Last weekend I went to a Monkees marathon. I only saw 7 or 8 of the 58 episodes, and I missed the showing of Head, the Jack Nicholson/Monkees movie collaboration. (Surprised? Read more about Head). But I did learn an important bit of information: the common thought is that the Monkees were this total rip-off of the Beatles, and as such, were despised by John, Paul, George, and Ringo, right? The truth, however, is that the two bands actually became friends because John Lennon was apparently quite a fan. See more over here.

Oh, and as long as we’re talking Monkees, can we talk about Michael Nesmith? While watching the marathon last weekend, I found myself forgetting the the episodes were 35 years old and developing a heinous crush on Nez. I mean, how could you not adore the dry, cynical Monkee? My eyes went all a-twinkle (sort of like Davy’s), before I snapped back to reality with the disturbing realization that Michael Nesmith is turning 60 this year (same as my father!). Then I was overtaken by a strange and dirty feeling. It’s not completely uncomfortable–sort of like being caught peeing in public: you’re a bit embarrassed, but you can’t stop.