"I Wanna Be a Dumbcharger"

is one of my favorite Guided by Voices song titles. Don't know why.

I get lots of condolences from my posse at the bfc for not getting into med school. Last night at the funding committee meeting, Scottosaurus showed up slightly inebreated. He's quite open and logical about his motives and reasons that he occasionally wants to numb himself out. In some ways he's perhaps the nerdiest person I have ever met. I love this guy! Last night he told us he was getting drunk so he could sleep. He's not sleeping because of anxiety. He's anxious because the clinic's bookkeeper cadre is disintegrating. The bookkeeping group has always been the vital but weak link in clinic functioning. As funding committee, we are supposed to be concerned and somewhat responsible for remedying this state of affairs. The funding committee at this point is down to 3 active members. And one of us is leaving in the fall. Crisis and more crisis!

Last Friday night was weird. Winston and I went to a Scott Miller show over in south Berkeley/north Oakland (I'm not totally clear on where Berkeley ends and Oakland begins. Nobody really is). The venue turned out to be the top floor of basically a small house. The show was in what would be the living room if the venue was being used as a house and not a performance venue (which it may very well be when no one is performing). So I'm sitting in a folding chair in a living room of a funky house 5 feet away from my favorite musician of all time, listening to him wail away, doing solo versions of songs I have listened to hundreds of times, songs which make up the soundtrack of my inner life. His wife is hanging out in the ajoining (dining) room, watching over their cute little blond haired daughter. After his set, Scott hangs out with the "audience" (which is maybe like 8 or 10 people), watching the other performer (Anton Barbeau, his good bud) and occasionally going up to help with vocals. He's sitting right next to me, sipping a Sierra Nevada. I recognize another member of the Loud Family in the audience. I know who some of these people are from my years as a fan. Weird. I don't really have anything to say to my hero, I put my hand on his back and tell him "nice set." I'm witnessing the trailing off of a Fine Career in alternative pop music. He shoulda been huge, I'm sure he gets told that all the time.

Anyway, we don't stay that much longer, Winston seems uncomfortable, it's clear everybody else there knows each other, we're just unknown oddballs. I don't feel like trying to horn in on any conversations. Wow. Since 1986. Since 1986 I've been using his music as a crutch and a balm. Where does time go?