Dylan Drama

Ok people, you really need to be more boring.  I have this big long list of things I want to write about but you kids keep distracting me with your links, and your videos, and your Edward panties….SHEESH!  (No Lydia, I really can’t write more than one a day.  REALLY!)

For example, I was plugging away yesterday minding my own business (or getting my daily dose of stalker joy on Facebook and Twitter) when Nina Simone’s crooning was interrupted by the BRRINGG alerting me a Instant Messenger window was about to fill my screen.

Mindy: hi!!!!
Bugginword
: hi pookie!

Surprise!  It was the first friend I made after moving from North Carolina to New York City.  (Unless you count that wiry old black man that always bought me a beer at the bar around the corner.  I don’t.  He wasn’t very dependable.  What with all the coke dealing and arrest avoiding, I could never really count on him being there.)

Mindy and I met in grad school.  She was my very first Jewish friend.  For reals!  We don’t get a whole mess of Jews down in the Bible Belt.  She was very patient with my religious ignorance and gently educated me after I wished her a “Happy Yom Kippur.”  Ah well, my intentions were good I assure you.  She convinced me to buy my first cell phone.  She landed me the gig at the booking agency where I’d field calls from Jimmy while simultaneously helping my boss download his porn.  (Have I thanked you enough for that one yet, Mindy?)  Later we ended up interning at Columbia Records simultaneously, but in different departments.   Both of our internships led to full time positions – me down with the Sales peeps and her up in Publicity land.

I spent many hours cowering under her desk in frustration.  Publicity always had all the good treats – candy, popcorn, wine – unlike us number crunchers two flights below with our bags of pretzels and granola bars.  When my day had been particularly tough, I could always crawl under her desk, steal a bag of Oreos, and pour my heart out to Mindy with only minimal interruptions as she tapped her headset and answered “Sally Copper’s office.”

By the by, it’s hard to get a good cry on with Will Smith leaning his huge tall self in half to peer down at you cowering on the floor.  He never said a word, just hovered above me with a bemused look on his face.  Between sniffles I muttered, “I do work.  Really.  Besides your record doesn’t drop for another month.”  I tell you, that big wide grin is even more dazzling in person.  Come to think of it, screw Mindy – I would have been way better off with Will Smith to console me.

Where was I?  Oh yes, surprise IM from Mindy…

She’s always had a soft spot for Bob Dylan.  He was one of her first projects back in the Sony days.  I still remember Mindy calling me from JFK to cancel our lunch plans because she had to hand deliver a pile of 8×10 glossy head shots to Dylan on the other side of the country for an event later that day.  No sir, I’ve got no idea why the record labels aren’t doing well.  Not a one.

Mindy: have u seen this yet?  (Dylan’s xmas video?)
Mindy: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JLZ8LPIh4Xc&feature=player_embedded
Bugginword: firing it up
Bugginword: oh dear god
Mindy: omg
Mindy: i don’t know really what to say

Go watch it, Interwebz.  Seriously.  I’ll wait.  You’re probably going to want to watch that again just to make sure it really happened.  I’m on my seventeenth viewing and I’m still pinching myself and looking for hidden cameras.

Bob.  Really.  Wow.

Zydeco, that’s interesting but I can dig it.  The accordion guy is cheesy but it’s a Christmas song so I’ll let it roll.  But what’s with the creepy guy in the wig and top hat lip syncing along with the music?  Shit, wait…is that BOB?!  No, it can’t be.  It must be Tom Petty on the verge of death and making a cameo in the video.  Holy God I have to watch that again.

It IS Bob!!  Must be Santa my ass…the lyrics should be “must be Dylan.”  It’s creepy how that weird mange keeps popping up wherever the camera turns.  Perhaps he watched Labyrinth one too many times and wanted to do an homage to David Bowie.  The years have not been kind, Tiger.  Ditch the wig, I beg of you.  It’s just plain weird.

Ok, now that I’ve watched the video almost as many times as I have Twilight, I have to admit I’m digging the song.  My toe is tapping even as my maw continues to gape.  Damn you Bob, you and your catchy beat, too!

I just don’t understand what’s happening here.  The whole situation makes my chemo brain scream in confusion.  What on earth brought this strange group of people together for a party?  Is that a book he’ s reading or just a prop so he can remember the lyrics?  Did he set the rug on fire?  Are those white pants after Labor Day?  Was that a random shout out to former presidents?  What’s with the bad trip guy smashing all the glasses in the house?  Did they use the same stunt guy to jump out the window AND Bob’s dancing scenes?  Is that Hoda Kotb singing along in the white dress?  Inquiring minds want to know!!

It’s the shots of Bob that make me the most uncomfortable.  It feels a little like watching deleted scenes from Weekend and Bernie’s.  I actually find myself cringing and waiting for him to break a hip or something.

How many times can we cut to Bob gesturing like the Pope from atop of those stairs?  I think I’ve found a new drinking game!  Maybe the video will make more sense to me after I’ve played a few rounds of “Must Be Dylan.”


Was that good for you, too? Then click here and follow my Facebook page. Or even better, join the mailing list. Free pony with every subscription. Probably.

One thought on “Dylan Drama

  1. Edward panties are always distracting. Which reminds me…can you help me download some vampire porn?
    😉
    Thanks for your sugar in my Pajamas and Coffee today.
    Come back again soon!
    (P.S. Are we the only ones we know successfully making it thru NaBloJoMoHo? Congrats to us in advance- unlessss, crap, I jinxed us.)
    .-= marymac´s last blog ..Once Upon A Crappy Christmas =-.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.