Used to be celebreties died in groups of threes, or so was commonly held. A movie star dies, then another and people would get all concerned and start wondering "Who's next?" "Oh I hope it's not so-and-so" Or "It'll probably you-know-who he's got the cancer." Sure enough within a week or so another.

It was all great fun. The magazines loved it and sometimes they even printed up special editions and my Mom would buy them because they would be collectable one day "You just wait and see."

This year all of a sudden I'm noticing that the pace has accelerated and more disturbingly, it's people that I have emotionally vested interests in that are passing on. Part of it is my age, but I think it also has alot to do with Andy Warhol's vision of fifteen minutes of fame. That train done came and now it's starting to chug it's way out of the station.

I remember my dad and his morning paper. First place he'd go was the obituaries.
"Well I'll be damned, MIlton Weaver died" My mom would come over and look at the paper she'd notice Marty Robbins had passed away and they'd talk about Marty and then they'd talk about Milton.

I was over at their place this past weekend. I grabbed the paper out in their driveway and took it inside for them. They get up alot later nowadays. I put the paper on their kitchen table and talked to my dad over Fox News while my mom made us some coffee.

My mom served coffee at the table and my dad snagged the paper and went straight for the sports pages. "Well I'll be damned the Giants won." I was shocked. "Dad, what happened to the obituaries?"

"What?"
"I SAID WHAT ABOUT THE OBI TU ARIES? HOW COME YOU ARE NOT READING THEM?"

"OH...I don't know. I think everybody has died."