You May Call Me Bobby, You May Call Me Zimmy

I am meeting Bob Dylan tonight.

To be completely accurate, there is a slim chance that I may meet Bob Dylan tonight. A very slim chance. I have backstage passes to his show at Convention Hall in Asbury Park, NJ. I do know the drill, there is backstage and then there is backstage. Most of the time a backstage pass gets you in a hallway where for the most part you feel pretty much like you're somewhere you really should not be. If you are lucky, maybe there's a little spread and a free beer or two. The only reason I think that this might be a bit different is that I am going to be there with the president of Hohner - the harmonica company - who is a heck of a lot higher in the pecking order of such things than I am. So that being said, there is a slight chance that I may meet Bob Dylan tonight.

And it's making me lose my mind.

What on earth do you say to Bob Dylan? If the moon and stars do align and this actually happens it's not going to be some deep discussion, most likely just a few words. How do I say anything without saying the same thing that thousands of others have said when they had this rare opportunity? Is that all I should do - just mumble something about it "being an honor" and that "I'm a huge fan" before wetting myself? You have to go for more than that - this is Bob Dylan! You don't climb the mountain seeking the secret of life and ask "where's the restroom." But if you only have one question, what do you ask? I could ask him about the open tuning versions of "Blood On The Tracks" or if the whole motorcycle accident thing was faked. I could ask him what's on his iPod or if he even has an iPod. I could even ask him what exactly did Billy Joe throw off the Tallahatchie Bridge? No matter what he may say, this guy has all the answers.

This is even harder for me as I don't find it easy to talk to people that I haven't spent time with. Never have. I've never asked a girl out in my life and I've been married twice - figure that one out. Famous people? Forget about it.

Last night I finally calmed down about this whole silly thing. If it happens, great. If not, great. I can get through it. Then I called my sister and told her about it and she said, "Oh, you'll probably see Springsteen there."

Kill me now.