If you’re in your 30’s or up, you’ll enjoy watching this. (Or, actually, not.) The future isn’t coming fast — it’s already here. The culture you grew up in is already gone. (But no matter what happens, we’ll always have annoying Celtic music.)

Yes, you can spend 17 months on “Mars.” Here’s how.

The host of “What’s My Line? Live on Stage” is the funny, personable — and stylish! — J. Keith van Straaten. Before resurrecting “WML?” he hosted this live talk show in L.A. Watch and enjoy.

My firm, Counterintuity, provides cool, fun, “counterintuitive” marketing and strategy solutions to companies. As part of that, we do an awful lot of what feels like playing “What’s My Line?” with clients — figuring out what they do and how to get that message out. (Which, as you can see, is much like writing and directing plays. Honest.)

So when we found out there’s a live stage version of “What’s My Line?”, complete with celebrity mystery guests, we jumped to become its sponsor.

This is about the show.

This is how to get tickets.

It runs Sundays at 8 pm at the Acme Comedy Theatre in Hollywood. I’ve seen it only once so far but it’s a huge load of fun.

Okay, it’s been two weeks and now there’s a little improvement. Today my jaw feels less like the bombing of Dresden and more isolated sniper fire.

This is an email I sent out yesterday to some people I thought were waiting for things from me. On reflection, I’ve decided to post it here because, well, the blog has been a bit slow lately. Here’s why. Read it and weep.

As you probably know, I had oral surgery last Wednesday. At this point, given the schedule-busting ramifications, I figured I’d better send out an email to a few close friends and associates.

Here’s what I was told before the “procedure” (you’ll note their choice of word, as in “something that proceeded,” i.e., a passive case, as opposed to an “infliction,” something that was inflicted): That I had a (large) tooth that had broken below the gumline, that it was infected, and that it had to be “removed,” “cleaned,” and the area “filled” with a “holding compound” until an implant could be “placed” in four months. It was strongly hinted that while the “procedure” itself would be pain-free, I would feel “some discomfort” for a couple of days and then it would be over.

Everything above in quotation marks is what we in the language industry call a euphemism.

Now that I’ve endured a full week of what I pledge to you is absolutely hellish pain, here’s what they say:

“You had surgery. This wasn’t just an extraction [you’ll note that where before it was “removal,” now it’s “an extraction” but even moreso] — this was oral surgery. We had to drill out all the broken pieces and then drill into the bone in your jaw and insert a bone-building compound that expands [you’ll note it no longer “holds” — now it expands]. Of course it’s going to hurt. The compound is right on your nerves, and your body is trying to reject it. But after about a month, it’ll all be over.”

You’ll note that “a couple of days” has been magically transmuted into “after about a month.” Half-truths and flat-out misdirection like this is how we got into Iraq, but that’s another story.

I’ve always thought of myself as a strong person not given to whining about pain and discomfort. How could any of my inconveniences compare against the miseries of most of the world? But this has been a major, throbbing, distraction. I’m taking their pain pills — a major concession for me — and that seems to alternate between having little or no effect, or making me feel like I’m going to pass out. We got new pills last night (my wife being astonished by my actual protests that I was in pain — and she’s been with me for 23 years and once saw my hands filled with shards of glass from a shattered window whereupon I walked into the room, spurting blood, and calmly said, “Hm. I think I need to go get stitches. Can you drive?”); these new pills have the added impact of making me sick to my stomach.

So:

I know I’m a little behind on a few things. If you’re someone I owe something to (a document, a proposal, a response), I apologize. I feel like I’m getting a good amount of work done most days between 11 and 3 when I seem most functional, but these half days have indeed put me behind. I don’t imagine this lag in my output is going to fill a full month, no matter what these oral surgery people say (and hey, why would I believe them again?), and I am catching back up. I intend by next week to be back in full swing.

In the meantime, I thank you for your patience.

Best,

Lee

So, how bad has this been?

• Last Friday we had the reading of a new play written in my workshop. I had to call the playwright and say I couldn’t make it. What I needed to do was take many, many more Hydrocodone (an opiate) and lie down on a couch at home. Which I did. In about 15 years of having readings from my workshop, this was the very first (and, hopefully, last) one I’ve ever missed. My apologies again to Jan, the playwright.
• A short one-act of mine is getting a revival this summer here in Los Angeles. (More on that later.) One of the roles needs to be recast. I let the director recast without me. There was no way I could sit through auditions.
• I’ve tried three times to read the same comic book. It’s World War Hulk #1. When you can’t quite follow the storyline of The Hulk returning to Earth and doing a lot of smashing, you need either more or fewer drugs. Last night, having effectively balanced the pills at least that once, I made it all the way through the issue and enjoyed it a lot. “Hulk is strongest one there is” indeed. Puny metal man Iron Man got smashed up real good.

That’s it for now. Time to take an opiate and drive home before it kicks in. G’night.

Didn’t like The Sopranos finale? Here’s how it could’ve been far, far worse. Even if you didn’t watch The Sopranos, there’s a good lesson to be gleaned here about the value of staying relatively independent.

As related here, I didn’t watch the Tony Awards Sunday night. But, as friend and blog reader Chris W. said, I would if they were hosted by Triumph the Insult Comic Dog. Thanks to Chris for sending this in.

I wonder how many people are going to start saying that, and if I’m going to be one of them.

For years, the only original programming I watched regularly on TV was on HBO.

But here’s what the past two nights have been like:

1. “The Sopranos” ended. And not well. The blackout ending wasn’t clever, it was cute. Cute being a not-good thing. As in, “too cute for its own good.”
2. Then I watched the premiere of “John from Cincinnati.” My son said he thought it was the worst first episode he’d ever seen. He’s only 16, so one could take that with a grain of salt. But I’m, um, significantly older and as he was saying that I was wondering whether or not it was the flat-out worst episode of television I’d ever seen. Of any sort. Including “Mind of the Married Man.” Including “Who’s the Boss.” Including “Super Nanny.” Worst. At least these other shows weren’t self-important. If “The Sopranos” was cute, this was willfully obscure. And annoying. Deeply annoying.
3. And tonight I watched the season premiere of “Big Love.” I didn’t care for it last season, but this time as I lay there watching this I actually started thinking about chores and errands I had to catch up on in the next few days. Then I thought about switching off the show and getting started on that early. Then I actually did that.

HBO. Remember when it seemed important?

The Washington Post’s Carol D. Leonnig clears up five myths about Scooter and the slammer, presented here as a public service.

As I said before, 30 months isn’t long enough. That’s barely enough time for him to write his book before getting pardoned by Bush and heading off on the book tour.