Love At First Listen

I have my sinuses to thank for my first and only conversation with a rock star.  Thank you, messed up sinuses.  Without you, I never would've talked to Jim Messina at the exact moment in my life when I was obsessed, obsessed I tell ya, with Loggins and Messina.  I was in 9th grade and it was love at first listen. "Sittin' In" was the soundtrack of my last year in junior high.  "House at Pooh Corner."  "Danny's Song."  Stop, you're making me nostalgic.   So, naturally, when I went to Dr. Feder, my fancy Ear Nose & Throat doc in Beverly Hills, the man who would one day have the pleasure of removing the SJG's tonsils, and he told me that Jim Messina was one of his patients, I nearly plotzed right then and there.  I still don't know how I pried that out of him.  Did I say, "Hey, doc, any rock star patients with  ear nose & throat issues you want to brag about?" I think he probably volunteered this intel, as doctors are notorious gossips about their famous clients.  Of course, had I bumped into Jim Messina in Dr. Feder's swanky-swank Beverly Hills office I might not have had the courage to talk to him.

(Keep in mind that the pronunciation of the doctor's name is a critical part of this tale.  It's a potato/pa-tato thing.  Fed-er or Fay-der?  I went with Fed-er.)

What I needed was a more inspired setting.  I found it at the Troubadour.  Somehow I coerced my brother John to take me and my friend Kyle to the Troubadour to see Loggins and Messina.  It was 1972. Kyle was my go-to gal for big musical moments.  We saw our first concert together, James Taylor at the Hollywood Bowl.  We saw "Hair" together. Kyle had to be there for my big Jim Messina moment.  We got to the Troubadour early and waited in line.  We sat so close, I could rest my teenage elbow on the stage.  And when Jim Messina came out before the show got going and started fiddling with amps and cords and rock star props, I seized the moment in a shocking way.  I let go of the shyness.  I went for it.  I yelled my love call at Jim Messina and it came out like this: "We have the same doctor!"  He leaned in closer. "What?" "We have the same doctor.  Dr. Fed-er!"  Jim Messina looked at me and said, "Dr. Fay-der?"  "Fed-er!"  We went a few more rounds, as I tried to correct a rock star's pronunciation.  We were at a standstill. That was the extent of the exchange. We called the whole thing off. Oh, well.  He was too old for me, anyway.