3/27/24
Been listening to The Beatles lately. Mainly just Abbey Road for now. I’ve heard plenty of their music before, but never really sat down and listened to an album repeatedly.
I remember living in the house on Hampton street sitting up in the toy room—a place where my sister and I could hang out and play video games that eventually became a sewing room for my mom—and watching that animated Beatles movie with the yellow submarine on the trundle mattress in there. It was that 60s animation where things were a bit stiff and moved as construction paper cutouts would. The aesthetics matched The Beatles pretty good, if I recall correctly.
For a while I didn’t listen to The Beatles because I had a smug satisfaction knowing I wasn’t a big fan. It was one of the things I felt comfortable being pretentious about. But I like their music. It’s pretty dang good, if I do say so myself. It was another instance where I felt like a boob because I was just discovering that water was wet.
It happens often but I find songs in “the wild,” recognize them from my childhood, and when I look it up am surprised to see who it’s from or by. Maybe I knew it before and tossed the information away because distancing myself from it felt like being above it. But now that I’m a little older I wonder how much other things I could’ve enjoyed I pushed away only because I cared about what other people would think about me.
-E.B.
Ed Boy 