Wikipedia Says Cupid Was Born 8 Miles From Philly (and Thomas the Train is a Tiny Wino)
Damn you, David Geffen!
For those of you unfamiliar with the name above, he is arguably the most successful self-made individual in the history of the entertainment business. Music, Hollywood, Broadway…Geffen has conquered them all. The gods of success have shown this dude more love than a fortnight at Wimbledon.
But let’s get back to yours truly for a bit, and allow me to spin a tender, heart-warming, coming-of-age yarn.
When I was eight years old, I was riding a see-saw (a literal, not figurative, one). While I was enjoying another dose of ‘up’ on this mile-a-minute thrill ride, my partner in playground hi-jinks—well, let’s call him Chuckles, because he thought it would be oh-so-hilarious to suddenly jump off and send me crashing down to earth.
Chuckles well-timed frivolity nearly broke my neck.
Ok, it turned out to be not too serious. A few visits to a chiropractor magically chased away all the playground wrongs inflicted on my tender skeletal frame.
However, I noticed a couple of interesting things about my new spine-cracking bestie. First, he only worked three days a week; and second, the office was packed whenever I went there.
You see, even as a pre-pubescent, I was a burgeoning Captain of Industry.
When the receptionist left her post, I ran over to the appointment book, counted up the number of clients on that day, extrapolated them over the other two days, and then calculated the average patient spend per visit based on what my parents were paying for me.
Know what the Captain found? Doc McCrackins was pulling down around $800 large a year. And we weren’t even out of the 70’s yet.
Hey, Chuckles…I’m gonna be a CHIROPRACTOR!!
Fast forward a few years to find me attending college. To get into Chiropractic school (it’s at the Graduate level), you need to take a lot of science courses. I don't care much for science, at least not compared to history, writing and lit.
But no matter if aldehydes and anatomy bored me to tears. The rest of you suckers can toil in your 5-day work weeks and frozen meatloaf dinners; I’m coasting to a 3-day-a-week, $800k-a-year, booze and babes party train.
It’s all Champagne and C-Cups on MY railroad, baby.
It's All Champagne and Dixie Cups on My Railroad, Baby.
(Photo: mommyish.com)
[Editors Note: With regard to the aforementioned alcoholic beverages, Mr. Lavallo doesn’t actually drink. In fact, he never has. He also doesn’t smoke and has never even tried marijuana (!). One time a rock star offered him a joint, and when John turned it down, the musician wrinkled his face and said “Even my grandma would smoke this s#@t, dude?”].
One thing I truly did love was music. I spent most of my childhood with a transistor radio glued to my ear.
My freshman year of college, someone hipped me to the fact that if I had a radio show, I could get free records, backstage passes and interviews with my favorite bands. No matter that my college radio station was so small the signal would hit the studio wall and die. As far as record labels were concerned, I was king of the campus grooves (although apparently not nearly as wired into the scene as Grandma Ganja).
The night before I graduated, I made a big decision. I had already been accepted to the best Chiropractic school in the country (in fairness, that’s like saying I got accepted into the Ivy League of Cosmetology programs).
My decision was fast and brutal, undoing over a decade of planning: I want to work in the music business. So at 21, fresh out of college with a kick-ass attitude and the kind of over-confidence that only comes from utter cluelessness, I was ready to tackle the world.
Look at me, all grown up and following my heart!
Not quite. A few weeks earlier I read about David Geffen’s career. How he forged a letter from UCLA to get a job because he didn’t have a college degree. How he was a millionaire at 27. How he sold his first record company for $7 million. How he sold his second record company for about 80 times more than that.
There’s gold in them thar hills, Chuckles, and I’m gittin’ me a pick-axe!
Let’s be clear about something: the universe will likely never again see a human whirlwind the likes of David Geffen, so it’s unfair for anyone to hold themselves to that kind of standard.
But this would become a recurring theme in my life, looking at successful people and telling myself I could it too. So I said to myself, if Geffen could make a million by 27, so could I. That was it. Affirmations, visualizations, daydreams, actions all focused on that one massive goal.
[Editors Note: Mr. Geffen also dated Cher. The author was more than happy to leave THAT part out of his goal.]
Six years later. December 16, 11:59pm, one minute before my 28th birthday, sitting and contemplating why I wasn’t yet a millionaire. Not even close, actually. A big aching failure which ate away at me.
Damn you, David Geffen.
Here’s the ugly truth. Every decision I made up and through my 20’s was about money and it left me stranded at the corner of 28th and Worst. To my credit, instead of feeling sorry for myself, I decided to start over. I can’t say I had a plan other than to follow my nose (it always knows!) and keep positive thoughts. Step right up, ladies and gents, and meet the bastard child of Norman Vincent Peale and Toucan Sam.
I quit job my job at a major record label with no earthly idea what would come next.
Thankfully, I Have Child-Bearing Hips.
(Photo: Kellogg's)
Now, let’s skip ahead about 10 years. Yeah, a whole lot happened in that decade, but this post isn’t meant to be a chronological biography; there’s a point to be made here. My situation had changed a lot in that 10-spot (although I still worked in the music business), but my viewpoint hadn’t: I was still chasing money, much to the detriment of my personal life.
So at this point, I co-owned a small but successful marketing firm (and still do today). Business was very good and we were never inclined to discount our prices.
One sunny day, we got a call from a friend asking if we’d like to handle digital marketing for Joan Jett (specifically, we would be hired by Joan’s self-owned label, Blackheart Records).
Blackheart is a well-run and efficient company and doesn’t feel the need to spend a lot on outside marketing, so we’d make very little money doing the work. Actually, we’d lose money. I would never even contemplate such a thing, but I’m such a huge fan of Joan’s that I actually said yes without hesitation. Hell, I was even psyched to do it.
I remember very clearly bathing in the significance of that moment. I did something work-related for…genuine pleasure? And over the course of nearly a year, we worked Joan’s album, tour, singles, and video releases. Of course, I got to see Joan play live whenever I wanted, and I chose several different shows that year.
At one of those shows, Joan’s Manager/Business Partner Kenny set up a seat for me that was literally ON the stage (albeit at an angle where I couldn’t be seen by the crowd).
The next day I was on the phone with a girl friend (who was not my girlfriend; I was single at the time) and told her that I don’t think I’ll ever need to see Joan perform again, because nothing would top the previous night’s experience.
The following weekend, Joan was set to play what I think was the final show of that tour (in NYC) and I certainly wasn’t going. The girl friend (not girlfriend) really wanted to go and finally convinced me to take her. Two hours before the show, she called and cancelled.
Here’s where it gets interesting.
Another client asked to meet up for drinks that night, about an hour before the show. The place he picked happened to be around the corner from the venue where Joan was playing. After the meeting, I said to myself, ‘I’m so close by, why not drop in to say hi before the show, then split?’.
I was waiting in the VIP area and struck up a conversation with an attractive girl who had grabbed a 2-seat table in the area. She asked if I could hold her table while she went back to meet Joan.
And while that girl was backstage, some other random girl walked up and sat down at her table. I told her she couldn’t sit there and she left.
About 10 minutes later, the show started. Oddly, Ms. Random Girl returned and we somehow struck up a conversation over the loud--very loud--music.
Randomoiselle and I will be celebrating our 5th wedding anniversary next month.
On February 14th, Cupid Shoots Arrows. The Other 364 Days? Slings an Axe.
(Photo: wonderlandmagazine.com)
I think back to how I wasted so many years of my youth on the sole pursuit of money. You want the key to life? Let’s pause here for a second and contemplate. YOU ARE ABOUT TO GET THE KEY TO LIFE HERE. It’s called BALANCE. Equal parts work, health and love.
When was the last time you did something without any concern for money? Who knows…it might even get you hitched.
