I was singing Beatle songs in my dream.

This was after I hit on the waitress.

I was in San Francisco. I’d just arrived from the airport in a limo the size of a living room. And I’d left my new Mac tablet in the vehicle when I went to check into the hotel. And when I went back to the limo, there was a kid, a tiny tot, playing with my stretch screen. He had it upside down in a puddle of au jus. Which covered the back of the device something good. I tried to wipe off the sauce, but it had stained the fabric, permanently! At first I started to freak out, but totally unlike myself in real life, I soon got over it.

And it was while walking back to the hotel that I saw the waitresses, preparing for duty in a glass box. They were wearing outfits akin to bunny costumes. But I didn’t notice this Playboy resemblance until the one I’d eyed, with cellulite on her posterior, came up to me twenty minutes later on the patio and asked me what I wanted to drink. I told her to quit her job and come up to my hotel room and let me squeeze her oh-so-attractive butt. She asked me if I would marry her. I said I couldn’t promise that, but I would deliver an exquisite evening of lovemaking. And it was after all these words emanated from my mouth that I realized in real life I would never say all these things. If I did, would they work? So worried about being prosecuted for sexual harassment had I withheld my feelings, had I played on the sexual sidelines and sacrificed my whole life?

Then, drink-less, not getting a complete no, I sat on the patio, overlooking the vista. Which was not the Bay, but a pastoral landscape of rolling topography, with mountains framing each side. And in the middle, below us, was a band.

And they’re playing Beatle songs. And I’m singing along.
We all know every lyric. And leaning back, in the metal chair in front of me, is John Lennon. I can tell by the hair, it’s that bowl cut from the cover of Capitol’s "Early Beatles", with all the Vee-Jay tracks. He’s leaning his head into mine, singing the choruses, the harmonies. I’m singing Paul McCartney’s parts. I am Paul McCartney.

And suddenly, I realize this is after the Beatles have broken up. When we’re both in Badfinger. We’re singing "No Matter What".

Only we both weren’t in Badfinger. I wrote a song for Badfinger. But I’m not really Paul McCartney. God, will John realize this? Will he be pissed, will he evaporate? I’m loving this so much!

But suddenly, as the band starts playing "Love Me Do", John turns around and exclaims how much he loves this song. And it turns out that it’s not John, but Sean Lennon. And the fact that I’m me, and not Paul, is all right. I start telling him about the single, with "P.S. I Love You" on the flip side, or at least I start to tell him, in my mind, and I wake up. And immediately look for my favorite Badfinger album, "Straight Up". I need to hear "Perfection".

It’s not the first Badfinger album I bought. That was "No Dice". With the original "Without You". And, I’m not yearning for the perfect hit "Straight Up" contains, "Day After Day". Rather I need to hear the number deep on the second side, which truly is "Perfection"!

There is no real perfection
There’ll be no perfect day
Just love is our connection
The truth in what we say

There are flaws in everything. Your Mercedes-Benz, OS X Leopard. But there is truth. We’re all looking for truth, and honesty. It’s the bedrock of a relationship. It’s what we desire from our rock stars, that they sing it to us straight.

There’s no good revolution
Just power changing hands
There is no straight solution
Except to understand

It was the early seventies, bands still cared about politics, sung about politics. John Lennon had already questioned revolution, not committing to be in or out. Pete Townshend had said he won’t be fooled again. Instead of warmongering, the public wanted peace. We knew we couldn’t kick anybody’s ass. Couldn’t we just talk it out? What if we put on a record, kicked back with a doobie and thought about it? What if everybody just mellowed out?

So listen to my song of life
You don’t need a gun or a knife
Successful conversation will take you very far

Is it a love song or a political song? Both!

There is no real perfection
There’ll be no perfect man
Just peace is our connection
Forgiving all you can

I wonder what Ashlee Simpson thinks when she looks in the mirror. It’s not her face, not the one she grew up with. If you change your looks you’re presenting a different facade to the public, but you’re still the same inside. No one in America wants to own what’s inside, or outside. They want to change it, thinking their life will be better. That they’ll move up some mythical food chain. People will accept them, will love them. But it’s not about how you look, but who you are.

There’s no good kind of killing
Just power taking life
It’s all good blood that’s spilling
To make a bigger knife

Wow, if all the band members had still been alive and the group had sung this on television after 9/11, Ari Fleischer would have lambasted them, told them that loose lips sink ships. But believe me, an Iraqi mother mourns her lost son just like a society matron mourns her deceased Cantor Fitzgerald progeny. Death is final. And ugly. Now, spreading democracy, not only have we abandoned the Geneva Convention, forgone the writ of habeas corpus, but killed…these people will have no rights. Pretty ugly on a human level. And that’s the only level we can truly understand. Corporations like Halliburton don’t have a soul. And seemingly too many in power don’t either.

Successful conversation will take you very far

I don’t know if that waitress will take me up on my offer. I’ll have to go back to bed and find out. But I do know, if you don’t speak, if you don’t put it out there, nothing comes back.

Relationships are built on trust, commitment, but mostly conversation. Not only the ideas that go back and forth between people, but the feelings.

Successful conversation will take you very far. Just light up and let it out.