With her fog, her amphetamine and her pearls

I forget sometimes how cool it is to be part of a college campus. I went to a lecture on Bob Dylan and misogyny tonight, given by Christopher Ricks, and it was, quite simply, wonderful. Ricks is so freaking smart, and he analyzes Dylan like he's Keats or TS Eliot or some other extremely worthy poet, which you know I appreciate. He focused on Blonde on Blonde (though the Freewheelin' Bob Dylan is my favorite). Ricks never really answered the question of whether or not Dylan's songs were misogynistic, though I got the feeling he didn't think so. And then I remembered from college that it was the questioning that was important, not the answer. I sat in an auditorium tonight, listening to Dylan and trying to determine whether "Just Like a Woman" was an embarrassment for him. It never even occurred to me that people wouldn't like that song. I always thought of it as it a lament over a woman who had hurt him, and the notion that she "aches just like a woman/but she breaks just like a little girl" seemed more true than anything. (Any time I break, I feel just like a little girl.) It was really nice to just think. I've got to do that more often.