I'm going to burst the bubble right off the bat and let you know that this confession is neither that interesting nor that controversial, so if you were looking for some awkward sex story or Dear Penthouse reject letter, this isn't the right place.
As my girls get older and I watch them swoon over Justin Bieber and obsess over what break-up song Taylor Swift is putting out this week, I can't help but look back at my own pre-pubescence and sigh a little.
I was a weird kid. I went through my Paula Abdul/Mariah Carey/Cyndi Lauper stage, but I never liked boy bands and I never was one to fawn over celebrities. I liked music - still do - but even at a young age I understood that I didn't know these people and would probably never meet them, so I didn't obsess. Had I come into contact with any of them, I'm pretty sure I might have asked for an autograph and posed for a picture and moved on.
There was one exception - this guy:
Yes, that is Mr. Bob Dylan.
I told you I was a weird kid.
While my friends were jamming to New Kids on the Block and Tiffany, I was pondering life and existence and adding to my already extensive vocabulary, thanks to Mr. Dylan. Had I met Mr. Dylan in real life, I probably would have crapped all over myself and stuttered embarrassingly until he ordered his body guards to have me removed from his presence and possibly institutionalized (celebrities can do that, right?). I would have lost my mind - and to be honest, I probably still would, minus to crapping part.
I still catch a lot of guff for my Dylan fandom. If you know anything about fans, though, you'll know that no matter how much the rest of the world might hate their object of adoration, they simply cannot conceive why others would hate them.
But Sandra, you're probably thinking, his voice sounds like a cat being drug under a truck. He plays a harmonica, for goodness' sake.
...and in true fan fashion, I reply - but have you heard his music?
If you're shaking your head in offended denial, I feel obliged to tell you that yes, you probably have.
There's a little song called Knockin' On Heaven's Door that was covered by Guns N' Roses (and attempted by Avril Lavigne at some point) - Dylan.
To Make You Feel My Love? - Dylan.
Forever Young? - Dylan.
Plus many, many, many more. This man is so prolific I'd be surprised if he wasn't responsible for 90% of songs written between the 1960's and today.
I have to disclose that my love for Mr. Dylan's music stems to a childhood where the majority of my time was spent with my Dad. My Dad's musical tastes ranged from Scott Joplin to Mozart to Bad Company, and I owe my eccentric taste in music to him. At the center of all this variety, however, was always Bob Dylan. My Dad and I would listen to him while we drew, read, fixed things in the house - I could literally build a timeline of my life with Dylan songs.
On a side note, if they ever make (another) movie about Bob Dylan's life, I nominate this guy:
Right?
If you could meet any celebrity, dead or alive, who would it be?
Follow my blog with BloglovinAs my girls get older and I watch them swoon over Justin Bieber and obsess over what break-up song Taylor Swift is putting out this week, I can't help but look back at my own pre-pubescence and sigh a little.
I was a weird kid. I went through my Paula Abdul/Mariah Carey/Cyndi Lauper stage, but I never liked boy bands and I never was one to fawn over celebrities. I liked music - still do - but even at a young age I understood that I didn't know these people and would probably never meet them, so I didn't obsess. Had I come into contact with any of them, I'm pretty sure I might have asked for an autograph and posed for a picture and moved on.
There was one exception - this guy:
I can't take the way he sings, but I'd love to hear him talk.
Yes, that is Mr. Bob Dylan.
I told you I was a weird kid.
While my friends were jamming to New Kids on the Block and Tiffany, I was pondering life and existence and adding to my already extensive vocabulary, thanks to Mr. Dylan. Had I met Mr. Dylan in real life, I probably would have crapped all over myself and stuttered embarrassingly until he ordered his body guards to have me removed from his presence and possibly institutionalized (celebrities can do that, right?). I would have lost my mind - and to be honest, I probably still would, minus to crapping part.
I still catch a lot of guff for my Dylan fandom. If you know anything about fans, though, you'll know that no matter how much the rest of the world might hate their object of adoration, they simply cannot conceive why others would hate them.
But Sandra, you're probably thinking, his voice sounds like a cat being drug under a truck. He plays a harmonica, for goodness' sake.
...and in true fan fashion, I reply - but have you heard his music?
If you're shaking your head in offended denial, I feel obliged to tell you that yes, you probably have.
There's a little song called Knockin' On Heaven's Door that was covered by Guns N' Roses (and attempted by Avril Lavigne at some point) - Dylan.
To Make You Feel My Love? - Dylan.
Forever Young? - Dylan.
Plus many, many, many more. This man is so prolific I'd be surprised if he wasn't responsible for 90% of songs written between the 1960's and today.
I have to disclose that my love for Mr. Dylan's music stems to a childhood where the majority of my time was spent with my Dad. My Dad's musical tastes ranged from Scott Joplin to Mozart to Bad Company, and I owe my eccentric taste in music to him. At the center of all this variety, however, was always Bob Dylan. My Dad and I would listen to him while we drew, read, fixed things in the house - I could literally build a timeline of my life with Dylan songs.
On a side note, if they ever make (another) movie about Bob Dylan's life, I nominate this guy:
Right?
If you could meet any celebrity, dead or alive, who would it be?
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