And then, in 1966, time stopped. The End.

You know I'm gonna buy the DVD of a Dylan documentary directed by Scorsese, especially when Dylan goes on camera and on the record (and even looks suspiciously like a human being when he does, inchoate 'tache notwithstanding). And yes, it is glorious, GLORIOUS, especially all that Eat The Document footage reconstituted into something coherent. All the archival footage, all cleaned up and chopped and stacked (or whatever you motorcycle people say) is well worth the $25 or however much I paid yesterday (P.S. I tried 3 indie record stores, then eventually had to go to Barnes and Noble, 2 Barneses and Noble actually, to get that thing; when I go shopping, I want it NOW). HOWEVER: why is it that the record on Dylan only ever goes up to 1966 and then stops? I absolutely think that 66-76, while less zeitgeisty and revolutionary or whatever, are every bit as important for understanding the legacy of self-invention. Even the poor records (John Wesley Harding, Self-Portrait) are necessary components.

In other news, I promised I'd give this job six months. Today is day two of week six. There's no way I'm going to make it.