Please enjoy Roger McGuinn, Neil Young, Tom Petty, George Harrison, Tom Petty, Eric Clapton, and Bob Dylan.
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Showing posts with label Bob Dylan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bob Dylan. Show all posts
Thursday, February 19, 2015
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
The Hill
It's Getting Dark, Too Dark to See...
It had always been there. In the distance.
We'd paid no attention to it. For years.
But one night, one cold and snowy night, suddenly the only important thing was to go out in the moonlight and climb the hill.
It wasn't that big. It wasn't that steep. It didn't require training. Or oxygen.
But we knew it required effort. And scarves.
So we fortified ourselves. With booze. With warm clothing. With heavy socks.
And we set out. Eight of us. Piled into a car.
And we walked. In silence. In the moonlight.
Up and up and up.
It was deceptive from the distance. From where we lived. From the warmth of houses, schools, offices.
But once we were on the way, we couldn't turn back.
Yes, there was a path. Twisting. Turning. Not as direct as we'd imagined.
And after a very long time we reached the top.
And we passed around the bottle. Looked down on the town. Saw the lights from the houses and the long darknesses of the fields.
None of us spoke for a long time. And then someone said "I guess this is what it looks like."
Yeah. I guess so.
Not at all what we imagined. But somehow beautiful. In its own way.
It had always been there. In the distance.
We'd paid no attention to it. For years.
But one night, one cold and snowy night, suddenly the only important thing was to go out in the moonlight and climb the hill.
It wasn't that big. It wasn't that steep. It didn't require training. Or oxygen.
But we knew it required effort. And scarves.
So we fortified ourselves. With booze. With warm clothing. With heavy socks.
And we set out. Eight of us. Piled into a car.
And we walked. In silence. In the moonlight.
Up and up and up.
It was deceptive from the distance. From where we lived. From the warmth of houses, schools, offices.
But once we were on the way, we couldn't turn back.
Yes, there was a path. Twisting. Turning. Not as direct as we'd imagined.
And after a very long time we reached the top.
And we passed around the bottle. Looked down on the town. Saw the lights from the houses and the long darknesses of the fields.
None of us spoke for a long time. And then someone said "I guess this is what it looks like."
Yeah. I guess so.
Not at all what we imagined. But somehow beautiful. In its own way.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Some are Mathematicians, Some Are Carpenters' Wives
And some order 178 pizzas in the middle of the night...
My hometown is in the news.
And not in a good way.
Bob Dylan performed this weekend at UMASS Amherst and, hours later, someone wearing a backstage pass walked into a pizza parlor in the center of town and ordered 178 pizzas for Dylan and his crew.
At 1:30 in the morning.
The staff of the pizza place (perhaps eager for the reflected glory from a music legend whose best days are decades in the past) agreed to stay late and make the pizzas.
The man with the backstage pass promised to return and said he would leave a huge tip on top of the $3900 for the pizzas.
This raises a lot of questions.
Such as: when did my hometown decide that a pizza should cost $22?
And why would anyone think that Bob Dylan would have a crew large enough (or hungry enough) to eat 178 pizzas in the middle of the night (or first thing in the morning)?
Do they think that Dylan has an entourage that numbers in the hundreds? (If everyone were to have 3 slices, that would mean nearly 500 people. Even if everyone ate half a pie, that's still 356 people. And if the average is only 2 slices, that's more than 700 people. Doesn't anyone do simple math anymore?)
And more importantly, why would anyone start a job like that without getting at least partial payment in advance?
As a friend of mine used to say, that's the problem with college towns -- everyone's really book-smart and totally lacking in common sense.
"It may be pepperoni, or it may be extra cheese, but you're gonna have to serve somebody..."
My hometown is in the news.
And not in a good way.
Bob Dylan performed this weekend at UMASS Amherst and, hours later, someone wearing a backstage pass walked into a pizza parlor in the center of town and ordered 178 pizzas for Dylan and his crew.
At 1:30 in the morning.
The staff of the pizza place (perhaps eager for the reflected glory from a music legend whose best days are decades in the past) agreed to stay late and make the pizzas.
The man with the backstage pass promised to return and said he would leave a huge tip on top of the $3900 for the pizzas.
This raises a lot of questions.
Such as: when did my hometown decide that a pizza should cost $22?
And why would anyone think that Bob Dylan would have a crew large enough (or hungry enough) to eat 178 pizzas in the middle of the night (or first thing in the morning)?
Do they think that Dylan has an entourage that numbers in the hundreds? (If everyone were to have 3 slices, that would mean nearly 500 people. Even if everyone ate half a pie, that's still 356 people. And if the average is only 2 slices, that's more than 700 people. Doesn't anyone do simple math anymore?)
And more importantly, why would anyone start a job like that without getting at least partial payment in advance?
As a friend of mine used to say, that's the problem with college towns -- everyone's really book-smart and totally lacking in common sense.
"It may be pepperoni, or it may be extra cheese, but you're gonna have to serve somebody..."
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