"Hair is a Concept, By Which We Measure..."

Just WHAT the FUCK is the point of spending $35,000 for a lock of Lennon's hair?

Gonna implant it into your skull?

And what maniac spent over three times that much, $125,000 to be precise, for a fucking "Butcher Cover" of "Yesterday and Today?"

No point in even repeating any disgusted comments on the foolishness of memorabilia collecting, or treating inanimate objects as sacred relics, or fer Chrissake, staring at a fucking album cover that everybody who bought that "Beatles Rarities" re-issue owns.

I wasn't that impressed having a 12x12 copy of that stupid photo. The picture wasn't THAT much of a gem of black humor. So this is first edition? Big deal. In 10 Malik-Bieber years, NOBODY is gonna consider it worth even 10 quid. As in: "Oh, I have ALL the artwork in the Louvre on my KINDLE and I have EVERY album cover on my teeny cell phone and that's good enough! PS, who were The Beatles?"

Turning from The Beatles and "Hair, There and Everywhere," we note the expected passing of fake-hair fancier Mr. Daniels (unknown in America, of course).

As Zevon sang it, "some get the awful, awful diseases," and it's hard to imagine getting one that's also a death sentence. The idea is to trick yourself into thinking you might have two months, ten, a year, or two? Neat trick, even for a magician. And what about the loved ones?

It's almost a surreal situation when you, loved one to the terminal patient, have supervised the fatal move to "hospice care." Intellectually, you know you can't do anything more, and you've been told "the idea is just to make the terminal patient comfortable." Yet you're so relieved that the person is going SOMEWHERE, and not six feet under, you're strangely thankful. And you even rationalize that death could be...COULD BE...a long, long time away. It's the only way of getting through the misery.

Zevon was almost embarrassed that his terminal illness dragged on long enough for him to appear on Letterman's show, and make a documentary while finishing up a final album. He even lived long enough to see his grandchild born. When he finally died, Letterman and others said, "well, it seemed maybe he'd beat this thing after all." It happened with actress Valerie Harper, still with us, apparently having gotten the wrong diagnosis.

For a brief period of time, Daniels was a competent and entertaining fellow. All he wanted was to amuse people. So, we'll forget the poor decisions, the sequel shows that failed, the kiddie show experiments that were awful, etc. It's easy to forget all of it if you never saw any of it!

Cheers to a guy who (like America's frantic Rip Taylor, probably the same age as Daniels) made fun of toupee wearing. Now he can make people wince by shouting "hair today, gone tomorrow." He might think up a humorous tombstone while he's waiting. Or Tweet some memorable gag that tweeks the nose of Jerk The Reaper.