Two short notes:

1) Bob Dylan is on another level.

Good lord. That interview with “60 Minutes” last night was…intense. For a man who’s not comfortable the mantle of genius, he sure goes about trying to shed it the wrong way.

Ed Bradley: “I read that you wrote ‘The Times They Are A-Changin” in ten minutes…is that true?”
Bob Dylan: [five seconds of intense silence]: “Probably.”
Bradley: “You’re not sure?”
Dylan: [another five seconds of intense silence] “No.”

So, you don’t remember writing one of the most important songs of all-time? I can remember what I had for dessert on March 12, 1996, and you can’t remember writing “The Times They Are A-Changin”? WTF?

When Bradley brings up Dylan’s importance as the voice of a generation:

Dylan: “My stuff were songs, you know? They weren’t sermons. If you examine the songs, I don’t believe you’re gonna find anything in there that says that I’m a spokesman for anybody or anything really.”
Bradley: “But they saw it.”
Dylan: “They must not have heard the songs.”
Bradley: “It’s ironic, that the way that people viewed you was just the polar opposite of the way you viewed yourself.”
Dylan: “Isn’t that something.”

Later, when asked by Bradley why he still performs, Dylan said, “It goes back to that destiny thing. I mean, I made a bargain with it, you know, long time ago. And I’m holding up my end” inferring that he made a deal with god (or God or G-d or whatever Dylan’s flavor of the week is) so that he could be “Bob Dylan.”

Intense indeed.

Bob, if you don’t want people to think you’re a genius and a prophet, give TV interviews more than once every 19 years. Also, when being interviewed, don’t speak so slowly and intensely, so intensely that it seems that you’re operating on another plane from the rest of us.

If you want people to stop thinking you’re a genius, start playing covers of Britney Spears songs. Tell everyone how much you love hot dogs. Use the word “crap” in every sentence. When you eat, smear shit all over your face. This is how you get people to think you’re an idiot. Trust me – it’s worked for me for the past 25 years.

2) E-A-G-L-E-S EAGLES!

If the Philadelphia Eagles don’t make it to the Super Bowl, I’m not going to make it out alive. I can not stress how serious I am about this. There has been much heartbreak in the past, but after manhandling arguably the second best team in the conference yesterday, the Eagles look better than ever.

You know what? I have to stop writing about this, because I don’t want to be responsible for any sort of jinxing. But hear me now – it will be very bad news if the Eagles don’t at least make it to the Super Bowl.

(Ok, seriously, I’m stopping talking about this right now. This post is over. Done. See you later.)

Hello,

Though I spent most of the night staring lasciviously at you, I don’t think we ever properly met. Actually, I know we didn’t properly meet, because if we did so, it would have been the greatest moment of my otherwise wasted life. My name is Jason Mulgrew, and I want to make you my wife so I can touch you all over.

When I first walked into the bar on that Friday evening, I did not think I would fall in love. No, my main focus was getting as many pitchers of beer into my body as humanly possibly, so that I could end the night in a haze, eating some delicious pizza and perhaps throwing a Snapple bottle at a taxi cab. I also wasn’t feeling too well because I had a nasty case of the runs at work that almost caused a major disaster on the subway ride home.

But then I saw you, and I knew that I would never be the same for as long as I live. I promised right then and there to love you until the day I die, or until I see a hotter girl. To use the word “striking” to describe the way you looked in your little black dress does not do you any justice, so I am forced to create a more fitting adjective to describe how great you looked by combining a number of words that all mean “attractive”: foxagorgeohot. You looked absolutely foxagorgeohot on Friday night. So, so foxagorgeohot.

To be honest, you are the perfect woman. Sure, we didn’t speak, and for all I know you could have knifed someone to death later that very night, but I am willing to look past any imperfections you may have, no matter how severe, because you are just that hot.

I am enchanted by your ethnicity. Your half-Asian side appeals to my unquenchable Asian fetish, but at the same time you are not so Asian that you’d be friends with a bunch of nerdy guys who are awesome at math and econ. Your half-Euro side gave you those green eyes and, more importantly, breasts so bounteous and a waist so small that it looks as though your body was drawn up by one of those geeky comic book guys.

And if I’m not mistaken, I feel like you felt a little something for me too. I’m not sure if it was the first time or the twelfth time you caught me looking at your ample cleavage, but when our eyes locked, I felt a twinge deep in my heart. The next day I learned after an EKG at St. Vincent’s that this was the beginning of a mild heart attack, but medical science be damned – this boy knows love when he feels it, and he feels it when he looks down your shirt (or at your heinie).

The climax of the evening for me was our slight but enchanting interaction. I was making my way over the bathroom, and noticed you in my path standing and talking to some bar patrons. As I came closer to you, I pulled out my cell phone, and (this is embarrassing) pretended to talk to someone on it. I stopped just behind you, and spoke loudly and at length about my job and my upcoming bonus, and how I think it would be extremely large. I then shouted about how I would be donating most of my bonus to charity, because as I had just signed a mega book/music/movie deal, I would not need this money, and would like to help out starving children all over the world. You appeared to become annoyed and said “Asshole” before walking away, but I want to let you know that I’m down with the game, and if you want to play hard to get, that’s fine.

One thing I wasn’t able to mention on my fake cell phone conversation was that, well, I’m kind of famous. I don’t know if you’re familiar with the internet, but long story short I have this thing called a “blog” which thousands and millions (and possibly even billions) of people read. I’m not sure if you’re the type of girl who thinks it’s important for her man to be a household name, but if you are, well, you’re in luck.

So I ask you to think about where you are in your life and consider choosing me as a life partner. I have a promise ring on hand that I can give you immediately, which will serve as a symbol of your commitment to me and my testicles until a more proper ring can be acquired. In the meantime, I will continue masturbating to the fantasy I have constructed in which you dance all sultry-like for me as I smoke pot and eat rice pudding while Cream’s “Strange Brew” plays in the background. After I am finished the rice pudding (this takes a while, because there is a lot), I put down my J and put on the “Dirty Dancing” soundtrack and we make love all night long, or at least for four minutes until I fall asleep because I am tired from all that eating.

I look forward to your reply. Please say yes, or, well, I don’t think we need to get into that now.

Love eternally,
Did you come here to play Jesus,
To the lepers in your head,
Time held me green and dying,
Though I sang in my chains like the sea,
I am,

Jason MJPAE Mulgrew, BA, MA (candidate)