Monday, June 19, 2006
When I'm 64
Apparently Sir Paul McCartney has reached that age now. My 63-year-old Dad, (who has the exact same birthday as Keith Richards but looks a hell of a lot better) pointed this out to me.
This just isn't right that here he is, at this age, this age made famous by one of his own songs, and going through a divorce.
His first marriage is the one that he believed would last forever. I know, many people disliked Linda almost as much as they disliked Yoko but in my opinion, if he loved her, I love her. (And that's why I'm a fan of Vanessa Paradis, because if she's good enough for Johnny she's good enough for me.)
Paul and Linda had the same kind of marriage that Jethro and I have. Only death could part them. Sadly, hers came a couple of decades too early.
Turns out many people hated Heather Mills even more. I read about her long before she entered Sir Paul's life. As the granddaughter of a double amputee, I admired Heather's work to not only stop landmines, but provide new artificial limbs to landmine victims. Of course it's obvious that she's a driven, ambitious, possibly even harsh person. But I still say that if she'd been a man those attributes wouldn't have been frowned on.
I think it's sad sad sad that these two are split up now. The breakup of a marriage always saddens me. This is worse because he's a widow, and because, let's face it, he's Paul McCartney. The Cute One. And whose heart did Paul McCartney ever break? Other than a poor little farm girl who lived in a log house with no electricity and listened to a radio powered by a car battery, and couldn't buy Beatles records but bought every magazine and bubble gum and sticker book and spent long hours by lamplight gluing together elaborate Beatles scrapbooks...
And here he is, age 64, unneeded, unfeeded. Maybe I'll send him a postcard, drop him a line.