DATELINE: Mr. Nobel, Send Cash
We are feeling bad for Klaus Nomi, Johnny Cash, Don McLean, Phil Ochs, Joan Baez, and Peter, Paul, and Mary. They are today’s song-writing losers. We aren’t even thinking Irving Berlin.
Long time poetic roaming troubadour Bob Dylan has now won the Nobel prize for literature. Don’t think twice about it.
We suspect he’s been knock knock knocking on Nobel’s Door for quite some time. We believe his nomination was blowing in the wind and how many roads can a man walk down before he wins?
The answer is no longer blowing in the wind.
Dylan has been on the road to the Nobel prize like a Rolling Stone for decades—since the folk era of the 1950s, which probably means Mick Jagger is next in line.
Dylan is probably ready to leave Desolation Row, wearing his newly designed leopard-skin pillbox hat for the Swedish occasion. We suspect that Dylan’s nomination likely means everybody must get stoned. As for us, we have stayed on Highway 61 of life for decades. We probably need to dust off those old LPs.
We refuse to lay, lady, lay on the highway.
When Dylan wins the Nobel, you know the times are a changing; it may have been his 115th dream. We suspect he never thought twice about it.
When he received the news, he was positively on Fourth Street looking for a rainy day women, numbers 12 and 35.
When told he was the winner, Mr. Dylan said: “It ain’t me, babe; it ain’t me.”
Don’t think twice, Bob. Yes, it’s you, and you’re alright now.