CONFESSIONS OF A HIGH FLYING JETT
“I knew Kim Fowley and lived.”
Joan Jett is about an hour late showing up for our interview at the offices of the Howard 'the Ed Sullivan of publicists' Bloom Organization, but after finding out about the day she's been through no further excuses are necessary. Seems she's spent the last few hours being root canaled into submission by some D.D.S. and, as one whose four caps and a bridge can speak volumes on behalf of the wondrous long term effects of pure granulated, I sure can sympathize. (Every time I go to the dentist, I have this terrible tendency to giggle, fantasizing that I'm Jonathan Haze in Little Shop of Horrors and my good pal the doc is Jack Nicholson, the masochistic undertaker; and while we're on the subject, who's bright idea was it to dub it 'root canal therapy' as opposed to simple root canal demolition work?) I am tempted to ask Joan if she thinks hanging around with the former Sex Pistols Steve Jones and Paul Cook might have proven to be contagious, but since she's feeling rotten enough (sorry, I couldn't resist that one)...