Yeah, I didn’t get to see this on Friday night because I was seeing PAUL MCFUCKINGCARTNEY:

Although now it’s impossible to imagine that anyone doesn’t love John Stamos (1:40!). In the same vein, it’s a scientific fact that nobody doesn’t like the Beatles. There are people who say they don’t like the Beatles, but really, they just like saying they don’t like the Beatles. It’s cool to say you don’t like the Beatles, apparently, and like most of the things that are apparently cool, it’s a real fucking drag.

Because the Beatles are GREAT. Dismissing the Beatles is like dismissing Chuck Berry, Little Richard, Jerry Lee Lewis, or the Stones (because that either/or argument hasn’t flown since the early ‘60s). They are foundational to rock n’ roll and the way it shaped the entire music industry (which I understand isn’t doing too good these days, but you know what I mean).

I’m the first to roll my eyes when someone plays the Beatles on a bar jukebox, mostly because it’s always some dipshit trying to be deep by starting off with “Imagine” which isn’t even the Beatles, you dumb dumb, but claiming to hate the Beatles’ entire oeuvre is crazy and, considering its immense scope, you can’t possibly even know what you’re talking about.

That said, Paul McCartney was AWESOME. He was exactly what you’d want to hear from Paul McCartney, and aside from the few times when he said “This is a little something for the Wings fans” to tepid applause, everything was super fun and OH YEAH, Dave Grohl and Krist Novoselic showed up and shit got metal. I’m so thrilled that I was able to see this show, because from the guests to the “Hey Jude” sing-a-long to the very rock n’ roll pyro during “Live and Let Die” to the fact that I was seeing PAUL MCCARTNEY, everything was so great and I hardly even minded that Paul entirely fucked the bus system.

Sheeeeeeeeit. For one thing, I wore flip flops because I thought we’d be taking the bus. When I got to Mike’s, he explained that we’d only be sitting in traffic on 1^st and could walk there faster. And he was right. So we walked from Capitol Hill all the way to Safeco, and because it was a sold-out stadium where most people stayed until the end (somewhat rare in Seattle, although I can’t really blame them because sitting in a pennant-less stadium is weird), the spillout at the end was fucking pandemonium. Mike and I cut through most of the crowds up to the 3^rd, where we foolishly reasoned we’d have a better shot of getting a cab. What we didn’t consider was that we’d have a better shot of getting a cab in fucking Northgate, and at the rate we were walking, we might actually end up there.

So I decided to stop walking at the 3^rd and Madison bus stop, because even if the buses were running on 45 minute delays, I was not about to walk any further in a blasted pair of Old Navy flip flops. I checked the alleged schedule for the 28 that would take Mike up the hill to his place and said goodbye, and then waited for anything that would take me home. The first 358 was packed and got packed-ier when the mouthy old broads at the stop trundled on. I decided to wait for the next one. The 5 was so crowded that I couldn’t even see into it. Again, I waited. When a mostly empty 16 pulled up, I jumped on, got a seat, and started reading “Gone Girl” about a year later than everyone else. And when every other drunk old person got on at Macy’s, I had my seat and didn’t even care that the hippie girl next to me had mild B.O. And my calves only complained a bit when I walked home from Wallingford, and even though they still hurt now (and for some reason I still have the headache I had on Friday night that caused me to close my eyes every time the house lights went up), I’m still so stoked that I could see Paul McCartney.

I bet Aunt Becky and Uncle Jesse would have divorced by now, anyway. Don’t let that kiss fool you.