2007 is the 40th anniversary of the classic Beatles album Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band. The BBC is working on an anniversary cover album, the entire Beatles back catalog is about to become accessible on iTunes due to a copyright conflict finally getting resolved, and people in general are reflecting back on what it was that made the Beatles such a phenomenon in the first place. I would like to add my two cents and suggest that part of the reason the Beatles were not only immensely successful, but also profound and timeless ,is because of their lyrics. Many a life lesson can be gleaned from the Beatles' oeuvre—in fact, someone could probably write a self-help book using only Beatles-specific moral nuggets. While I don't have time (or the space in The Daily Cardinal) to write an entire book, I think a recap of the text might look something like this:
Sincerity is key. If you're insincere, people will look through you and say ""hello goodbye"" as one word. No one will want to get you into their lives; in fact, they'll pass you by and see you as some day-tripper who can't dig it. They'll know that inside you're secretly a glass onion with no center, a fool alone on a hill, and then you're gonna be all helter skelter for the rest of your life.
Live for the moment. It's important to twist and shout now in your youth, so you don't regret it later on your long and winding road—your mother will know what I mean. Follow your dreams like dreamers do! Become a paperback writer, design houses made of Norwegian wood while fixing the hole in the ozone layer, become the next Dr. Roberts, preserve an endangered blackbird species, incite a revolution in a third-world country, become a minimalist composer and make Beethoven roll over in his grave, and, if you need it, don't be shy to accept a little help from your friends.
Don't forget: you only have one ticket to ride your day in the life. Hopefully you might just see a face when you see her standing there, and maybe you'll want to hold her hand or be her man or want to know her secret, and you might be so taken that you ask her, ""why don't we do it in the road, assuming we can work it out? You sure are one sexy Sadie. Let's take a stroll through Strawberry Fields, or maybe go down to Penny Lane? Or we could visit an octopus's garden on a yellow submarine!"" Even if her love is for no one, and it gives you a hard day's night eight days a week, and the taxman says you owe $1 after the $909, don't become a nowhere man and sit right down and cry about yesterdays; no, you've got to let it be, remember that help is here, there and everywhere, and happiness is most definitely not a warm gun. Try and remember that even if you're a rich man, baby, money can't buy you love.
Get enough sleep. What you need is a good night with golden slumbers, and if you're lucky she'll come across the universe and in through the bathroom window—and then it's good day, sunshine! But remember to call her ""her majesty,"" cry out ""oh! darling!"" when your bird sings (if you catch my drift), offer her your last Savoy truffle because she's your honey pie, and always sign your letters ""P.S. I love you."" Never forget her name—Madonna, Julia, Rita, Michelle, Eleanor, Martha, Prudence—it can be tough to keep that long, long, long list straight, but it'll be tougher when you're sixty-four. Oh, and never say she's so heavy, even if you volunteer to carry that weight, because that'll make her cry, baby, cry and you'll have to run for your life.
The end.
