Mr. Zimmerman comes to Hamilton

Hooked up with an old acquaintance Wednesday night in a hockey arena in Hamilton. Bob Dylan rolled into town on his tour bus and delighted, dismayed and confused fans for a couple hours before lamming it for the wilds of Ohio.

It's strange - I'm somebody who's been accused of never listening to anybody and yet I realize I've been listening to Bob Dylan for about 40 years. Yikes. Leonard Cohen called Dylan the greatest lyrical genius of the past 500 years. George Harrison said that a hundred years from now, the only music from our time that will survive is Dylan's. And the guy beside me at the concert, smoking a spliff the size of a fucking cohiba, said - "Yo, Bobby!"

I gotta agree with all of them.

Dylan has been touring constantly for a lot of years now and he blew his voice to pieces about a decade ago. He now sounds like Tom Waits gargling with kerosene. The thing is - the guy is not a good singer. He's a GREAT singer. Listen to Slow Train Coming sometime. Nobody else - not Sinatra, Bennett or Ella Fitzgerald - could sing those songs. His enunciation - which has always been a moveable feast - these days falls somewhere between Buckwheat from the Little Rascals and a punch drunk boxer. If you know the lyrics you're okay. If not, you're screwed. His arrangements are quirky too - one of the great things about seeing Dylan is to listen to the first 30 seconds of a song and ask, "What the fuck is that?" and then go, "Oh, it's Just Like A Woman, which on Wednesday night was sung in Al Pacino's over-the-top actor's staccato. Scent Of A Woman meets Bob from Hibbing.

But that's just Bobby being Bobby. He has always confounded people. There were those there Wednesday night who wanted nothing more in all the world than for Dylan to strap on his old Martin acoustic and trill "Blowing In The Wind" like he did back in the day. But my theory is this - there are certain artists out there, of a certain age, who fear one thing more than any other. And that one thing is becoming a musty, irrelevant golden oldie act.

That ain't never gonna happen with this guy.

CB Open '08

It is my reluctant duty to report on the second annual CB Open, held this Wednesday past at the revered old course at Dunnville, Ontario, along the banks of the rolling Grand River. The tournament - named for a feisty banty rooster who roamed this area last year - is fast becoming the most prestigious 9-hole event in the golfing world.

The course - designed by Tom Dodgson in 1922 - was in reasonably good shape, in spite of the torrential rains which have plagued the area all summer long. As it turned out, the rains also contributed to the outcome of the tournament. The reigning champs - Liz "Tigeress" MacDonald and your humble blogger - both possess golf games that are every bit as detailed and precision-ed as the work of a diamond cutter. The overly wet conditions played havoc with this precision and allowed Sue "The Next One" Vail and Mark "Burrowing Owl" Plug to usurp the champs and steal away the title. It was an unpopular victory, as was evident by the hisses and boos from the grandstands surrounding the old course. Ms. Vail carried the day for the winning squad, playing perhaps her best game of the year. Mr. Plug shot his age over 9 holes, a result that would have made him extremely happy...had it happened in 1992.

All the golfers retired to a private estate on Lake Erie, accompanied by Lori Plug, the tournament's convener. Refreshments were served and many of the world's problems solved. Ms. MacDonald and Mr. Smith were amazingly gracious in defeat - both growing more witty and charming with each libation.

And they both agree - Susie and Marky are going down next year.