Maybe it's because the weather outside is frightful, but I've had Bob in my head for the last couple of days.

"Buckets of rain, buckets of tears
Got all these buckets coming out of my ears....

Life is sad, life is a bust,
all you can do, is do what you must
you do what you must do, and you do it well,
I'd do it for you
Honeybaby can't you tell."

Which is, after all, as much as I am willing to do: a little. A very little.

First, big shout out to those of you who signed the guest book. It made me happy. You see, despite what the critics say, it does take so very, very little to make me happy. And if you haven't signed yet, why not?

Next, a big ole happy birthday to Bob Dylan, who turned 62 on Saturday. Bob, what's up with you? You never call, you never write, and after all the years we've been together, if only in my dreams... Bob, you'll be back here in July, don't let a little thing like we've never actually met stop you from coming to dinner this time.

And then, to the lovely folks from Emily's List, I told you if you'd stop calling me to ask for money, I'd give you a link on my personal web site. You said you'd take it. Here it is. Over there. In the blogrolling section, even though you are a leftie-pinko-feminist-liberal organization (just my sort, dontchaknow) and not, to be pedantic about it, strictly speaking, a blog.

And finally, to my cousin Barry, a huge thank you for enabling me, through your connection to the film industry, to have a Bacon rating of 3 degrees of separation.

Last night: TV was on and I was doing a little hand sewing. I hear Bob Dylan's voice and music coming from the TV. I look up. It's an ad for Victoria's Secret.

I shake my head and check the contents of my glass, but no. I am sober and I am straight and that is Bob Dylan being used to advertise women's lingerie. For the past 30 years my friends have ridiculed me for my lewd fantasies involving me and the Bob. Is it possible that someone out there in advertising land thinks that 61-year-old skank is sexy? And sold the concept to a multi-million dollar industry that is, essentially, selling sexual fantasy? Because, let's be honest, Vicky's Secret makes stuff that barely fits and doesn't last. Bob Dylan? Sexual fantasy? To someone other than me?

Frightening. Very, very frightening. Disturbing, even.

Today on the train, I saw a new low in public grooming. A man. Shaving. Not once, but at least three times during the trip, this older gentleman (and I use the term sarcastically) took out an electric shaver and ran it across his face.

Is he obessive-compulsive, that he needed to do this more than once? He looked pretty close-shaven when he got on the train. Does he have Alzheimer's and just forgot that he'd already shaved? Three times?

I gave him the gaze of arched eyebrow and disdain for public grooming. He gave me a cheery smile. I fished for my camera, but he finished before I could get off a shot.

Bob? Dylan? Victoria's Secret salesman?

What a world, what a world.

I am definitely over Paul McCartney's fans. I wrote this little rant about why I find Paul less than my favorite musician, and put it on my web site. I never advertised the rant. People keep finding it by putting Paul + McCartney + Hate into a search engine. If they dig at it long enough they come to my site. And then the fun begins. For them, not for me. I have been called a loser, a pathetic loser, fat, ugly, stupid, a teenager, and a slut and a whore. Actually the same guy called me both a slut and a whore.

I think that they are mutually exclusive, at least theoretically. A slut, is, by definition, someone who will have sex with anybody freely and for free. A whore, on the other hand, is someone who has sex for pay. I think that a whore, in her (or his) time off does not have sex with lots of people for the fun of it. I think that on their days off, whores tend to avoid random sex entirely. Hey, I could be wrong, but I'm just saying.

I have been called a pathetic loser for posting my views on my personal website. I have been accused of desiring attention from Paul's fans. Nothing could be further from the truth. I posted my rant for my own entertainment. It wasn't me who put my address on the official McCartney site. It was a fan.

Why? Why would someone who trolls the official site to wank ad nauseum with other fans care to place my rant there? And then to call me a loser when they are the ones who found me by trolling for Paul + Hate. I may be a loser, but I have never in my on-line life tried a search for Bob + Dylan + Hate. Why would I? Why would I care if I found someone who disliked Dylan. No skin off my nose. (There's a huge Michael Jackson joke just sitting there for anyone who wants it.)

Who are these fans and what pleasure do they derrive from accusing me of such personal failures? And why don't they just shut the fuck up already. Threatening me won't shut me up, nor will it change my opinion. But if you WANT my opinion, spending your time on line to debate with other fans far and wide as to which haircut over the years really made Paul look the cutest; well, THAT's what I call a loser.