Taking a college class on The Beatles ranks among the best decisions I’ve ever made.
At the risk of sounding like a stereotype, nothing beats looking out the window while it rains and listening to “Blackbird” (even though I truly believe Paul McCartney’s songwriting skills are inferior to John Lennon’s, I know that when Macca gets it right, though, he really gets it right).
It’s been 10 years since George Harrison, my favorite Beatle, passed away. Doe-eyed, slightly androgynous and an underrated songwriting genius tormented by his own insecurities (Hey, it’s hard to measure up when you’re clawing for space with Lennon and McCartney and Eric Clapton’s trying — and succeeding — to steal your wife); there are a whole slew of reasons why The Quiet Beatle has always had my heart.
His contributions to The Beatles’ catalogue are some of my favorites but on this day, all I want to do — all I’ve been doing — is listening to my favorite solo Harrison song and screaming the lyrics.
I still miss him.
I’m just really happy, so I’m letting George (and his other friend Paul) do the talking.
An outsider on the inside's outlet for the pop culture minutiae, daily obsessions and simple props that occupy her time. 
