I leave my house at about noon to get a haircut at Rudy’s on Sunset. That’s all. I just want a haircut. Somehow, within an hour, I’m sitting down to lunch with Sara and, among others, Jonny Wickersham from Social Distortion, Keith Morris from Black Flag and The Circle Jerks, and bassist Flea from Red Hot Chili Peppers.

I am NOT prepared for this. And though they are all very nice, very cordial, very entertaining, I feel desperately out of place. My already crippled ego gets up and leaves the table. I want to follow it out the door, but I hang in there, manage to make small talk and hope deperately for a chance to do this some other time, when I don’t feel like I’ve got soggy toast for brains.

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