Robert Zimmerman + Me = One Absurd Evening

I've been overdue for an absurd event. While last year was filled with absurd evenings (including the infamous Billy Gilman concert, among others), 2006 has been relatively tame, at least in terms of the absurd. Thursday night brought that to an end, as I attended a Bob Dylan concert. Yes, that Bob Dylan. Me. At a Bob Dylan concert. The concept alone borders on the absurd.

Anyway... I had been invited to the concert by the local arts/music/alternative newspaper. Along with a pair of tickets, the paper's offer included an invitation to their before-the-concert party in one of the stadium's private suites.

I had been ambivalent about attending, but a friend of mine turned out to be a big Bob Dylan fan, and so I accepted the invitation so that he could join me. At least I could anticipate an absurd evening... couldn't I?

The evening didn't disappoint. The night was perfect for an outdoor concert, and I must admit that finding myself on the field of McCoy Stadium was kind of a thrill (we had bypassed the stadium seats to head for the field and the private suites). Amazingly enough, there were several people at the concert that I knew; almost immediately upon walking out onto the field upon our arrival at the show, I began to hear people calling my name from the stadium seats. Who would've thought? Actually, my first thought was: WHY are they HERE?????

The absurdity started shortly thereafter. As we approached the private-suite area, I immediately heard my name being screamed by a former acquaintance... who happened to be drunk out of her mind and donning some brightly-colored apparel. Ah, she hadn't changed a bit... and that's not a good thing. Shortly thereafter, a large, burly man, a man with whom I've done business in the past, decided that he and I were now the best of friends, and he proceeded to give me an enveloping bear hug. The hug was so consuming that I think that I lost my breath (and possibly consciousness) for a second. From there it was off to some never-ending dialogue with an old acquaintance (a local media personality and newspaper columnist with whom I had once appeared as a guest on a television show)... I say "never-ending" because this man can TALK. NON-STOP talk. This guy's a BIG Bob Dylan fan... and as soon as he caught a hint that my friend was also a Dylan fan, he launched into his "history of Dylan and music in general" mode... a mode of non-stop stories which continued even after Bob Dylan took the stage. My friend had become unexpectedly (and unwantedly) stuck in the position of having to listen to this seemingly-endless stream of stories... while I got to sit back and laugh at the entire situation.

As for Mr. Dylan (born Robert Zimmerman) himself... his voice was just as bad as I had expected it to be. At times it was excruciatingly bad. Surprisingly enough, his band was pretty good... but his voice.... oh, that VOICE. It might be worse than even the voice of William Hung himself. Yes, he's that painfully bad.

But the crowd loved him, and I loved the crowd (take it from me: not all hippies have aged well). It was nice to be back among the absurd.

Now... if I can just get my hands on a pair of tickets to that upcoming Australian Bee Gees show at the Stadium Theatre next month...