The boy is getting good. A natural athlete, with hippie-length hair and blue eyes. He almost looks like one of The Beatles in their "Rubber Soul", "Revolver" years. It's only a matter of time before he'll be falling in love with their many children's tunes; Ob-La-Di, Yellow Submarine, Octopus's Garden and Maxwell's Silver Hammer. All of that nonsense. Don't worry, dear readers, I'll have him listening to the great Beatles tunes also.
I just saw that the children of The Beatles are forming a band. I can't wait. Their first album could be called, "I should have worn a rubber, soul..." No, I kid. They have just as much right as anybody to shame themselves with a manufactured idea that nobody has begged for, except to laugh at. I should stop. I have a disproportionate amount of friends that are hard-core Beatles fans (is that even possible, hard-core?), and they are probably eager to rush home to iTunes to buy this new Fab-Fournication.
I love The Beatles, but love them more where they are, in the past. Is that nostalgia? I had better stop. That's dangerous territory for the the Ol' blog-cop, Selavy. He's been trying to tell me that I'm blind to my own nostalgia. You see, he reminisces and recollects, I merely nostalge. Nostalgia is dangerous, we all know that. Now that he has the power to strip search I had better know when to keep quiet. He might find some fond memories hidden away in a cavity. No, I kid. His posts have been really good lately. I encourage everyone to read them.
But, in all seriousness, I only hope that the children of the Beatles know not to try and cover any of their parent's material. Or, if they do then please let it be Yoko and Linda's stuff. Please, let it be...
Ok, I have little else to say today. It is probably time for me to go back to bed. I've had enough tummy-time for today. It's only a matter of time before I start crying.