Three celebrities died this week. First went Ed McMahon, whom I spent the day with in 1994 on his Star Search bus. Next was Farrah, who I never met but who was my first celebrity crush when I was 10. I had three of her posters hanging over my bed and I stared at them every night before going to bed. And then Michael Jackson, who I saw in concert in Indiana in 1988. It’s an odd thing when celebrities die because we don’t know them, so acting like a family member died doesn’t really make sense. But that’s what we do. I guess once someone moves you through art, it seems like they are your friend.