The Whoo's

I got an email from an awesome fan
inquiring about all the shitty experiences
I write about on this journal.

He said he hoped that all shows weren't
like that for us, and he said we were special
and deserved better, or something like that.

It got me thinking,
maybe I've been focusing too much on the negative.

Most of our shows are a kick ass good time.

I'll try to keep that in mind,
and keep reminding you.

Our last show was as the Phi Kappa Sigma house,
god I hope I got those letters right.

It was at a technical school in Chicago,
on a dry-week, no booze allowed.

The Phi Kappa Sigmas, or Skulls, as I like to call them,
had the coolest subsitute for booze in a dry situation,
kegs of Root Beer.

Actual kegs.

It was awesome.

It was a fun show,
with a smart audience.

We sold some stuff,
and got a little money,
and made some new fans.

All in all, a positive experience.

Now I'm on tour with Mission Improvable,
my old comedy troup from years past.

I'm taking a couple of days with them to kick back
and have some fun, while Kristen is on a field trip
with her Brazilian dance ensemble.

A very cultural weekend.

Speaking of culture,
"I shaved my balls today" t-shirts
are back in stock, and available online
or at shows.

Good night,
much love,

-pete

the Party Party

Dear friends,
if you haven't already,
please check this guy out:

www.thepartyparty.com

click on the strange colored picture
to watch his new video, "God Made me Do it"

It's fucking incredible.

if you like it,
send him an email,
he digs that kinda shit.

tell him Nice Peter sent you.

thanks,

-p

Sundae

Ah.

The Air and Water Show.

A chance for thousands of
idiots to get together and clog
the expressways with their SUVs
to catch a glimpse of America
whipping out its big military dick.

Delightful.

A young lady named Kelly
asked me last night why
I never write about our
show experiences at Harry's in Arlington Heights.

I didn't know what to tell her.

I think I don't write about Harry's,
because the truth is, I hate it.

I don't hate all the people,
and I certainly don't hate you, Kelly.
But, I do hate a good number of them.

Hate is a strong word,
despise might work better.

Let's break them down,
how about the douchebag who works
there who tells me "you better go help your wife with the equipment
outside"

I think he's referring to Kristen.

"We're not married", I say.

"Oh, why aren't you married yet?"

"I don't know, why aren't YOU married yet?"

Then he has the awesomeness to go outside
and tell Kristen, "He's going to propose to you tonight"

That doesn't even make any sense.
In my book, that's just a douchebag thing to say and do.

And you have to see him and hear him to get the full picture.
He is the kind of guy who will try to tell you about his
life when you're carrying heavy things, and then say things like,
"really half-assed show tonight, Pete"

Great guy.

Or, there's the drunk moron who dropped a chair on my head.
He was insistent on helping me carry gear,
he was obviously drunk, and then him and his friends
decided it would be much better to carry a table
with chairs on it over me while I was loading up a bag,
of course, being drunk, they wobbled, and a chair
fell directly on my head.

Thanks for the help, fellas.

Maybe I despise them because they don't give a fuck,
and it's not their fault, they are just out to drink at a bar.
They didn't buy tickets to see a show, they probably
didn't even want to see a show.

It's my fault, for taking gigs at stupid bars like that.
Bars that want music from 9:30 to 1:30.
That's longer than a fucking movie, you idiots.
Who wants to listen to music that long?

Nobody, so nobody listens.

We bullshit and take big breaks,
and lose the crowd, and nobody pays
attention, and nobody gives a fuck,
and I might as well be playing
Cat Stevens on the hammer dulcimer.

But you know what? It's my fault.

I take the gigs because they pay us
lots of money.

And we need money to keep
playing music and trying to get better gigs.

But, my patience is pretty much done.

I think you saw the last show at Harry's last night.

Do you have any idea how much bullshit
I had to go through to get them to agree to
turn off their fourteen TVs? a lot of bullshit.

They still refused to turn off the TVs behind the bar,
because, and I quote, "of the degenerate gamblers who come in to watch
sports"

Two problems, who the fuck caters to self-professed degenerate gamblers?
Is that your target clientele?

And.... do you remember what was on the TVs behind the bar last night?
I do, because it was blaring in my eyes for 3 hours,
they were showing a Mexican soap opera and the X-games.
I don't know what kind of high-stakes are getting thrown
down on BMX ram jumps, but I'm guessing that's for the true degenerates.

Forgive me for complaining,
I know, and I'll say it again,
its my fault for taking gigs
that I know I hate, because I need the money.

It's one step towards prostitution.

But you ask why I never write about it,
and there are some of the reasons why.

I'd much rather write about the show
at the Delta Sigma Phi house in Normal.

We played outside, under an awning,
to an incredible crowd of awesome, excited,
screaming fans who knew songs, and had fun.
They basically saved the show, because we were
very tired, and hot, and sweaty, and if wasn't for
their energy, we might have bombed.

Compare that to the fucking idiots who
ask me after four original songs, with obvious
comedy undertones, if I know any Beatles.

Or, the wonder-douche who asked me,
"hey... you're in the band... nice... is it cool
if my friend plays a song?"

What the hell are you thinking?

Is it cool if I go into a barbershop
and ask, "hey... you mind if I cut this next guy?"

It was a rough night,
but now I've got fresh
groceries with all the money I made,
so I can sit and listen to the relaxing sounds
of F-16's screeching over my apartment.

-p

Birthday

Ah,
birthdays.

I'm another year older,
and I woke up on my floor.

I treated myself
to some treats from
Whole Foods, and an iced coffee.

I came back to greet the 4 Irishmen,
1 American, and 5 Montreal-eans
sleeping in my apartment.

It was quite the international youth hostel here last night.

The band Badflirt slept in Katie's room,
and the band, Oppenheimer slept in the living room.

I slept on my own floor, right next to my bed.

The show last night was a lot of fun,
I had fun, I think the people had fun.

Thanks to everyone who came out,
and sent birthday wishes, it was a very nice feeling.

The last few years I've gotten a bit stressed out
around my birthday, it's always been when I've
ended relationships, changed band members,
generally given my life some upheaval.

This year, I feel pretty calm.

I started the band 3 years ago today.
We had our first show on August 16, 2003.

Now, we'll just keep going.

Happy birthday, band...
you're three years old.

Me?
I'm twenty seven.

And it feels pretty good.

-p

Work

I got an interesting response to one of my journal posts,
something to the effect of,
"don't you think you could have a better life
if you weren't doing drugs all the time?"

Not insulting, merely thought provoking.

The truth is,
I don't do drugs all the time.

I write about my drug experiences
because they are usually interesting,
and I know they bother my mother,
who reads this often.

I think I glamorize a certain side
of my life on this website,
one that smokes a lot of pot
and drinks and takes who-knows-what
at concerts with strangers and wakes
up naked next to older ladies
and people with beards.

That side does exist,
and I think it presents some funny stories,
but the truth remains, between all of the fun,
and drugs, and beards, there is a lot of work.

Here is a breakdown of our tour so far this week:

Wednesday.
We return from our camping vacation,
well-rested and refreshed.

I get back to my office in my apartment,
check my email, answer emails, try to continue
getting the content on the website fixed.
Enter in email lists sign-ups, mail out
three online CD orders, make phone calls
to order more CDs.

Thursday:
Wake up, design a new cover and insert
for CDs getting printed, take the bus to
the duplication studio, drop off order,
take the bus to kinkos, print inserts,
come home, restring guitar, load in equipment
into the car with Kristen. Pick up the CDs,
load-in to Martyrs, go home, shower, go back to Martyrs,
play a fun show, hang out, pack up the car.

Drive towards Columbus, OH for a 3 pm load-in the next day.

Find a hotel, sleep for 7 hours, wake up, keep driving.

Arrive in Columbus, load-in and wait through
two sound checks, set up shit on stage,
open for Gin Blossoms, sell merchandise,
do some shots, meet cool people, go to hotel
to pass out.

Wake up at 9 am to drive to Indianapolis
for a music industry conference.

Sign in, pick up badges, attend seminar,
meet publicist dude, find out he's going to
another bar, meet him there to talk more business,
wait ten minutes nervously to approach him.

Walk to Kinkos, make flyers for showcases,
eat quick food, play solo showcase at 10:45,
hang out, sell CDs, load out and run across
the street for me and Kristen's showcase
at 12:30. Load in, wait, play set,
sell CDs, load out and drive to Mike's house
to sleep. Drink one beer, pass out,
wake up with sore throat, go get medicine,
sit here ant type this before driving
back to Columbus for our show tonight.

I don't write this to complain,
I still love my job more than anything,
I just wanted to illustrate that it's
more fun for me to write about the crazy
moments having fun and/or doing drugs
than write about the mundane repetitions
of touring around the midwest.

-p

Revelations

Thank you.

To the man at the Roscoe Village street festival,
who, after our set, (which was one of my favorites in years)
approached the stage, said "awesome, man"
and gingerly placed a handful of weed into my palm.

No baggie, no explanation,
just, "awesome, man" and a handful
of free-standing grass.

Such a joy,
such a gift.

I'll have you know,
that grass was smoked
in only the best of situations.

I was sitting alone,
on the top of a giant sand dune,
with the sun setting behind me,
and the moon full in front of me,
looking out over a campground,
hundreds of feet up, with nothing to
worry about, no computers, no cell phone.
Just me, and your lovely gift.

It's people like you that make traveling
around playing music more fun than it already is.

-p

A reply from Flood.

I got this from Flood,
he's the lead singer of White Trashistan.

> Yo Pete.
>
> To answer your question, most of us conservative Bush supporting Nice
> Peter fans like your music because we are not morons.
>
> Hell, you know I'm conservative as fuck, but even I think the Bush
> song is funny.  Most of us are at least willing to endulge in good
> satire.... even if the venom is pure.
>
> As for the dip shit that does something lame like cross out a fucking
> email list, I promise, and you can post this on your site, that if I
> ever see anyone doing that, they will get a fist right in the side of
> the neck. 
>
> Your only conservative friend,
>
> Flood

Bush Fans and the Flaming Lips

Jesus.

NicePeter.com has been down for a few days.
Why? I don't know, something, or someone,
or somecomputer, fucked up at my webshosting company.

I was on hold for at least a total of 3 hours yesterday.
I had no email, no website,
it sucked, but I still couldn't
find it in me to really complain.

I had food, and a few beers,
and a roof, and central air conditioning.

I got the website back up and running today,
there will be a few quirks to iron out.

Now for the news.

Our second show in Springfield was cancelled last week.
I was very distraught, as I told the crowd at a show in Chicago.

There was someone giving away tickets to a music festival called
Hedgpeth,
and when they heard the story of my cancelled gig, they gave the
tickets to me.

sweet.

Two free tickets to camp and see the Flaming Lips, They Might be Giants,
our new friends Bottle of Justus, and Hello Dave.

although I missed Hello Dave because I was too zonked out on drugs.

We arrived Friday afternoon, set up our tent,
and got ready for a night of music.

This festival was not crowded.

It was barely even comfortably full,
it was sparce, it was beautiful.

We saw the Flaming Lips,
but not before we saw the show-
stealer of the entire festival,
a man named Rocco Deluca.

Holy shit.
I can't even explain it,
the drugs helped,
but you will like it even now,
www.roccodeluca.com

The Flaming Lips,
I don't know if you've ever seen them,
but they put on an unbelievable show.

Literally, I sat there thinking,
"I can't believe this is happening..."

There were balloons, and aliens, and streamers,
and Wayne Coyne was beautiful and charming.

He had a camera mounted to his microphone stand,
so between songs, his face would appear huge on
a screen behind the stage, and we all watched him talk,
it was incredible.

I got a lot of ideas,
philosophical, mostly.
The Flaming Lips put a great
deal of effort into making a great show.

That's something I aspire to.
I want to put on a great show,
I want some fucking aliens,
and a camera on my microphone,
that's a dream.

Now,
in closing,
I must tell you about the Bush Fan in Springfield.

There are Bush Fans everywhere,
some of them even like Nice Peter shows,
which baffles me, but, whatever.

Your political views are not my business.
My political views are my business,
and if you are at a Nice Peter show,
I will probably make sure they are your business too.

I enjoy getting a crowd riled up about Bush,
because we should get riled
up as a crowd more often.

If you are sitting in the audience,
and you are having a good time,
and then my songs about Bush come out,
and they bother you... good.
I want them to bother you.

You should be bothered,
you should feel uncomfortable,
and you should feel the anger
and frustration of the people
sitting around you cheering me on.

That is an important feeling,
that anger, because I don't think you have it.
If you are a Bush Fan, you must be lacking
some central nerve that tells you to be upset
with our country, with our leaders, and what
they are doing to our world.

If you are not angry at Bush,
then I want you to witness the anger
of your friends and neighbors,
and I want you to think about it,
and maybe, just maybe,
you'll be surprised enough
to question some things yourself.

But,
that is all.

I just want you to think a little bit.
I don't want you to come up,
scratch out all the names and emails
on my email list so I can't read them,
and sign, "Bush Fan - Fuck You!!!"

You ignorant motherfucker.

Springfield, I swear to god,
you have got some wonderful people,
but with the t-shirt stealer, and now
the "Bush Fan - Fuck You!!!" guy,
I might, just might, have to start dedicating
White Trash Woman to Springfield, IL.

-p