Most of the people who call me a sellout were 7 when I was down face-first in the punk trenches.

For me, returning to Los Angeles annihilates the memories of where I have just been with an astonishing speed.

As you do with any band you're in, you get to know everyone too well all too soon. When you're crammed into a small space, proximity leads to familiarity.

The perpetrators of the actual bad stuff that does real and lasting harm to people, like leakage of industrial chemicals into water systems, seem to get not so much as a second glance; the bloviation from media pundits and think tanks creates false problems that waste time and energy debunking.

I was in Pakistan in Islamabad when Bhutto was assassinated, and the next day, you know, there's just plumes of smoke everywhere. I mean, Islamabad is on fire.

More and more, journalism seems to have hopped out of Truth's pocket and crept into another.

No child asks to get born, so when they are here, they should be shielded from any possible horror.