drewmckinney.net

Gary Coleman is forty years old. Born in ‘68. Yep. Yesterday, February 8, Gary Coleman turned forty-fucking-years-old.

Jesus, he’s not that much older than I am. I am so fucked. He doesn’t look a day over fifteen and I don’t look a day younger than fifty. A pair of the Gary’s pants hang on the set of Jimmy Kimmel’s show. The last place I saw my pants? Spinning at sixty-seven revolutions per minute in a dryer at some public clothes-washing place. On “low” because heat shrinks jeans. And you can only throw them in the dryer for about ten minutes before it’s time to take them out and hang them on a wire. Sixty-seven RPM’s? Yes, I counted.

Adult life is very different than what I imagined when I was seven.

Brian passed away after battling brain cancer (the same thing that killed my dad) for the past year and a half. He was reserved yet hilarious, often delivering one-liners with such a straight face that you didn’t know he was kidding around with you. Brian was the type of guy that didn’t take shit from anybody and he feared nothing.

I feel very fortunate to have known Brian. He invited me into his home on several occasions, where BBQ and beer would flow with a never-ending supply. My fondest memories though will be sitting with him in his poker room after the BBQs had winded down, with 5 or 6 of his other friends. We’d shoot the shit and have drinks and play poker for hours on end.

My thoughts go out to Meghan, Elvis, Julie, and everyone else affected by this lousy situation.

You can read a little about Brian over at the SFGate site.

Like Bob Dylan said, Just remember that death is not the end.

For the record, why digg is blocked dot com is not my site. I don’t know who it belongs to or why they linked to me. That is all.

Here’s a nicely done website. Sweet.