Summer of Love - 20 tracks to bring you back to the year 1967. (Listen)

I’m a Believer - The Monkees // Baby I Love You - Aretha Franklin // I Was Made To Love Her - Stevie Wonder // Somebody To Love - Jefferson Airplane // Hello, Goodbye - The Beatles // Try A Little Tenderness - Otis Redding // Happy Together - The Turtles // Tell It Like It Is - Aaron Neville // Respect - Aretha Franklin // Purple Haze - Jimi Hendrix // She’s A Rainbow - The Rolling Stones // Can’t Take My Eyes Off You - Frankie Valli // When I Was Young - The Animals // Bernadette - The Four Tops // The Happening - The Supremes // Brown Eyed Girl - Van Morrison // Soul Man - Sam and Dave // Lets Live For Today - The Grass Roots // All You Need Is Love - The Beatles

I’ve been putting a lot of work into blogging the Monkees pilot script.  I suspect people don’t reblog the posts because they’re so darned long.  And people don’t talk about the project because… well, I don’t know why.

I’d be deeply grateful if y’all would reblog this link to the Monkees Pilot Script tag on my blog.  Maybe, with a little signal boost, I’ll reach a slightly larger audience.  And maybe one or two of them will stop by to learn….

  • What was edited out of the pilot to make room for the screen tests.
  • How the Man-on-the-Street interview scene originally appeared at a different point in the story—helped to propel the episode’s plot forward.
  • How the pilot originally presented the Monkees as confrontational, cocky and just a little bit dishonest. 
  • How Davy might have been less of a helpless romantic and more of a careless seducer.

Here’s a tidbit:  this was supposed to be the show’s opening scene:

I’m not sure how many people know this, but Micky appeared in the show ‘Cannon’ in 1972.

He only had a small part with a few lines (he was playing a “disgruntled Vietnam vet”) but he looks HOT AS HELL. I sort of watched the whole thing and he doesn’t do much apart from look gorgeous, but if you want to check it out you can see it here (it’s split into 7 short parts. Part 6 is the best, though he speaks the most in Part 2). It’s fun to see him play a bad guy (and in case I didn’t mention already, 1972-Micky was HOT).

Meg can't do See Mores on mobile

But anyways I’m being brave and posting what I have of my Peter sickfic so far. It’s an alternate storyline for the episode One Man Shy where Peter ends up sick in time for the party


"Okay Pete," Micky took the coat from around Valerie’ s shoulders and hung it on the coat rack, then pulled the chair out for her, scooting it in when she sat. "Just like that, give it a try."

"Okay, I’ll try." He took Valerie’s coat, layed it on the ground, then hung the chair on the hook, looking up to Micky with a sheepish grin. "I think I got a little mixed up…"

"It’s okay," Micky shook his head, "Nobody gets it on the first try." Valerie seemed to second this, as she smiled and nodded, the smile making Peter’s head swim and his knees knock.

Why did she have to be so darn beautiful? If she weren’t, he was certain he wouldn’t be in this mess. He wouldn’t be feeling his pounding heartbeat, he wouldn’t feel weak at the knees, or dizzy in the head… He was no Ronnie, that was for sure. He wished he could be as charming and confident as the one who had claimed Valerie for his own. But he wouldn’t be bold enough.

"I’ve got to head back home, could you give me a ride?" Valerie looked hopefully to Peter, whose expression had fallen to one of sad thoughtfulness. Micky spoke up on his behalf, noticing this.

"Uh, I’ll take you home, Valerie. Peter wants to stay here and practice hanging chairs some more. Right, Pete?" Micky gently took her by the arm, guiding her toward the Monkeemobile.

"Yeah," Peter’s attempt at his usual bright smile was a weak one.

"Oh, alright." Valerie smiled at him, her heart hiding a bit of worry for her new friend. "I’ll see you at the party!"

"Of course." He smiled emptily until the car disappeared down the road. He took his jacket and began to walk, not taking heed of the dark rainclouds above him.


"Where’s Peter?" Davy asked, walking downstairs. He noticed Mike nervously pacing the floor. Apparently, he was late to the party. "Hasn’t he come in yet?"

"Not yet," Mike confirmed as a loud clap of thunder rattled the windows.

"Man, I sure hope he gets back here soon," Micky spoke up, "He didn’t seem himself when I left to take Valerie home. And," another thought occured to him, "He’s afraid of storms."

Just then the door was thrown open. A loud crack of thunder and a bright flash of lightning illuminated the figure in the doorway. The three boys huddled together quickly as the figure emitted a low groan.

"Yipes!" Micky jumped up into Davy’s arms. "Don’t let it get me!"

As the groan dragged out, the noise began to become unstable. “Unnnghhhhuh… Huh-huhT’SHHOO!”

Mike sighed in relief, “It’s only Peter.”

Micky hopped out of Davy’s arms, chuckling sheepishly at the look he got from the Englishman. Then he turned his attention to Peter. “Peter!”

"Man, where were you?" Davy asked.

"We were worried sick!" Added Mike. "It ain’t like you to wander off an’ not come home."

"D-don’t worry ab-bout m-me…" Peter sniffed quietly, trudging his soaking wet, shivering self into the kitchen, where he sat down heavily in a chair.

The three boys shared a look. “He doesn’t look too good.”

"Did he ever?" Micky jested.

Mike gave him a look, “He’s obviously upset over that girl, right?”

"Right," Micky and Davy agreed in unison.

"So one of us has gotta talk to ‘im, right?"

"Right." The two looked at each other before nodding and turning back to Mike. "You talk to him."

The Texan walked to the kitchen, already coming up with a plan, a quick talk about how great of a charmer he is, and how he’s sure Valerie will love him at the party, but all that melted away when he saw his friend. Peter was in the chair, eyes half-closed, rubbing his nose childishly. He had a slight pink tinge to his cheeks and nose.

"Hey buddy," Mike pulled up a chair and sat beside him, "You’re not lookin’ too good."

“‘m fine…” He muttered, a fierce shiver running up his spine. He crossed his arms over his chest in attempt to hide it.

"How’d your practice with Mick go?"

"Fine." He stated simply, quietly, and singularly.

"You sure? Because he said—"

Peter stood up, flinging his arms out in exasperation, which in turn sent a splash of water Mike’s way. “Okay, it went awful, alright?” He felt tears beginning to build behind his eyes, but did his best to hold them back. “I’m not Ronnie! I’m not fancy or chivalrous, or- or even smart, like you guys! I don’t know how to treat a lady! I’ll never be good enough in time for the party,” he sniffed and wiped at his runny nose, but that caused a tickle, which he tried valiantly to ignore. “I’ll make a big fool of myself and they’ll all lahh— hah-t’shhhoo! Laugh at me and- and —At’chhOO! And Valerie will never take me ser… ser… rAag’TshHHOO! HaahTSHHOO! Ekg’tCHSHHOO!” He sneezed harshly down into his hands, the force of his eyes closing shut causing the tears he was trying to hold back to spill out.

"Hey, hey!" Mike leapt up as Peter swayed, steadying him by holding him to his chest. Peter clung to him steadfastly, crying into his chest. The small whimpers quickly sped up and shallowed out when he sneezed weakly into the fabric of his bandmate’s shirt and moaned. Mike reached a hand up and felt Peter’s forehead, wincing at the heat that met his hand there.

Micky and Davy, who were eavesdropping in the doorway, quickly rushed over. “Is he hot?” Micky asked.

"Hotter than a fur coat in July." Mike still supported the blonde’s weight. "Help me get ‘im on the couch, will ya?" Micky supported half of Peter’s weight, slipping an arm around his shoulders. "Davy, get ‘im a couple aspirin an’ a wet rag or somethin’ to cool him off."

They layed Peter down on the couch, crouching beside him with worry on their faces. “g-g-guys…” he muttered almost unintelligibly, “I’m c-cold…” he curled up as small as he could manage, hugging himself for warmth and whimpering.

"We know, Peter." Mike turned to Micky, "go up n’ grab ‘im a blanket off the bed."

"Got it." Micky took off just as Davy came back in.

when you wake up and your makeup is still pretty bitchin »>
featuring my Monkees tshirt from the concert in 01. hella

The start of my Davy sickfic

Haha okay so this involves my oc Joan, a nurse in training from London. She’s a cutiepie but idk I don’t usually like to post things involving ocxcanon but it’s the only Davy sickfic I have and I’m really blushy over this okay.

Rain poured heavily from the July sky outside as Joan Summers sat on a balcony, shielded by the balcony of apartment above the one she currently inhabited. The sky, it seemed, felt her pain.

She’d been away for weeks on a work trip with Doctor Waters, who had, despite her various protests, insisted on her coming along. He said it would be “good experience”. She huffed at this. For a trip she was supposed to be learning on, she sure had done a whole lot of nothing. The doctor wouldn’t even allow her into the hospital he’d been working at.
The nurse-in-training looked up at the sky longingly. She really missed Davy. She closed her eyes and could almost feel him coming up behind her and wrapping his arms about her waist, chin resting on her shoulder. Thunder crashed, though, and along with it, ended her daydream.

She wished she could be with him right now, and apologize for their spat the day before she left. He hadn’t wanted her to go, and they both had made a proper fight out of it. It even went so far that when it came time for Joan to hop aboard the 9 o’clock train for Calabasas, he hadn’t even come to say goodbye.

She’d thought over every instance of their fight, her mind hanging on, for some reason, to the hurt tone in his voice when he’d told her to go. She looked out at the small forested area in the distance and sighed deeply, as if giving up. On what exactly, she wasn’t sure.

She turned her back to the outside world, then shut the glass sliding door behind her, threw on a coat over her green halter dress, and headed downstairs. She began to walk out, when suddenly she ran smack into somebody she hadn’t even seen.


"Oh, I’m sorry, I—" Joan lifted her blue eyes, meeting with familiar dark ones. "Davy?" The redhead was, to say the least, shocked. But indeed, before her stood Davy Jones, clothes sopping wet with rain, hair sticking to his face and neck.

A smile broke out on his face. “Well, that’s a bit of good luck, innit? Just the girl I was coming to see!” He bent down slightly to hug her closely to himself.

She returned the hug, then muttered into his shoulder, “What are you doing here? Aren’t you,” she backed off a bit, looking up at him sheepishly, “mad at me?”

"I couldn’t stand it anymore, I had to come and see you, Joanie. It’s been three weeks, and all I could think about is you! All I could talk about, too. Drove the fellas crazy!" He laughed a bit and rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn’t mean to start all that, you know."

She shook her head, placing her hand on the side of his face. “Neither did I.” Her thumb stroked his cheek gently as she gazed into those eyes. He sniffed, and she began to notice him shivering just a bit. “Oh! Davy you’re soaked to the bone!”

"W-well," He bit back a laugh, "It is raining."

"I was just about to head out, but come on! We have to get you upstairs and warm you up!" She took his hand and led him up.


A flight of stairs, a hot shower, and a trip to the dryer later, Davy was sitting on the couch of the small apartment in his- now warm and dry -eight button shirt. He still shivered, though. He just couldn’t seem to get rid of the chill.

"Oh, you poor thing!" Joan cooed, petting his hair. "You’re shaking like a leaf! Let me go and get that tea." She stood up from his side and left to the other room.

A shiver ran up Davy’s spine as he rubbed at his nose. It was starting to tickle, and that was the last thing he needed, Joan getting worried about him. This was supposed to be romantic, him seeing her and apologizing for their argument, then romancing her. Not him coming down with the ruddy sniffles!

He tried his absolute best not to sneeze, but he just couldn’t fight it off. He sneezed softly, yet forcefully, taking himself by surprise. “Hh’shhh!”

"Gracious!" Joan called from the kitchen, "God bless you!" A slow smile spread across his face when he remembered Joan soft spot for him when he was sick. Maybe he could save the romance yet.

She rounded the corner with a mug of tea in her hands. As she handed it off to him, she jested, “You git, didn’t even have the sense to wear a raincoat while out chasing girls.” When she saw his miserable sniffle, she immediately felt bad. “I’m sorry.”

"No, it’s not that." He set down the mug, sniffling. "I don’t feel very well."

Joan’s heart leapt in her chest when the words left him. The poor dear had been out and in rain and probably caught himself a cold, all because he wanted to see /her/. She took notice of him then, as his nostrils began to flare, and saw him go into a buildup. She bit her lip as he went through the over-dramatic breaths that lead to a sneeze.

"Ahh-haah-haa! Aat’choo!" He sneezed straight down, then looked up at her through his lashes with a little pout. "I think I’ve caught a cold."

The short redhead’s pretty little cheeks were misted over with red. “Oh, dear!” She placed a cool hand against his forehead, frowning at the slight heat that met it there. “You don’t seem to have much of a temperature…”

"But I feel awful." He complained, and while he knew she liked it played up, he wasn’t exaggerating that much. His head had begun to hurt just a little, his throat was scratchy, and those sneezes had made his nose into a faucet.

She cooed, brushing his hair back out of his face. Another shiver ran up Davy’s spine, prompting the mothering Joan to sit beside him, taking him into her arms. “You poor thing!” She held him close, and he smiled to himself. He could’ve stayed in her arms forever, but his nose had other plans, it seemed.

"Haah-Ha’asSshhH!" He sneezed, not having time to properly cover, against Joan. "Oh, I’m sorry!" He blushed, going to pull away. So much for the romantic moment. However, she just held him tighter. They sat in silence for a moment, before he spoke again. "I am sorry, though. About the badly-timed sneeze… And for putting up such a fight when you left." She still remained silent.

"You do forgive me," He tilted his head up to look in her eyes, "Don’t you, Joanie?"

She didn’t answer with words, but with a kiss.

The Monkees’ Micky Dolenz in his Laurel Canyon home with late wife Samantha and daughter Amy, who went on to become an actress.