Meeting a friend

Let's be clear: Tod Goldberg doesn't need a lick of exposure from my little blog. He's written over a dozen books and his latest, Gangsterland, is gathering adoring reviews from places like Kirkus, Publisher's Weekly, and the LA Times. He's a writer from a writing family and directs an MFA program at UC Riverside.

He doesn't need a leg up from me - he's already in the saddle.

I met him this weekend at the monthly OC Sisters in Crime meeting, where he was an engaging speaker. It was difficult to end the meeting, since I was having such a great time listening. True confession time: I don't always buy our speakers' books. I try to, mostly if they are on Kindle, but I have a lot of on my e-TBR pile. Yesterday, though, I bought one of Tod's books just for the autograph.

He was that good.

In between our formal meeting, I got to have a few chats with him, on various subjects and of varying lengths. I found we have some things in common:

1. We both love the Monkees. I'd run to the meeting after working all day at a horse show, and when I got dressed at OHMYGOD-thirty, I grabbed my purple Monkees t-shirt from the closet. Tod told me a very funny anecdote about Micky Dolenz while we shared a little Monkee-mania.

2. We both hate conventions but love writers conferences. Okay, this little tidbit made me want to dance with glee. I'd love to tell you all that I adore Left Coast Crime and Bouchercon and really, I DO love meeting my friends there, but the truth is that if I'm not on a panel, I spend my time wandering about the venue, wondering what I'm doing there. I'm just a sad little fish out of water. The only fun to be had is to sit in the bar and offer people a seat at my table. It's like a revolving door of famous and semi-famous and wanna-be-famous faces.

Writer's conferences are where I feel like I've found my tribe and we can talk about the creative process, and the marketing process, and everything in between. We can be witty and stupid and laugh because we kind of trust each other.

So for Famous Name Tod to admit conventions are a little depressing and he'd rather go to a conference and be energized, made my little writer's heart squeal, "YES!" We spent a few moments talking about the Santa Barbara Writer's Conference and all the people we both knew.

3. We both like bacon. Okay, to be honest, that's a no-brainer.

I was really impressed by Tod and plan to read more of his work. And that, Dear Writers, is how you establish yourself. Yes, you have to write good books. But when you meet people face-to-face, it's important to put on your Friendly Author Personae.

Have you met an author that was so personable, you went out and bought their book immediately? Have you ever met one that made you want to toss their book at their head?

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LAST NIGHT I WENT TO SEE THE MONKEES IN CONCERT! I'M SORRY ABOUT THE CAPS BUT I CAN'T SEEM TO HEAR ANYTHING AND I'M STILL SUPER-EXCITED-UBER-OVER-THE-MOON!

Okay, better now. Let me explain.

The Monkees' TV show debuted in 1966, when I was 12 years old. It feels like I was 14 at the time, but I think I felt 14 from the time I was 11 until I was 18, after which I felt 16 for a few years. I think I may just make up a new way to measure age, called feel-years. Currently, I'm 42 feel-years old. But I digress...

When the Monkees did their first tour, I was as crazed as the next pre-teen wanting to see them. They were going to be in Chicago and St. Louis, two cities that were completely within my parents' driving range from Decatur, Illinois. I asked. I begged. I pleaded.

My mom said no the way you say no when you don't even think about the request. My dad didn't even hear the question. I remember the last night I could have seen them. St. Louis. My mom took us out to visit someone who was camping at a nearby lake. I stood on a hill, looking up at the night sky, thinking, "The concert is starting now. I wonder what song they're singing first."

Then I grew up and those four zany guys moved on. They finally got back together as a foursome, but I might have been 18 feel-years old that year and too cool for them. In December, Davy died and I thought, well, that's that. But Micky, Mike, and Peter have been touring this summer, and I kept seeing all these fun posts from them on Facebook. (Confession: I've never stopped thinking that Peter Tork is the cutest thing on the planet and yes, I stalk him - on Facebook, where it's appropriate.)



So I bought tickets.

We walked into the Terrace Theater in Long Beach to the sound of Monkee mania. They were showing video clips of the TV show on the big screen on the stage. Dale and I were on end seats, in the 14th row. I couldn't help but feel the excitement. I began to babble.

Me: "I hope no one sits right in front of us. We can see the stage better."
Dale: *nods*
Me: "Especially really large people."
Dale: *watches screen on stage*
Me: "And no turbans."
Dale: *watches screen harder*

My hubby is a patient man.

At last, the lights went down, the Monkees came on, and I spent two hours grinning like an idiot, standing, clapping, and singing along. And I wasn't the most exuberant old-teen in the place. Two women a couple rows down spent the night in full-metal Bugaloo mode. One of the woman wore a shiny gold dress that should have been a size larger. Just saying.

I nearly broke out into the Swim once myself.




The only part that briefly lost my interest was when they did some songs from Head. I'm a big Monkee fangirl, but I've tried to watch that movie twice now, and I just don't think I can get drunk or stoned enough to get through it. Sorry, guys.

I couldn't have told you all the songs ahead of time, but each time they started one, I'd think, "Oh, I remember this one," and could sing along with at least the chorus. I particularly enjoyed "What Am I Doing Hanging 'Round."

Just before they sang "Daydream Believer" they showed a wonderful clip of Davy Jones singing and dancing. Then Micky explained that they knew they had to perform this song but couldn't decide who should sing it. Mike came up with the solution.

"It's your song." Micky pointed to the audience. "We want you to sing it." They brought up a guy from the front row and had him sing the verse, then pointed the mikes our way for the chorus. The guy might have been a plant, but he was amazingly on key.

By the time we got to the chorus, I was 14 in feel-years again. This video is proof. I am not singing along with the crowd, I am braying. Say it with me, people. Pronounce that hard g. Braying-ga.

They closed the show with "Pleasant Valley Sunday." When I heard the opening guitar, I shrieked. The transformation was complete. It only took me 45 years to be 14 again.

How old are you today in feel-years?

Man, that torks me off.

I think I've always been a little unique in what attracts me in a man. When I was three or four, I became mesmorized watching Harry Belafonte on TV. Don't get me wrong, Mr. Belafonte was (and probably still is) a gorgeous man. He just wasn't the right 'color' of gorgeousness for my WASP (dare I say racist?) family. I tried to understand what they were talking about, and thought I had the rules, and then Chubby Checkers came along, who was just cute as a button (to me). So I suffered through another round of, "oh, hell no," from Mom.

When the Beatles appeared on the scene, I think I actually heard my mom sigh with relief. They may had have long hair, but at least they were white. But while my girlfriends were swooning over Paul, with George and John coming in at close second/thirds, I was in love with Ringo.

That's right, the weird-looking guy with the goofy sense of humor. Even with white guys, I wasn't attracted to the traditionally cute ones.

The Beatles faded away as I became a preteen and the Monkees flew into my radar. All of my friends had posters of Davey Jones on their walls. But not me. No, I fancied Peter Tork, the one with the goofy personae. (I'm beginning to see a goofy pattern here, but I digress.)

I read today that Peter Tork has been diagnosed with a rare form of cancer, Adenoid Cystic Carcinoma. They first discovered it as a growth on his tongue. According to his website, it's pretty curable, it hasn't spread, but he'll be going through surgery and radiation.

First of all, I can't imagine anything more painful than radiation in your tongue/mouth/throat area. 'Raw', 'burning', 'unable to eat' images come to mind. Second, it sounds like a particularly horrid thing to happen to a singer. I am just so sad about my former crush having to go through this, and wish him a speedy recovery. I'm also amazed that I can feel so intimately affected by someone I don't officially know. We've never met, and if we did, I'd probably channel my inner 13-year old and drift between insane gushing and dorky shyness.

So, my question of the day is, has a famous person's personal crisis ever affected you as if they were a close friend, or even family member? Go ahead and share. I won't tell anyone.

P.S. I wouldn't call my husband weird-looking, and he has a sense of humor, but it's not goofy. You will, however, notice a distinct trend in my attraction to him: