You’d be a fairly complex guy, trying to figure himself and his world out.
You’d like to wear socks that don’t match, but you’d get bugged if anyone put down your hair.
You’d be a fan of Ray Charles and the Association and a number of folk artists you know from your days as a folk singer.
Your best friend would be Steve Sills, of the Bufalo [sic] Springfield, who is a lot like you—complex and searching, with a tendency to let things bother you.
You’d get mad at your fellow Monkees every now and then, but you’d always manage to come out as part of the team in the end, for you know that you have to hang together.
You’d like to read books on far Eastern philosophies and write “stream of consciousness” type things that just rattle on and on about whatever happens to be in your head.
You’d get bugged when there are too many people on the set, ’cause it slows things down, but you like to know that you can have your friends on the set anytime you wish.
You’d feel a little sorry for Davy and all the publicity he got while dating Sally Field and you’d be glad that most of the girls you’ve been dating are not in show business.
You’d be a photography nut with hopes to form a film company with one of your friends so you could produce groovy experimental films.
You wouldn’t mind being called “Tork” but you wouldn’t answer when called “Petey-baby.”
You’d enjoy stringing love beads and giving them to people you like.
You’d have a tendency for getting hung up on art forms from the far east such as Japanese paintings and Haiku poetry.
You’d worry a little about your reputation for being outspoken, but not enough to want to try and change.
You’d read Ramparts Magazine as well as all of the fan magazines.
You’d have fond memories of the Monterey Pop Festival, when you got to introduce a couple of acts, and of holidays with your family in Connecticut.
You’d like to go to the Whisky A Go Go in Hollywood occassionally [sic] to see acts you really dig, but most of the time, you’d avoid night clubs.
You’d look forward to another tour ’cause it’s a gas being up there on stage playing your guitar or banjo and singing and groovin’ and knowing your audience is enjoying itself, despite the fact that tours are extremely exhausting.
You’d think about writing a book every now and then, but somehow never seem to get around to it.
You’d wonder what your fans really think of your TV show and records and live performance.
You’d get bugged every time the press misquotes you.
You’d wonder how the Beatles ever survived their earlier years, when mass hysteria was a normal part of their lives.
You’d wonder sometimes when you’re on stage what that cute little blonde in the fifth row is like.
You’d worry ’cause you could never read all of the fan mail you received if you had four lifetimes, but you’d eventually accept it and just try to read as much of it as possible.
You’d wonder if all those girls who say they love you could really meet you, if you’d live up to their expectations.
You’d relish the few minutes in your life that you get to be alone with your thoughts.
You’d hate getting up early in the morning to get into makeup to film the show.
You’d wonder what you’d be doing now if you hadn’t been chosen to be a Monkee.
You’d go on different kinds of diets just to try different kinds of food and to try and keep your health at its best.
And you’d wonder how long it’s all going to last.