I am awake at an ungodly hour — no coffee, just a crazy work ethic — to beat a deadline, which is roughly around dawn. Actually last night, but I told the editor I wasn’t going to sleep until this was done. Two computers decided to expire on me today (the third computer, on which I’m typing these words, remains robust, which I am thankful for, because this is somebody else’s). This has never happened to me before. In fact, I haven’t seen it happen to anybody. And I once worked at a computer magazine. Do you know anybody who saw all of their computers putz out on them in one day? I don’t. I mean, these are, for the most part, durable little machines.

I’ve told people not to give me their computers, because I am apparently the Grim Reaper of Technology. Touch me and machine will die. (As to the machines’s collective resuscitation, the problems were troubleshooted after pleas and profanity, both directed to the machines. It was bad DDR2 and a bad drive, respectively. Alas, deadlines being what they are, I can do nothing but write. I remain convinced that I’ll still be writing twelve hours from now.)

But seeing as how I’m working on a literary essay right now, I’d be remiss if I didn’t observe the passing of Ms. Elizabeth Hardwick, who I sadly never got the chance to meet.

“Just let me get this right. A thing that looks like a police box, stuck in a junkyard, can move anywhere in time and space?”

And Part 2 and Part 3. This version, incidentally, is the original pilot that was refilmed later because the Doctor was perceived as too unlikable. He became slightly less unlikable, but still very much an antihero in the final product. And it was this new version which aired forty-four years ago on this very day.

The person who produced this was Verity Lambert, who passed away this afternoon. One of the few women television producers working in the 1960s, Lambert envisioned an exciting program for children mixing a space adventure with an educational program. She was only 28 at the time. What she didn’t count upon was the Daleks becoming a major success in the second serial. The results go on to this very day. Not counting Spanish or Indian television or American soap operas, Doctor Who is the longest-running television serial that is still active today.

But it took Verity Lambert, who had a very forward-thinking and unusual vision of how to entertain, to make this happen. And this was only one of her many credits.

New York Times: “Madeleine L’Engle, who in writing more than 60 books, including childhood fables, religious meditations and science fiction, weaved emotional tapestries transcending genre and generation, died Thursday in Connecticut. She was 88.”

The Toronto Star: “In 1987, a series of adverse articles in The New York Post about the Helmsleys, set off by one of their disgruntled employees, led to a broad investigation. The following year, Harry and Leona Helmsley were indicted by federal and state authorities on charges that they had evaded more than $4 million in income taxes by fraudulently claiming as business expenses luxuries they purchased for their 28-room Jacobean mansion on 10.5 hectares in Greenwich, Conn., that they bought in 1983.”

BBC: “Anthony Wilson, the music mogul behind some of Manchester’s most successful bands, has died of cancer. The Salford-born entrepreneur, who founded Factory records, the label behind New Order and the Happy Mondays, was diagnosed last year.”

I have also learned from a reader that Tom Snyder died on Sunday — a day after I wrote at length about him. This too is a major loss and, even though I know I had nothing to do with it, I’m trying to shake off the horrible conviction that I might have killed the man in writing about him. Horrible.

[UPDATE: It appears that Manhattan Ed suffers the same problem I do. The minute he talks about an older artist, the artist dies. If there are other Eds out there who are unintentionally killing artists, please make yourself known. We need to do something about this regrettable problem.]

ComicMix reports that Brant Parker, the cartoonist behind The Wizard of Id, has died. Parker illustrated the strip with Johnny Hart, who died eight days earlier.

Kurt Vonnegut is dead.

I am stunned and am now quietly sitting in my chair staring at the wall. I will have more to say later. I did not really know how much Vonnegut meant to me until now.

“God damn it, you’ve got to be kind.”

Canada: “The director and producer of the Porky’s films and the original Black Christmas has been killed in a traffic accident in California.”

Of course, I’ll always remember Clark for A Christmas Story, which more than makes up for the craptacular Porky’s films.

[UPDATE: Anyone who can come up with this schlock is worthy of respect.]

Los Angeles Times: “Catherine Seipp, a writer and media critic who became known in the 1990s for her pointed coverage of the Los Angeles Times in Buzz magazine, has died. She was 49.”

Anna Nicole Smith is dead, apparently from a “collapse.” I don’t know if this reflects a bizarre universal karma against gold diggers (I’m not a religious man, so why look for patterns?) or a contingency plan executed by the late J. Howard Marshall. More likely, it’s the telltale sign of self-abuse.

Pioneer Press: “A physicist and lifelong tinkerer, Borchardt revolutionized the breakfast cereal industry. He had a big hand in developing the technologies that allow cereal companies — in his case, General Mills — to turn grain into cereals such as Cheerios and Kix, and he also played a key role in coming up with the process used to fortify milk with vitamin D.”

Sarah breaks the news that Barbara Seranella has passed away.

Aw man. No words other than this: I suspect it was a conspiracy.