Johnny Cash is dead. And just yesterday I saw him on Columbo, portraying "John Brown" a country-western singer suspected of murder. His leg was in a cast. He played his guitar to a bevy of bikinied ladies. He looked to be about 41. He worried that the pressure in his plane's cabin would ruin the perfect pitch and timber of his black-with-white-piping guitar. I'm going to go home and listen to "Cocaine Blues" and feel down. I'm not being ironic--I'm really sad, and to be honest, I'm not sure why. It's not like I love Cash, or say "Cash is King," but nonetheless...