Word: bobbed
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...even wrote a poem to Bob and published it in my high school literary magazine. The title of the poem was “Muse”—because Bob was my muse, and I mused over Bob. I thought I was quite clever...
...first year at Harvard, I hung a new, life-size poster of Bob above my computer in Matthews hall, and surrounded it with tapestries. Its sheer size scared my roommates. My friend Sadie, whose dad was a Dylan fanatic, had always shied away from her heritage. But at my urging, she realized just how awesome her dad’s obsession was. I saw Dylan two more times in concert—each one less spirited than the previous, each one disappointing to my friends but still fine with me. “Who cares if he?...
...that I had a Dylan quote as my email signature, and he immediately engaged the class in a discussion about whether Dylan lyrics were actually poetry. After class a group of us went to the “artsy” pub in town and kept talking. Once again, Bob had opened a door to new friendships...
...Dylan lovers love Dylan and have stuck with him through his many, many idiosyncrasies and disappointing choices. He’s defiantly himself, and never panders to expectations. When we hear perfect songs coming from his nasal twang, we think that we too can make something beautiful. Bob Dylan does whatever he wants, and he still manages to hold fast to the hearts of fans like us, so much that we spend 25 bucks to see what may well be a mediocre performance—even those of us who have seen him three times already...
...doors of Dylan’s Harvard concert on Sunday, I’m going to forget about all my midterms, and the coldness of impending winter. Instead, I’m going to dance beneath a diamond sky of music with one hand waving free, and thank Bob for letting...