The wife just came in singing I’m Eighteen. Said they were playing it at Trader Joes and she, perhaps touched a bit by the long walk in the heat, had sung it aloud to the delight of the crew. Wish I’d seen that. As she wandered off into the kitchen a moment ago chanting like it, love it, like it, love it, it occurred to me that when that song was released in 1970, anyone eighteen then is sixty four now, bringing to mind one of the most unlistenable of all Beatles songs. I’ll spare myself that. Instead here’s I’m Eighteen, which all you sixty four year olds can sing along to as you chase real eighteen year olds off the lawn.