Ringo Starr, 70

Seven times ten. What a perfect way to start this thing.

I was five years old, and Daddy was driving me to the Youngstown Jewish Community Center for preschool in his white Ford Tempo-slash-Taurus. By this time I had begun listening to the radio and watching VH1 with childish vigor, and was now curious to hear the cassettes of music Daddy had made himself which rested in the side pockets of the car. And having some notion of Daddy and Uncle Richard talking about the "Beatles," I picked Rubber Soul-Revolver one day and…I think from "Drive My Car" I was hooked.

But in retrospect, as I realize that Ringo Starr, who was 44 when I was born, is now 70 and thus signifying the aging of so many generations, I can remember the deep, funny, what my older self would call wry voice singing "What Goes On" and "Yellow Submarine." It didn't have much of the romantic passion of John, Paul, and George. It was something a kid could relate to. No wonder they would have him close out The White Album with a gorgeous lullaby…what better contrast was there to John Lennon's eight minutes of random noises and screams?

My Uncle Tom told me once that the secret of life is growing old without growing up. Ringo Starr never grew up. He played Mr. Conductor on TV and a goofy caveman in the movies. He had seven top ten hits in a row before any of the other Beatles, and most of them were the most brilliant and immaculate novelty numbers you could ask for. "You're Sixteen" with Paul on kazoo and Harry Nilsson's vocals. "Oh My My." "No No Song." (Though "It Don't Come Easy" and "Photograph" proved he could do serious pop-rock with the best of them.) He wrote songs about girls losing their hair and the flowerbeds of eight-legged aquatic creatures. And today he talks about peace and love and flashes the "V" with complete sincerity.

He also grew old in the best way…the age of experience. There have been many great drummers, but few knew how to play with metronome precision and still swing as hard as Ringo could, and by all accounts his own (bank) account is sitting pretty.

Plus, he married a Bond Girl, which is cool no matter what the S.O. says.

Ringo Starr, then, is a symbol of what might be accomplished by the ordinary human being who can take a few talents and use them in the right places at the right times. He's goofy, not that good looking, and has almost as many malapropisms as Yogi Berra. But just read all of the above again…he gives hope to the schlubs like me out there.

Happy Birthday, Ringo.

OTHER MAGNIFICENCE

The World Cup final will be a re-enactment of the Eighty Years' War…which the Dutch eventually won.

This morning 97.1 did a spiel about how the synthesizer was one of the keystones of classic rock…and immediately cut to Elton John's grand piano and the opening chords of "Levon."

There should be a natural law against being this humid.

Overheard in Hyde Park, an elderly black man talking to his wife: "Why should I care who the governor of Vermont is?"

And during a busy hour looking at four apartments, I can only inwardly roll my eyes as my gorgeous leasing representative moans how she hates working out and can't do it as much as she wants to.