I’m off today to hit a casino in El Cajon — no, this is not the start of an abrupt descent into low-rent debauchery although it’s true that I don’t hate casinos.

I’m staying overnight at the Sycuan den of partial iniquity to be ready for the Who Wants to be a Millionaire film trivia week/general auditions that I wrote about earlier in the week (If you’re reading this on Sunday or very early Monday, you still might be able to participate as well, if you move very fast indeed and live close enough to the three locations near San Diego, Phoenix, and Chicago.)

But I learned this morning via NPR that today is the 30th anniversary of the death of my first real hero, pictured above. Hard to believe but the numbers don’t lie. In any case, my grandmother claimed to know all of the Marx Brothers when they were kids, so I’d like to think that Uncle Groucho was up in the above that he didn’t really believe in, cheering me and all sincere cinephiles on. Yes, I believe in a personal Groucho.