rip george.

Yesterday marked the 10th anniversary of George Harrison's death.

So, I went up to his star on Vine in front of the Capitol Records building. There was candlelight vigil planned for that evening. There was already one guy at 1 p.m., in a Beatles tee shirt, reading a magazine article about "The Last Days" of Harrison's life.

I recently watched Martin Scorsese's HBO documentary based on Olivia Harrison's book Living in the Material World. I loved it, and I wanted to know more. What really amazed me and what I never realized before was that George was only 27 when the group disbanded. All of their albums were recorded in a mere span of seven years--and well before three of the members turned 30. Like my friend Tori said, "They were a God machine."

Since then, not only have I become obsessed with the Beatles, but with Beatles conspiracy theories. There are A LOT, and they are FASCINATING. I've never been a big conspiracy buff, but I am now. Holy God. From government mind control to the CIA and the MI6 to a Faustian pact with the devil and the occult to the idea that all of their songs were actually written by someone else, these guys were at the center of some crazy shit.

The best controversy is, of course, that Paul is Dead. And has been since 1966. Go ahead and roll your eyes, but spend the day Googling all the forensic evidence to support this theory, and then tell me the guy who goes around singing "Spies Like Us" and the doggone "Girl is Mine" looks a damn thing like the guy who wrote "Help!" and "Eight Days a Week." Because he doesn't, and it's freaking weird.

I have to say that after yesterday, I'm a believer in the Paul is Dead theory. Why? Because George, Ringo and John all have stars on the Walk of Fame right next to each other in front of the Capitol building. And guess who is missing?

I rest my case. I had some really good sushi for lunch, too.

P.S. In light of the recent decade, the theory I find most plausible--and unbearably tragic--is this one.