When I was 6, I loved teevee's My Favorite Martian. I loved the antennae popping out of Ray Walston's head. I loved poor, normal guy Bill Bixby's desperate attempts to maintain a cover story and keep the truth from nosy neighbor Mrs. Brown. Of course, that was a long time ago. Now the property is a proprietary "Disney's My Favorite Martian" with a hackneyed script and corporate eye stridently fixed on the "f" word. . .