I”m reading “That Magic Feeling: The Beatles Recording Legacy, Volume Two, 1966-1970,” John C. Winn’s account of pretty much everything the Beatles did during those years. Which sounds ridiculous for a human being to do if they have any sort of life. I can’t help it; I’m a music geek, especially when it comes to the Beatles. Besides, I’m only skimming.
Anyway, I just read about the band performing at the New Musical Express Poll Wiinners’ Concert for the fourth straight year on May 1. The bill that night, if you can even comprehend this, went like so: The Beatles, The Stones, The Who, The Yardbirds, Spencer Davis Group, Small Faces, Cliff Richard and the Shadows.
I know what you’re thinking: The Shadows and Cliff Richard on the SAME BILL!
It also happened to be the last time the Beatles would play live in front of a Britiish audience, not including the Let It Be rooftop gig. They didn’t record the Beatles performance because of a contract squabble. But check out the Yardbirds doing the Original “Train Kept a Rollin’”
C’mon … everyone loves a grandma who swears like a sailor. Old ladies are cute when they get confrontational – especially ones who have the sand to tell a cop what to do with himself.
Yet — as it often happens — a cop takes himself too seriously and, instead of properly evaluating whether he needs to use a weapon in the name of public service, he lets his ego get the best of him.
So I started my day at 3:45 A.M., with my daughter inexplicably deciding to have drum practice in her crib. I have no idea what she was so hyped up and happy about, other than she knew it was her first birthday and wanted to get a jump on the celebration. Her last name is Hicks, after all. So I got her back to sleep after an hour … and, of course, I stayed awake until 6:30.
Then, the poor kid has to go to the doctor and get a shot – on her birthday. Then, after the doctor examines her and tells us her constant ear infections may be a sign of a bigger problem and she needs to see a specialist, the poor kid hits her head leaving the office.
But things started looking up on the way home. I was at a red light on Clayton Road and, just as it turns green, the guy to my left gets ticked off at waiting for his own red light and shoots through the intersection. He misses me, but the car to my right has to lock up the brakes.
Then something wonderful happened.
The red light runner apparently missed the cop sitting right behind him, who did a double take, then reacted like the guy just robbed a bank. Unfortunately I couldn’t wait around to see if he clubbed the perp. The memory, though, almost makes up for all those times some jerkoff is driving like an idiot with no cops around, and you think to yourself “Why is there never a cop around in times like this, yet I get nailed for doing 67 in a 65?”
Apparently he’d been wrestling with his son, who ripped his ear, and the cut opened while he was reading a box score. And Radnich handled it beautifully – joking and having some fun with it while trying to staunch the blood flow with a tissue.
The best thing about Radnich, whether on his morning radio show on KNBR 680 or on TV, is his every guy perspective and ability not to take things too seriously (which is important on a sports talk radio station). Bleeding on camera, turning a potentialy embarassing situation into light comedy, is something not many TV talking heads could manage.
Anna Gaffney and friend Linda Chevalier went to the guy’s home Saturday and tried to tie him up with duct tape. I like it – direct, to the point, and extremely threatening. The only problem is they didn’t think this one through. They should’ve paid someone to drive him deep into Mexico. By the time he figured out how to get back, the daughter would’ve moved on. I should know – one of my ex-girlfriends parents did it to me. Which is why no one remembers seeing me in 1988.
Why is it that, at age 41, I still believe that I won’t get sunburned?
I did it again this weekend – the ol “Since I’m working in the yard, might as well get some color.” In 30 minutes I was pinker than the inside of Hickry Pit spare ribs and wondering why I never learn.
I’m the whitest guy I know. The parts that aren’t Irish and Scottish are English. So, I’m pretty much the whitest guy this side of Edgar Winter. By the way, that couldn’t have been his real name … could it?
My back is on fire. And I want to think you people for not warning me first. Since when is the sun dangerous in June? I can’t wait to start peeling, especially when I shed a whole layer everytime I get up from my chair.
I’m doing a live chat at noon tomorrow (Tuesday) on our web site (www.contracostatimes.com) about the concept of guilty pleasures. Please send me some questions, so the people who decide who gets fired think readers actually like me.
Wait – why did I include the web address up there when it’s safe to assume you know it, now that you’re on my blog?
I’m not very bright, that’s why.
Anyway, Chuck and I both address guilty pleasures in the paper tomorrow. My column is about musical guilty pleasures. Which is why I have a Journey song in my head right this very instant.