Dylan
Yesterday, in the "Crap" section, I meant to insult that overrated, no-talent hack Bob Dylan (Robert Zimmerman). Instead, as was pointed out to me only moments ago by the Squirrel King, I wrote "Dylan Haney," the real world name of my buddy Daddy Dylweed. I called the Squirrel King asked me some work we're going to do at the Palace of Auburn Hills and after we got through with that he asked me why I'd put Daddy Dylweed in "Crap." I did not understand. I told him he must be confused, yesterday I put Bob Dylan up there. No, he told me, no I hadn't. I went online and there it was on the Secret Base "Crap - Dylan Haney."

I laughed and laughed and laughed. No doubt, that is the funniest thing I have ever written, and it was an accident. (Or Freudian slip? Deep down, do I loathe Daddy Dylweed?)

So, I have now fixed "Crap" to reflect what I had intended to write and what I thought I had written. Bob Dylan can't sing and his music sucks. Daddy Dylweed has pretty bad taste in music, but at least he loves music, loves music maybe more than I do, and that counts for something. Daddy Dylweed is my friend; I do not think he's crappy. I haven't heard any music he's written in years, and while I doubt it is my cup of tea, it almost certainly isn't crap.

About the mistake, I can only say that it was Friday the 13th? Weird things happen on Friday the 13th?

I can't really think of Bob Dylan without thinking of Daddy Dylweed. This is because his parents have always been inconsistent about whom Dylan was named after. Sometimes they say Bob Dylan. Sometimes they say Dylan Thomas. When I was in NYC recently, we went drinking at the Whitehorse Tavern, purportedly the bar where Dylan Thomas was drinking the night he died. So there I was, in a bar where a poet drank himself to death, seated beneath a poster of said poet, tossing back four Guinnesses, and occasionally thinking of my friend Daddy Dylweed, who is a Mormon and thus doesn't drink. That was an odd, great night.

Crap
Neil Young

H-A-N
Have a blown night.