Father's Day

So.

This morning I woke up
on my roof.

I woke up because
a thunder storm was starting,
I knew it was serious,
because my pants started
blowing around, and one of
my shoes hit me in the head.

I had gone up last night,
with a bottle of Delirium Tremens,
a sleeping bag,
and a lady.

But that's not the point of this story,
it was just a really cool way to start my day.

Today is Father's day,
and I called my dad
to say hello.

He asked if I had finally
gotten around to updating my blog.

How embarrassing,
even my dad noticed
I've been dropping the ball.

I said yes.

He asked if it was all
about F-ing, and smoking..

and I said.... well.... kinda,
maybe you shouldn't read this one.

But this new post,
this one right now,
this one's for him.

As I get a little older,
I've realized how much
I got from my dad.

Tricks, lessons,
ways of looking at life,
that are a big part of why
I'm able to live how I do and be happy.

I was sleeping on a roof,
and I was happy as a clam.

He somehow instilled in me
a way to look for the little bits
of gold in the dirt of everyday life.

It's hard to explain,
but it has something to do
with garage sales and the Salvation Army.

I find little treasures wherever I go,
and its not just buying used, amazing things,
although that's a huge part of it.

It's finding art in the garbage.

It's paintings, that people have made,
and then given up on, or decided to toss out,
and then left in the alley with their trash.

My apartment is full of them.

I have....let me look,
about 10 pieces of framed art,
that I have paid a total of five dollars for
over the years.

It's that same, "art in the garbage"
mentality that lets me sleep in some strange person's house,
instead of shelling out 60 bucks for a hotel,
because I never know who I'm going to meet,
or what they're going to tell me or show me.

And I can sleep anywhere, and be happy,
because I'm just grateful for the experience.

MY father used to take me
to a big flea market
every Sunday as a kid.

It's one of my favorite
memories of my childhood.

Except for the time
they were spreading manure
on the field next door,
apparently at the exact same
time I made a huge fart,
and I spent the next hour
thinking I had pooped in my pants.

It was just the fun of traveling through
this maze of interesting people and their
tables of interesting stuff.

Garbage mostly,
but not trash,
nothing that should be thrown away.

We waste so much,
but there is so much cool stuff already out there.

My dad collects collections.

Do you know what I mean?

He has stamps, and trains, and fountain
pens, and records, and paintings,
and who knows what else...

As a kid, I had magic tricks,
and Star Wars figures,
and juggling toys, and unicycles.

Now, I look around my apartment,
I've got the records,
and the paintings,
and I'm sure someday I'll
pick up a fountain pen.

There is art in the garbage,
just like there is something
wonderful in every little weird town,
and every little dive bar that I play.

My dad told me I'll have to settle down someday,
but I'm really happy now.

I mean really, really happy,
and I'm pretty much just
living like he taught me to.

happy father's day.

-p

Grilled Cheese

Well, shit.

It's about time I started writing again.

I'm in my underwear,
and I need a cigarette.

And I don't have any,
and it's hot as balls,
and I'm stuck inside all
day working on booking a tour.

I'm trying to make my way west,
through St Louis, Kansas City,
into Colorado, to make it to
Los Angeles by Sept 7.

That's when I'm heading back to
the Catholic University.

that's right,
they're bringing me back.

hilarious,
I thought they would
never speak to me again,
after the Mystery of the Clit debacle.

I've been using that story on stage
for all my shows, it's been a hit.

You see,
I sang Mystery of the Clit
as my last song at a Catholic
school with an audience full
of college girls.

pretty... awesome.

So....
I'm back from England,
I'm sorry I didn't write you more.

I was busy, usually drunk,
and always tired or driving.

Not driving while drunk,
but with either word starting
with "D", it's hard to write a good blog.

I played something like 28 shows
in 32 days, and my manager Ed doesn't
drive, so I did it all.

When I did get free time,
then only thing I wanted to
do on my computer was play poker,
or look for fat lady porn,
it's kinda my new thing,
don't ask.

I'm hoping it's temporary.

So, I let all those stories slip
away, like all the girls with
boyfriends who kept coming
up to me after shows, very directly,
I mean.. like seven of them,
until by the end of the tour,
if some lady started flirting with me,
I would immediately ask her to
point out her boyfriend.

ugh.

Now, don't get me wrong,
I have a girlfriend back here at home.

It's great, I get laid all the time,
I don't have any STDs,
or any chance of getting them,
and she's patient, and forgives
me when I get too wasted to do anything
but mumble sweet nothings.

But she's also realistic,
and I'm lonely on the road.

We've set up some basic groundrules,
no clothes coming off, no repeat business.

I think that's it,
but what it all comes down to is,
I can make out with all the girls,
or boys, or big ladies, or dogs,
or real dolls, I want.

I think we should all have such freedom,
it's just making out, for god's sake.

It's fun, harmless, and the most
you can catch is a cold,
or if you're me,
and the English lady's
boyfriend is right around the corner
at the pub watching you,
you might catch a fist in the jaw.

Whatever,
it's harmless,
and it helps me stay happy.

A little making out here and there never did
a bad thing to anyone.

Staying celibate on the road in England
was very difficult indeed.

holy shit,
English. Girls. Are. Horny.

And straightforward.

"Hi... my name is Melanie,
would you like to come to my bed with me?"

whoa.

um,
yes,
but no,
I can't...
you wanna make out?

There was this one very pretty hippie chick
who was kissing my neck and face when she
came up to hug me after my second show
of the night in Plymouth, England.

Now.... I don't know what the rules are in Plymouth,
but where I'm from, if you kiss someone's neck and face,
that implies a little bit of interest, and availability,
I don't care how much of a hippie you are.

So, I followed her like a puppy,
she got me high... another good sign,
and then she took me upstairs to the "club" section
to dance.

Word!

I'm in, I'm gonna dance, and make out a little,
and maybe stretch my trousers,
but no harm will come.

we were dancing,
a little naughty,
in a geeky white people
kind of way,
things are going great,
our foreheads are touching...
and then...
"oh shit, I think my boyfriend can see us"

wow.

You probably should have mentioned
him somewhere between the kisses and the
joint.

It probably serves me right,
I don't have the best track record
with faithfulness, I try, and I have tried,
but it's hard after shows, when I'm away,
and pretty fucking lonely,
and really fucking drunk.

Girls are pretty, and they smell nice,
and I just want to have some innocent fun,
like in middle school, a full year
before I started getting hand jobs in the basement
of my highschool.

ah.... those were the days.

I'll try to write you more,
it's a nice break from the monotony
of emailing 17 clubs who won't write back to you.

"Hey Pete! can you come play in my town?"

yes,
I would love to,
I'll be rambling all over,
from here to the West Coast.

If you've got a town,
and it's got a place to play music,
email me, I'll do what I can.

it's info@nicepeter.com

I'll be here.

-p