It's been a difficult week in Hollywood. The lovers of Ed, Farrah and Michael have been in the streets, on the phone (texting and talking) and glued to their televisions to learn what they can, and relive some of the great memories and moments that were made happier because of the laughs and the scenes and the songs we all enjoyed through these remarkable talents.
Who can not like Ed McMahon? The man sat on Johnny Carson's couch, hung in there all night with Jerry Lewis and delivered schzillion dollar checks courtesy of the sweepstakes people. No good reason not to like Ed.
Farrah was my first crush. She was an angel, and if kids my age had the money, we'd have bought her shampoo just to see what she smelled like. I didn't worship her like some have accused me, but I did sit beneath her poster and pray she'd come to life.
I wasn't allowed to dance as a kid. But gosh, it was hard not to when Michael Jackson was singing. I didn't know much about his story. I knew I LOVED his music. As we both got older I noticed that he started changing in lots of ways - some of them sorta weird. His music only got better though, and I finally gave up the notion that God didn't give us legs just to kneel on. I never quite mastered the moon walk, but my good and godly brother did.
It's sad to see these folks leave us. Some people don't think so though. To me that is even more sad.
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