Swan Squawking

In my life: Remembering John Lennon

This December 8 marks the 29th anniversary of John Lennon's senseless murder. And every time this tragic anniversary rolls around, I get sad - and angry - once again.

Even though I was still in grade school when Lennon was assassinated, I was devastated at his death. I was a huge Beatles fan since the fourth grade, when my Catholic school teacher showed us a documentary about the band. I became enchanted by the Beatles after that film, and peppered my mother and my two older brothers with questions about the group. The first album I ever bought was "Abbey Road,"and I acted out the lyrics of "A Day in the Life" for a school project, to the befuddlement of my classmates.

My favorite Beatle was John, of course. I was fascinated with the music, the lyrics, the gutsy solo career choices, and the intelligent, intriguing person behind it. But what also won me over were the glasses.

Earlier that same year, I had found out I would need to wear eyeglasses, something I wasn't crazy about, to put it mildly. But Lennon also had terrible eyesight, and he made those round National Health spectacles the most famous in the world. Although he went sans eyeglasses in the early years, and wore contacts toward the end of his life, so many of the iconic images we remember of Lennon - like the insert to the White  Album - feature him with the glasses. 

I also was fascinated - this was in 1977 - with how one of the most famous men in the world could just seem to disappear from the music scene like that. And how nobody knew at the time what he was up to. It made me want to be a journalist, and to write about him. I vowed one day to interview John and Yoko about what they had been doing during that time. Didn't quite work out that way, but that was my original plan.

Three years later, Lennon had resurfaced, releasing his new album "Double Fantasy" and talking about his househusband years. I loved the new album - even the Yoko tunes - and listened to it a lot. And yes, I was playing it on the evening of December 8, 1980, a few hours before he was killed.

That night, I was sitting in my brother Patrick's room, listening to John's new music and reading an interview with Lennon and Yoko Ono about the album, and about their lives. But what I remember most about that evening was my brother's remark about the album cover art. He noted that the back cover, which showed John and Yoko standing outside the Dakota, was great because it didn't have any big significance behind it. Instead of all the intricate "Sgt. Pepper"-type art, the "Double Fantasy" pic was just a simple shot of John and Yoko.

Of course, just a few hours later, that area depicted in the photo would have a lot more meaning behind it, as both the scene of a crime, and a scene of a shrine.

I missed hearing the news live - I had a ten o'clock bedtime - but my brother heard about Lennon's death via Howard Cosell on the Monday Night Football broadcast. He stayed up all night, listening to Lennon's music.

So did my blogging friend The Omnipotent Q of the Mighty Quinn Media Machine; he wrote in a very moving entry in his blog about how he heard the news live on WNEW radio and stayed up all night listening to Lennon's music on the station. Lots of other Lennon fans did the same thing, of course. But some of us, like myself, didn't hear the news until the next day.

I remember waking up that morning, heading down to the kitchen, and seeing my brother. He was wearing a red-checked shirt that morning at the breakfast table, while he read the newspapers. He looked worn-out - and very serious - when he told me the news about John Lennon. My brother, like most older brothers did, often teased his little sister. But this time, his voice was like Walter Cronkite's or something. Patrick was very somber as he told me that my idol was dead. I couldn't believe it - heck, I still can't believe it.

And when details came out about the murderer, it made even less sense to me. How could somebody ask for Lennon's autograph, get it, and then come back and shoot him? What kind of crazy person would do such a thing?

Even though I was the daughter of an inner-city New Jersey police officer, my parents had sheltered me from most of the gruesomeness and horror in the world. But they couldn't protect me from the news that my childhood hero had been assassinated. It shattered my innocence - and my view of the world.

Yankee catcher Thurman Munson had died in a plane crash the year before, and while that was also tragic, and sad, at least that was understandable to me. It was an accident,after all. But Lennon being  killed by a former fan was just inexplicable to my mind.

That Sunday, my brother and I went into Manhattan to participate in the ten minutes of silence event for Lennon in Central Park. I don't remember much about the memorial itself, other than how incredibly sad it was. And after the sadness of that week, I remember being so angry that such a thing could happen.

Here it is, 29 years later, and I still feel those same emotions when thinking about Lennon's death, as I imagine I will every December 8 - and October 9, his birthday - in my life. He would have been 69 this year if he hadn't been taken from us all way too soon.

TV Recap: The sassy, classy stars of "Jersey Shore"

One of my rules to live by is that when people describe themselves as "classy," they usually aren't. Not so surprisingly, "classy" is a big buzzword on MTV's new "Jersey Shore" show.

In the new series, which debuted Thursday night, eight self-described Guidos and Guidettes share a Seaside Heights beach house, use a lot of gelled products in their hair, wear Ed Hardy shirts, pump fists, and throw around the C word - no, not that C word - a lot about themselves. Like the girls who consider themselves classy because they haven't slept with their male roommates after a whole two days together.

The word "classy" also comes up regarding Nicole, aka Snooki, aka Snickers, aka the drunk girl. She's the drama queen who jumps into the hot tub wearing just a leopard-print bra and thong underwear, and tries to make out with all the guys. Her behavior leads to this line from Angelina, one of her roommates: "How do you go in a (bleeping) Jacuzzi with a thong and a bra? Wear a thong bikini. That's a little bit more classier." Sing it, sister!

But Angelina, one of three of the eight "Jersey Shore" stars with Staten Island connections (Vinny and Mike are also doing their part to embarrass my borough), does something distinctly unclassy to open her appearance in the series: she shows up to the beach house with her clothing in black trash bags. Yes, trash bags. Even her roommates are appalled by this lack of decorum. What, she couldn't find a laundry basket? Or even a cardboard box? Sheesh.

Angelina, who refers to herself as the "Kim Kardashian of Staten Island" because of her "all natural" body, memorably complains about the indignity of having to work at a Seaside t-shirt store with her other roommates. "I feel this job is beneath me," she declares. "I'm a bartender, I do great things."  Give her next year's Nobel Peace Prize already; she's earned it!

She also keeps on talking about her boyfriend at home, and how she's not going to mess up a good thing by cheating. Which is why it takes her a whole two nights before she starts rubbing up against another guy. Classy!

But, in her own strange way, Angelina, who calls herself - wait for it - "Jolie," does look classy compared to thong-wearing Nicole. Nicole refers to herself as the Princess of Poughkeepsie. We've heard about how Jersey Shore residents, and Italian-Americans, are angry about this show. What about the poor residents of Poughkeepsie, New York, having this chick as their princess?

This is a girl who, the morning after she drinks too much and strips down to her underwear in the hot tub, seems disappointed that nobody agrees to hold her hair back when she vomits. And here I thought that whole hair-holding cliche was a metaphor. 

In her second night, Nicole, aka Snickers, hooks up with a guy who throws up all over the beach house's deck. Not only does she not hold his hair back, but she tells him to vomit off the side of the deck,and then refuses to kiss him goodnight. Where's your compassion, Snickers?

She is also freaked out by the house phone - it's in the shape of a duck, and it quacks instead of rings. I was freaked out that the tiled coffee table the phone was on was the exact same one we had back in New Jersey in my childhood home. Fortunately, we didn't have license plates as art in my house when I was a kid - at least, not in the living room!

Funny thing is, nobody on this show is actually from the Jersey Shore, and only one person is even from Jersey itself. But they've aped the stereotypes all the same - the Rhode Island-based DJ Pauly D even owns a tanning bed. He also brags about spending 25 minutes to blow-dry his hair. Maybe I'm sheltered, but I can't say I've ever met a man so devoted to his hair. Or maybe I have, and he just hasn't revealed that tidbit to me!

I also don't know any people who have so many nicknames for themselves as these cast members do. When they first meet, they each ask each other not just their names, but their nicknames. And they all use these monikers for themselves with no sense of irony. Sammi calls herself Sammi Sweetheart, even though she looks like the kind of girl who will cut you up in the school bathroom for looking at her the wrong way. Jenni calls herself J-Wow (although I think MTV might have spelled J-Wow with an additional "W" or two, if I remember correctly.) What's wow - or is that "woww" - worthy about her, other than that she looks like she bought her implants at the dollar store?

But nobody is as obnoxious with the nicknames as Mike, aka "The Situation." This dude, a native of Staten Island (shocker!), constantly refers to himself - and his pumped-up abs - with the nickname of  "The Situation" constantly. He even gets girls at the t-shirt shop to buy super short-shorts/bikini bottoms with "The Situation" emblazoned on them.

You know, that's what's missing from my life - no, not wearing words on the seat of my pants, but referring to myself not just in the first person, but with a nickname. I hereby declare myself "The Squawker," after my Subway Squawkers blog. Done and done!

Anyhow, "The Squawker" likes a few characters on this show. Pauly D is a clown, but you get the sense he is well-aware how ridiculous his primping and preening is. Although "The Squawker" really didn't need to know about his pierced penis. "The Squawker" also likes Vinny, another Staten Islander, even if he is a mama's boy. He had the whole family gathered to say goodbye to him, and his mother cried when he drove off to Jersey. Mind you, it takes 90 minutes, tops, to get to Seaside from SI. It's not like he's going  off to war or something (although there are an awful lot of fights at the shore!)

One paragraph in, and I'm already sick of referring to myself in the third person. Unfortunately, "The Situation" never gets tired of it. Sheesh.

Another thing the men on this show aren't big on is wearing shirts at the dinner table. Unsanitary!

Do guys in real life really sit around the kitchen table without shirts on, like they all seem to do on this show?  Or is it just the stuck-up guys I know who actually eat with their clothes on? This is a question for the ages.

You know, I used to go to Seaside Heights, the location for "Jersey Shore," a lot when I was a teenager. These days, I prefer Asbury Park. It's closer, cheaper, and, dare I say it, classier. But now I kind of want to go to Seaside again, if only to see if real-life people act as ridiculous as the ones on this show.

While I did look on in slack-jawed horror at the first two hours of "Jersey Shore," and gripe about it on Facebook, that doesn't mean I won't be watching it again. Oh no. This show will be a regular in "The Squawker's" household, even if I don't have men eating dinner at my kitchen table with their shirts off!