Almost 50 years ago, I had to fire one of the Beatles. It wasn’t the real Fab Four, of course. We were just some dumb grade-school boys lip-syncing to “Meet the Beatles” and playing air guitar (and drums) in Bruce Larson’s suburban basement.
The other day, when I listed the types of people you’re apt to encounter at Spokane area Super Bowl parties, I overlooked one. It’s this: The Person Who Isn’t Eating or Drinking Anything Because He or She Is Starting a Weight-Loss Regimen on Groundhog Day.
