PC02: Have You Heard About The Beatles?

It took me until my second year of college to love the Beatles. I had no problem with the Beatles before that. I just hadn't really pondered their existence. In sophomore year, though, my ever increasing closeness to one of my best friends, Mars, brought me ever nearer to the Beatles, her favorite band.

You may be wondering why it's notable that Mars' favorite band is the Beatles, as this is something she likely shares with thousands of people. But to dismiss this as typical would be a mistake. Mars' love for the Beatles is a childhood affair gone on as long as her life. It's what she grew up on. Those among us who like Sgt. Pepper's and LOVE deserve to be scoffed at by her. But she won't do that. At least, not to your face. She's earned her Beatles fan status in a way I never could.

Given all that, they are now one of my favorite bands, though I don't talk about it very much for the sake of people like Mars. I don't want to give off the impression that I've always understood their brilliance or that I have some deeper appreciate of their music than the layman. That said, I'd like to tell you my five favorite Beatles songs, ever acknowledging that the Beatles are not MY band. They're just a band that belongs to so many others, and that I love.

(Honorable mentions, as a top five is limiting when it comes to the Beatles: "Blackbird," "Eleanor Rigby," "Happiness is a Warm Gun," "I Will," "I've Just Seen a Face," "Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da," and "Yesterday.")

"In My Life," Rubber Soul. I actually heard the Dave Matthews version of this song before the real thing. Even then, I was struck by its honesty and simple beauty, which are so much more sincere sounding when it's Lennon singing them. (Sorry, Dave.) Being a John girl, it makes sense that his love songs are some of my favorite contributions to the Beatles catalog, and that George Martin piano solo gets me every time.

"Paperback Writer," Paperback Writer/Rain. I love that period of Beatles music in which every song is less than three minutes long, and all of them were practically guaranteed radio success. It's remarkable that each two-minute wonder is still distinct (though that's easy to forget when you listen to them straight through). "Paperback Writer" is my favorite for its plucky idealism, driving guitar, and George and John's backing vocals.

"Getting Better," Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart Clubs Band. I had no idea this was a Beatles song until I listened to Sgt. Pepper's in full, but as soon as I heard it, I didn't know how there was ever any doubt. To me, "Getting Better" is the quintessential Beatles song. It sounds perfectly happy, though the lyrics hint that there's something else going on; it's poppier than any other respectable band can handle; John and Paul are doing that call and answer thing everyone loves; and, come on, Ringo Starr is playing the congas.

"Here Comes the Sun," Abbey Road. I don't usually love the George Harrison songs, but "Here Comes the Sun" is my favorite among them and, obviously, then some, as established by its appearance here. Sometimes, no matter how good a song is, you'll always value it highly because it triggers a happy memory. "Here Comes the Sun" is one of the songs that reminds me of my trip to Scotland last January so, obviously, I love it. And I think I would anyway. It's light, lilting, pretty, and optimistic, four traits Beatles songs aren't often simultaneously.

"Hey Jude," Hey Jude. I realize I'm mixing up the chronology here by putting "Hey Jude" last. That's intentional. "Hey Jude" is the least Beatles-like Beatles single (except for maybe "Do You Want to Know a Secret?", which makes me feel dirty), and it's still somehow of their very best songs. It relies heavily on vocals and piano, its lyrics are almost frustratingly simple, and, well, as a good friend of mine once put it, "Several Beatles died while still singing the 'Na na na na' part." But you know what? That's what makes it awesome. I don't know that Paul McCartney realized how great a present he gave Julius Lennon when he decided this was a good way to cheer the boy up.

"Funemployment"

I remember first encountering the term "funemployed" in a piece by Amelie Gillette, who writes a brilliant little column for the Onion AV Club called The Hater. Essentially, Gillette picks a piece of pop culture that's particularly deplorable and dissects it in the most delightfully sarcastic way possible. Sometimes, she strays to news articles, and the trends reported within. This was the case with funemployment.

Funemployment is exactly as it sounds: the state in which a jobless person thoroughly enjoys their time off. They spend their nest egg on a trip overseas, pick up a new hobby, that kind of thing. Really, if you're going to be unemployed, you might as well attempt to enjoy that time. But to apply such a name on it makes it seem as though they're wholly satisfied with their jobless state. As such, I cannot claim that I am funemployed. I'm unemployed, but I don't revel in it.

I itch for something to do. I freelance write. I work on my grad school application. I apply for at least one job a week, jobs at which I know I'd excel, jobs that would provide a daily routine--jobs that would, at the very least, occupy my time. For me, unemployment is the pause button on a completely typical existence. Sure, I have social outlets, books to read, jigsaw puzzles to assemble, shows to watch, meals to eat, et cetera, et cetera.

Today, for the first time in a while, a building block toward a real schedule, combined with a massive change in my life, surfaced. I spoke with a representative at Simmons College about a graduate program in children's literature and library science and was, for the first time, truly excited about this new opportunity rather than (as the AV Club would put it) cautiously optimistic.

Even if I don't get in, this is something I can invest in, and that's pretty important right now.

So, there we have it. Midna's leaning against me, it's Thursday TV Night, I'm going to Chicago tomorrow, and my mood is ever rising. Funemployment? No. Simply happiness, that's all.

My Back & Me, Jobs

Christy's Back: Good afternoon, Christy.

Christy: Is it, Back? Is it?

Christy's Back: What's wrong, Christy?

Christy: Well, Back, I have a bone to pick with you.

Christy's Back: And what's that?

Christy: Simply put, you're killing me. The lower right portion of you, specifically. It's hurting me. I can't even do back exercises without pain shooting through my side.

Christy's Back: Shouldn't you be grateful for an excuse to just sit there all day, doing precious little?

Christy: Actually, no, I shouldn't. Look, Back, you know I'm trying to lose weight. You also know that I can't do cardio when you're doing this to me.

Christy's Back: What if I told you I'm just trying to ease you back into exercising every day?

Christy: I wouldn't believe you.

Christy's Back: Touche.

Christy: Can we settle this tomorrow or Thursday? I'm pretty fat.

Christy's Back: Don't say that.

Christy: Fine. I'm not. But my BMI--

Christy's Back: You know that's a flawed system.

Christy: You always have a way of making me feel better, Back. Except the part where you're still killing me.

Christy's Back: I do what I can, Christy. I do what I can.

-

I applied for a job I'd quite like this week. I seriously doubt I'll get it, but it's good practice to keep applying for that kind of position. Unemployment doesn't suit me. I'm much more fulfilled when I feel like I'm doing something for some demographic, no matter how obscure. So, here's hoping and praying that something comes up again. For now, I'll write about file extensions, read books, and maybe even watch Buffy again. The possibilities are ... well, they're somewhat limited, but all of them are perfectly acceptable.