Signs That I Am Not Much Of A Man, Part 1 Of 3, At Least

I look around and notice that I am not like the men I see.

I don’t wear gold chains and watches that weigh more than a small dog. I don’t wear cologne or after-shave, and I don’t use hair product. All the gray and white above my ears doesn’t bother me. I cut my own hair but don’t comb it. I pluck my eyebrows to get rid of the big, bendy ones, and the little hairs that grow from my antitragus.

I don’t cuss, unless crap is a cuss word. I’ve never smoked and I’ve never used drugs, except for a brief flirtation with Certs with Retsin. I was young. I’ve never tasted alcohol, I don’t drink soda pop, and I don’t eat cheese from a can. I don’t know how to bar-b-que.

I don’t hunt or fish. I don’t mind that people kill animals, whether they eat them or not, but I have no desire to be in the woods with a bunch of tough guys who drink beer and carry loaded rifles. I don’t fish because I can’t imagine anything more dull. You sit there swatting flies and wait and wait and wait, and even if you do catch one – which is exciting for those few seconds – in the end, all you have is a dead fish. I can back up a trailer, but I have no interest in boats. Bass Pro Shop holds no allure for me, although I like to go at Christmas and look at all the lights.

I would rather read than sleep or eat. I can type 72 words a minute. I own a bass guitar but can’t play it. I don’t like bands like KISS or Black Sabbath or AC/DC, but I do like the Everly Brothers, The Monkees and Ricky Nelson. I love Roy Orbison but I don’t get Jimi Hendrix. When I play music in the car, people outside the car can’t hear it.

Tomorrow, Part 2.

And then, Part 3.

(No) More Of The Monkees....

Video capture of Davy and The Monkees performing at Sun Theater, Anaheim, California,
August 31, 2001, taken from Wolfgang's Vault. See the link below.

Davy Jones has died. Although my least favorite Monkee, I’m surprised at how bad I feel about his passing. He was a talented performer who made the most of the opportunities he had.

I regret that, although I walked around with their touring schedule for a long time, I never made the effort to see the group perform live. They were as close as Des Moines at one point, but I didn’t go.

Like most 10-year-olds I knew, I was a big Monkees fan in 1966-67. I loved their show and begged for their records when mom took me to the grocery store.

Our closest attachment to them was their bubble gum trading cards. My brother Doodle and I saved our nickels so we could race to the A&P to buy a pack before the other or our neighbor Finley did. As we neared the point of owning every card in the collection, we were always disappointed at finding cards we already owned in our new packs. We kept the doubles in a box.

One day I came up with an idea. I bought a new pack of cards, brought them home, took out the new cards, and replaced them with doubles. I biked back to the A&P with the doctored pack in my pocket. When no one was looking, I put that pack back in the box, and slipped a new pack back into my pocket. It wasn’t really stealing, I figured, because I was giving value for value.

As a joke, I put five identical cards into a pack when I knew Doodle was on his way to buy a more cards. I placed the pack of five identical cards on top of the box, and Doodle bought it. He always liked to wait until he got home to open them, so I got to watch his face as he pulled out a Davey card, then the same Davey card, then the same Davey card…. You get the picture.

Little Bit Me, Little Bit You was the first 45 I owned, and my favorite album tracks were Zor and Zam and Goin’ Down. I still listen to The Monkees, but mostly to the Mike Nesmith songs: Papa Gene’s Blues, Salesman, Nine Times Blue, Some of Shelly’s Blues, While I Cry, and (What Am I Doing) Hangin’ Round. Oh, and Good Clean Fun.

Rolling Stone once called the solo work of Mike Nesmith “the greatest music never heard,” so check it out if you can.

I’m watching Davey, Mickey and Peter perform live at Sun Theater in Anaheim, California, as I write this, on Wolfgang’s Vault. It’s pretty entertaining.

Do you have a Monkees story to tell?

As Frasier Crane Says, I Love Opera And I Vote

Replace “Opera” with “The Monkees ” and I feel just like Frasier.

While the thought of having yet another election year upon us fills me with dismay, I am thankful for two things.

One, I don’t get television, so I can pretty well avoid much of the hostility and lies that permeate American politics. I don’t mind politicians being hostile and lying. It’s the (so-called) journalists and *&^$#@!! relentless commentators that repel me.

Two, I get to vote. Small though my voice may be, I have a say in the outcome, a rare privilege in much of the world. I can't wait.