A Revelation About Age
Let us just say that in an uncomfortable and real moment last night, I remembered that The Monkees was on television 40 years ago. Hell, I watched the show in reruns.
It wasn’t nearly as campy as I thought it might be. I like camp. A LOT. Camp is of the good.
Just saying.
I did see a woman cry that sort of melted my heart a bit because she was so excited seeing Mickey Dolenz and I realized that I’ve never done that, which in all honesty, makes me very, very, very proud of myself.
Also, just saying.
Although Rose Royce was awesome.
Hell, I was just a picture hag for the job, you know. I took pictures, wished Chris Wage was with me with his groovy camera, wished Squirrel Queen was with me instead of taking pictures of a football game 60 miles away and had a moment of just wanting to see Hillbilly Casino and drink a cold import.
But, alas, it’s small-town mania.
My age once again betrays me. At least I’m not the only one.
And, thrice, just saying.
The first concert I ever purchased tickets to and drove myself to was the Monkees at Starwood!! I think I was 17. Man oh man. I was bummed then (and still bummed) that Mike wasn’t there. He is my favorite Monkee. Peter is my second cause he’s retartit.
Rose Royce….oh boy….talkin’ about the Car Wash. Great record. Still sounds good 30 years later.
All this was in Hooterville?????
I’m just glad I’m not as old as Mickey Dolenz.
There is an aesthetically humorous value to human Croquet so they will always hold a place in my heart.
Actually, mine too.
And I hope I get as old as Mickey Dolenz. He was fine but looked like he was scared to death of Hooterville residents, which made me laugh hysterically.