When people ask me if I miss it, I'm quick to make a face. My left eye might scrunch up tight, while the right shoots out like a feathered arrow, raising its brow like an exclamation mark. My nose and lips tighten, become wrinkled. Everything about this face expresses some sort of pain, maybe even disgust. Like I've been slapped, like I've just downed a mouthful of sour milk. Do I miss it? Are you out of your mind? What is there to miss: Late nights?; Heavy gear?; Bad crowds?; No crowd?

"Nah, I don't miss it."

Then why is it that, when I listen to our old songs, chills race all through my body? And more: Why is it that, when I listen to certain albums, something like this new The Good, The Bad & The Queen album, I get all excited and want to shout Damn, this is really f*%#ing great, and a little part of me gets upset, thinking We can f*%#ing do this s*%t, and I suddenly want to feed Dave some beats and play Fuzzy some riffs and buy Pete a beer? And what's with all the cursing?

Next thing you know, I'm asking John Atkinson to burn a copy of the old, lost In Bed sessions, and I'm monitoring the little gang of people on the Myspace page who're asking for "a reunion show."

"Do you think you guys will ever get back together?"

I make a face.