What just happened?

I just stopped at a petrol station to feed the hungry diesel belly of Hyman Roth (that’s the name of my Sprinter touring vehicle). At these prices I could have opened up my own franchise of an Olive Garden and fed half of suburbia. I’m actually contractually obligated to mention The Olive Garden at least three times during this interview as they have promised to feed my band for free and provide us with clean underwear and 9 volt batteries and all the napkins and creamy garlic dressing we can handle. Really. (Not really. But that would be cool. No it wouldn’t). Sorry — just having a conversation with myself. Are you still here?

What is your earliest memory?

Shooting out of my Dad’s penis in the backseat of a car into a very warm and safe egg and then nine months later being thrust into this cold cruel world in Halifax, Nova Scotia. The one in Canada. Then I was pretty much drunk and stoned up to the age of four.

I was sleeping
And right in the middle of a good dream
Like all at once I wake up
From something that keeps knockin’ at my brain
Before I go insane I hold my pillow to my head
And spring up in my bed
Screaming out the words I dread:
“I think I love you.”

(“I Think I Love You,” as sung by David Cassidy and The Partridge Family, 1970s)