And the Kids Just Don't Understand

We used to play Monkees. I was Mickey (I was the oldest, I got to choose), my cousin Jennifer was Davy, Elric was Michael Nesmith, my cousin Wayne-Matthew was Peter Tork. I used to argue with Nadine Kneidler, who was my age, had cooties, lived two houses down, that The Monkees were better than The Beatles. I unsuccessfully badgered Mr Filsinger to change the Cub Scout pack meeting, held in his cat-piss smelling basement, from Mondays at seven to any other night at seven so I could watch The Monkees on Monday on NBC. I wanted to be Mickey because Mickey got the power-pop songs I loved while Davy got the bubble-gum songs I hated, though I do like the song above, noted because Davy Jones died today, noted because it's another mile marker past the halfway point passed.

Here and here and here and here, my favorite Monkees' song: