RIP Gavin Mahlie

I know that eventually we get to an age where we start losing friends.
I just didn't expect that age to be so young.
I didn't expect that I'd be losing Charlyn at 40 and now Gavin at 41.

I won't pretend that Gavin Mahlie was someone close to my life, at least not in the way that Charlyn was. But he was, if not a true Friend, a very friendly acquaintence; someone I could always count on for a smile and some very odd conversation.

He was a brilliant actor. He always made it look easy, and I can't remember any of his work that wasn't amazing.

A heart attack at 41 just sounds so improbable ... yet there it is.

His obit is here.

So here, for my own personal public record, are my two favorite memories.

Christmas, I don't remember what year. 199-something. My friend Danon and I, being done with our family gatherings, decided to go have a drink. So we went down to this great little dive bar, appropriately named the Rivershack, and just had a ball. We suddenly became men magnets, with (cute, decent) guys hanging on our every word and buying us drinks. And then, maybe around midnight or later, through the door walks Gavin with best pals Trish and Mark.

Now, this was not your typical actor's hangout. There were certainly bars where you could hang out and expect to run into friends and acquaintences ... this was not one of them. So for us to randomly run into them (or more aptly, them to run into us) was very odd.

You know how when you're in a sea of strangers, and suddenly you see a face you know, some casual acquaintence - and they don't know anyone either, so you gravitate to each other like you're long-time best friends? It was like that. The five of us ended up hanging out the rest of the evening, including a drive down to the Bluebird Cafe downtown (where I oh so recall the waiter whose manicure was better than mine) ... and perhaps most of all, I remember this little tidbit. Trish ordered a baked potato. When it arrived ... it was a potato on a plate. They may or may not have even bothered to slice it in half. No toppings, not even butter. Just a baked potato on a plate. I will always remember the look on her face, and just how *funny* that was at 4am after a long night.

Also, Gavin and I developed a running joke about Mr. Bubble that night. I don't even remember how it started, but it'd be that thing that we'd say to each other when we crossed paths.

Memory number two. One I'd actually forgotten about, til now. We were in a group of friends, out somewhere. I can't remember where. Or why. I have a memory that we were at someone's house. The idea to go catch a movie came up - must have been late - and he and I had both agreed it was a good idea and we should go; but then whoever thought it up ended up backing out as did everyone else, leaving the two of us to just debate whether we were going to go to this movie together or not. My memory is that it was, in fact, quite a debate, until finally we agreed we would go.

I drove to the theatre, where he had already arrived, and walked towards my car. "I don't know about this," he said. "I just don't know. I went up and took a look and ... I just have a feeling about this."

For those of you who never met Gavin, that sounds ominous. You should know that the above proclamation came with a wry smile and lighthearted tone. So all I could do was shake my head and laugh.

But he genuinely had changed his mind about the movie, for reasons I did not know then nor was I ever to know. It was the World of Gavin. I was merely a visitor.

We ended up going arcross the street to Morning Call for coffee and beignets, and talked for a while, and it was a lot of fun.

Did I mention he was an odd, odd man? He was. With a smile and a twinkle in his eye, and with enormous talent and intellect.

Rest in peace.

(edited to include his last name)