Sometimes I Want to Ask Steve Martin, "What Were You Thinking?"

One of my favorite entertainers of all time is Steve Martin. When he won the 2005 Mark Twain Award, I agreed with some reviewers that Mark Twain should have won the Steve Martin Award.

I love his obscure articles in the New Yorker and elsewhere.

I love all of his books. I loved the fact that he wrote a book called "Shopgirl" in the voice of a depressed shopgirl. (I didn't see the movie because, while I liked the book, it depressed me so much I thought the movie might send me over the edge.)

Early on I loved the balloon animals, the magic tricks and the banjo. I love that he's going to play his banjo on the Grand Ole Opry.

I loved King Tut.

He's made (wrote, directed and/or starred in) many movies. Some I've loved, others I haven't so much - but that's show business.

This afternoon we saw "Pink Panther, 2." It was very upsetting to me. No subtly whatsoever. His character destroyed everything in sight. I had to avert my eyes when he set restaurants on fire and demolished every (beautiful) room he entered. In my mind he did a great disservice to Peter Sellers and Inspector Clouseau.

I understand that these movies make money so he can make as many as he wants.

The cosmic question is: Why?


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