CNN Helps Madonna Laugh in the Face of Death

      I know that online news--especially at the big organizations like CNN--can happen pretty quickly, and there's great pressure to get a breaking story online before the other guy does. But when you're one of the biggest news outlets in the world, you should probably have systems in place that would prevent the kind of thing that happened on Thursday.
      As I was casually browsing CNN's home page, I clicked a link for a story on an accidental death during the construction of a Madonna concert in France. It was a straightforward account of a sad accident, obviously based on early, sketchy reports. Fine. But the story was accompanied with a file picture of Madonna in concert. Here's the story as it originally appeared (this is an unaltered screen capture from my browser; click the photo for closer look):

      Yes, a story about a horrible accident that led to several injuries and one death is accompanied by a picture of Madonna giving the two-fisted finger to the world. "Yeah someone died," says Madonna in this version of the story, "but he was French, so who cares? That's just rock 'n' roll mother-f***ers!"
      Obviously, someone said, "Get me a picture of Madonna in concert to go with this story of an accident involving her stage set." But did no one actually look at this picture before uploading it to one of the biggest news sites in the world? Was someone playing a joke--someone who was hopefully shown the door that very hour? Yes, they replaced the photo within about fifteen minutes or so, but how did it ever get attached to that story? They should thank their lucky stars that printed news is dead; otherwise this one would be haunting them for years to come.

Pittsburgh Hoists Stanley Cup, Prepares Parade They Can't Afford

      With a couple of excellent last-second saves by Marc-Andre Fleury, the Pittsburgh Penguins wrested the Stanley Cup from the multi-championship-beringed fingers of the Red Wings on Detroit's home ice in Game 7 of the playoffs tonight, and set the stage for a victory parade they'll be paying for with bond issues for years to come. According to the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, that parade "will begin at noon Monday at the intersection of Grant Street and Seventh Avenue, Downtown."
      Just before the game began, I heard several sports analysts say things pretty much like, "I don't think the Penguins can win in Joe Louis Arena." WRONG. "Pittsburgh will need to get big games from their stars Malkin and Crosby to have any hope of winning this game." WRONG--Max Talbot (pictured at left) was tonight's hero. "Pittsburgh needs Fleury to have a near-perfect game and outplay Osgood for them to have a chance." WRON...no wait. That one was right, and was exactly what happened. Up by just one goal with seconds left, the Penguins lost a crucial faceoff in their own end, which led to a Red Wings shot, a dangerous rebound, another Red Wings shot, another dangerous rebound, and a brilliant, diving recovery by Fleury to block the third, last-second shot, which would have meant overtime and a big advantage for Detroit at home.
      So it's been a great year to be a fan of Pittsburgh sports. The Steelers won the Super Bowl, the Pens have taken the Stanley Cup, so now all the Pirates have to do is...BWAH HA HA HA HA! Oh, dear (*wiping tears from eyes*)! I thought I could pull that off with a straight face, but no. It'll still be a great year.

Fate, Coincidence, and the Twitterpated--Curmudgeon's Corner (10)

      Smokey Burner, the Broken Stove's resident curmudgeon, has been Twittering for a while now, and mostly he likes it. Twitter lets him keep up with the daily doings of his friends, and also allows him to brush up against the goings-on of various other people he finds interesting. In moderation, it's a good thing.
      But Twitter also has the unfortunate side effect of reminding Smokey that, as a friend once explained to him, the masses are asses (Smokey already knew this instinctively, but he had never before heard his belief so artfully encapsulated in words). Today, Twitter is all aflutter with the sad story of Johanna Gunthaler, an Italian woman who escaped death on Air France Flight 447 by arriving late at the counter, only to be killed today in a car crash in Austria.
      "Fate," intone a distressingly large number of the tweets on the subject, "she couldn't escape Fate," "it was her time to die," "it's just like the Final Destination movies," and on and on and on. Of course what these purblind doomsters fail to mention, or even notice, is that her husband didn't die in the car crash. Shouldn't he be doomed as well? And I seem to recall reading that there were a handful of other would-be passengers of Flight 447 who only avoided being on the plane by the coincidence of being bumped, or waiting for a later flight, or whatever. Why aren't these people hurtling off various roads in their ill-fated cars? What's the statute of limitations on Inescapable Fated Death? If they die of heart attacks in three years, will people still tsk and say, "they were meant to die on that plane"?
      Don't be so twitterpated. "A" happens. Then "B" happens. It does not automatically follow that "B" was directly caused by "A", no matter how oddly reminiscent of "A" that "B" turns out to be. Johanna Gunthaler's story is strange and sad, but it's not Fate Writ Large.

Sextuply Super

      I think the most gratifying thing for me about the Steelers' thrilling sixth Super Bowl win is the fact that the heroes of the game, the players who will garner all of the attention when the highlights of Super Bowl XLIII are replayed throughout the years, are the same three players who deserve much of the credit for the Steelers making it to the big game in the first place. Last year David Tyree was the hero for the Giants, and while his bizarre and spectacular catch certainly deserves a place in highlight history, Tyree was not a major contributing factor to the Giants' overall success in 2007. The heroes of Super Bowl XLIII, however--Santonio Holmes, James Harrison, and Ben Roethlisberger--were not only the key players in yesterday's win, they were largely responsible for carrying the Steelers through the regular season and into the Super Bowl.

      Harrison's MVP year as leader of the NFL's best defense, Holmes's season-long emergence as the heir to Hines Ward's "go-to-guy" throne, and Roethlisberger's repeated fourth quarter trips to the phone booth for his Superman costume were three of the biggest reasons for a 14-4 record going into the Super Bowl. Then, in the big game, all they did was make the greatest defensive play in Super Bowl history for a 14-point swing just before the half, and execute an 88-yard drive in the final two minutes for the winning touchdown on a perfect pass and a circus catch. I was especially glad that Polamalu's fine season did not end with him as the goat, caught out of position on Fitzgerald's 64-yard touchdown catch and run that gave the Cardinals their first lead with only minutes to play. Yeah, the officiating sucked, but there's no doubt in my mind that the Steelers won one of the most exciting Super Bowls I've ever seen. Go Stillers!

Here We Go Steelers--Pittsburgh's Goin' to the Super Bowl

      Please enjoy this slightly dated, cheesy, but much beloved Steelers Super Bowl song. Here we go Steelers!
Pittsburgh's goin' to the Super Bowl!

"I Meant My Rights, Not Yours," or The Relativity of Civility: Curmudgeon's Corner (9)

      Smokey Burner, the Broken Stove's resident curmudgeon, is not a political animal. Smokey is registered Independent, votes on a regular basis, and has strong opinions that he is not reluctant to share, but Smokey has never actively campaigned for a political candidate and has no particular axe to grind. Smokey is glad that the ACLU exists, but is sometimes dismayed by the cases they take on. Smokey believes in the ethical treatment of animals, but wishes PETA were not on his side. Smokey voted for Obama, but won't believe Change is afoot until he Sees Some. You get the idea.
      Having said that, Smokey hopes not to be dismissed as a radical leftist when he reports that he's disappointed that California passed its Proposition 8 to ban gay marriages in that state. Smokey cannot see any way in which his own happy marriage is threatened or diminished by loving same-sex couples seeking the same comfort, stability, and benefits which a committed, monogamous, state-sanctioned relationship offers him. Homosexual couples view this as a civil rights issue, and Smokey agrees. Civil rights, however, are a two-way street. And some gay rights advocates are hogging the road.
      Smokey is referring to a recent AP wire story about the resignation of a Sacramento theater director under pressure from the gay community. Here's an excerpt:

SACRAMENTO, Calif. (AP) — The artistic director at California's largest nonprofit musical theater company resigned Wednesday amid protests over his donation to a campaign to ban gay marriage in the state.

Scott Eckern stepped down from his job at the California Musical Theater in Sacramento after some gay activists called for a theater boycott....

Eckern said he "chose to act upon my belief that the traditional definition of marriage should be preserved" but had no idea his contribution would generate such controversy....

The boycott calls — led by artists including "Hairspray" composer Marc Shaiman — began after activists learned Eckern contributed $1,000 to the Yes on 8 campaign. Last week, voters approved Proposition 8, which changes the constitution to ban same-sex marriage.

      Not cool. Even if Smokey were willing to concede that a non-profit organization maybe has a little more leeway than a for-profit company or the government in expecting its members to conform to a group ideology (which is a big "if," by the way), think about this. What if it had been reported that a director for a conservative group--like, say, the Boy Scouts of America--had donated $1,000 to the Vote No on Prop 8 campaign, and members of the Boy Scouts had subsequently threatened to withdraw their support unless the offending director resigned? The very same folks behind the threatened Sacramento theater boycott, those responsible for the resignation of a man who was exercising his right to hold a belief which they found offensive (a man who worked closely with gay artists his entire professional life even though his church told him they were sinners), would scream bloody murder and have the Boy Scouts in court for it before you could shout TIMMAYYY! (Smokey apologizes for the possibly-obscure South Park reference).
      Guys. Lots of people just like Smokey want to be on your side. But you can't have your gay rights cake and eat it, too. Tolerant is as tolerant does.

Mets Collapse Again--Who Says History Never Repeats?

      Well, I do actually. Yes, once again, the Mets' playoff hopes were dashed by the Florida Marlins on the last day of the season, thanks to a miserable final two weeks. But though the heartbreaking result was the same as in 2007, history didn't exactly repeat itself in 2008.
      Last year, the highly-paid Mets stars pressed and underperformed at crunch time, failing to produce when it mattered most. This year the stars all played pretty well (that fateful Cubs game notwithstanding), but were repeatedly let down by what turned out to be the worst bullpen in the National League--perhaps the worst Mets bullpen Shea has seen since Casey Stengel sat scratching his head in the dugout. While front-office management can't produce on the field, and the loss of Billy Wagner could not have been predicted, a group of players at or near the top in most offensive, defensive, and starting pitching statistics might be forgiven if they look to Minaya and the personnel powers that be and wonder why there was no fourth wheel on the playoff bus.
      So go ahead and tear the dump down and move next door. Shake the dust from your cleats. After the last two years--if it weren't for a handful of magic World Series moments at Shea--I'd say go ahead and salt the earth while you're at it. Let's go Mets!

New VISA ad to Feature Johan Santana

• One baseball program--with pencil--to document what might have been the final meaningful game of the Mets' season--$3
• One complete New York Mets uniform, number 57, including pitcher's glove and rosin bag--$284
• One season of ace left-handed starting pitching--$16,984,216
• Nine innings of shut-out ball on three days rest with the season on the line--priceless

Mets Celebrate Second Annual September ChokeFest: Curmudgeon's Corner (8)

      Smokey Burner, the Broken Stove's resident curmudgeon, doesn't often find himself at a loss for words, but that is the case with Smokey this morning. You see, Smokey is a Mets fan, and last night Smokey watched his Mets--for the second year in a row--make early plans for their October golf vacations. Technically, they were playing an important game against the Cubs in the middle of a playoff race, but metaphorically, they were on the phone with their travel agents, booking flights to Pebble Beach.
      And Smokey witnessed the whole bloody debacle. Smokey cheered when Carlos Delgado, who has almost single-handedly carried the team to the brink of the playoffs since the All-Star break, hit a grand slam to give the Mets a four run lead. Smokey frowned when volatile pitcher Oliver Perez told Carlos "thanks, but no thanks" and promptly pissed that lead away. Smokey's flagging hopes were raised in consecutive innings when the Mets had a runner on third with nobody out, then dashed as they only managed one run in those innings--on a bases-loaded walk.
      But the much-maligned bullpen was doing just well enough to give the Mets a shot, and when the bottom of the ninth rolled around they were still tied at six. Then rookie Daniel Murphy, a bright spot in the lineup all year, opened the bottom of the ninth with a triple, and the heart of the order was coming up. Smokey wondered to himself about the statistics--with a runner on third and nobody out, how often does at least one run score? Seventy percent of the time? Eighty? More? David Wright--the Mets' RBI leader--had a 3-0 count, but could not single, or fly out, or even ground out to the right side of the infield. He struck out swinging at ball four. That's all right, thought Smokey, we've got two more shots, and the odds are still way with us. The Cubs walked Delgado and Beltran to get to Church, who grounded meekly into a force at the plate. Suddenly, Smokey was less sanguine. Suddenly, Smokey had thoughts of 2007 and deja vu all over again. Sure enough, Ramon Castro then struck out on three pitches, and Smokey knew what would happen next.
      Let's try a little hypothetical exercise, shall we? In a key game for them, and knowing the team they are chasing in the standings has already lost that day, a baseball team (let's call them the Mutts) have three consecutive innings (including the bottom of the ninth) with runners on third and nobody out--and manage only one run. Their opponents (let's call them the Cabs), in a game that doesn't matter to them at all, have two outs and nobody on in the tenth inning, then score three runs to win the game. Which of these teams is most likely to already be in the playoffs? Oh, yes, Smokey knows the Mutts, umm Mets, might still sneak into the playoffs ahead of the Brewers. Heck, they might even catch a break and catch the Phillies.
      But Smokey knows they've already made that metaphorical call to the travel agent. Smokey knows they've already got tee times.

Curmudgeon's Corner (6)--Netflix Just Doesn't Understand Me

      First off, you should know that Smokey Burner, the Broken Stove's resident curmudgeon, loves Netflix. When Smokey bought his first DVD player back in 1999, it came with an introductory come-on offer to join a fledgling mail-order movie service that would ship him DVD's in the mail--as many as he could watch for a flat monthly rate--and their selection was already way better than the small shelf of DVD's available at his local Blockbuster (now they've introduced their on-demand box to instantly watch downloads on your TV). Smokey signed on, and has never regretted his decision. Smokey owns some Netflix stock, for crying out loud.
      But sometimes, Netflix makes Smokey just want to sit down in the middle of the road and have a good cry, because there is perhaps no more eloquent proof of the continuing inability of computers to extrapolate than Netflix's movie recommendation algorithm. Smokey has given Netflix his opinion about more than 3,400 films--albeit through the very limiting 1-5 star rating system. A fifteen minute conversation with another human film lover would no doubt yield an excellent list of recommendations for movies that Smokey has not yet seen but would thoroughly enjoy, but after almost ten years of tracking Smokey's movie-watching preferences, Netflix's bank of UNIVAC's still spits out head-scratchers like this:

Because you enjoyed

• All About Eve
• All Quiet on the Western Front and
• Annie Hall

we think you'll enjoy Shoah (ed. Claude Lanzmann's highly-regarded 4-disc documentary on the Holocaust)

      WTF?! What do these three movies possibly have in common with Shoah? OK, yes, the directors are all Jewish. But two of the three movies have absolutely nothing to do with Judaism, and the third is a romantic comedy. That would be like recommending Time Bandits (short actors) because Smokey liked Gangs of New York and Death to Smoochy (short directors). (That's purely hypothetical, by the way--Smokey liked Time Bandits but not so much Gangs of New York, and nobody liked Death to Smoochy). Is it because Woody Allen's character in Annie Hall keeps going to see The Sorrow and the Pity? Does Bette Davis compare Anne Baxter to Goebbels and Smokey just missed it? Is some ghost in the Netflix machine having Smokey on?
      Netflix has offered a million bucks to whoever can improve their Cinematch recommendation algorithm by a certain measurable percentage. So Smokey has a request for all you math and code geeks out there: please drop your silly pet projects like calculating Mars orbital approaches for JPL or mapping cancer's genetic triggers for Sloan Kettering and get to work on this problem for Netflix. Smokey's future movie-watching happiness depends on you. Smokey says, "Give a hoot, film compute."

Open the Pod Bay Doors, God--Arthur C. Clarke (1917-2008)

      Arthur C. Clarke, owner of the brain that brought you communications satellites and the most famous imaginary computer in history, the HAL 9000, died today in his adopted hometown of Colombo, Sri Lanka. Along with a handful of other old school scifi storytellers like Asimov, Heinlein, Bradbury, and Niven, Clarke kindled my early love for the genre. Reading his stories made me want to invent my own; reading his best work makes me want to give it up out of despair of ever producing anything half so good. To paraphrase a famous Clarke line, any sufficiently advanced writing (he said "technology") is indistinguishable from magic.
      Anthony Minghella, director of the films "Truly, Madly, Deeply," "The Talented Mr. Ripley," "The English Patient," and "Cold Mountain," also died today. Somehow it seems sad that despite such an impressive résumé, he will always be at best the second most accomplished artist to die today.
      I know it's not a contest. But, still.
ADDENDUM: 3/20/08
Arrgghh! The Rule of Three just kicked in, and now one of my very favorite actors, Paul Scofield, is dead. "A Man for All Seasons" will always be one of my top five beloved films thanks to Scofield's moving performance. Man, what a crappy week.

Curmudgeon's Corner (5)--The Yoghurt of Human Kindness

      Believe it or not, Smokey Burner, the Broken Stove's resident curmudgeon, is pretty much a humanist. This is not the same as saying that Smokey has unqualified love for his fellow man or that he believes people are fundamentally good. On the contrary, Smokey thinks most people on this planet, left to themselves, unsupervised and unobserved, are crap. Or at least tend towards crappiness.
      Does this attitude make Smokey despair? It does not. Because every now and then, someone will heave himself up from all fours to stand more or less erect, and do something remarkable or good or even noble. Something human. Those are the moments, both in life and art, for which Smokey lives. You may think that this means Smokey lives below the spiritual poverty line, but Smokey will happily scrape by on coffee, cigarettes, and ramen noodles, as long as he gets the occasional hit from the crack pipe of human nobility.
      But sometimes Smokey doesn't know what to think. Take, for example, this recent story in which a human impulse for good struggles to disinter itself from under a pile of human crappiness. These excerpts come from the Associated Press:

PHOENIX (AP) — A frenzy of tiny-dog lovers has descended on an animal shelter that rescued hundreds of Chihuahuas from a filthy rural Arizona home, with some potential owners getting into shoving matches and others calling from around the globe.
      The nearly 800 small dogs, mostly Chihuahuas, and 36 parrots were found in a large mobile home northwest of Tucson last week....
      When news spread Thursday of the dog rescue, hundreds of people packed into the Humane Society of Southern Arizona in hopes of adopting the dogs, spokeswoman Jenny Rose said.
      Tempers flared, and a few people got into shoving matches, Rose said. The sheriff's department cleared everyone out, and the shelter closed for the day.
      The next day, Rose said, 500 people lined up to get the dogs....The shelter passed out numbers and had everyone come back in groups of 100 each day....
      Rose said calls came in from Germany, Australia and across the nation....

      Smokey wants to skip right over the question of the owners who created this horrendous situation--who turned out not to be puppy mill operators but an addled elderly couple with hoarding issues--and go directly to the "Good Samaritans" who poured out of the woodwork on hearing the story. You might think, "Hey Smokey, here's a few rocks for your pipe. These people stampeded to help these defenseless critters in their hour of need. Doesn't that make you feel good?"
      Well, no. As a matter of fact it does not. A few niggling questions occur to Smokey on this one, which prevent him from pumping his fist for mankind. To wit:

1. Smokey didn't actually contact anyone at the Humane Society of Southern Arizona, but he's relatively confident that the day before these poor Chihuahuas arrived at the shelter, there were already quite a few dogs and cats in residence waiting for adoption, many from situations just as intolerable. Why was there no line out the door on that day?
2. If, instead of cute (and perhaps valuable) little Chihuahuas, these dogs had been pit bulls, and if the pit bulls had never belonged to a famous football player, would the Humane Society still have been handing out numbers and receiving phone calls from Germany and Australia?
3. "Shoving matches"?!!! Smokey wonders what these Good Samaritans thought when they arrived at the shelter and saw the crowd. Was it a)"I'm so glad to see so many people here; now all these dogs are sure to find safe and happy homes," or b)"Hey, that asshole cutting in line is going to get that cute little white Chihuahua I was gonna put in Suzy's Easter basket."?

      Smokey knows that animal shelters are usually reluctant to place cute critters right before holidays like Easter because too many people give them as gifts to children, who soon tire of cuddling something that poops and pees and bites. And right back to the shelter they go (the animals, sadly, not the children)--if they're lucky. Of course in this case the Humane Society's backs are to the wall; they've got to place these animals. So all of you good folks who saved an Arizona Chihuahua, know this--that dog is now yours for the rest of its life. You must feed it, train it, exercise it, and love it, or may you find your own back to a wall, blindfolded and facing an angry line of rifle-toting Chihuahuas. Smokey will be there to yell, "FUEGO!"

Double Yoi!! 1929-2008

      Like most of the country on February 27th, Pittsburgh was eulogizing an admired commentator and eloquent wordsmith. But it wasn't William F. Buckley (I can scarcely imagine anyone more incompatible with the esprit de Burgh), it was Myron Cope--sportswriter, raconteur, beloved oddball, and the former voice of the Pittsburgh Steelers. You can read all about his unlikely reign over the Pittsburgh sports airwaves here, but unless you actually heard his very colorful color commentary during a Steelers game, you won't be able to appreciate what's been lost. You can hear some snippets of Myron dissing Cleveland, describing the artistry of Jerome Bettis, and telling the ugly truth.
      Myron's unabashed partisanship, childlike enthusiasm, stream of consciousness non-sequiturs, and down-home catchphrases (if your "down-home" happened to be around Murray Hill in Pittsburgh) enlivened even the most boring blowouts, and if things got really exciting, Myron, like any good fan, was often hypered to the point of unintelligibility: "DI-DI-DI-DI-DIDJYUH see the Bus PANCAKE that poor Bungles cornerback who tried to come up in the hole dahn 'ere? YOI!!" I never listened to a single national TV commentator for a Steelers game while I lived in Pittsburgh--I would always turn down the TV's volume and tune in Myron and Bill Hillgrove on the radio.
      So get out your Terrible Towels, fire up a Stogie, crack open a 40 of Iron City and pour some out on the ground for Cope. No one like him will ever be allowed near a professional sports team's microphone again. Alas.

Curmudgeon's Corner (4): Straining the Limits of Beer Credibility

      Smokey Burner, the Broken Stove's resident curmudgeon, loves beer. Smokey sometimes brews his own, and always enjoys the opportunity to taste something new in the world of fermented grains. Smokey has standards, but has never been a beer snob, and is generally willing to evaluate unfamiliar beers on their merits, withholding judgment till he's pounded a few.
      But. There. Are. LIMITS.
      Today Smokey was happily wandering the beer aisle at his local distributor of comestibles and potables when his eyes were drawn, infelicitously it turns out, to a new label. The fine folks at Michelob have now produced for our delectation not one, but three new versions of their nearly transparent and virtually flavorless Ultra variety. From now until Labor Day, Michelob will be favoring us with Michelob Ultra "Tuscan Orange Grapefuit," Michelob Ultra "Lime Cactus," and Michelob Ultra "Pomegranate Raspberry." Smokey is not opposed to fruit in beer, per se (is cactus a fruit?). Smokey loves a Tecate with lime, any Hefeweizen with orange, and a handful of highly poofy but tasty Belgian lambics. But Michelob is abusing Smokey's fruity beer goodwill.
      Smokey has tried plain old Michelob Ultra. Once, at Smokey's brother's house, when the real beer ran out, Smokey, in desperation, tried one of the beers being drunk by his brother's calorie-conscious wife--Michelob Ultra. You know what? Smokey doesn't want to revisit that. Just pretend Smokey never brought that up.
      Here's the deal. First, if one more thing in this country that has no resemblance to anything Italian is marketed as being "Tuscan," Smokey believes that residents of that particular region of Italy would be justified in changing whatever the Italian word for "fattening and tasteless" is to "Americano." Second, Smokey doesn't even need to try any one of these three beers to know that they almost certainly taste like flavored seltzer water that has been colored yellow. Third, if Smokey finds out that any of his friends, family or casual acquaintances have given their hard-earned cash in exchange for one of these fruity urine samples, Smokey will be very cross indeed.
You've been warned.

Curmudgeon's Corner (3): Hollywood Don't Know Dick

      Smokey Burner, the Broken Stove’s resident curmudgeon, wants the carnage to stop. No, Smokey isn’t referring to man’s violence against man, but rather to Hollywood’s serial rape and pillage of the works of one man—Philip K. Dick.
      Back in high school, Smokey saw “Blade Runner” for the first time. Once he got over seeing Han Solo with a crew cut, and accepted the reality that Harrison Ford was not in fact obligated to play Han Solo for the rest of his life, Smokey enjoyed one of the best science fiction movies of all time. Smokey immediately rushed to read the movie’s source material, the novel "Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?" by some dude named Philip K. Dick. (Huh-huhh, huh-huhhh you just totally said “Dick.” Remember, Smokey was in high school). Once he got over the fact that the book had very little in common with the movie it produced, Smokey enjoyed an excellent speculative novel by one of the best science fiction writers of all time.
      Then something went horribly wrong. Years later, Smokey saw a preview for a Schwartzenegger movie called “Total Recall.” “Wait a minute,” thought Smokey,“ they stole that business about implanted memories and a virtual trip to Mars from ‘We Can Remember It For You Wholesale,’” a PKD short story published in 1966 (the year between the births of the Wachowski brothers). It turns out that it wasn’t stolen but purchased; the crime came several scripts and lead actor choices later when what had been a nifty exploration of existential angst (how can we know what is real if even our senses can be manipulated? Does "real" even matter?) became yet another loud, stupid, f/x action vehicle (what else can we blow up?). Of course, as such, it made lots of money. The stampede for PKD options was on.
      Since then, Smokey has doggedly sat through every PKD adaptation that Hollywood has vomited forth: “Screamers,” “Imposter,” “Minority Report,” “Paycheck,” “A Scanner Darkly,” and just this morning on DVD, “Next.” The credits for “Next” claim that it’s based on “the novel story ‘The Golden Man’” by PKD. The “novel story?” Are they trying to trick us into believing it’s a novel and not just a short story? Does that matter in any way?
      “The Golden Man” is set in the near future, where a nuclear war has led to the appearance of mutant humans, some obviously deformed and weak, others who appear normal but display disturbing powers that frighten the authorities into creating a special police division to round them up (it was originally published in 1954, when Chris Claremont, creator of “The Uncanny X-Men” was four). One mutant, Cris Johnson, is golden-skinned, physically irresistible to women, and, the police discover late in the story, can actually see a short distance into the future. He displays no sentience, merely a will to survive, and his continued existence might spell the end of the human race—ordinary humans wouldn’t be able to compete with his progeny.
      “Next,” the movie ostensibly based on this “novel story,” stars Nicolas Cage as Cris Johnson (so far, so good), a spray-tanned, golden-jacket wearing lounge magician who can see exactly 2 minutes into his own future—for some unknown reason—and uses that ability to eke out a modest, discreet living playing blackjack at the casinos. Except there’s one woman (Jessica Biel), whose future he can see farther into—for some unknown reason. Cris—for some unknown reason—has drawn the attention of FBI agent Ferris (Julianne Moore) who is trying to track down some vaguely European baddies who have stolen a nuke and are about to detonate it in L.A.—for some unknown reason. Ferris is convinced that Cris’s skill will help her find said baddies. Oh, and Peter Falk has a cameo—for some unknown reason.
      Let’s tot up the similarities, shall we?

1. a guy named Cris Johnson
2. limited prescience
3. …um…Smokey’s gonna count nukes, just to bring it to 3.

Smokey could make similar two-paragraph juxtapositions between the other great PKD stories and the mostly awful movies they “inspired,” but Smokey’s too lazy for that. Trust Smokey on this one; there’s a pattern of abuse.
      “So Smokey,” you ask, “who’s to blame? Whose yard should I toilet paper to stop the insanity?” Sadly, Smokey fears it’s too late for toilet paper, except perhaps to dab at your tears while you watch the latest evisceration of a beloved PKD story. “Valis,” “Flow My Tears the Policeman Said,” and “The Short Happy Life of the Brown Oxford” are currently bouncing around Hollywood; “Owl in Daylight” and “Radio Free Albemuth” are already in production. Dick’s children own the rights to his work, and according to a 2003 article in Wired, they’re only selling them at very high prices to established producers, effectively eliminating the possibility for any of them to be filmed by an enthusiastic and understanding artist outside of the Hollywood machine. So here’s Smokey’s telegram to the Dick family:

Your father’s legacy now assured stop
All books back in print or soon to be stop
You are now very wealthy stop
Please please stop

Curmudgeon's Corner (2)

      Smokey Burner, the Broken Stove's resident curmudgeon, is not a happy camper. Actually, Smokey is not any kind of camper because he believes that God had good reasons for giving us houses and recliners, and to forsake these things in order to go lie on the ground in the woods is to question His wisdom.
      Camping, however, has nothing to do with Smokey's unhappiness today. No, Smokey is unhappy today because Smokey is a Steeler's fan, and he just saw his team--a supposed post-season contender--drop a game to the 2nd or 3rd worst team in football, the NY Jest (not a typo). Smokey has a bruise on his arm in the place where he's been pinching himself all morning, convinced that he will wake up in a world where the real Steelers have trounced the lowly Jets and are now 8-2. But Smokey is already awake and must make do with these counterfeit Steelers, obviously a college team that, while everyone was looking the other way, bonked all the Steelers on their head, stole their uniforms, and played the Jets.
      How else to explain how one team could punish the rest of the AFC North but have three road losses to teams with a combined 11-18 record? How else could one team hold Jamal Lewis and Shaun Alexander to a combined total of 95 rushing yards--in three games!!--and then allow Thomas "Who the hell am I?" Jones to rush for 117 yards all by his lonesome? How else does an opposing defense with nine sacks in as many games suddenly come up with seven in just one?

"There's no place like home, there's no place like home..."
Nope.
We're still 7-3.

      Smokey knows that one bad road loss, even to a terrible team, does not end your season, especially if you're still 7-3 and a game up in your division, and you've beaten all of your division at least once already. Smokey knows that despite a shaky offensive line and wretched kick coverage, his beloved Stillers will probably go to the playoffs and might do very well. The Cardinals and Broncos probably, and the Jets definitely, are not good enough to do that. But what does it mean for the Steelers' playoff hopes that they all are still good enough to handle the Steelers?
      Smokey wonders, he does.
      By the way, has Smokey ever mentioned how much he hates "Steely McBeam," the new Steelers mascot? Imagine Tom Cruise transformed into a crazed, Muppet steelworker, who might be distantly related to Bert on Sesame Street. That's Steely.

Smokey does hate him so.

Curmudgeon's Corner

      Smokey Burner, the Stove's resident curmudgeon, was watching the Today Show this morning, which he almost never does because he has little patience for the kind of surface-level, Cliff's Notes version of news and self-help pieces that they do on the morning shows. In less than five minutes Matt and Meredith had managed to tick him off enough to change the channel. It should be noted that, by definition, the Curmudgeon is easily ticked off.
      In the middle of one of the five-minute segments on healthier living that they must run in one form or another pretty much every day, complete with visual aids (a psychiatrist's couch to represent depression, and piles of luggage to represent the vacations you should allow yourself to take), the visiting health expert addressed the fact that married men have longer life expectancies than single men. Smokey had heard something to this effect before, so he wasn't surprised until the "expert" said, "Unmarried men have a 250% higher mortality rate than their married counterparts." She said nothing to clarify that bizarre statement, and no one asked her to. In fact, Smokey thinks Meredith asked,"Why is that?" rather than what she should have asked, which is, "Whuh-huh?"
      What is that supposed to mean?! Smokey is pretty sure that all men, married and otherwise, have a 100% mortality rate. Are there two and a half times as many single men as married men? Did she mean single men are two and a half times more likely to die before age sixty? or seventy? She never said. And no one seemed to care that she had tossed out this totally meaningless statement in the middle of her tightly scripted presentation.
      Now, Smokey knows these shows happen live, and poor Matt has probably sleepwalked through more five-minute "healthy living" segments than he's got short, crispy hairs left on his head, but come on. We know these are fluff pieces, but even fluff should at least make sense.