Adventures in the Mountains

I should probably tell you about
what happened to me in New Mexico.

It was intense,
I'll tell you that.

I came back with a broken finger,
a library card, and the taste of puke
in my mouth.

I landed in Albuquerque, NM
with quite a bit of time to kill.

It suddenly dawned on me
that I had no idea where I was going, really.

I didn't know what train or what time
to catch it, and all the info was on my email.

For some reason, I didn't take my computer with me.

So, I went to the library, where we last left off.

I had to sign up for a membership
to get on the internet, and this funny
little man with a lisp pointed me to
a big, fat man with a limp.

He signed me up,
and I was on.

I got my info,
and realized I had even more
time to kill than I thought.

So I did what any good American would do,
I got a haircut.

I also picked up a 12 oz
glass of fresh made spinach/carrot/beet/parsley juice.

I've been into that kind of stuff lately.

As I drank the juice, it felt
a little odd on my stomach,
I remember that clearly,
remember that for later...

Eventually, it was time to hit the Amtrak train,
and once settled, time to hit the Amtrak bar.

Two extra strong bloody mary's later,
I was chatting with everyone in the lounge car.

We talked about Indian food for fifteen minutes
before I realized they were talking about
American Indian, Native American food.

Feathers, not dots, as they so eloquently put it.

Apparently, they don't call them Native
Americans in New Mexico, they call the Indians.

Even the Indians call themselves Indians,
the ones with the feathers, not the dots.

I guess that makes sense,
"Native American" is a real overly-
sensitive way of saying,
"sorry we killed 90 million of your people,
but we'll be polite and stop dressing like
you at football games."

Speaking of killing people,
it turns out the biggest source
of tourism for the Indian sights
in New Mexico are the Germans.

At least thats what they told me.

One lady speculated that they can
identify, and it makes their slaughter
of 8 million Jews seem paltry.

Interesting point, I suppose.

I made some good friends on that train,
and I was sad to see them go.

I especially wanted the recipe
for the "Indian Taco"

(I was picturing chicken curry
in a tortilla, before the whole dot/feather thing)

I landed in Gallup, NM,
the town of my gig.

I looked around for someone
I might recognize,
the fella who booked me
was picking me up at the station.

I didn't see anyone I recognized,
because, to be honest, I'd only
met the guy a couple times in a
bar in Michigan.

But he spotted me,
and he was white,
so I figured it had to be him.

Before you get upset,
you must realize that
Gallup, NM is a town
of 250,000 Indians.

The largest concentration
of Native peoples in the US.

I think.

So, most people you see
are not the evil white man.

This guy was,
except for the evil part.

He had a beard and a dog,
and an awesome big truck.

oh, shit...
my friends are leaving for dinner....
I gotta go,
how about,
"to be continued..."

-p

PS If I seem wordy,
I'm flying high on Ritalin,
it's my current drug of choice.
Weird, because I hated it in
highschool, but...
that's that.

New Mexico

I'm at the public library in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

Wait.... what?

Oh, yeah...

I'm playing a gig at a ranch

in Gallup, NM and I've got

some time to kill so I figured

I'd stop by and check some email.

oh.

Wait.. what?

I have a gig, at a ranch,

in New Mexico.  What's so

weird about that?

I don't know where I am,

who I'm playing for,

or what its going to be like.

I think it's outside,

and I think I have

a place to sleep.

But to be honest,

I really have no idea.

The gig was set up as

a private party for

a cool guy named Brandon,

you can call him Shaggy.

He used to live in Michigan

and come to shows in Grand Rapids.

I think I got that right.

Now he works in New Mexico,

on a ranch, and he decided to fly 

me down for a gig.

Why not?

He bought me plane tickets,

it's a shitload of travel.

I left the house this morning

at 8 am, landed, now I have

to wait for the train to

take me to Gallup. Arriving at 7 pm.

On the way back,

I leave Gallup at 8:30 am,

train it to Albuquerque,

fly to Dallas, Texas,

wait for an hour,

fly to Chicago to arrive

at 8:30 pm.

Holy shit thats a lot of travel.

It's amazing, really.

Almost 24 hours of total transit

time to come to a ranch in the desert

for a gig.  One gig.

Albuquerque is cool,

I'd like to get some Mexican food

while I'm here, I hear its fantastic.

The people here speak very slowly.

I'm hoping to find some peyote.

Chicago in Winter is snowy,

Excuse me, I must be going.

-p

Korean Limo Service

I don't even know where to begin with this one.

Let's start with my state of mind.

Last night I went out drinking with a married
chick who I always used to have serious hots for.

she just got divorced.

We worked together at the Yacht Club,
and she was one of the few perks of working there.

We would chat in her office about nothing,
and about her married life,
and about skittles,
and have a grand old time,

She was always hot,
in that special pretty lady kind of way,
not the high heels kind.

And it was always obvious
that I would jump in her bed
in a minute.

It was never said, of course,
but always known,
and openly discussed between
me and Max, the manager.

so we went out drinking with a few other friends.

And it was painfully obvious to me
that any slight bit of effort on my part
would land me in bed with a horny
ex wife on the rebound.

yikes.
I burnt my fingers typing that one,
it was so hot.

Now I happen to be in a relationship,
and I don't stray, like I used to,
so it was out of the question.

And of course,
whenever you're out of the question,
you become all that more desirable
to the interested party.

yikes.

She was dripping with horny goo,
waiting to get down and slutty
with the first young boy she could pound on.

I couldn't cash in,
so I drank.

and drank.

and did some shots.

and then some kind of rum thing,
and some scotch.

and then some kind of beer,
and then a shot,
and then something with red bull in it.

At least it tasted like red bull when
I was vomiting it all back up in my bathroom at home.

3 am.

vomiting.

4 am.

sleeping.

9 am.

waking up to work
a 13 hour double at my current restaurant.

yikes.

I dragged through the morning meeting,
only to learn that I was serving a party
of 58 Asian people celebrating a baptism party.

Now, call me racist, but I didn't know Asian people
had baptisms, but apparently they do.

in droves.

58 people, 17 kids, 10 kids under 5.

unreal.

noisy, friendly but demanding,
taxing, hungry, spicy, asian babies.

hungover serving Thai Iced Tea
and Garlic chicken noodles all morning long.

Then,
dinner shift.

The NRA is in Chicago this weekend.

Not the Charlton Heston NRA,
the National Restaurant Association.

basically, forty thousand people
come to Chicago to talk about restaurants,
and go out to dinner.

We had 236 reservations,
we normally have 150.

Needless to say, we were incredibly busy,
and I was behind the bar.

Serving angry and impatient couples
as their 15 minute wait turned into 45.

Parties of ten hoochies who wanted Miller Lite...

"I'm sorry, we don't have Miller Lite, try a Sapparo,
you'll love it."

"no... let me have a cranberry and vodka"

"no, you idiot, try a Sapparo, it tastes exactly
the same as your watered down crappy beer,
don't be such a mindless cow and step out
and try some new things every once in a while.
Your tan looks fake and you smell like a department store"

6 more hours to go.

Finally, I'm done.

I have every intention of going straight home
and curling up with a nice bong and a short book.

But.

"hey pete, we're going out to Karaoke,
you wanna come?"

"no. I hate karaoke."

"but... we'll all sing funny songs and laugh and
get wasted"

"that's what I do for a living"

"but.. we've got out own private room
at this weird little Korean place, just
like in Lost in Translation"

"oh, really?"

So, at 12:30, I clocked out and hopped in a car,
all the way to 6800 North California.

You may not live in Chicago,
but I can tell you that 6800 N California
is way the fuck out there away from anything.

We show up at this strange little storefront
with no sign. It's in a Korean stripmall,
how do I know it was Korean?

Because everything was in Korean,
and only Korean.

We walk in, and half the party is already there,
in our private booth, singing Journey.

Holy fucking shit was it awesome.

I can't do it justice with the typed word,
but just try to imagine an old hotel,
a $500 shopping spree to that store
in the mall that sells all the black lights,
lot's of Korean writing, a full bar,
and unmatching wall paper
all over the place.

It was insane.

The Karaoke setup in our room
was on a huge tv screen,
with a remote control and two books full of songs.

Every song I could think of was in there,
you punch the code in the remote, and it
brings it up with music, the words, and incredibly
random images of Korean people vacationing
around the world.

I sang 15 songs.

and I danced through the rest,

we were all flying through drinks and songs,
dancing and playing along on tambourines
that light up when you hit them.

It was the best night of my life.

At about 3:30 am,
it slammed into the worst night in my life.

The song Rio was blaring through cheap
speakers while my dear friends butchered it.

I was somehow simultaneously drunk
and hungover, and my brain was splitting
open from the endless visions of vacationing
Koreans.

I needed a taxi, and fast.

I tried to communicate that to the
young man at the desk, but I think
he thought I was asking for Popcorn Chicken.

It was delicious,
but I still needed a cab.

eventually, at 4 am,
the lady came to our room
and told me my cab was here.

I go out to the front,
where another scared looking
young white girl was standing,
and a slick looking Korean gentleman
was smiling knowingly.

"Korean Limo Service"

"....um.....what?"

"is a Korean Limo Service, you need cab?"

"yes please, just take me home, please"

"you share with her."

"okay, cool, whatever"

We walk out,
the stranger, the slick,
and I.

We walk towards a shiny white
Toyota Camry.

....where could the taxi be?

We get into the Camry.

...this is a weird taxi.

"it's a no taxi, it's a Korean Limo Service."

awesome, drive me....

We pull out of the parking lot,
and he cranks up, and I'm not kidding,
the Mariah Carrey.

Holy shit bags of fire.

Strangely, it was the scared girl in back
who spoke up first.

She too had been trapped in a room with
her friends, listening to them murder songs
and screech through cheap microphones
dripping with reverb.

Mariah Carrey was just too fucking much to handle.

He got the hint, and switched to Celine Dion.

No kidding.

Now, I love Celine Dion,
I'm not afraid to admit it,
and I don't care what you think.

The smile stretched across
my face as I stretched out in
my Korean Limo.

It brought me home safe
and fast for a negotiable
flat rate, and now..

It's time for sleep.

good night......

-p (4:45 am)

Festivals

Last year,
Nice Peter had some good fortune
with the slew of Chicago street festivals.

Our friend, Duff, the booker at the Cubby Bear,
was involved in choosing the acts,
and he thought we were fun.

We are fun, god damn it.

We got two or three fests last year,
they pay an incredible amount of money,
and its great exposure to a new crowd.

This year, Duff is not involved.
But we are still trying to get in.

Today, my hopes were a bit mashed,
and my soul cried, and my eyes bled.

I saw the line up for Mayfest.

Hairbanger's Ball (80's metal cover band)
Mike and Joe (Dave Matthews/John Mayer/etc. cover band)
Maggie Speaks (Jackson 5, Nickleback, Goo Goo Dolls cover band)
Elevation (my favorite U2 tribute)
Too White Crew (old school hip hop cover band)

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

-p

A Link

Check out this story:

(Thanks to Ethan for the head's up)

http://www.suntimes.com/news/metro/383091,CST-NWS-bubba13.article

-p

Monday

I'm smoking a bong in my bedroom in my boxer shorts.

You might say I'm celebrating.

Nothing in particular,
it's just looking to be a good couple of weeks.

I had a lot of fun at the show Saturday in Chicago,
thank you for coming out.

I'm pretty sure I got naked on stage,
and sang a nasty song about the manager,
but hey, that's show business.

I'm under s strange pressure for Chicago
shows to keep topping myself,
make it more interesting than the last.

I'm trying, I think I pulled it off for this past one.

And I got to play a few new songs,
that really no one has heard.

Friends
and
Please Shut the Fuck Up
a little bit of
Living with a Girl

whoa.
this is pretty good weed.

Tonight,
I'm chilling out.
Talking to a music business consultant,
a dude who wants to help me with PR,
and Mike and Soundscape Studio
to see about getting this album mixed and printed.

Maybe a few beers at Nick's,
if I can make it before Meg stops working.

Thanks to the brothers at ISU,
that was one hell of a show.

That was the first gig where I didn't
really even have to sing, you all knew
the words, even to songs I can't remember.

Thanks for treating us so well, everybody,
we'll be off from touring for a bit, with
a few scattered shows around Chicago this summer,
hopefully some street festivals.

see you later.

-p

the road

I've been home for two days and I wish I wasn't.

I had such a blast on this last tour,
it's all I want to do.

I should be traveling around 320 days a year.

That's how I feel now,
but last year I was burnt out.

but the key is spacing it out.

or something.

I can't go to the same place every month.

but what if I could go to new places,
and then go back in three months?

Denver, New Jersey, California,
Kentucky, Florida, holy shit there are
so many places I've got to get to.

to those who read this and wonder
"when are you coming to my town?"

I'm trying.

and I've got new energy to stay out
for longer, bigger tours.

I'm talking with Bryan (my booking agent)
about going out for august, september and october.

with England in there somewhere for kicks.

I don't know if Kristen is going out with
me on the next big fall tour or not.

she might go back to school,
or she might stick around.

hard to tell right now.

one thing I know,
my subaru is my home.

this apartment is just where I sleep sometimes.

-p