curious too

When someone orders a CD online,

I get an email.

I got this today:

Hey Pete,

Great to hear you and Kristen at the fest.  Thanks for "cover bands"
too,

that was hilarious, glad I didn't miss it.  Hope I get a chance to

check out a whole show sometime.

Shawn (bass maggie speaks)

----------

He ordered one CD,

the one with Cover Bands on it.

I told you they have a good sense of humor.

Now, if only I can get 50 Cent to order a copy.

-p

Curious

We met Maggie Speaks today.

Right after we played Cover Bands Suck Dick.

I've never been able to decide whether to call it
Covers Bands, or Cover Bands Suck Dick.

Either way,
we played it today.

Outside.

While all of Maggie Speaks
was standing right behind me backstage.

I almost didn't have the balls.

In fact, I didn't have the balls.

Bryan Adamick saved me at the last moment.

I almost balked.

It just didn't feel right to play the song.

Things were going well,
positive energy was in the air,
and to tell the truth,
I didn't expect Maggie Speaks
to be standing behind me.

But they were,
and after Bryan's reassurance,
I played the song.

They took it well,
Maggie Speaks,
all with a grain of salt.

They had a good sense of humor,
and they were friendly.

Especially the ethnic one...
...sexy for the ladies.

All in all, it was an unusual,
but interesting,
weekend of shows.

thanks to all the new friends who came out,
and thanks for homebrewed beer and puppies,
and RJ Grunts for being an awesome restaurant,
and the chubby gay men who sell awesome posters,
and the three year old who played the spoons,
and all the people in the mensroom for the finale
of If You Really Love Me.

Except the 14 year old girls,
you guys were creeping me out.

Nothing personal,
it just felt strange to be singing
that song standing so close
to you in the mensroom.

see you next time,

-p

the Pleasure Chest

Friends, Neighbors, families,

Beware....
the sex shop is coming to our neighborhood!

That is the text of a letter
I received today, rubber-banded to
my doorknob like so many Asian menus.

It's not word for word,
but you get the gist.

The people of my community are upset,
and holding a meeting at the local library,
because "The Pleasure Chest" is opening,
right here on Lincoln Avenue.

Spitting distance from my apartment.

Right next to the liquor store that has been there for years.

Right across the street from the "Be-By-Baby"
healthy new-mother shop.

I think it's perfect.

Hip, young, attractive couples can move into
their fancy new condos in Roscoe Village,
pick up a bottle of wine and a dildo,
then shop for Baby Bjorn's and
hemp diapers to deal with their results.

The Pleasure Chest is not a dark-cornered
slut-shop with dripping video booths.

It is a well-lit, couples oriented sex shop,
toys, games, and literature for the desiring mind.

If "Be-By-Baby" can help couples cope
with their offspring, why can't the Pleasure
Chest help to make them?

The meeting is at the library tomorrow night,
I wish so badly that I could attend, but I have
to go play in Indiana. It better be a good fucking show,
cause I have a feeling I'm missing a good fucking meeting.

I have fantasies of showing up with
my 16 inch rubber penis, (the "Rambone")
and making people pass it around as
a talking stick.

Long live the Pleasure Chest.

-p

Revelations

A few days ago,
I missed my chance to be a hero.

I watched a man steal a bike.

Right in front of me,
underneath the Sheridan Redline stop,
in broad daylight.

I was walking home from Jeremy Witteveen's house,

As I approached the train stop,
I saw a homeless man, obviously homeless,
I don't mean to stereotype, but the guy was
fucking homeless.

He had dirty clothes, a few bags,
a cup for change, and a brand new bicycle seat.

Wait... a brand new bicycle seat?

As if the homeless man had commuted
from the suburbs, but didn't want anyone
stealing his Trek 480G Extra-Comfort Bike
seat with special gaps to protect your
testicles from riding wear?

That got my spider-sense tingling.

"...that's not right..."

As I walked past him.
tsk tsk-ing to myself,
I noticed another man,
5'6, latino, unkempt,
eyeing the bikes locked on the rack.

I was suspicious, from the bike seat observation,
I knew there was crime afoot.

I watched him, he eyeballed me.

I wanted to remain somewhat inconspicuous,
so I walked past, and stopped to look at imaginary
fruit in a store window.

I glazed over the make-believe plums and pears,
while watching the man in my periphery.

He glanced both ways,
he looked around,
people walked by,
he looked more closely
at a specific bike,
and backed up again.

I knew he was up to something,
I went inside the store,
reading invisible magazines,
and watching him like a hawk.

And then,
unbelievably,
he produced enormous wire cutters.

I'm talking about wire cutters that could
trim hedges, big hedges.

Big, green hedges made of stainless steel.

He pulled these out in broad daylight,
with passers by a-plenty,
and started hacking at the chain lock.

This was a braided-cord type lock,
diligently threaded through the front
wheel and frame.

He was hacking away,
I couldn't take it.

I walked out,
marched up,
and faced my enemy.

"hey.... are you stealing this bike?"

no reply.

"hey..... hey... you're stealing this bike."

......

"you can't steal this bike!"

"this my bike.. (heavy accent)"

"then why are you cutting the lock off?"

"this.... my bike (almost in a daze)"

Well,
shit.

I thought for sure my bold confrontation
would frighten him away, scurrying like an ewok.

But... he held his ground.

And now I had to battle a man who was
obviously not afraid to break rules,
and who held in his hands wire-cutters that
could slice through time.

shit.

Look!
yonder...
a police car across the street!

"well... hey... I'll see what those police have to say..."
I say to the man.

I walked to the patrol car,
it was empty, of course.

I looked around,
hoping they would appear.

they didn't.

damn cops,
they're always
there when I get caught,
never when I'm trying to save the day.

I walked back,
he was still there,
hacking away at the stubborn lock.

I'll say this about corded locks,
they don't really work, but they make it more
difficult to steal.

I was at a loss,
I went into the station,
I told the CTA employees
there was someone stealing a bike,
out front, for the last 6 minutes.

I don't know if you have ever seen
CTA employees, the ones that sit
in the booths at the stations?

9 out of 10 are heavy set black women
over forty.

Zoom... no one screams onto the scene
like an overweight black woman over forty.

As she walked out to the bike rack,
I shaved twice and read a book,
by the time she reached the thief,
he was gone, and the bike with him.

It was a girl's bike,
so at least he'll look stupid riding it.

I tried, I did something.
I should have felt good.

But I know I didn't do enough.

I should have yelled,

"HEY!!!! this GUY is STEALING THIS BIKE!!!"

Maybe then the Chicago yuppies
walking by would be forced to stop
pretending not to notice the crime
going on right in front of their eyes.

I'll admit, I was a bit scared.

What kind of a guy steals a bike in broad daylight
with 20+ witnesses?

Probably the same guy who cuts your
lips off with 80 gauge wire snips.

----

I live underneath a very different train station.
I park my bike underneath the station every day.

The day after I witnessed the bike theft,
I went to check on my own bicycle.

It was there, safe and sound.

But someone had spit on my bike seat.

It only took me a moment to realize,
God... in his wisdom,
felt it necessary to punish
me for not doing more.

He couldn't have my bike stolen,
because I did make an effort, I tried...
so he hocked a loogie on my bike seat.

And I learned my lesson.

-p

ahh....

What a wonderful day.

I worked very hard in the studio today,
Suburban Highschool is turning out nicely.

I played some drums,
until my right hand started bleeding,
but I kept playing,
because the engineer is very encouraging.

His name is Mike,
he owns Soundscape Studio.

He also works with Sean.

They produce mostly hip-hop,
and Nice Peter.

When they have hip-hop clients in the studio,
they play a live cut of 50 Cent is a Pussy,
during breaks,
all the Hip-hop guys laugh,
I wish I could get a video of that.

Mike has a picture of a session he did
with George Clinton.

He says George Clinton smoked crack
the whole time.

We are working on an album,
I haven't talked too much about it,
because I don't want to get too excited
before its done.

But,
I am getting excited.

I've worked
on new albums before.

Every month,
I pay $230,
towards a loan I took out,
to pay for a studio session,
that I never used.

I used the session,
but not the tracks that came out,
it just didn't work,
and I'm picky about my recordings.

very picky.

Its funny to me,
because live,
anything goes,
drunk people come up
and play tambourine,
and I make up words
and fuck up chords,
but in the studio,
I get very precise.

It has to be just so.

I've had a new album
on my mind for....
probably three years now.

This will be my first "real"
album, done somewhere
other than my bedroom,
and I am very excited.

But I won't get too excited yet.

The Train Wreck gig is confirmed,
we are opening for Kyle from Tenacious D
in his other band, called Train Wreck.

It's on August 10.

On August 11 we open for the Gin Blossoms.

Quite a weekend.

Tonight,
I am going to smoke
my neighbor's bong,
to celebrate my good recording session.

Hey....
at least it's not crack.

-p

Chuck Norris Controversy

I got this email the other day,
I thought it was interesting enough
to share with you:

Hey Nice Peter,
I have been recently turned on to your music. I dig it. I especially
love the fact that you hate GW and ain't afraid to say it......or
actually sing it. One thing I wanted to point out regarding Chuck
Norris (which makes me glad that Miyagi beat the shit outta Norris at
the end of the song) is that Norris is a hardcore, fundamentalist,
conservative, gay-bashing, right wing republican, piece of shit. I saw
him doing some info-mmercial with his fake blond, fake tits,
missionary-style-only, bitch of a wife on Pat Robertson's fucked up
cable channel recently as I was flipping thru the channels. I was so
angry I bet I coulda even kicked his ass at that point, and I'm a
scrawny kid from the midwest. Anyway, just had to vent. I know I'm
preaching to the choir, but it's cathartic as hell. (I put that big
"cathartic" thing in there just to prove I'm smarter than that asshole,
shirt stealing, SOB who used "apex" to seem like he actually had a
shred of intelligence)....

Cheers.

-Doug M.

This won't hurt a bit.

Golly.

Sometimes music is the
weirdest business in the world.

I love you, Chicago brethren,
and it was probably my fault,
we scheduled our "big" show
on Memorial Day weekend.

I underestimated how many
people would go out of town,
or otherwise not be interested
in coming to a show.

Or perhaps, it was my mistake
to book another gig at the Cubby Bear.

It's hard to figure out,
I know a lot of people hate that place,
but they treat us very well,
and people came out in record
numbers for our last show.

Literally, we set the record
for attendance of original
local music.

At least that's what they told me.

So for this past show,
May 27, I poured my balls into it.

We handed out 800 CDs with tickets inside,
I put up more posters than I have ever put up before.

We held off playing shows,
we put all our eggs in one basket,
and then,
we dropped the basket.

We had less than half
of the attendance of last time.

Those of you who did come,
thank you very much
from the bottom of my heart.

Those who couldn't make it,
I'm sorry to schedule it on
such a dumb weekend,

All the others, it's cool,
you've been there before,
and hopefully you'll come out again.

I spent the next 4 days
depressed, with raw egg
all over me (from the basket),
in a haze of pot smoke,
which of course makes
me more depressed.

I was hoping the next show would
bring me out of the funk,
we played in Grand Rapids,
cool place, cool people,
but, it was the Wednesday after
Memorial Day, slim pickins.

It was the bartender at the end
of the night that really cheered me up.

He was just nice,
he made me feel important.

He came up and asked us if
we needed anything at all.

I ordered a good beer,
sat down, and talked to him.

He said some nice things,
and smart things,
and it all made me feel better.

That's how it starts,
one little thing to push you
back to positive.

Then,
I get a call from Mike,
he works for a bar in Columbus,
he got me the Blues Traveller gig.

Now he wants us to open
for the Gin Blossoms on August 11.

Not bad.

Then,
I sell two CDs online,
always cool, extra money
to spend on online poker.

Next up,
an email from our old friend,
Matt Donehoo, one time drummer.

He is putting in a good word for
me with the booker at Martyrs in Chicago.

See, Pops had the idea to try to open
for TrainWreck, that's Kyle from Tenacious D's
side project band, not a bad idea.

So, then I get an email from Bryan,
he does my booking, looks like the
TrainWreck gig is on, not a sure thing yet,
but they are interested.

That's how it happens,
you get low, you get high,
you get pushed around a bit,
and when you feel down,
you get nice people, friends,
fans, and bartenders, to remind you
that it's all going to be cool.

Happy Friday-after-Memorial Day.

-p