This has been discussed ad nauseum in numerous biographies of The Beatles, but John Lennon was the least "working-class" of The Beatles. Only Ringo Starr, who grew up in an impoverished area of Liverpool, was deemed as working-class by Lennon, McCartney, and Harrison. Harrison's household was a bit nicer, as was McCartney's, but it was Lennon's upbringing by his strict Aunt Mimi that was truly middle-class in regards to the comforts of home.

You can check out this link to Lennon's childhood home at the National Trust website:

http://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/main/w-vh/w-visits/w-findaplace/w-mendips/w-mendips-house.htm

As a 42-year-old breast cancer survivor (lumpectomy/chemotherapy/radiation) of nearly a year (and hopefully, many more years to come!), I could relate to LW's rant. People do say the most ridiculous things, yes, because they love you, but also because people just don't know how to handle the fact that you (and one day they) will die. It is truly the ultimate elephant in the room that no one wants to think about and/or discuss. News flash: Having a fighting spirit or being cheerful does not ward off life-threatening illnesses. This really is just magical thinking. I consider myself to be the ultimate optimist/good time girl, but that didn't stop me from developing breast cancer--there are cemeteries full of people who had a fighting spirit and were cheerful. The dumbest thing I heard was when my husband told his physician about my illness after I had completed all of my treatment, the physician replied "if she doesn't think it will come back it won't." Oh please. The bottom line is that we can't control what happens to us in life, but we can control how we handle it.

It doesn't matter LW how you look, what bands you listen to, if your job is creative enough, if your boyfriend is cool, etc. The only thing that matters in this lifetime is whether you are a good person who treats people with lovingkindness, and believe me, that's not measured by whether you listen to Arcade Fire (or whoever the hell the hip band is this week).

Tina Schrier's letter got it right on the money. To emulate the physical appearances of celebrities is a futile act since these women are a creation of plastic surgery, good lighting/exaggerated posing, Botox, and ridiculous pains to starve themselves to scary lengths so they will photograph properly.

My late father was an art director/scenic designer who would occasionally work on fashion shows. Whenever he would comment on the "beautiful" models he would see running around naked backstage all he would say was "they are all just walking clothes hangers." Watch an episode of "Project Runway" when the models strip if you want to see how true that is.

As for worrying about getting older--please, getting older rocks! Nearly three years ago right before my 42nd birthday I received a breast cancer diagnosis, and went through lumpectomy/chemo/radiation. Needless to say, I now get up ever morning and say "thank you" and when my birthday rolls around I do the jitterbug. Life is too groovy to worry about your neck sagging or crow's feet!

...and this stupid article is the reason why.

...and this stupid article is the reason why,