I Won't Be The Same Without Him

day 646

I was in a good fucking mood when I woke up on Wednesday February 29th.  It was Leap Day in the middle of Dr. Seuss week at school and I was excited about reading another story to my little learners and making a cool art project.  I thought about folks that were born on Leap Day and how weird it must be for them each year to not celebrate their Birthday on the day they were actually born.  Being the sometimes morbid soul that I am, I also thought about folks that died on Leap Day.  No one knows why I think this way, not even me.   I planned to check out the obituaries from this day later in the week.  Little did I know there would be one obit that would leave me devastated.    Every damn November, the older crowd likes to reminisce about where they were when they heard JFK was shot.  It is a big deal to their generation, and I could never  seem to identify until Kurt Cobain died.    Well, it happened again, and I can sort of identify in some way because I can tell you exactly where I was, what I was doing, what I was wearing and what I was eating when one of my beloved Monkees died.  The only trouble is, I can technically only do it every four years.  DAMN YOU LEAP DAY!!!!!!!!!!

Maybe this is a good thing beacuse my heart just can't take thinking about it.  I am not going to go into how much I loved all the men who make up The Monkees.  If you don't know it by now then you must be a clueless turd, and obviously not a friend of mine.  Currently my heart is broken.  I am still able to let a few laughs out, but overall I am just so very sad. Even seeing Lewis Black perform last night could not break me out of this funk.  Oh believe me I laughed, but afterwards the sadness returned.    I am able to put on a happy face and go about my day, but inside I am just weeping.  It is also very weird to me.  I mean, I honestly hoped that I would go before any of The Monkees did.  I would say it so often because I thought if I said enough then it would come true.  Close friends would often joke that they would not want to be around when one The Monkees kicked the bucket because they knew how freaked out I would be.  They have no idea.  One or two of them get it because they were also HUGE fans of The Monkees, but basically I feel totally alone in all this.  So naturally I am angry too.  What do I do now?  I just don't know, I really don't know.  I keep telling myself that it's silly to be sad about the death of a man who wasn't my friend.  He didn't know that I loved Snapple as much as I love Bill Murray or that I have this odd connection with the number 9.  He had no clue what Weird Corn Dreams were or the phrase, "you know, the bathroom."  Only true friends know this.  He didn't know me at all and I really didn't know him, other than the stuff I read.  However, he and the other Monkees were apart of my every day life.  EVERY day!  I thought about The Monkees every day, listen to at least two of their songs every day and even used quotes from The Monkees TV show in my every day life.  EVERY fucking day!!  In a way, I did lose a good friend.  A friend I could turn to when I need a pick me up.  Normal folks might turn to booze when they need an escape, but I  turn to The Monkees.  Oh sure, I love a variety of music styles, but Monkee music is happy fun music that makes me feel good when the world around me turns into a steaming pile of shit.  I can't even say that about Bob Dylan or Tori Amos.  I love their music A LOT,  but they don't give me the quick fix of happiness I need sometimes.  Bob's music makes me think and feel too much and Tori's music makes me think even harder.  And don't get me started with all those feelings that come along with Tori tunes.  OY VEY!  With The Monkees, I don't have to think or even feel, I just smile and enjoy the ride. 

So, yeah, I am pretty numb right about now knowing that Davy Jones no longer inhabits the earth.  Life will go on, but now life is different.  I look at  my adorable self in the mirror and aside from the sadness in my eyes, I look the same.  I just don't feel the same.  I feel a heaviness deep down in my gut, and a true ache in my heart.  When I talk about The Monkees now I have tears in my eyes.  I hear the songs now and some of them make me so sad.  I keep replaying every "Monkee Moment" in my lifetime and they were joyful ones.  I have so many good memories of the many concerts and Monkee events I attended over the years.  With all those wonderful memories I should be happy, but I am not.  There will never be a 50th Anniversary Tour to attend with Taffy.  I will never have that pitter patter of excitement as I stand in line waiting to get into the concert venue.  My eyes won't grow large as I stare in wonder during those first few moments as my boys step on stage.  It just won't be the same with one Monkee down, it won't.  It's all solo shit from here on out.  Don't get me wrong, I can groove to solo shit, but I crave the togetherness of Davy, Micky and Peter. (with Mike in spirit along for the ride in my head) 

I keep replaying the moment I discovered that Davy Jones died over and over again.   It was pretty awful and it seems like it was in a movie or TV show because it does not seem real to me at all.  It was just like season 4 episode 1 of Little House on the Prairie entitled The Castoffs, but instead of yelling "PA COME QUICK!", I called out for Ginger Boy to come quick.  (turn off your dirty minds folks!)

I had those same tears when my dog Spookie died and now I have those same tears with Davy being gone. Davy wasn't a dog, but he sure was a trusty mate.  So that is how I will remember little Davy Jones, a trusty mate who got suckered into taking Marsha Brady to her Filmore Junior High Prom.  WHAT JUNIOR HIGH HAS A PROM!?!?!?  Mine didn't.  They has some lame ass end of the year dance that I did not go to because it was, well, lame.  Oh, and don't get me started on Marsha.  I am more of a Jan Brady fan.


The manager is played by the same actor who played Gary's dad in Weird Science. 


So, I am sad, angry and weepy all at the same time.  It's worse than PMS!  At least PMS can be cured with a Shamrock Shake and watching My Life Without Me.  This, this mess, it can't be cured.  You just endure and try to move on.  This Saturday I will attend a memorial for Davy Jones and pay my respects to just one of the four gentlemen who helped me survive this long.  What will I say?  Oh, you never know what will come out of my mouth, but I am sure I will say what needs to be said.  If I forget something, I will just say it in my head.  Things are a little bonkers in there right now, but I will eventually say whatever I forget to say on Saturday.  

Here are a few clips that still bring about a smile to my adorable face:




"Same as a Jew I suppose."










I could post clip after clip of my favorite Davy moments, but that would be boring to some of you.  Like I fucking care if you're bored right about now.  I don't care about much of anything right now.  I did make sure I had an EKG on Monday to make sure those weird heart twinges I was experiencing the past few weeks would not lead to a heart attack.  If Davy Jones, A MONKEE, can die of a heart attack so can anyone else.  I will keep hanging on and doing what I need to do to make it through each day.  I know I am not alone in my feelings.  I have read so many other blogs, news articles, and Monkee fans facebook postings.  So I know I am not alone, and I will certainly feel that for real on Saturday.  However, like the song says, with just a change of the pronouns. . .

Life is hard for me to touch now.



I just don't enjoy it as much now.


When he left, something inside of me died.


And I won't be the same without him,


No I won't be the same without him. . .


off to enjoy another sunny, SUNNY day!