One of my earliest TV memories is watching The Monkees in reruns. I wanted to have friends push me in my bed into a city street. Thought that would be fun.
So here I am 40 and extremely saddened by the death of Davy Jones. Why? I don’t know. (Catch this fab interview he did with AARP this past December)
Perhaps it’s because my friends and I locked arms and walked like they did, crossing each others’ stride. Maybe it’s because they gave me license to be silly. I knew all their songs, especially since my mom was (and still is) a Neil Diamond fanatic and he wrote a lot of their songs. I couldn’t wait for my prom so I could ask him, a la Marcia Brady.
It’s sad when anyone dies, but The Monkees were a huge part of my childhood. I was happy that The Monkees (sans Mike) announced they were touring last year. I kept an eye out for a announcement in my town. Sadly, they never came around.
Well, look out, fellow Monkee fans, here comes tomorrow, it’ll just have one less monkee in it.