It's hard to play with a bagpipe player. It's like an exotic bird. I love the sound, it's like strangling a goose.

It seems a stray bullet actually pierced the testicle of a Union soldier and lodged itself in the ovaries of a woman standing approximately 100 ft. away. She's alright, the baby's doing fine...ofcourse the soldier's a little pissed off.

On my gravestone, I want it to say, "I told you I was sick."

The things you absorb you will ultimately secrete. It's all out there and available for you to enjoy...and be nourished by.

Living with kids is like living with a bunch of drunks. You know you really have to be on your toes all the time. Things are falling over and breaking and spilling. If you live on the second story, you really have to keep the windows shut all the time.

That for me is more important than anything when you're in the studio - to have somebody you can trust and who knows you, knows who you are and doesn't let you get away with anything.

Well, they'll bark you down like carneys, sell you Christmas cards in June.