Anyway, last night was Bob Dylan, and, put simply, it was terrible. His voice was like gravel, he said nothing to the crowd until the end when he wanted us to give individual applause for each of his zombie-band members, and had arranged his songs so similarly that we could barely tell what he was "singing". But really, I don't care very much. I still cried through the first three songs (sobbing at one point and having to blow my nose into my ever-obliging husband's tshirt), overwhelmed by the fact that it was Bob Dylan a few metres in front of me, the same Bob Dylan who changed people's lives - the same Bob Dylan who inspired Sam Cooke to write A Change Is Gonna Come. When the sobs subsided and we realised we had paid a week's rent and a bit to see Cookie Monster, all we could do was laugh, which we did for the rest of the show and afterwards. We sang along in our best gravelly voices, talked about babies, and went to sleep happy we'd seen Bob Dylan but happier still that even when things suck, we have a good time because we're together.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Honey, I'm Home!
This is just to say I'm back. My hiatus was unplanned; first one of my lovelies was leaving, then another came back, then the former left, and I was very busy drinking, working, and being hungover. Then it was Easter, and Vincent and I flew to Christchurch and then drove with his parents to Dunedin (which was fantastic and I'll tell about later), and I realised not only did I miss blogging but sometimes I narrate what I'm doing as if I'm blogging at the time (I think actually I've always done this but usually by interviewing myself. It sounds funny but it's how I keep my brain entertained when I'm doing something mindless like rearranging storage. Although I have to time my interviews better because last time, I ran out of questions and Vincent had to finish putting everything back).