Small Stature, Big Impact

Gary Coleman died, and now I'm sad.

At first, I was just sad because I no longer had a "go to" guess every time a celebrity died. Then I was sad because I wondered if Sam would miss his favorite story subject. Then I was hungry because I skipped lunch. I had a really good sandwich, and then I was sad again, because I realized Gary would never get to have another sandwich, and I didn't even know if he liked sandwiches. I knew so little about the man who was my favorite choice for "which celebrity will die next," that I felt I had no right to even play that game at all.

I slipped into a funk.

I tried to hide my sadness behind a bravado of jokes. I told people Todd Bridges was interviewed on the Today Show but was crying so hard no one knew what he was talkin' 'bout. I started a petition to get Emmanuel Lewis to move to Utah to fill the hole left by Gary. I even, shamefully, circulated this photo of Gary's supposed casket. Not funny, and a bit cruel, I know, but I was trying to deal with my pain.

Stolen from a blog more tasteless than this one.

After that I just felt sad and dirty.

Now, I just don't know what to do. I keep thinking I see him in the distance, or that I hear his voice. My heart races until I realize that it's not him; that's it's just my mind wanting him to be there so badly. I find myself wishing I were his ex-wife or parents, just so I could be arguing over his remaining assets and who gets to dispose of his corpse.

Actually, I wouldn't want to see him dead. I would rather remember Gary this way:


I know. That picture is almost too much perfection for anyone to take. And now, it's all we have left of them. I mean, it soon will be all we have left of them. No one thinks Hasselhoff is making it through the year, do they?

Oh! New contest entry! Yay!

Now, I'm hungry again.