Ambien Buy Without Prescription Updated on CategoriesRant0 Comment
HIP CHECK: John Lennon, 1940 – 1980
Order Clonazepam Online I remember that 35 years ago today it was a Monday, a regular school day. I had to work in the evening scooping ice cream at my Baskin-Robbins job. Since it was early December and cool, the night was slow, especially with three of us working the counter. I’d turned 17 two days earlier and was in the midst of discovering my almost fanatical love of music and radio. Earlier that year, in the spring, I’d given a speech as an assignment in my English class. I chose as my topic the evolution of the Beatles. Students were allotted 15 minutes. In my exuberance and over-reliance on audio-visual aids, I went almost 45. Mrs. Martinson, my teacher, must’ve sensed my excitement because she didn’t dock me for going long. She saw something in me that would eventually blossom.
https://roaringwriters.org/charlie-brown We always listened – well, I insisted we listen – to the radio when working in the ice cream shop. Tonight it was KMET, as usual, at least for me. As soon as I got to work at 6pm we began hearing odd reports from the station that something had happened to John Lennon in New York City. None of it was very detailed and in those pre-internet days we just had to wait and listen to see if the story played out into anything of substance. Those reports kept coming , though: John Lennon has been attacked, John Lennon has been shot, John Lennon has been seriously injured, etc. The three of us in the shop kept working and listening, growing more anxious to hear how the story would play out, if at all.
https://tampablackheritage.org/partners I don’t remember which jock made the actual announcement because it hit me like a steel bar across my head. I do remember that it was after 9pm and we still had an hour to work before closing the shop. “John Lennon has been shot and killed tonight, outside his apartment building in New York City.” This simply didn’t compute. My head went into a sort of vapor-lock. Lennon’s album “Double Fantasy” had just recently come out and I reminded my parents at every opportunity that it was on my Christmas wish list. How could this man that stood for love and peace, who had finally gotten his life together after more than 5 years of virtual reclusiveness, have been murdered? I really don’t remember much about the rest of that night. I was stunned. I rode home on my moped and watched the TV news into the night and early morning. The next morning I was drained and still stunned. It was all we talked about at school for days.
https://www.arteprima.com/home Eventually, I would work with one of the jocks that was on KMET that horrible night – twice. Once at KMET when I was a fumbling promotions clerk and too timid to ask and again a few years later when I’d attained a more responsible position at a station in Santa Barbara where he became the general manager. There, we talked several times about that night in December 1980. It was as surreal for him in his way as it was for me in mine. The only situation that could compare would have been to be on the air the morning of 9/11. To this day I get a knot in my stomach when I hear a station play more than two songs in a row by the same artist without explanation. I immediately wonder who died. And I also cannot listen to “Imagine.” Just. Too. Sad.
Order Klonopin Online Over the years, my opinion of Lennon and his music have evolved, from considering him practically a saint to more pragmatically seeing him as a damaged young man who tried his best, and occasionally failed, to cope with pain and fame and family – much like us all.
I now see that night 35 years ago when John Lennon was killed as a line of demarcation in my own maturity. I hadn’t yet had a girlfriend, a first kiss, a car, or lost a parent or grandparent, but I also no longer was an “unscathed kid.” I could now and forever say with absolute, regrettable certainty that I had lost a hero.
https://roaringwriters.org/roaring-writers-mentoring (This post originally appeared in my Facebook feed on December 8, 2015. I don’t normally write stuff this long but considering the day, it seemed appropriate. As was said years ago in that Monty Python sketch, “I’ve suffered for my art. Now it’s your turn.”)