This podcast is recorded in front of an unweighting audience.

This is true crime case.

When Anthony Bourdain killed himself, it surprised me how much it hurt.

But after I processed it a little, I began to feel silly about it.

I realized that this part, the real part, was none of my business.

And to be honest, it felt right somehow.

Celebrity chef Anthony Bourdain, dead by suicide,

having hanged himself with a bathrobe belt at a four-star hotel in France.

A romantic setting for a romantic death.

I then found myself sticking up for his decision.

I was angry that he was being judged, upset to the media,

and the public seemed to think they could figure out why.

Seemed to think that empty platitudes could have saved him,

that by creating an outpouring of grief they somehow could show the love they felt he needed to,

miraculously, come back.

But he didn't need to come back.

They needed him.

I needed him to come back.

Because when a beloved celebrity dies, it leaves the common folk feeling a little shook up.

Like if something terrible could be fallen idle.

That means none of us are safe.

And of course the whole thing is ridiculous.

...