Fan Mail

Got this one today,
I think he's referring to
the Pub II incident.

I like the way he uses capitol
letters to emphasize the volume.

He's really bursting with passion on this one:

from a fan:

"DUDE YOUR A FUCKIN STROKE...WHO GIVES TWO SHITS IF THE TV'S WERE
ON...IF YOU WERE ROCKIN OUT THEN NOBODY PAYS ATTENTION TO THEM
ANYWAY.....I THINK YOU NEED TO LOCATE YOUR BALLS AND REMOVE THE
SHRINK WRAP...AND QUIT BEING SUCH A WHINY BITCH. "

-p

The List

"Why I Keep Playing Music"
- Reason #232

Sometimes,
a man will approach
me in Minnesota after a show.

A big, burly, man, with
a mustache and a leather jacket
that smells like a fast motorcycle.

This man will look me in the eye and tell me,
"thank you so much for the show tonight"

thank you, man, no problem, I had a lot of fun.

"no, you don't understand, you don't understand,
you don't understand how important it is, how much
it means to the people around here."

wow, thank you, very much, seriously....

"just for everyone in this bar, to be able to laugh,
and just forget about everything else for a while.
You really put on a show, man...."

blush.

I swear, at that moment,
I thought I saw tears in his eyes.

The most manly tears I have ever seen.

The next day I was talking to owner
over a delicious breakfast,
and I told him about the motorcycle man.

"oh..."
he says.

"well, that's really something...
his dad just passed away a few days ago."

He went on to tell me that all week,
folks at the bar had been asking about his dad,
trying to talk about it and make him feel better.

The night of the show,
he just sat at his bar stool
and laughed.

It gave me tears in my eyes,

Manly tears.

-p

Medicine

While brushing my teeth at a rest stop North of
Mankato, Minnesota, I watched a dad bring his
six or seven year old son into the bathroom.

I smiled as dad made sure
the boy closed the stall door,
helped him get soap on his hands,
and dry them off under the blower.

I was standing off to the side,
right next to the colorful condom dispenser.

Before watching the dad and son,
I had spent some time eyeballing the selection.

The machine had Barebacks Extra-thin,
Ruff-Rider, Black Magic, and Magnum EXXTRA Strength potency pills.

Very eye-catching.

As the father and son turned to leave,
the son asked, "what are those, daddy?"

He wasn't asking about me and my toothbrush,
he was asking about the condom machine.

He knew, I knew he knew, and I'm pretty sure
his father knew that he knew something was up.

When I was a kid, I could smell a dirty word
on a dictionary page.

I could find a copy of Joy of Sex
in a friend's parent's library in two seconds flat.

Kids know when something is up,
they feel something naughty
in the air like a cat feels a bug
in the other room.

"what are those, daddy?"

really means,
"I know those are for something
that I'm not supposed to know about,
what is it?"

His father replied:

"I don't know, I think.... medicine?"

He said it like a little question.

After I dragged Kristen into the
men's room to see the machine,
she heard my impression of the father,
and said it sounded like another little kid.

We spent some time discussing the issue,
I asked the acne clad gas station attendant
what he thought, he showed me where I could
buy more condoms. (I don't think he quite got my point)

How would I answer such a question?

Well.... I'd like to think I'd be more honest.

Avoiding an issue is one thing.

Gas stations are not the best time for the birds and the bees.

Although, they can provide some good illustrations
of why you shouldn't have three kids by age 22.

But lying, flat out, to your son,
that bothers me a little.

Especially when you take the time
to make sure he washes his hands,
so as to not get any germs.

I've never heard of anyone catching
an STD from a doorknob.

You might say, "he's only seven."

True.

But, that's when shit is really starting
to solidify in his brain.

If condoms are made to be this mysterious
thing, hushed up and secret, they will most
likely remain fixed that way in this kid's mind.

I don't have kids, yet,
and I do have condoms to thank for that.

My parents were not particularly open
with me about sex.

They never lied to me,
we just didn't really talk about that kind of stuff.

Now look at me,
I sing about my balls for a living.

I don't know what I'd do if faced with this situation,
I'd be curious to hear from another parent
on this matter.

Please feel free to email a response
to: info@nicepeter.com

-p

Bad news

Just kidding.

No bad news.

Tonight I set up a little show
for a girl from Los Angeles.

Her name is Amber Rubarth,
and I'd really like you to check her out.

Her music is lovely like
the way strawberry jelly shines on bread.

myspace.com/amberrubarth

So tonight, we played at a little music showcase
at Alive One in Chicago.

Everything was going pretty well,
Amber did great,
and then some other people played,
and then I was up right after the girl
who brought in a huge crowd.

Now,
I've done my share of spoiling
audiences, so I can't complain.

I know its weird to go up after
a guy singing songs about balls and weed and stuff.

Its also tough to go after a girl who has twenty
out of twenty people in the audience there to see her.

I took the stage with no confidence at all.
I started off weak,
and I didn't do very well through Red Line Train.

I was playing solo,
no one was really listening,
and Amber made me a little nervous.

I figured I'd follow it up with the Bush Song.

Now...in Chicago,
I thought it was a safe bet.

I got a slightly positive reaction,
but the room was still tense.

Into the second verse,
some guy shouts out,
"well then why don't YOU go to Iraq
and defend your country!?"

whoa.

what?

I didn't really understand what he said,
and I couldn't believe he was serious.

I think I stopped and said, "are you serious?"

The thing is,
no one really laughed,
or clapped, or booed,
or did anything really.

Accept another guy on the other side of the room.

He said, "yeah."

"When was the last time you made a sacrifice?"

whoa.

what?

Is this really happening?

Still no reaction from people,
although everyone was listening now.

I think the first guy called me a pussy
somewhere in there.

I was waiting for the crowd
to rush to my rescue, but I think
we were all in some sort of shock.

So, I didn't waste any time,
I jumped into an improv song
called, "why don't you fight for your country, you pussy?"

People were still in shock.
No one laughed much or said anything.

When I stopped,
the first guy said something,
and then everyone laughed and cheered.

I didn't hear what he said,
but at the time,
I thought he cut me down,
and everyone was cheering
and laughing for him.

Jesus,
I've stepped into some
weird portal in Lincoln fucking Park
Chicago where everyone loves the war
and thinks Bush is the tits.

I found out later that they were cheering for me.
They couldn't believe what I was saying to the guy,
I don't remember what I sang to him,
but I remember feeling the pulse rush through my veins.

I was really pissed.

They guy ruined my already terrible show.

He took what little confidence I was building
up and squashed it under his idiot boot.

In the end,
I guess I should thank him.
His outbreak was the only reason
anyone noticed me at all.

I sold a few CDs
as I was tearing out of the bar
with my tail between my legs.

But not before I almost got into a fight
with guy number 2.

He came up to me and said
"look.... blah blah something marines..."

I said,
"if this conversation doesn't
start with you apologizing
for yelling out stupid shit
during my shitty show,
I don't want to talk to you"

I was impressed with my own balls.
And sweating profusely.

He tried to tell me about going to Iraq,
and I told him I didn't care.

I don't.

That is your choice,
and I respect your choice.

I have never,
and I will never,
criticize a soldier, or a marine,
or an anything for choosing to go to Iraq.

I disagree with everything we are doing over there,
but that's your business, not mine.

But I won't listen to your stupid
rational for yelling out stupid shit
about me being a pussy for expressing
my stupid opinions onstage.

That's just stupid.

It wasn't even that kind of show,
with a lot of interaction and yelling and what not.

I was one little guy,
playing his little songs
nervously in front of new people.

And you, and the other guy,
were idiots who needed to make
me look stupid.

You won.
I did feel stupid.

But in the end,
the tall pretty girl
who looked like an elegant
llama came up to me as I was
leaving, and told me I did a good job.

And that's all that matters, bitch.

-p

My neighbor's cat

My neighbor's cat is named Baba Ganoush.

She is playing in my kitchen right now.

My roommate is out of town,
her dad got tickets to
the World Series game tomorrow.

Her dad does sound and
lights for big events,
something like that, I don't know.

All I do know, is that I stole a solar
powered bookbag from her dad
when I helped him load out some
speakers.

It was just sitting there,
and I thought it was going to the
garbage, so I put it on.

Shit, I need a book bag....

It was going to the garbage, I swear.
There was a box with like, five of them...

Apparently they cost $175 each,
and they were going back to the company
that hired my roommate's dad.

My roommate's mom caught me with the bag
when I put it on proudly to go out.

oops.

I lost in poker tonight.

only $10.

I smoked a little bit out of my neighbor's pipe.

He left it here,
and he left his cat here too,
she's hitting something in the kitchen.

-p

In good hands.

Has it been so long since I've written?

My apologies.

So much has happened,
so much has been lost,
and gained, I can't keep up.

Let us start with the Kia Spectra.

Kristen and I have been touring the last
couple years or so in a 2002 black Kia hatchback.

It was the
"little engine that could, but will cost you
thousands of dollars in the process"

We lost the transmission outside of Fort Wayne, IN,
we lost the brakes in Chicago,
we got a hole in the bumper in Minneapolis,
and I think we left that piece of tail light in Michigan.

Two weeks ago,
we left the whole car
with the Allstate Insurance Company.

Totaled.

Hit and run accident in front of Kristen's apartment.

Don't worry, no one was hurt,
no one was in the car.

A Latino gentleman was coming around a corner
at high speeds, it just happened to be Kristen's corner.

He hit a car with his pick up truck,
bounced of that car, and slammed into
the Kia's back left side.

Suspension+wheel+frame=fucked.

The man then proceeded to get out of the truck and run.
Thus the hit and run.

Luckily, there was a witness who chased and caught him,
(they found him around the corner, sleeping under a tree with a giant
hat on)

It turns out he wasn't the owner of the truck.
The owner, also a Latino gentleman, was in police custody at the time.

Now, let me be clear,
I love my Mexican brothers.
They are hard working, fun-loving,
beautiful people. With a strong sense
of family and friendship.

However, they are not exactly known for their accurate paperwork.

Thus, we are not expecting to receive much in insurance money from
the driver
or the owner.

Luckily, we had insurance, collision, to boot.

We are without a car,
but we made two hundred bucks off the deal.

Kristen still owed 2700 bucks on the thing,
and we got 2900, so, all things considered, not bad.

Its rental cars and taxis for October,
and we won't need a car much during the break.

In other news:

I sold my electronic drumset,
and used the money to buy more
studio time and a new Powerbook.

The studio sessions are coming along well,
as well as they ever do for me, anyway.

I'm enjoying the new map feature on the website,
I think I got a visitor from Italy yesterday.
Who knew?

Stay in touch, I miss you.

-p