Macca tickets and "Yellow Submarine"

It's 7 a.m. and I've already had breakfast. This happens rarely - I once resolved never to get up before 7, because then I'm groggy all day. But this morning, after a solid 6 hour sleep, I was wide awake. If only I usually slept that way, I'd accomplish a great deal more with my life. Instead I'm awake at 4 for an hour or two, making lists - of my faults and failures, of things to do, sometimes useful lists, sometimes very much not. But when I get a solid chunk of sleep, I can do anything with the day that follows.

Yesterday's adventure was trying to get tickets for the Macca concert in Montreal in September - this time not just for me, but also for my bestie Lynn who by coincidence will be in Montreal then, leaving for home in France the next day. They've put through a complicated system to avoid scalpers, but I thought I was ready: I had to register as a genuine fan, then they emailed that they'd send a code to enter when the tickets went on sale at exactly 1 p.m. on Tuesday. I had a Fringe theatre ticket for 1 p.m., but so much for that; if you want good seats, you have to be online the instant they go on sale.

So at 1, I was waiting, trembling, for my code. No code. Kept refreshing my email - nothing. Finally I wrote to Anne, the Macca lunatic who follows him around the world, who wrote back cheerfully that she'd already bought the most expensive seats for Quebec, Winnipeg and Edmonton (at an average cost of $1500 each, plus plane fare and hotel. I am the thriftiest person on earth by comparison.) "They texted me my code early this morning," she said.

Ah. The word is texted. The code was on my phone! So then began the rigamarole of getting through another complex system - identifying road signs to make sure you're not a bot. I'm not very dextrous on my phone so finally figured out how to transfer the code to the computer. By the time I did that, it was 1.40 and almost all the sections were sold out. I managed to get seats, way at the back, but seats. Exhausted. But Lynn and I will go and see him together. And then I booked a B&B close by in downtown Montreal. So we'll spend the day being flâneuses in Montreal, seeing the concert, walking home. What fun.

In similar mode, Monday I was sitting at home at 6.40 p.m., braless in my sundress in the extreme heat, clicking on movie times, when I saw that the remastered version of "Yellow Submarine," which I first saw 50 years ago in the summer of 1968, would only be on nearby till Thursday, and the other days I could not go, it had to be right then, Monday at 7. I got dressed, hopped on my bike, and was sitting in the theatre 20 minutes later as the ads for previews began. And what fun the film is - a real stoner trip, incredible colours, funny, clever word play, and of course music. I remembered favourite lines from the Blue Meanies: "Funny, you don't look blue-ish."

Chief Meanie: Ah, the hills are alive... 

Max: [sings] ... with the sound of music! 

Chief Meanie: [Punches Max] Who did it? Who is responsible for this? 

Max: Rimsky-Korsakov? 

[Chief Meanie shoots him, Blue Menial #3 stomps him into ground]

Max: [Poking his head up from ground] Guy Lombardo? 

The Chief Meanie says, "Max, it's no longer a blue world. Where can we go?"
Max: "Argentina?"

I was going to take Eli, but it's not right for a 6-year old. He needs some Beatles indoctrination first. Though he knows I'm the proud owner of an actual yellow submarine.

And now, as the clusters of mauve phlox scent the kitchen through the open back door, it's 7.45 a.m., and this industrious early riser is off to work.