and she walked out.  No one, including Uncle Seymour and my mother, had the slightest interest in actually watching the program…which neither surprised nor bothered me.

It was time for us to go. I just had to wait for my mother to stop laughing.

We said our goodbyes to Uncle Seymour and hugged him and lied to him. The lie was when we said we'd see him again. Every time I told my grandmother I'd see her again, I wondered if it was true but this time, I was fairly certain. And besides, if I had come back to visit Uncle Seymour, it would not have been to see him again. It would have been to see my father again. That was the last time I saw either one of them…and as we left the building, I could hear the people yelling.

Michael Hiltzik notes that we hear a lot of bogus, collapsible tales of Obamacare being a disaster but don't hear nearly enough about its many successes. And Sahil Kapur notes that Republicans who want to "repeal and replace" are having a hard time coming up with the "replace" part. Hey, you can't beat something with nothing.

This is your Soup Reminder. It's to remind you that you have a little more than a week to get yourself to a Souplantation or Sweet Tomatoes restaurant (here's where they are) for a bowl or nine of their Classic Creamy Tomato Soup. I like this soup a lot and regret that they only offer it one month per year. Fortunately, it's a month with 31 days in it but it's still not enough. Here's a coupon that's good today and tomorrow for two folks to dine there for $19.78.

I am not a shareholder in Souplantation. I just spend a lot of money there…on soup.

• I'm kinda hoping that at some point, someone told Fred Phelps there would be Gay Marriage in Michigan and he said, "Over my dead body!"

The world's greatest spy (Cookie Monster) teaches you how to follow directions…

I will be a guest-type person at WonderCon in Anaheim, California from April 18 to 20. I will be hosting six panels or events, including a panel with Sergio Aragonés, a Cartoon Voice panel and a panel on the history of Hanna-Barbera with folks who worked there in the sixties, plus I'll be speaking on Writing for Animation. The full programming schedule will be available shortly on the convention website.

Whenever I speak on Writing for Animation, I start the "class" by letting the audience vote: Do they want to hear about how to write scripts? Or do they want to hear about how to get jobs? The vote is always close enough to 50-50 that I wind up splitting the time to cover both. I assume it will go that way this time.

It's not on their website yet but I will also be a guest at the Phoenix Comicon in guess-what-city on June 5-8. I've never been to this one but I'm told a great time is had by all, so I've decided to accept their invite and go have a great time. I will be doing some panels but I dunno about them yet.

Then I will be in my usual role at the Comic-Con International in San Diego. which this year runs July 24-27, meaning it actually starts the night of July 23 for those who score Preview Night badges. I will be hosting 243,000 panels…or an average of one per attendee. It'll be a while before we hear about them…but in a week or two, they should be announcing this year's recipients of the Bill Finger Award for Excellence in Comic Book Writing, and I think a lot of folks are going to be delightfully surprised at the selections.

And that's it for my dance card at the moment.

• Just saw they're going to start running one of my first TV gigs, Welcome Back, Kotter on Me-TV. Oh, good. I can use the dimes.

Teller (of "Penn &…") just won a significant victory over someone he felt was infringing on his "rose" trick. Magic tricks cannot be copyrighted but pantomimes can…and Teller managed to convince a judge his pantomime had been purloined. Good for him.

The management of this site agrees with Chris Hayes. People with zero evidence about what happened to that missing plane should stop using the situation to promote some fear-based agenda…

I tried to watch a bit of CNN this morning but there is apparently no news on the planet except the latest "lead" in the disappearance of Flight 370. Apparently, rumors that someone saw something floating somewhere are significant unless they're not, in which case others might be…until still others come along.

The more I think about it, the more I think Fred Phelps may have done more to speed along Gay Rights in this country than an awful lot of acknowledged champions of that cause. A friend of mine who is, as they say, "uncomfortable" with the idea of Same-Sex Marriage agrees with me. He has issues with it and we've talked about them in a friendly manner. A "friendly manner" in this case means that neither of us accuses the other of being about to destroy civilization and morality. My friend still doesn't think two men or two women should be allowed to wed but (a) he accepts it as inevitable and (b), he sure doesn't want to be on the side of people like Phelps, who sure seems to have been way more screwed-up — and contrary to the teachings of Jesus — than anyone he ever condemned.

You know, I support live theater and buy many tickets and attend many productions. I wish I could make one purchase from one theater group without getting eleven phone calls from a nice person who works for them and would like me to make a donation and/or subscribe to a whole season of plays that don't interest me.

There's still time to place bids on nifty pieces of art in the CAPS Auction to benefit Stan and Sharon Sakai. If you don't want to do it for them, do it for yourself. There are some real bargains there.

The last part of my story about my Grandmother's funeral will be along in a couple of days. We appreciate your patience.

My pal Leonard Maltin got to be a question (or rather, an answer) on Jeopardy! last evening…

In case you don't get it, his entire review consisted of the word "no" and it got him into the Guinness Book of World Records for writing the world's shortest movie review. In 2008 when the movie Who Do You Love? came out, I was waiting for someone to try and best him by writing a review that merely consisted of the letter "I." It would have been gramatically-incorrect but it would have been half the length of Leonard's wordy review.

I'll link you here to a list someone made up of the Ten Best Jewish Delis in Los Angeles. What it actually is is a list of all the major delicatessens in Los Angeles except Jerry's — and I'm not sure Jerry's, even back when it was good, qualified as a Jewish deli. It was (and is, assuming they haven't closed the last one yet) kind of a Jewish Deli in the same sense that Beefaroni is Italian Food.

Of the ten, my three favorites are — in this order — Canter's, Nate 'n Al's and Art's. Label's Table probably shouldn't be on the list because it's more of a sandwich place…though they will sell you a corned beef on rye that's as good as any in town for about 40% less. I haven't yet been to the newest one on the list, Lenny's. It's apparently doing well, replacing Junior's, a long-time favorite in that building that plunged in quality.

During my brief foray into the restaurant business, a man who was supposedly well-versed in that industry told me, "There are only two reasons why a new restaurant fails — bad management or bad location. And there are only two reasons why an old, established restaurant closes — bad management or new competition." I suggested a number of other reasons…like changing tastes in food or an outbreak of Hepatitis but to him, these came under the heading of "bad management."

Hepatitis was one of the reasons the Jerry's Delicatessen in Westwood went under. Those used to be great places to eat but they seem to be disappearing faster than Chris Christie supporters. They had great sandwiches, great potato latkes and the best chicken soup in town. The only downside was that if you went to the one in Studio City back in the late seventies, there was a good chance that your busboy would be Andy Kaufman, being obnoxious and inept for his own amusement…and no one else's.

Since my food allergies limit the vegetables I can eat, I eat a lot of the ones I can eat. One is carrots. I eat a lot of what they call "baby carrots." Apparently, a lot of people are scandalized to learn that these are not tiny, young carrots that are grown that size. I've always known how they came to be. If you don't, here's the story…

Anti-gay fanatic Fred Phelps has died. The obvious temptation is to gather outside his funeral with signs calculated to cause as much discomfort as possible to his friends and family. Let them see what it feels like.

But Tyler Lopez says we should just cheer for the unity that his antics provoked to energize the movement for gay rights in this country…and I think that's good advice. The last few years, a lot of people in this country found themselves on the fence on issues like Gay Marriage and increasingly pressured to take a side. They looked at the folks fighting for gay rights and they looked at the folks opposing them…and as long as the face of the latter group was Fred Phelps and his Westboro Alleged Baptists, they had no trouble deciding who were the good guys.