For the holidays: It's a Wonderful Life, in 30 seconds, with bunnies. Link found on Bill Crider's Pop Culture Magazine.
As usually happens with the anniversaries of major events, the blogosphere is recalling where everyone was when John Lennon was killed. I was at home, in my closet of an Upper East Side of Manhattan apartment, living the life of a NYC bachelorette (meaning, I was sitting around in jammies, stuffing my face with chocolate and watching TV) when a friend called to tell me Lennon was killed. It hadn't made the news yet (the report came on a short while later, maybe 10 minutes or so). My friend (who I am no longer friends with, just one of those things where people drift apart, I guess) was married to someone fairly high up in the Manhattan DA's office and he'd gotten the call to go to the Dakota because John Lennon had been shot and the DA wanted him to oversee the scene, given how high-profile the victim was. So she called me because we were best friends and because she wanted to talk about it, so I knew before I heard it on TV. And that's my John Lennon story. I can't say he had a real impact on me. I was more a George Harrison fan. And no, I don't know why, though it might've had to do with the fact that he wasn't the most popular among my friends and schoolmates.
The Beatles were just another rock group to me, one of many I was grooving on back in the '60s. While I loved them, my fav British Invasion group was Herman's Hermits. And while I appreciated, as I got older, the amazing songs Lennon & McCartney gave us, I was just as enthralled by the efforts of Brian Wilson of the Beach Boys. I'm sorry John Lennon was killed. I also would like very much for Yoko Ono to just shut about about Paul McCartney now.
Feeling:
John Lennon
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