The Beatles.

About a week ago I started thinking that it being late fall/heading into winter, it was time for me to go into one of my Beatles weeks; ie week where I listen to nothing but the Beatles. To me, the Beatles were always a fall/winter band - be it cause of their Christmas albums, or cause of the snow that's everywhere in the footage of their first trip to the USA. But as of coupla days ago, it was still too fucking warm. And I was getting crabby - November 18? Still no Beatles Xmas Week? Wtf?

This morning as I walked to the train I was caught off guard at how cold it was...could it be? I wondered...then on the train while reading An American Tragedy (thanks Ballbuster!!) I was struck by the parents' complete confusion/bafflement when their daughter leaves them a note that she's left, gone outta town. They simply could not fathom why she would have left. On the A train by now I lowered the book, and all I heard was She's Leaving Home, a super-slice from Sgt Pepper. Too close to home I thought...we'll see.

Walking back to the A train after work, I thought about that passage, and the song, and I thought to myself well, MAYBE it's cold enough to be Beatles time, but I dunno; seems like there should be a sign.

May god strike me dead if I'm lying here: I walked through the GWB Terminal and into the walkway to the train...and there was some old, withered, old guy playing the saxophone ("blowin", me and my hep cats might say), and what the fuck was he playing? Hard Days Night. I was floored. I was floored, I was dumbstruck, I smiled, I laughed, I walked, I jogged, I ran, I fucking flew onto the train; I've been singing ever since.

It's cold. It's fall. About to be winter. Guess what?

Beatles time. Period.