Archive for the ‘The Beatles’ Category
I should have just bought that boxed set of all of those Beatles reissues when they came out last year. Instead, I thought, why not buy them one at a time, and spread out my enjoyment? I did for a while, and got as far as Help! But then I was faced with Rubber Soul, Revolver, and Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, and I stalled. I bought those three albums on cassette when I was in high school, along with a skimpy compilation called 20 Greatest Hits, and played them a lot. That was as far as my intensive early Beatles study went; I didn’t investigate forward or backward. So, with these reissues, the early recordings—the “deep cuts,” as they say; I obviously know the hits—were new to me, and the late stuff would be new to me when I got to it. But I just couldn’t imagine having to listen to those mid-period albums, the great ones, again. And so I stopped buying, and a year went by.
But I was troubled by having just five early Beatles records in my collection. It looked weird. Was I ever going to complete the set? The other day it occurred to me that maybe the answer was to just go out of sequence and jump forward. I was placing an Amazon order, and threw in Magical Mystery Tour. It came this morning.
Confession: I have a habit of making up songs about my dog, and of altering existing popular song lyrics so that they’re about my dog. Pretty much every song that I play, I make up a dog version. So this morning I couldn’t help coming up with “Toby, You’re a Rich Dog”: “You keep all your kibble in a big blue bowl … How does it feel to be one of the beautiful puppies?”
This time of year I’m fairly obsessed with greenmarket strawberries. The strawberry season doesn’t last long—roughly the month of June, with a brief late-summer resurgence at the larger Manhattan greenmarkets. While it’s happening, though, I can’t get enough strawberries. On Saturday mornings I walk a mile to the market at Grand Army Plaza to find a sea of green fuzzy-paper baskets with their little jewel-like holdings, and I usually can’t resist buying two full quarts—more than we can eat before they start to get a little mushy. We eat them on Shredded Wheat ‘n’ Bran in the morning, and on Stonyfield Farms vanilla ice cream at night, and then they’re gone by Monday. That leaves four days without fresh, local strawberries. How to get through the week? Meanwhile, the season flies by, and all the strawberries are being eaten up by other people.
Yesterday I remembered that on Wednesdays there’s a little four-stand greenmarket in Windsor Terrace, a few blocks from our house in the other direction. This morning I went for a run around Prospect Park; I planned my route so I could stop and buy strawberries on the way home. Before I left I gathered all the cash in the house: two singles from my wallet, one from Caleb’s, a handful of quarters. Enough, I thought, for a pint. I stuffed it all in the little zip-up pocket in the back of my running shorts, and then had the world’s most annoying run. The coins jingled all the way around the park. I stopped and tried to fold up the quarters inside the bills, but they just slipped out a moment later. I sounded like a dog with tin cans tied to its tail. On the plus side, I did see an actual dog, a miniature collie, riding in a bicycle basket on the way to a romp during the park’s early morning off-leash hours.
When I got to the greenmarket, they only had quarts, which were $7, and I ran the rest of the way home strawberryless and bereft. I topped my cereal with some olden banana. You berry eaters don’t know how lucky you had it today.