14. Bobbies, as they’re degradingly called, stopping our only London Palladium show three times in twenty minutes because the crowd kept stampeding over a portable barrier to get at the stage.
15. A girl who absolutely would not remove her fishnets inquiring, after every aberrant act we performed together in her Toronto apartment, some party howling outside the locked bedroom door, if I’d ever done that before. Determined, it seemed, to discovery the one perversity that would prevent her vanishing from my brain the second I was back in the airport.
16. Ivan "the Terrible" Towson, a 32 year-old Geffen legal consultant with a lot of hair and a skinny tie, quitting his day job two days after we told him, backstage at our second Wild Boar gig, sure, what the fuck, he could manage us. This guy with a wife, a two-grand-a-month apartment in Brooklyn, an adopted Chinese baby. Me realizing, Holy shit, I think we’re gonna get famous. This is exactly the type of idiocy that goes on when someone’s gonna get famous.
17. Going alone to a bar in an East-Village Russian restaurant the night after the Devils played Letterman. Getting ripped on Stoli martinis, eventually realizing the stunning black girl at the far end of the bar was staring at me over her date’s shoulder. Me deciding, on fledgling rock-star legs, to get a drink thrown in my face when she went to the women’s room – or a punch thrown in same by beau much sooner – by tonguing the crotch of my index and middle fingers at her. But she just smiling slyly at the gesture.
