Rose Parade

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Wednesday, December 07, 2005

It was 25 years ago tomorrow...

that John Lennon was gunned down by an obsessed fan in front of the Dakota in New York City. I've always thought of it as one of those "where were you when Pearl Harbor was attacked/when Kennedy was shot/when the Challenger exploded/on September 11?" moments. Where were you when John Lennon was shot? I, lamely, was in the bathroom. It was back in the day when my dad was between marriages and living in this condo in West Covina. I was occupying the extra bedroom on account of I had a typically shitty, low paying job and being somewhat of a loser was years away from a place of my own. My dad knocked on the door of the bathroom and told me John Lennon had been shot. Shot doesn't necessarily mean fatal, so I asked if he was okay. The response was a bewildered no, he's dead. When I was little - and I mean really little, it was before my parents divorced, which they did when I was five - my dad (I'm told, don't really remember that far back) used to get me to chant, Ringo is a fink! to irritate my mom, a huge Beatles fan. She actually saw them in concert and has told me it was just like in the old, grainy footage you see, that the girls screamed so loud all through the show that you literally couldn't hear the band. My best friend from high school is a lifelong Beatles nut, a fact proudly proclaimed on her license plate. And I love the Beatles, no matter how many other amazingly gifted artists may come and go, I'm convinced there will never be anything like them again. Thanks to fishbowl L.A. for posting this bit of info. I'll be listening tomorrow at work, taking a brief break from Christmas music. And thanks in advance to WFUV for what promises to be a memorable and heartwrenching day of broadcasting. A grim milestone indeed.

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