The Church of BOB
Today is Bob Dylan's birthday. He's 65 years old. That means if he had a real job, the powers that be would make him retire. Instead, he's still rocking.
He's made a couple of concessions to age and a bad back, I hear. Instead of standing around wanging on his guitar, he now hunkers over his keyboard. Frankly, since I play neither, I don't see that there's much difference in the backstrain between the two.
He's still my idol, OK? I skipped this last tour for a couple of reasons:
1. I read the reviews and he was only doing a 14 song set.
2. Tickets started at $65 for the bleacher seats.
3. That made it $4.65 a song, and I don't know about that. I can buy them for 99 cents each on i-tunes.
4. I really, really, really felt I could live my life without seeing Merle Haggard live.
5. Nobody, and I mean NO-FUCKING-BODY will go with me to see The Bob anymore. I've used up all the rock and roll goodwill I ever had with any of my friends and loved ones.
6. It was at a casino... I'm just not ready to start seeing my favorite performers in a casino lounge.
Anyway, this year I actually sent an invitation to dinner to his official Sony web site. I explained that I'm just an old lady myself, and not a stalker (really) but that since the guy's been on tour for what amounts to his whole freakin' life, I thought, just maybe, that he'd like a home-cooked meal once in a while and I'd be happy to provide it.
A little brisket, a little kugel... he's a Nice Jewish Boy, right?
The webmaster didn't have the decency to even answer me. I wasn't kidding, OK? Sheesh.
So, once more, Happy Birthday, Bob, and many, many, many more. And if you're passin' back this way, I'm not that hard to find. You can look me up, if you've got the time.
If you ask him to look you up, oh wise high priestess of the Church of Bob, he’ll look for you in ol’ Honolulu, San Francisco or Ashtabula, indeed. And I’d have gone with you to the Bob concert, no matter where it was. But you’re right—nearly $5 a song is not that good a price.
Our managing editor, a Bob fan poseur (and right-wing rebo nutjob, whose Bob fandom spans only the Jesus years, and of whom one of his employees—who will remain nameless—once stated: “He puts the idiot in “Idiot Wind”), and I just had an argument about Bob’s age. He said 64, but I told him that you would not be wrong about something so important. I won, thanks to your wisdom.
56 & Wabasha