memories of bob

HOW WAS BOB DYLAN, YOU ASK?

Well...

Before I discuss the actual concert part of the evening, allow me to share some of the details that went into making the whole thing one deliciously memorable experience. Memorable in a completely different way than seeing Dylan for the 1st time 2 summers ago with Salt Spring Grace in Victoria, when Dylan's bass player, Tony Garnier, left us 2nd row tickets and a pair of backstage passes.

This time around our seats weren't quite as good. In fact, we were in row Z—as in Zed, as in Zimmerman. Row Z was, you guessed it, in the very last row of seats at the Costa Mesa Ampitheater.

But, hey, the tickets were free. My brother's ex-wife, Dana, bought the tickets for me and my nephew, Josh. But Josh thought the show was on Wednesday and had committed to a trip to San Francisco with his church youth group on Thursday.

So I got to attend my 1st Dylan concert with my girlfriend, Tamale, who's easily the biggest Dylan fan I've ever known. Consequently, this version of seeing Bob D. was vastly different than it would've been had I gone with my 16-year-old nephew. Not necessarily better. Just different.

Our maiden voyage to Bobville got off to a rocky start. By the time we got in Tamale's Honda SUV it was 4:20 and I-15 was at a near standstill. Not good seeing as how the concert started at 7:00 and we were a good 75 miles of rush hour freeway travel away. Unsure of the quickest route, I called Todd, my salesman brother-in-law, for some navigational wisdom.

"Dude, we just got on the freeway and it's not moving," I told him, forgetting that as of July 1 it was against the law to talk on your cell phone while driving. "What's the quickest route to the Costa Mesa Ampitheater?"

Brother Todd told me what I already knew: the 15 north to the 91 west to the 55 south was my path of least resistance.

"You should be alright. The traffic should clear up after Murietta. But if it doesn't...are you driving?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Well, if you get stuck in traffic, my best advice for you is...get a blowjob."

Fortunately—or unfortunately—the traffic did clear up after Murietta and we stayed in the flow nearly all the way to Costa Mesa. We even had time to stop for gas, where we picked up a pair of Haagen Dazs ice cream bars and enjoyed a slow roll through the gas station car wash. Hey, I'm not too old to thoroughly love cruising through a car wash while eating ice cream.

We arrived at the Orange County Fairgrounds with time to spare, so we indulged in some herbal pre-concert refreshments. Then we picked up our tickets from Will Call without a hitch, despite the fact that my wallet—with my credit card and ID—was lost (or stolen) during last month's trip to San Onofre.

Of course, by now we were hungry. So we strolled through the Fairgrounds, looking for the perfect food options while admiring the various fair and concert goers who were working the purple in their fashion choices. ("Working the purple" has become code for "Working The Secret," a catchphrase hatched during my 13-day road trip to NorCal and Iowa with my friend Eddie Elliott back in May.)

After seeing several people happily chomping on fresh corn on the cob, Tamale and I found the booth selling the stuff. After some "corny" banter with the friendly Hispanic guys riffing on the corn theme behind the counter, we took our hot buttered corn to a nearby table for some salt. It was there that Tamale pointed out another one of those tasty ironies that forever flow in my life.

Sitting next to the salt was a container of something called "Bob's Special Blend." The bottom of the fat bottle read: "13 Spices"

What are the odds?

We're here to see the biggest Bob of them all. A Bob who sings one of my favorite rock 'n roll lines in "It's All Over Now Baby Blue"—

Take what you have gathered from coincidence...

Some guy named Bob sold corn every year at this fair. And every year he brought cases of his "special blend" to sell for $15 bucks a pop to the fairgoers who couldn't get enough of the stuff.

If the spicy seasoning had sucked, the magic of the moment would've been diluted. But Bob's special blend of 13—yes 13—spices was damn tasty.

Once I'd polished off the greatest hot ear of corn I'd ever eaten, we stopped at a lemonade and corn dog stand for the evening's main course. Our order of 2 corn dogs and 2 lemonades came to exactly...$13.00.

Take what you have gathered from coincidence...

In my haste to dive into my mustard drenched dog I lost control of the thing and watched as the deep fried deliciousness fell to the ground in seeming slo-motion. Within seconds several of my fellow corn dog lovers, who saw the whole thing go down, spoke up like a Greek chorus of sympathy.

"Awww. You gotta eat that. It's the 5 second rule."

"Go on. Pick it up. 10 second rule."

These people would not be satisfied until I picked up my fallen corn dog and began eating the thing. If no one had been around, my 1st impulse would've been to pick the corn dog up and dig in. But in mixed company, surrounded by strangers, my heart sank when the dog fell.

Fuuuck, I thought to myself. I'm gonna have to shell out another $3.50 for a new dog.

But these people were having none of this foolishness.

"C'mon! Hurry up and pick the thing up. There's still time."

They would not let it go. These strangers seemed genuinely concerned about me and my damaged dinner. So much for Orange County self-absorption and snobbishness.

So I picked the corn dog up. Smothered any sketchy public pathway debris with even more mustard. Then devoured the tasty corn dog. Guilt free. My 2nd delicous corn product of the evening.

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...

Oh, yeah. We saw Bob Dylan in concert, too.

He opened the show with a rousing rendition of "Rainy Day Women," one of the few Dylan songs I've grown tired of hearing. But not on this night. On this night, especially with Bob D. jamming on the electric guitar, the song was especially gratifying.

But I would not feel so aloooooone. Everybody must get stoned...

Our back row seats were made more than bearable by several factors:

—Dylan playing guitar, something he never did once when I saw him in Canada.

—my friend Jim's pair of binoculars, which gave us a more than decent view of badass Bob in all his iconic glory.

—a perfect summer night (not too hot) with the perfect Bob D. companion. (Tamale wore her favorite Bob D. concert shirt, a dark gray long-sleeve souvenir she bought at her last Dylan show in New Jersey.)

—Bob D. workin' the purple himself, decked out in a purple scarf to match his purple sequin guitar strap. Work it, Bob!

—more corn products, this round a bag of delicious kettle korn that was the perfect concert dessert.

Of course, many of the songs were hard to decipher and identify. But anyone who's seen Dylan in concert knows this is the deal going in. The guy's voice sounded especially gravelly, his vocals reduced to a snarling growl during many of the songs. I guess this is what happens when you smoke and sing your balls off for the better part of 45 years.

Like many fans, I wish Dylan would give us more of what we want—faithful renditions of the songs we know and love. But that's a minor quibble. Especially when the re-worked versions of "Rainy Day Women" and "Blowin' In the Wind" feel like improvements on the originals. (I didn't especially care for the new versions of "Tangled Up In Blue" and "Lay Lady Lay," a tune that brought me to tears when I heard him sing it in Canada.)

That's why the songs from his last album, the critically acclaimed Modern Times, were so satisfying. They sounded as close to the recorded versions as you're ever gonna get at a Dylan concert.

Seeing the old master shake his skinny shoulders and get happy feet at the piano made me smile. You can't help but think: I'm watching a living legend. A slice of history.

A slice of history that won't be around forever.

"My god," I told Tamale as I peered through the binoculars, "he looks like Mr. Burns from The Simpsons."

Savor the man while he's still with us. Thank god he still likes to tour like he's 25. Even if he is sounding more like Tom Waits with each passing year.

The following day Tamale and I went to the 1st screening of The Simpsons movie in Los Feliz, a beautiful follow-up to a near perfect 24 hours. While across the street, a billboard—I kid you not—touted the sweet, succulent joys of fresh corn.

Take what you have gathered from coincidence...

And when I saw Montgomery Burns on the big screen, my face lit up with a big Bob Dylan inspired smile.