I landed a gig as a college radio DJ as I bummed around Southern California in 1986. I spent a few hours every day spinning records by the likes of Thelonious Monster, one of the bands I patronized each night on the region's club scene. One day a monkey wrench was thrown into my self-centered life of decadence. An entourage of strangers burst through the door of the radio station. The bored child of a famous actor had asked to be transported from a nearby movie set to learn how to be a disc jockey. The kid's relieved nanny slipped me a few twenties and asked that I entertain the boy until his dad picked him up later in the evening. We had a miserable time together. The kid was found dead today.