Tales Of Campus Life — Part 8
Dilemma: dump
Dylan for Denver?
By BRADLEY LEMLEY
Of the Emerald
The situation was almost
perfect. My friends had just
arrived — a dozen of them, just
the right number for my tiny
apartment. The beer was fresh
and cold, the munchies were the
munchiest imaginable, and the
votive candles on the coffee table
gave the scene a warm, intimate
glow. And best of all, the topic of
conversation was already
beginning to swing away from the
ubiquitous marvl-can't believe
this-weather -me-neither- l-got-a
letter-from- mv-oid- girlfriend-in
L.E md-she says- it's-82-down
there-oh -man-and- we’re-stuck
here sort of drivel and toward my
favorite subject; that is, if
Petticoat Junction reruns are
really the harbingers of an
Ultimate Galactic Doom. It
sounds a little off-the-wall, I
know, but a peach of a con
versation could be whipped
around it; I knew, it had hap
pened before.
But as I say, things were
almost perfect. The one blight on
the evening was the music that I
had felt compelled to put on my
stereo.
It was a Bob Dylan album.
I didn’t like Bob Dylan, I never
had liked Bob Dylan, and I figured
that nothing short of surgery
would ever cause me to like Bob
Dylan in the future. But I owned a
Bob Dylan album, and whenever
anyone came over to visit I put it
on and tried to bear it. It was like,
well, like something that one
does. When somebody knocked
on your door, there were certain
things that you were expected to
do; i.e., opening the door, saying
hello, and putting on a Bob Dylan
album. That was just the way it
was, and if anybody didn’t like it
he or she could just hike into the
Tibetan Himalayas and live with
the Sherpas, who, though they
loved Dylan, couldn't play his
albums because there was no
electricity.
But even though it was a social
custom, for some reason my
being forced to play a record that
I hated in my own apartment
really bugged me that night. It
would be so nice, I thought, if I
could play some pretty music,
something nice, something,
relaxing, something that wasn't:
leh teddy I eh, loh acrost muh
jig brayuss beyudd
steh teddy steh, steh what th'
naght eeyuz steel uh-hayudd...
I couldn’t stand it another
minute. Something snapped.
“No more!” I screamed, diving
for the stereo with a keg tap lifted
like a club. I wanted to pound the
record to pieces, but my in
tentions were too obvious, and
some of my burlier guests
plucked me from midair and
pinned me to the wall.
“Great Scott, man, that’s a
Dylan record!” one of them said
incredulously.
Ah lawng tuh see yew in the
mawnin' laight
Ah lawng tuh reach ter yew, in
the naight...
“I know, I know!" I cried. I
threw the tap at the insolent
spinning disc, but my arm was
bumped in a Sipple-esque
manuever and the tap plopped
harmlessly into a bowl of clam
dip.
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Drawing by SandsTrom
“Don’t you people see?' I
gasped. “Hasn’t anybody ever
noticed? Bob Dylan can’t sing! At
his best he sounds like Arlo
Guthrie with pneumonia, and at
his worst he sounds like a cement
mixer truck full of frying pans.
And when he plays the har
monica, it sounds like the truck is
running over a cat.”
This put the fear in them. They
had never heard such heresies
before, and they fell to their
knees, crying and wailing with
one eye fixed on the ceiling in
case it should split open to allow
a bolt of vengeful lightning
through to fry us all on the spot.
( Continued on Page 11)
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ATTENTION
Off-Campus
Students!
Students who live off-campus and
pay their own monthly utility bill
because it is not included in the
rent must make their own
arrangements for starting, and for
stopping their electric service.
Please...
1. Apply for service to be turned on the day
you move in.
2. Stop your electric service the day you move
out.
3. You, personally, are responsible for paying
the bill during the time the electric service
is in your name.
Thank you!
Eugene Water & Electric Board
A Municipally-Owned Utility
Phone 343-1661
Office Hours: 8 a.m.—5:00 p.m.
Monday-Friday