just now, for about the millionth time in my life, i was suddenly overwhelmed with a familiar happy emotion, and i ran into my roommate jen's room and yelled, "JEN! i love paul!"
jen has lived with me for about two months and is used to this by now. "oh really? i hadn't noticed."
"i do. i love him."
"what is it now?"
"this song! how can you not love a man who writes a song like this?" ("every night" is playing in the background. i tell jen how the crowd screamed at the concert when paul sang, "...and be-eee with you-hoo-ooo." i love him.)
"oh," says jen. "i thought maybe it was another picture of him with a cow." she's totally laughing at me.
"no, but last night i found another picture of him with martha." (martha, of "martha, my dear," was paul's sheepdog. how can you not love a man who writes a song about his sheepdog?)
"you know what i thought of the other day?" she says. "there could totally be a pope john paul george."
i'm laughing my head off.
"no, really. there was a st. john and a st. paul and a st. george, and a pope john paul... when he died, I was like, 'come on! pope john paul george!' and then it was pope benedict... what's up with that, benedict?"
it's nice to know that i'm not the only one who thinks about these things.