Ya'ever Wanna Kill that Friend Who Up and Died on You?

I've been a lucky man. I'm 43 and so far death hasn't really hit me too hard. My folks are still alive [albeit, scaring me regularly with tales of ailments and hospital visits]. Same is to be said for the close Aunts and Uncles. I lost a few, lets say people I kinda knew in high school to the typical follies of, mostly alcohol and automobiles... Ive been to two funerals; one that of the dear father of my oldest friend and the other, my Aunt Penny's; my dad's youngest sister. I loved Penny, but I remember that day NOT so much for the saying goodbye to Penny, but more for it being the first time I saw my "Captain in the Military" father cry. The pins, knocked right out from under me... The day your father becomes human... Funerals... I continue to count my blessings. Those are other stories...

This story is about Michael Prentice; a short story in so much as Michael was a very good but sporadic friend. He popped into my sphere of friends quite by happenstance, left the sphere then re-entered it again and again whenever that happenstance clock movements of friendships put his cog against the other cogs of friendship.

He was a good friend.

I met Michael thru Doctor Giggles... I was just back from my Central American, post business failure misadventure. Floating around Toronto after a series of failed interviews. Soaking in my remorse that perhaps no junior manager/human resources minion would ever look fondly upon the resume of a failed CEO, President, entrepreneur... with anything but fear. To waste the time of non-employment, I wasted my time, some nights, sipping beers and playing NTN trivia at the "Hoops Sports Bar" on Yonge; really, as always... I was just out to kill time... Enter Dr. Giggles.

A short balding stocky man; a self-professed wheeler and dealer. A guy who hated being whooped at trivia. I beat him a few times one night, he sidled up to me, we talked for a few hours; next thing you know I'm at a meeting with this Dr. Giggles, Syd Capp [whose story shall or has certainly been told], Michael and Jay Abrams... Jay Abrams, a co-founder of Alliance Atlantis films. In other words, beating Dr. Giggles at NTN trivia provided me a seat at the tippy-top table of the Toronto film and television industry. Not to brag, but firkin ho-hum. If there's anything I despised more at the time it was the Toronto film and television industry.

Syd and Michael had joined forces to do something spectacularly dull. Syd who came from the "Clause 12" world of Canadian Tax dollar sucking motion picture development had teamed up with Michael; who came from the "just barely better than industrial video" shoot it, cut it and sell it to cable bidness. They were going to as they said, "mine the back forty", i.e. grab pre-shot footage, remix it and re-sell it to the exploding specialty cable station market. They would use dollars made in this nefarious venture to fund their own, more creative endeavors. Syd was the money gatherer, Michael was to be the guy who would get it done. On an aside, Syd had an interest in interactive media; liked my history and the way I spoke business, and so offered me a desk in his and Michaels playpen.

It was actually kind of fun being with folks on the fringe of the most sycophantically ass kissing industry on the planet. An industry where name dropping, fables of historic non-deals made over great meal stories at fake restaurants was more important than actually turning revenue. I hung out there until I got a real job with another fake company out of Portland Oregon who were about to launch in Toronto. I left the playpen with Michael as a friend.

Michael was a big dude, taller than me and definitely heavier. A video production dude clich from the top of his conservatively not short, but not mangy hair to his stovepipe cut jeans and cowboy boots. He drove a Bronco and had the, "No, the best place for... this" AND the "best place for that is..." attitude down to a T. The type of guy who would, when told that you really enjoyed the risotto at Bar Italia last night, would say... "No, the best place for Risotto is...". Thankfully he wasn't one of those, "the best place for risotto in... etc etc etc" type guys. Nope Michael was Strictly Toronto.

Strictly Toronto... Upper Canada College, Rosedale, Forrest Hill... I won't get into it. Let's just assume that Michael was an Anglican [Episcopalian for my American friends]; his folks moved to the gentle northern, pastoral burbs; Michael, the Bronco driving black sheep who settled for trips to Thailand and film school over a life in finance. When I met Michael he had already parlayed the blue chips for a seriously entertaining list of stories of foreign miss-adventure; he had settled into the industry; he had socked away some dough; he had bought a house and was living with his wife in Forrest Hill. In other words, he had married a nice Jewish girl.

Outside of ALL the reason's I could have really disliked Michael. His humorous disdain for the war between the Goys and the Heebs in the city of Toronto was precious. He bargained with his wife to pass on their sons circumcision unless she was to allowed for their daughters to have the female version, all the rage in small villages in India... He won that battle; AND he continued to complained every time she forced him to donate that minimum $2,000 offering at temple; as for temple, he went every time it didnt conflict with a round of Saturday morning TV/Film golf/bidness... Michael and his wife had two girls in quick succession; neither was circumcised [as far as I know].

This story ends in death.

As I have mentioned Michael and I hooked up sporadically. After the film/TV bubble burst, and after he fell out of graces with Syd, we started to see more and more of each other. I was bouncing around from one pre or post public offering Internet venture to another. Alternately being wowed and bored by my 26, 27 year old employers who for the most part actually believed that the toilet paper they called stock was worth the millions that were listed on whatever penny ante exchange they had managed to list it on... From time to time I had easy access to you know what; Michael liked you know what and would ask me to set him up with you know what...

At a low point, I got Michael a job with an old business associate who wanted to add video production to her shopping list of media offerings... I left for New York. Michael seemed happy, working with this strong businesswoman associate of mine. Wed see each other time to time. Actually, we had drinks together at The BEST place for martinis in New York once while he was shooting a G-zero spot for some project...

Yes, this story truly ends in death.

Then comes the day I get a call from this strong businesswoman associate/friend of mine. Ive fired Michael; hes a fuck-up. Then comes the email from Michael saying he had just landed a 12 show deal with some cable specialty channel; then comes the day I get a call from Syd saying they had found Michael face down on the couch in his quite comfortable Forrest Hill home one morning apparently having suffered a, you know what, induced heart attack.

A nice upbringing with good parents that as far as I know supported every bronco riding adventure and business venture he ever entertained. Relative success enough to plant real-estate roots in one of the better parts of town; a wonderfully friendly, smart as a bug wife who adored and raised the kidlets; a new path, a gig back to past successes from what Im told YEARS of experience with you know what to know what you know what can do to you; I mean, he handle a serious binge of you know that other thing in Thailand for two years [or so the story goes].

When I got the call from Syd, I was in my cubbyhole at the underwear office, submerged in my own problems and dealing with my own monsterish friendship with you know what. I remember being a bit sad, but not surprised. It was close enough to lunch that I could wander outta the office and over to one of the Irish Pubs on 8th. I ordered a Guinness [no significance there at all]... Raised it in the general direction of Toronto...

Michael, you stoopid FUCK, next time I see you, I am going to smack you so hard up side the head, youll die all over again. All these things, good things! To hell with all those good things Michael; you gave up on two beautiful little girls and the mother you left in horror to raise them.

Suicide... has many a form.