I don’t get my father. One minute he’s walking out of one of the most famous rock n’ roll concerts of all-time; the next, he’s appearing in a Martin Scorsese movie. No, you didn’t read that wrong: my dad makes a cameo appearance in No Direction Home, Scorsese’s documentary about Bob Dylan. I’ll be sure to write a complete breakdown when I finally see this for myself; in the meantime, I’ll be too busy dragging my jaw from off the floor. (By the way, my dad walked out of Dylan’s legendary 1966 Manchester concert–“Judas!” etc. Only my dad.)
How DOES it Feel?