I recently overheard a workplace conversation between two hipsters. They were discussing their weekend plans with their young children. One said they were going to the aquarium. Now, to me the aquarium is a glass rectangle, sitting on a shelf, containing cloudy water, tinted rocks, plastic seaweed and five impossibly colored, fingernail-size fish with an average life expectancy of fifty-six hours. I guess things have changed.
Lots of people, if they pay any mind to her at all, only think of Alice in late November. It’s a shame really because her story is way cooler than, say, Lola’s or Gloria’s or Maggie May’s. Most of the girls you hear about on the radio will break your heart, but Alice isn’t like that. She’s more down to earth, has a better sense of humor. Alice is, on the surface, a humble cook, yet if you take eighteen minutes or so to listen to her tale you’ll discover that she’s a revolutionary. Anyway, I can’t imagine spending Thanksgiving Day without her.
It is “a decisive moment in the history of Western civilization.”
The Times, a British daily, on the release of The Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band
When I was a boy The Beatles had their own Saturday morning TV cartoon. The cartoon Fabs had big noses and the famous haircuts, and every episode was essentially the same: one of the four (usually Ringo, great actor that Ringo) would do something out of bounds on the way to a concert, putting the band in a bind, whereby they would be chased by screaming girls and law enforcement. Naturally, the Liverpudlians made the gig just in time and the shenanigans would end with a song. I always wondered why all the Brit cops were named “Bobby.”