Well, producers and directors of “Type A to Z” are still discussing the future of the program.

They shut down production in July, closed up history section’s “time tunnel” and thought about replacing the whole house party with “The Rodger Wyland Show.” I guess they couldn’t find any old Dean Martin and the Golddiggers reruns, but I think they’re still looking — click HERE to see the future of this blog!

Anyway, the “A to Z” writing staff has been assigned projects on Lake George motels, Ferris wheels, a mutant beaver, sunglasses, the Batmobile, New York Lottery’s new announcers, peach milk shakes, family reunions, soap box cars, Saratoga Race Course fans and the beautiful Adelphi Hotel in Saratoga Springs.

Now — as a favorable time slot has opened on this afternoon’s home page — the “A to Z” pencillers have put together a pop culture smorgasbord faster than you can say “Hello, Larry.”

So before the show returns to its evening and overnight shift on the home page, here are quick takes on London broil, “The Wizard of Oz,” rain, Cesar Romero and tattoos.

LONDON CALLING

My colleague Judy Patrick threw a summer party at her Greenwich home last weekend, and I was assigned to help cook London broil.

At first, I thought it was a curious choice. Most people can singe and sear steaks over backyard charcoal in 10 or 15 minutes — London cuts take a lot more time because they are so large. These giant steaks were about eight inches long and two inches thick, and had been marinated in Judy’s special teriyaki sauce.

Judy’s husband, Steve, was also on the job, and we were soon cooking like the Guns of the Navarone, like Shaft’s Big Score, like Superfly TNT! Steve was on corn detail when the first steaks jumped into the fire, as Harry Nilsson used to say, so I began timing, flipping and occasionally cutting the beef. The first pieces took forever to cook, and they were a little too rare in the center, but that’s what the first broil fans settled for. By then, we were also putting lime-marinated shrimp on the old “barbie.”

Once we gave the broil a little more time, they just came out beautiful. Not too rare, not too well-done, just nice and juicy in the center. We sliced them from one end to the other, miniature steaks two inches wide and four inches long. For a while, Mr. Patrick and I were heroes of the supper table.

But the true hero — besides Judy — was Judy’s mother, Phyllis Sharp, who provided about 10 pounds of her fantastic potato salad. I have raved about Phyllis and her potent potatoes before — I don’t think anyone in the world can make the dish better.

I’m going to have to trade a batch of my festival mashed potatoes for a couple pounds of the Sharp salad! Maybe some slices from my next batch of London broil.

HOW ABOUT A LITTLE POPCORN, SCARECROW?

It might have been the first summer blockbuster! On Saturday, Aug. 19, 1939, people began lining up to see the “mighty miracle show” at Proctor’s Theatre. “The Wizard of Oz” was going to show people things they had never seen before.

In an era when special effects are common in many action movies and all science-fiction and horror stories, the “Wizard” advertised amazing sights. There would be a tornado onscreen. Munchkinland, a horse of a different color, flying monkeys, talking trees and a “Startling” balloon ascent were among the attractions, along with a full complement of songs.

A reviewer for the newspaper loved the show. And the writer really loved the little people: “It wasn’t too many years ago for us to remember when the Munchkins graced Proctor’s stage,” the critic wrote. “They’re the famed ‘Singer’s Midgets,’ vaudeville troupe that played here several times, most recently about nine or 10 years ago. They played a long run here and became well known to many local musicians from whom they studied while in Schenectady. It sent a queer thrill up our spine to hear little, rotund Fritz, who used to be the animal trainer, singing the part of the Mayor of Munchkinland.”

While the reviewer recognized one familiar face, he (or she) might not have seen any others.

“Baron” Leo Singer only toured with 30 small actors. The MGM movie studio employed 124 little people for the film, and billed them all as “Singer’s Midgets.” None of the actors were billed individually.

One of the most curious details about the local engagement was the short duration. The “Wizard” would only play Proctor’s for four days. But people got their money’s worth for 25 cents; people who sat through two hours of witches and mean trees also got a second feature — “The Angels Wash Their Faces,” starring Ronald Reagan and the Dead End Kids.

EMERALD CITY

Everybody’s been griping about the rain. I’m not one of them.

The middle of August has arrived, and for once, my front lawn is not toast.

During summers past, I’ve watered my green on a regular basis. An extended heat wave moves into town, and my blades are quickly broiled. I don’t see green again until spring.

This year, my neighbors and I are in Emerald City. Everyone has verdant pastures, and while we are all cutting a bit more, it’s nice to see summer rolling toward the finish with healthy and lush green. Even my crabgrass, which loves heat, is retreating. Ha ha.

The only bad thing is many of my tomatoes are also green.

THE MAN WHO LAUGHS

I know the late Heath Ledger is getting rave reviews for his performance as The Joker in “The Dark Knight,” the latest Batman film. I have not yet seen the film but will catch it soon.

I’ve heard Ledger’s Joker is scarier than Jack Nicholson’s 1989 take on the famous comic book lunatic, and he’s supposed to be a maniac of biblical proportions.

But I doubt he can laugh better than the late Cesar Romero.

It’s been 40 years since Cesar cavorted in his purple tux, green hair and white pancake makeup. While Adam West’s Batman must have despised all the loons who showed up in Gotham City — and they showed up every week — he must have really dreaded The Joker’s regular appearances.

It had to be the laugh! Equal parts funny, imbecilic, creepy, vicious and melancholy, Cesar’s Joker was always the most watchable of Batman’s rogues gallery. Ledger’s Joker is crazy with a purpose ... Romero’s Joker was crazy just for the joy of being crazy — playing “Pagliacci” on stage, running his own flying saucer, inventing his own utility belt. Yes, I know my Cesar; click HERE for a full dose of old-school maniac.

I watched a television interview with Cesar during the late 1980s, a retrospective that brought the “Batman” cast back together. Romero said small children would come up to him and say, “Gee Mr. Romero ... can you laugh like the Joker?”

“And I always do,” the good-natured Cesar replied.

FAD, INC.

I was floating around Albany’s “Alive at Five” Thursday night, and might have been the only person there without tattoos. Ink was everywhere — butterflies and cherub angels on shoulders, stars and flowers on arms, faces and names on necks. Years ago, I kind of thought this was just a fad, kind of like the counterculture movements of my youth. Those were long sideburns, plaid pants and cherry Tipparillo cigars, with the plastic tip. All three made me look like an idiot.

But that was college-kid chic for my era. I got rid of the cherry Tipparillos first. Then I ditched the plaid pants — with those unfortunate, wide bottom cuffs. The sideburns were the last to go.

I guess the tattoo fad is still hanging in there, even as kids are starting to wear their baseball caps with bills pointing forward again. About damn time.

But I’m glad I’m not stuck with long sideburns at 53; they extended to my jaw during the mid-1970s. I think the flaming skulls might be tougher to shave off for middle-agers of 2038.

Then again, maybe I’ll have an inked Joker on my upper arm by then. Maybe a London broil.