I might have mentioned a couple of times that I spent most of my twenties as a full time rock critic/photographer for a daily paper in Toronto, a youth that would have been better invested in a good law school rather than wasted on such a frivolous pursuit. But I was having too much fun until I wasn’t and, with some encouragement from my editors, I pulled the plug when I was twenty nine based on my own personal belief that thirty is the cut off age for the three chord lifestyle which requires one to truly live it short of an intravenous dependency..
Bruce Johnston wrote that song for The Beach Boys’ 1971 album Surf’s Up. The actual song title includes the year 1957 to make sure we knew this was a nostalgic look back complete with reference to ‘Ricky and David’ (as with most of my references, if you don’t get this please stop reading) which just about corresponds to when Disneyland was really catching on with the kids. I was fortunate enough to be taken there by my parents in December of 1966 as perhaps a gift for my coming Bar Mitzvah. I was very fortunate to fly cross country when most of my friends were years away from a trip to the airport.
This month my little company will celebrate its thirtieth anniversary. No small feat given that turnover in the film distribution business is fairly brisk, and that yours truly will not be lecturing at the Harvard Business School anytime soon, such are my skills in running any sort of organization. We will celebrate at one point with a party for our friends and perhaps something for our loyal customers. In my mind, it’s going to be a little bittersweet as I wonder where the decades went along with the life force I put into something that was never a Plan A, or even a Plan B. It’s A Wonderful Life indeed.
I have been eulogizing my own ‘In Memoriam’ entry every year for the past few, tallying up the physical losses that come with time. I knew that if I kept up the blog I would have to eventually write something about my father, Jules Pinkus Gross, and the time is now because he passed away on Canada Day this past year. It happened early in the morning and he was by himself which is sadder than sad but he went quietly at the wonderful age of 98 years young.
A couple of months ago I had a fall. A couple of years ago this sort of news amongst your circle was not only not news but you were better off keeping it to yourself for the risk of being comically shamed by friends who were still running sub 60 minute 10Ks and telemarking down double black diamond runs. Traditionally we associate the unplanned plummet with the elderly who are often at risk of a broken hip followed by pneumonia that is followed by a funeral, then catering.
This installment was on permanent hold until I ran across a recentish commercial for Match.com. In earlier installments, the courtesy reads from friends all came back with comments about the tone and somewhat caustic edge. Writing can be, as I have said, cathartic.