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Me & The Monkees

I was just reading one of my favorite blogs, Little Fears, written & cleverly illustrated by Peter Edwards http://littlefears.co.uk/ (buy his teeshirts! buy his books!). Anyhow, here is his post, which took me back in time, and inspired me to write what follows.

Obsessions

Spider looked miserable.

“What’s up?” asked Fuen.

“My new girlfriend is leaving me,” sighed Spider. “She says it’s because I’m too obsessed with The Monkees.”

“Oh dear,” replied Fuen.

“At first I thought she was kidding,” cried Spider. “Then I saw her face….”

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ME & THE MONKEES

Back in elementary school, my girl friends and I had a little contest going: who could be the first to purchase the latest album from (siggghhhh!) The Monkees. We would then spend entire Saturdays listening to their albums, over and over again. You could practically see the red hearts  ♥♥♥ beaming from our eyes, as when Davy would fall in love with yet another-girl-who-wasn’t-us on their kitschy TV show.  Oh, Davy: how could you?

The thrill of my lifetime, at least up to that point, was when my dad took me to SEE THE MONKEES IN CONCERT!!! Now, you must realize that loud music and strobe lights were the stuff of his nightmares. This was a huge sacrifice and show of love from him to accompany me. When we arrived at the Kiel Auditorium in St. Louis, Missouri, on the Day of Infamy, August 5, 1967, we were seated in a box overlooking the main floor. Our neighbors were other dads and their overly-excited, dressed-up daughters (I mean, what if I met Davy, and he fell in love and wanted to marry me? I had to look good, for a flat chested 11 year old.)

As soon as Davy, Mickey, Mike and Peter took the stage, the crowd commenced to a fit of screaming that was shrill and high pitched enough to attract every dog within miles. These stupid girls were so loud, that our little box of relatively well-behaved young ladies began to complain. You couldn’t hear the singing!! I was so angry and yelling at the crowd to “SHUT UP!!” No one could hear me, of course. I discovered that if you put a finger deep into each ear, fingers almost touching each other mid-brain, you could block out the screamers and still (barely) hear the music. We all sat with our fingers in our ears for the remainder of the concert. As we left the auditorium, I thanked my dad with true sincerity, but he was looking almost green from the noise and psychedlic light show. I had my Monkees Tour Program clutched to my rapidly-beating heart, thinking back to the Michael Nesmith song that had me worrying for their safety. I would hate to be responsible for the outcome that these lines promised …

This one thing I will vow ya
I’d rather die than to live without ya…

Wait for me! I was growing up as fast as possible.