I really don't have much of anything to write about today. But, going two days in a row without posting makes me all... wiggy.

So, here I am.

I did have an idea for a post discussing what the world would be like if all of Adrien Brody's parts had been played by Adam Brody, and vice versa. But, that dog wouldn't hunt. Ha! I've always wanted to use that phrase. It was everything that I hoped it would be.

I'm working on an article about the Toronto Raptors today, but it is so chock full of a groin-grabbing amount of mediocrity that it displeases me.

I'm also planning on convincing the General Manager of the local TV station that she wants to start a short film festival. I've been thinking about it for ages, yet am still not exactly sure how I'm going to sell the idea. I'm just going to wing it. I'll let you know how it goes.

Part of my plan, of course, involves me writing and directing (eeep!) one of these short films.

I'll be hanging out with The Monkey later today. Her grandmother has an appointment, so she and I are going to play her CSI game. She cheats and I call her on it, so this could be highly entertaining (and/or good blog fodder.) UPDATE: I just got replaced by "Chantal" apparently. Rude!

Some of you may have already seen this, but it's a funny wedding reception video. It will be funnier if you haven't seen that Jennifer Garner movie. You know, it's the one where she is a little girl trapped in the body of a grown woman... who, at the time anyway, had a body like a little girl.

I am feeling oddly introspective today.

Or I'm just odd and introspective.

Six of one...

As previously mentioned, I spent the weekend entertaining -- and being entertained by -- the ACN. And after she goes home, I always feel a bit bummed for a day or so because I miss the little squirt.

That is part of it.

Also, I've been reading about the amazing things soon to be done by the delightful Mood Indigo.

It got me to thinking about what I'm doing. What I should be doing. What I want to be doing. How that has changed over the years.

I'll spare you the bi-annual lament about not making good use of my time, not accomplishing everything I should be accomplishing, etc. You've heard it before. Many of you have felt it before.

I will say that when various friends are serving as judges in courtrooms, leading political parties, and prosecuting war crimes in The Hague, while you re-write a screenplay about a big paintball battle... Well, it does lead a fella to do some thinking.

I had a plan when I was in my early 20s. I was going to move to L.A. I was going to sleep on couches, get crappy temp jobs, and write my ass off. I was going to collaborate with like-minded folks. I was going to wear shorts and flip-flops all year round. I was going to learn how to surf. I was going to learn how to play guitar. I was going to jog on the beach as the sun rose. I was going to sit on the beach as the sun set. I was going to meet a cute blonde... and watch sunsets with her. She was going to be astoundingly sweet. She was going to inspire me to be a better person. I was going to try to impress her with the things I wrote. I was (hopefully) going to help her feel more comfy in her own skin. I was going to kill spiders and reach things on the top shelf for her.

That didn't happen. And I'm okay with it.

I still want to learn how to play guitar. I am still writing.

And I still want to meet that girl.

I've realized that if I had moved to L.A., I wouldn't have had the same relationship with my family. Especially with the ACN.

If I only saw her a few times a year, would she be so excited to see me that she'd squeal for the last half hour of her drive on the way here? Would she try to jump out of her car seat when I run out to the driveway to greet her? Would she hug and kiss me when I carry her in from the car?

I could have still called her every night from L.A., as I do now, but it wouldn't have been the same.

Screw that.

I would have missed way too much.

Plus, I think me being here -- even two hours away -- has been a help for the ACN's parents. They work crazy shift work and sometimes they need me to ACNsit on weekends when they can't re-arrange shifts.

In a couple of weeks, the ACN parents are going to a resort down south for a week. First time ever for them. They've been talking about it for a few years now. They deserve it. And I'll be Uncle Pete'ing it right up for the week. I couldn't have done that from L.A.

It's funny, I don't really think it's a big deal to step up for family. I don't ever consider saying "no." I don't expect or want any thanks. It's just what you do.

I actually have an ex who hassled me about it. A couple of years ago, I was ACN-sitting for four or five days and thus was kind of busy. The ex would call me at 7 pm. I'd explain that the punkin would be going to bed in an hour, and asked if I could call her back then. She'd be annoyed, but agree. By the last night of the ACN visit, I was annoyed by her attitude and called her on it. She launched into a tirade about me being "practically a single father." And that I should have "warned her in advance" because she might not have wanted to start a relationship.

And this was because she'd have to wait an hour or two to fill me in about the details of her work day.

We didn't break up that night, but it wasn't long after.

I realized that I wanted to be with someone who thought it was a good thing when someone helps family. Or at the very least, respects it.

The girl on the beach in L.A. would have supported it.

I still want to get one of my screenplays produced. I suspect it is for ego-driven reasons. I'm okay with that. I want to see my name in the credits.

But, I have other things that I want to accomplish. I have business ideas. I want to start two (inter-connected) charities.

And I should probably get to work and stop writing this post.

Labels: ACN, Mondays

I am clearly the person you should come to.

(End of page 2.)

A Canadian... on American Idol?

Jory Steinberg is my new favourite.



*****

Last night the ACN and I were making supper together. (We are quite the cooking team.)

I was washing a frying pan that we needed when she yelled...

ACN: Unc!

Uncle Pete: Is Uncle Pete too slow?

ACN: Yeeeeah.

Uncle Pete: Do you like waiting?

The ACN shakes her head "no."

Uncle Pete: Are you a patient little girl?

The ACN shakes her head "no."

I give her a look.

The ACN giggles and giggles.

*****

Last night I was talking about the crappy weather and said, "I can't believe the power didn't go out."

Then... fbzzzzzt. Darkness.

(What do YOU think the power sounds like when it goes out?)

I should have known better than to jinx things like that.

Though I wonder what other things I can control with this power...

"I can't believe the Colts didn't win the Super bowl."

(Speaking of, I never realized how annoying the two weeks off before the game were until my team was playing in it.)

*****

Since the weather is still crappy, The ACN's Daddy and I may play a game of Risk.

I've set the over/under on how many times I say, "The Ukraine is weak" at ten.

Labels: ACN

Uncle Pete: You are a cutiepie!

The ACN smiles.

Uncle Pete: Is Uncle Pete a cutiepie?

The ACN: Yeeeah.

Beat.

Uncle Pete: Are you just saying that because I am making your breakfast?

The ACN: Yeah!

Uncle Pete: Grrrrrrrr.

The ACN busts out in hysterical laughter.


*****

For those who have been following the saga...

Despite the many hours I spent writing it for her, and the many hours my cartoonist buddy spent illustrating it, she still won't let me read "Molly Moose" to her!

I ask her at story time.

She shakes her head "No."

I make a sad face.

She giggles and giggles.

My sister says, "If it's any consolation, she won't let me read it to her at home either."

Then SHE cracks up laughing.

*****

The ACN has decided that I am a teddy bear today.

Labels: ACN

I read this story on Genarlow Wilson at ESPN.com this morning.

You should read it now.

And when you are done, and absolutely fucking outraged, you can visit this site to sign a petition and keep track of what's going on.

There is more I could say, but I think it would pale in comparison to the words Wright Thompson used in the ESPN piece.

I'm not sure if stories like this affect me more because I love sports, or if I just find out about them because they involve sports.

Either way, I was once a 17 year old high school athlete. There was no shortage of 15 year old girls around.

Just read the piece.

Edit: If you use Digg, then you should go over and help keep it as the #1 story.

A wise man once said that.

It was Dirty Harry Callahan.

Or maybe it was Vanity Smurf.

I don't know.

Either way, it is all sage and junk.

I am aware of the fact that I have an addictive personality. I've known it for years.

It is why I never allow myself to bet on sports. And why I very rarely do lines of coke off of a hooker's breast.

I even kicked a 16" pizza a day habit. And THAT wasn't easy.

But, I have another addiction, dear friends. One that plagues me so. I keep it at bay for a while, but invariably it comes raging back at me.

You see, I'm addicted to gadgets.

Whew. It feels good to get that out.

Like a weight has been lifted, you know?

I had been doing well as of late. But yesterday the incomparable Jazz posted and mentioned a Blackberry.

Devil woman.

I felt that familiar twitch. The room became just a little warmer. The cravings were starting.

Friends and family will say things like "You don't really need that, Peter."

Need? NEED.

What does "need" have to do with anything.

They are a bunch of sillies.

My gadget addiction has been likened to some women and how they feel about shoes.

However, until you can check your gmail and update the starting line-ups for fantasy sports teams on a stiletto slingback, I'm not feeling it.

Like most recovering (sort of) addicts, I've tried to give myself over to something bigger than myself.

I chose a carpenter that was born many years ago. A man with wild ideas and unruly hair. Someone who is misunderstood by many, while adored by others. And yes, obviously, this man is...

My Uncle Vernie.

Though I don't think that newfangled gadgets are exactly in his wheelhouse.

I suspect that his reply would be, "What the fuck is a Raspberry? Do you talk to young ones on it?"

I suppose that I'll have to face this challenge on my own.

I'm askin'.

While I am not completely up to speed on all of her views, we basically fall on the same side of politics. I liked her husband.

It's not at all rare that I dislike someone -- and for little to no reason -- but this one has me a bit worried.

I have some concerns that I don't like her because she's a woman.

Hear me out.

I realize that not liking her doesn't necessarily make me a sexist, just like being a fan of Obama doesn't make me Jesse Jackson. But, still...

I think this all stems back to my university days. I got a job on campus and my boss was a woman. A female friend of the family commented to my mother that I would "have a hard time taking directions from a woman."

She made this declaration despite never having seen me interact with a female boss before. And, to be honest, it pissed me off.

I have no problems with women in the workplace. My mother has worked all my life. Plus, she's bossy. So, I've been given orders before. TRUST me.

The majority of the teachers I had in school were female. I had no problem taking directions from them. Well, no more than I had with taking directions from male teachers. (Any issues I had with listening to teachers had more to do with me feeling smarter than them and nothing to do with their gender.)

I even had a female boss for my afterschool job during much of high school.

I should mention -- and remember -- that this family friend is a very bitter person. It's best not to put too much stock in her view of... well, anything really.

Still, it stuck in my craw.

Sticks, I suppose.

Back to Hillary...

I see her as intelligent. Competent. Definitely savvy. Well-connected.

All things you'd want in a political leader, right?

Yet there is a coldness to her.

Obama won me over with "the speech." I heard that and I immediately would have followed that dude into battle.

Maybe I just haven't heard or seen that defining moment yet with Hillary. Maybe I should look past the exterior and really listen to what she has to say.

Something we should all do with every politician, I suppose.

I wonder if my taste in women factors into my feelings about Hillary. (And I don't mean that she needs some cute girl glasses.) I seem to be attracted to women with a certain softness... a vulnerability.

Maybe female politicians, by their very nature, can't have that. Or can't show it.

I wonder if it is possible for me to ever be a huge fan of a female politician.

I'd like to think so.

Another female friend of the family was approached to enter politics a few years back. I definitely would have supported her fully and completely. But, I knew the person before I would have known the politician.

Unless Hillary wants to watch the Super Bowl with me, I'm unlikely to get the chance to be won over by her. (Plus, she was born in Chicago, so....)

I suppose that it's also important to remember one other thing...

I'm Canadian. I don't get a vote.

Labels: politics, women

He saw the punch coming, but it didn't seem real to him -- until it hit. It caught him above the left eye and for a moment his vision was impaired by an explosion of light. His teeth rattled. He hadn't been hit that hard since...

He was five. He knew that, if he got caught stealing the gum from the store, his father would punish him. Bad. But, he stole it. He got caught. And his father exploded. The right hand to the head knocked him to the kitchen floor. His ears rang.

A more melodramatic person would say that is childhood innocence died that day. But, that isn't true. It was killed. As he sat on the kitchen floor, blood trickling down the side of his face, he looked up at his father. The man was no longer the big protector in his life. And that hurt almost as much as his head.

Almost.

But, this punch didn't pack any emotional wallop. He didn't know this asshole outside the bar. And asshole wasn't that much bigger than him. Though he did hit like a ton of bricks. A second punch was coming, and he dodged it -- mostly. It grazed his forehead. It was a big punch. He knew that it would have taken him down.

When he was six, his father caught him smoking. He was sure that his father was at work. He and three buddies were splitting two cigarettes that one of the boys stole from his older sister. When his father walked into the shed, he knew that he was in for it. But, his father looked calm. He actually thought that the man was going to let it slide. That was until the backhand struck him flush on the cheek and sent him sprawling over a woodpile. His friends recoiled. They were in complete shock. He managed to get to his feet, but his father slapped him again with a huge open hand. He went sprawling again, landing at the feet of his friends. Seeing the pity in their eyes crushed him.

A third punch was coming, but he reacted quickly. He deflected it with his left forearm and threw a vicious straight right hand of his own. It hit asshole square in the nose -- breaking it. Blood sprayed a little out of both nostrils. He had never punched anyone before. He expected it to hurt his hand more.

Asshole threw a left hook that shocked him. It caught him on the chin and staggered him a bit.

His fathered was two hours late arriving home on his tenth birthday. The old man was drunk. He missed the party. He was trying on his new clothes and showing them to his mother and sister as his father grabbed another beer from the fridge. His father told him that he looked like "a queer." And then kicked him in the ass because the old man didn't like "the look on his face." He bounced off the kitchen table and fell on the floor. His father went to watch the hockey game. His mother and sister said nothing.

Asshole was moving in to finish him off. But, he grabbed asshole by the shirt to hold him off. They were both throwing punches wildly. He pulled on asshole's shirt with his left hand, knocking the guy just a little off-balance, and started landing right hands. Asshole's punches were missing the mark. His weren't. Above the eye. Cheek. Chin. Asshole was throwing fewer and fewer punches in return.

When he was nineteen years old, he brought his girlfriend home to meet his parents. Well, his mother anyway. His father had been on good behaviour for a few weeks leading up to the weekend, so he was hopeful. And he had been dating the girl for nine months, so he was running out of excuses. He should have come up with more.

His father got drunk the first night before supper was even served. The old man commented that his girlfriend "dressed like a slut." He got up from his chair and stood up to his father for the first time. He begged the old man to stop behaving like that. He asked the old man to respect his girlfriend. He told the old man that his behaviour was tearing the family apart.

The old man punched him in the mouth.

He and his girlfriend left after hastily packing their bags.

He hasn't been home since.

Asshole stopped punching all together. But, he kept hammering his opponent. Right hand after right hand. Asshole fell to the ground. He was still holding him by the shirt. Blood was streaming from asshole's nose. Asshole was completely defenseless. Visions of his father were flashing through his mind. The fear... the ridicule... the rage... He wanted to get it all out.

He lined asshole up for one more solid punch. Asshole was already out cold.

He pulled his fist back...

Labels: GO COLTS, no idea where this came from, short fiction

I vowed that I wouldn't watch it this season, yet...

I've watched the first two episodes of American Idol. I know, I know. Whatever, dudes. What's done is done.

So, they are two cities into the audition process and I've already picked a favourite to be one of the last contestants standing. It is 19 year old college student -- and "junior Pete chick" -- Sarah Krueger.



I made the same prediction while watching Katharine McPhee audition last season. Rueben too, back in the day.

(We'll ignore the fact that I thought LaToya would kick Fantasia's ass a few years back, cool?)

***

There is a BIG football game tonight.

My beloved Colts vs the evil, evil New England Patriots.

I'm nervous.

I'm excited.

I am brewing up a good hate for Tom Brady and Bill Belichick. (It didn't take much bewing.)

I've warned HRC not to say something like "He's going to miss" while the Colts kicker is attempting field goals tonight. (She actually did that to me once!!!!)

I am ready for the game.

I can already feel it giving me an ulcer.

Winner goes to the Superbowl.

Peyton Manning needs to find himself.

If I was calling the first offensive play for the Colts, I'd run the play-action. Fake the hand-off to Joseph Addai, look at the double-teamed Marvin Harrison, and then hit a streaking Reggie Wayne streaking down the left sideline for a touchdown. It'll make Peyton feel like Peyton. The RCA dome will become impossibly loud.

Sadly, the Colts rarely ever call me for advice on what plays to run.

I am taking this game so seriously that I didn't talk to my cousin from Boston - a big Patriots fan - all week. And she's one of my favourite people ever. We even skipped our usual next-day recap of episodes of "24."

She did e-mail me yesterday with a brief note. I replied with much the same. We can't even bring ourselves to wish each other luck.

Damn, I love sports!

*****

And in my favourite news of the week...

My little ACN got a special toilet seat for school. She gets strapped in and can use the washroom by herself.

YAY!!!

Of course, if I had one of those here, we'd spend the entire day with me strapping her in, her giggling and saying she didn't need to use the washroom, me unstrapping her, and then her waiting two minutes and telling me (with more giggles) that she had to use the washroom again.

5 more sleeps until the next visit.

Labels: ACN, American Idol, Colts

So, I finally got around to seeing BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN the other night.

You know, I think those two fellas were more than just good friends.

*crickets*

Sorry, I can never resist that one. It is like when I hear that someone is pregnant and I say, "Wow. Do they know what caused it?"

I know better, yet I am easily amused.

I haven't been avoiding the film or anything, I just didn't happen to see it until now.

It was decent enough.

I do have a problem, historically, with films where characters -- played by the same actors -- age more than a few years. That irked me some. Not a powerful irking, but some irkage nonetheless.

I'm also not sure exactly what I took away from the film.

Maybe that when left alone on top of a mountain, guys will resort to rough-housing and angry butt-sex to pass the time. And that those two things, we all know full well, are the cornerstones to any good relationship.

I initially didn't buy the relationship at all. To me it was just two dudes with an annoying job having a few drinks. Then suddenly Heath Ledger is spitting in his hand and getting down to work.

Angrily.

My first reaction to it was joking about all those sexy sheep as an alternative choice. (Damn Scottish blood.)

I did, however, begin to buy the relationship when Heath Ledger was chainsmoking in his apartment with Jen from "Dawson's Creek" and waiting for Gyllenhall to arrive to "go fishing." There did seem to be a yearning there.

Though I think it was a bad decision for Ledger to channel the dude from SLING BLADE. I spent half the movie waiting for him to say "I like them French fried potaters." He did say "Mmmm" numerous times.

I also feel a bit misled. I was expecting a "cowboy" movie. Like a western. Something set in Kansas in the 1860s. With gunfights and hookers and junk.

But, Kate Mara was in it. That made up for a lot.

I cracked up laughing when in the end credits I noticed -- after watching for 2.5 hours -- that it was based on a short story.

I liked the film. I didn't love it. I'm not sure what all the fuss was about.

What I did learn was that...

1) Some love stories weren't meant to be.

2) Trying to force love, when it isn't there, doesn't work.

3) If you are using fishing trips for a cover for your gay sexcapades, at least bring home a couple of friggin' fish.

Look at me. I'm growing. I got through this entire thing without once mentioning a topless Anne Hathaway and --

Ah crap!!

Labels: Reviews years after the fact

[Have you read Part 1 and Part 2?]

J.P. stared at his list.

It's not as if he'd never been in a grocery store before.

Just not... recently.

He felt overwhelmed, but determined.

10 minutes later...

Now he felt overwhelmed only.

As he stood staring at two virtually identical onions, a little old Italian lady strolled up beside him.

"Having some problems?" She inquired.

"Yes, ma'am. If the Titanic had been a trip to the grocery store, it would have been this one."

"Let me see your list."

J.P. handed it to her.

She looked at the list. Then she looked at the few items he had collected in his basket.

"Uhm, this recipe calls for fennel."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And you picked up a FUNNEL cake," she said as she held it up in front of him.

"Oh..."

"Don't fret. I'll take care of you."

J.P. smiled and gave her a big kiss on the forehead. She laughed and pretended to try to push him away.

Another ten minutes later...

J.P. came out of the front door of the grocery store with a bag in each hand and a big smile. He jumped up and did that kick out your feet and hit them together off to the side thing. And then he landed...

"Ow. OW! Gotta stretch first. Pulled my groin. Pulled my groin."

He limped off down the street.

*****

A street musician worked a small crowd next to a fountain in the park. His acoustic version of the Gin Blossoms' classic "Hey Jealousy" was impressing all who listened.

J.P. made his way up to the group. He waited until the song ended and the musician was taking a break before approaching him.

"Hey, you don't know me, but I want to hire you for an hour tonight," J.P blurted out.

"I think you want the other end of the park, my man. Starting after dark..."

"No, I want you to play guitar and sing. My girlfriend and I saw you on our first date. And I am planning a special evening for her."

"Are you in the dog house?"

"I'm sitting outside of the doghouse... in the rain," J.P. replied.

"Did you give me cash?" Musician Guy asked.

"I'm sorry..."

"That first night, did you give me cash?"

"Oh, yeah. I was trying to impress her and gave you a twenty." J.P. admitted.

"Okay, I'm in. But, it is going to cost you three hundred bucks."

"What?" J.P. asked incredulously.

"Listen, I am going to have to buy a gift for MY girlfriend. I am supposed to go to a housewarming for a friend of hers and --"

"Say no more," J.P. replied. "Three hundred it is."

*****

J.P. walked out of an antique shop. He took another peek inside a box that he was carrying. He smiled broadly.

*****

J.P. walked into a flower shop.

A pretty blonde(ish) woman smiled from behind the counter.

"Hi, I'm Cindy. How can I help you today?"

"Hi, Cindy. I'm J.P. and I need a LOT of help today."

He then gave her the entire story.

"Wow," she said. "She must be amazing."

"She's great. And I haven't been, you know?"

"So you need the perfect flower?"

"Exactly! She mentioned her all-time favorite flower six months ago or so. But, I am having a hard time remembering what it is."

"Do you know what family it belongs to?" Cindy asked.

"I know that the type of flower is a common kind."

"Okay. Let's go through them. Rose... carnation... daisy... iris... tulip... lily--"

"Yes! It's a lily" J.P. yelled out.

"Okay, that narrows it down. Do you remember anything at all about what kind?"

"I think it had a longish name... glory... something..."

"A gloriosa lily?"

"Yes! That's the one." J.P. said excitedly, as he gave Cindy a hug. "Oh, sorry."

"That's okay. I do have some, but they aren't cheap."

"That seems like the theme for the day. Can I get a couple dozen?" J.P. asked.

"Let me see," Cindy replied as she checked her computer. "Shoot. I don't have enough here, but I can get some from our other store."

"Can I get them delivered by seven o'clock tonight?"

"Sure. Should be no problem.

"Excellent! You rock, Cindy!"

J.P. wrote the restaurant address on a piece of paper and headed for the door.

*****

J.P. exited the restaurant, after dropping off the bags of groceries.

"Man, she can talk."

*****

J.P. stood in front of his bathroom mirror, wrapped in a towel. He had just finished showering and was now shaving... and singing.

"You were working as a waitress
In a cocktail bar,
When I met you.
I picked you out,
I shook you up,
And turned you around.
Turned you into someone new."

He wiped his face off and went to his bedroom.

He put on his best suit. And, of course, the tie that Kylie picked out for him and loved.

He stood in front of the mirror. He surveyed what he saw before him. He wasn't totally displeased. He gave himself a single eyebrow raise and left the bathroom.

He grabbed a gift-wrapped box and headed for the door.

*****

When J.P. arrived at the restaurant, everything looked perfect. Pedro had dimmed the lights and put candles all around. Rachel Ray had the table set beautifully.

Musician Guy walked up behind him.

"Looks beautiful, dude. I'm officially on the clock, so I'm going to start playing."

"Sounds good. Thanks," J.P. said, his nerves starting to kick in.

Rachel Ray stuck her head out of the kitchen and gave him a thumbs-up. J.P. managed a weak smile back.

He didn't have much time to be nervous, as Kylie walked in moments later. She looked confused, but quickly spotted J.P.

"Hey, I got your message. It was very cryptic. What's all this, J.P.?"

"Hi, sweetie. Please, have a seat."

"Okay," she looked around, still confused.

"I know that I haven't been the perfect boyfriend. Sometimes maybe I haven't even been a good boyfriend. But, it's not because I don't love you. I do. I really do."

"Oh, J.P. ..."

"Just give me a minute to get this out, please."

"Okay."

"I've sucked. I admit it. But, I am vowing to you. Right here. Right now. I am going to be the world's best boyfriend. You deserve it. And while I may not deserve you, I am going to do everything I can to show you that I so very much appreciate you. And on that note..."

J.P. pulled the gift-wrapped box from under the table and passed it to her. Musician Guy started playing softly.

"You shouldn't have..."

"Please... just open it."

Kylie removed the wrapping paper and slowly opened the box. She stopped when she saw what it was. Her eyes filled with tears.

"I remember when we first started dating," J.P. began. "You told me the story about your grandma having that antique broach. How it was the only thing she brought with her here to this country. How it meant the world to her. You smiled so much when you talked about her letting you wear it as a child and how she was going to leave it to you."

Tears rolled down Kylie's face.

"I remember seeing the heartbreak in your eyes when you talked about how your grandma didn't have a will and how your aunt had claimed the broach for herself. What you didn't know is that she sold it a few months later. The woman that bought it from her ran into financial problems or her own and was forced to sell it too. It's almost as though the broach knew it wasn't with the right person. So, I did a little research and brought it back to you. Where it belongs."

Kylie took the broach out of the box and just stared at it. She was in complete shock. She began sobbing.

J.P. stood up and walked over to her.

"Do you like it?"

She hugged him hard around the waist.

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes..." she managed to get out between sobs.

J.P. gave her a kiss on the noggin and then returned to his seat. He could not have been happier.

Taking this as her cue, Rachel Ray came out with two beautiful plates full of food and sat them on the table. She smiled at Kylie, winked at J.P. and then returned to the kitchen.

"Was that Rachel Ray?" Kylie asked between sobs and blowing her nose on a napkin.

"Yup," J.P. replied.

"Wow. You went all out."

"You deserve it, Kylie."

"Oh, J.P...."

"And do you recognize that guy?" J.P. asked, pointing to Musician Guy, who winked at Kylie as he continued playing.

"Oh my God... From our first date?"

"Yeah."

"I can't believe that you did all of this."

"'Twas nothing."

"I kind of wish that you hadn't, J.P."

"I don't understand..."

Kylie reached across the table and took J.P. by the hand.

"This is sooo hard..."

"Then don't do it," J.P. replied softly.

"I met someone else. At work. It's just... easier, you know?"

"Are you kidding me?"

"I love you, J.P., but it's just too much. I can't handle the ups and downs. I'm sorry."

Kylie stood up, put the broach back on the table and turned to leave. J.P. stood up too.

"Kylie..."

She turned back, crying again.

J.P. passed her the broach.

He went back to his chair. He didn't watch her leave.

Musician Guy started playing Hall & Oates' "She's Gone."

J.P. looked around at the room. He knew that he gave it a good try at least.

The restaurant door swung open and Cindy came running in with the flowers.

"I hope I made it in time."

"Not quite," J.P. replied.

"I'm SO sorry."

"You don't have to be," J.P. said. "Flowers weren't going to tip the scale."

"Hey, is that Rosemary-Crusted Rack of Lamb with Roasted Fennel and Red Onion?"

"That it is," J.P. answered.

Cindy looked around at the entire scene.

"It would have worked on me," she said with an impossibly warm smile.

Labels: short fiction

[Have you read Part 1?]

He tapped his pen on his desk.

"Special night..."

More pen tapping.

"Oooh!"

He started jotting down notes on a piece of paper.

Suddenly J.P. jumped up from his desk, grabbed his coat from behind his door and dashed out of his office.

He yelled, "Hold my calls!" to his assistant Shelley.

"Who calls you?" she mumbled in reply. "Fool."

J.P. came running out the front door of his office building. He turned left and took off down the street. Then he turned around and ran back to his right. Further proving that his boyscout badge for navigation was a complete fraud.

Eight blocks later...

J.P. busts in through the front door of a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant called "hole in the wall," which J.P. found a little bit on the nose, but he dug their chicken.

"Pedro, my good man." He shouted to the 50-something Spanish man behind the bar.

"It's Monday. We're closed today."

"I know. It's me... J.P."

"It's Monday. Ballroom dancing with my wife. We're closed. Every Monday."

"I get that. But, I want to rent the place for the night."

"Fifteen hundred dollars."

"Fifteen-- what? Pedro..."

"That's my price."

"That's crazy. You weren't even going to be open."

"Fifteen hundred dollars... I buy my wife a fur coat and she doesn't make me go to ballroom dancing lessons."

J.P. couldn't argue with the logic.

"Fine, Pedro." J.P. muttered, taking out his credit card.

"And you need to get your own cook."

"What? Why?"

"Cook teaches the ballroom dancing lessons," Pedro replied.

"Of course he does. Okay... a cook. I'm on it"

Minutes later J.P. came rushing out the front door and smacked into Rachel Ray.

"Hey! You are Rachel Ray!"

"I know," she replied, a little dazed.

"Oh! What are you doing tonight, Ms. Ray?"

"Probably going to a chiropractor," she replied, stretching her back.

"So sorry about that. I need a cook. For tonight. It's my girlfriend--"

"Did you screw up?"

"I think that I did."

"What did you do...?

"Oh, I'm J.P."

"What did you do, J.P.?"

"Well, it seems as if it's been a bit of a recurring theme. I'm just not making her happy enough. Not as happy as she deserves. She's always been there for me. I want to step up tonight, you know? I want to show her that I am aware of the problem and that I am going to be working hard to fix it."

"Damn it, J.P., I'm a romantic. Plus, my show was cancelled, so what the hell else do I have to do?"

Rachel Ray pulled out a notebook and pen and began writing a list.

"These are the ingrediants needed for my 'Rosemary-Crusted Rack of Lamb with Roasted Fennel and Red Onion.' Get EVERYTHING I've listed."

"Okay... I had lamb on the weekend, but--"

"Are you kidding me?!"

"Lamb's great, lamb's great! Thank you, Rachel Ray. It's eight o'clock. Here. Tonight. Go in and see Pedro."

He spun Rachel Ray around and ushered her in through the door.

"And don't mention ballrooom dancing. Trust me!"

J.P. looks at the list of ingrediants and is off again on the run.


To be continued...

Labels: short fiction

"Murphy's Law"

It's here.

I did Chapter 1.

spricket24 did Chapter 2.

annspade did Chapter 3.

And now it's time for projectblogsphere to work his magic...

Labels: annspade, projectblogsphere, spricket24, YouTube

Click.

"Wow." J.P. realized that she had never hung up on him like that before.

Kylie had hung up on him in exasperation. She had hung up on him in absolute rage. She had hung up on him because he wouldn't stop talking in a bad Scottish accent. She had hung up on him because of sexual frustration. (His, not hers.)

But, this time she was just...

Tired.

And that had him shook.

He had never heard such defeat in her voice.

He knew that he had never been the world's best boyfriend. He wasn't terrible, he was just... He was sometimes difficult. He thought it was just part of his charm.

He thought that Kylie felt the same way.

It was their thing. A little give and take. It kept things interesting.

Or so he thought.

When they first met -- three years earlier -- he had to talk her into dating him. Kylie was "sick of players." And that was how he likely had appeared to people who didn't know him.

But, he worked hard to prove that he was not that way at all. Eventually she relented.

J.P. barely looked at other women when they were together.

But, he hung out with his friends. A lot. He watched sports. A lot. And he worked hard. Periodically.

Over the recent months, J.P.'s job had begun taking up more and more of his time. Much to his chagrin, J.P. had fallen ass-backwards into a promotion. It was more of a case of a natural aptitude than one of failing upwards.

Or so he told himself.

He thought that Kylie would appreciate him having more money now. She had endured many take-out food dates early on in their relationship. He thought this would make her happy.

Apparently it wasn't doing the trick.

Her latest complaint was that he couldn't go to the house-warming party of one of her work friends the next evening. It wasn't a case of it being too much of a hassle for him to move things around. It wasn't a case of him not wanting to attend... well, he didn't. But, that wasn't the sticking point. It was quite literally something that he could not get out of. It was his job.

Perhaps once a year, something would come up that he had to take part in. His boss would accept no excuses. And this was the first one since his promotion. Someone would have to mug him and take his spleen for him to avoid it. And even then, he'd be expected to log in on a video conference call from the hospital.

J.P. tried to explain it to Kylie. And she understood it last year. And the year before.

Her call to him this morning was a last ditch effort to try to change his mind.

He explained that it was impossible, but he offered to do ANYTHING that she wanted to this coming weekend. He would go anywhere with her. Out of town for the weekend. Even to the ballet.

And she knew how much he hated the ballet.

She wasn't even listening.

She just said, "This means a lot to me."

And then she hung up.

He sat and thought about whether he had missed any way of getting out of the work thing.

There was absolutely no way.

Then he realized that he had a fairly light day today. And that Kylie -- according to her Google calendar that she made him study -- was free tonight.

Maybe if he planned a special enough evening, it would soften the blow.

He had to do something. He couldn't stand disappointment in her voice on a good day.

Her sounding so defeated crushed him completely.


To be continued...

Labels: could definitely use some editing, short fiction

I think that I've mentioned a few times in here that I am not entirely sure what to do with a MySpace account. I have one. But, once I add someone new as a friend, or request an add, I'm pretty much out of ideas.

I don't really understand it. (Not understanding things seems to be a recurring theme here. Is it just me?)

Whatever.

I usually add a link in my "blog" over there, anytime I make a post over here. Though most people that actually visit over there already visit here. Though it seems like most people don't even bother putting anything in their "blog" over there.

Did you follow that?

I picked a kick-ass Canadian classic rock tune for my profile. That was fun. And took five minutes.

I've mocked the dudes that use pics of themselves shirtless as the default user pic. Who does this? Honestly? Could you be more sketchy? On the plus side, we know where our next generation of used car salesmen will come from.

People have left comments -- which I appreciated -- and I've replied by leaving comments on their profiles. But, this strikes me as an odd way to communicate. Why wouldn't I just e-mail this person? Or vice versa. Or why wouldn't I use the cool little gmail chat dealie? Or even MSN? It's like inviting the world to read one line at a time conversations that take forever to play out.

I can understand the concept of posting pics in the photo album dealie and allowing people to leave comments on them. Which would help me more, if I wasn't one of the top 37 least photogenic people in North America. For reals. Did you see that episode of "Friends" when Chandler and Monica were trying to get a picture taken for their engagement announcement? Each attempt is worse than the last, with him making odd faces. It's kind of like that, but in a Toronto Blue Jays baseball cap.

I can also understand using MySpace to track down old friends, lovers, chemistry lab partners, etc. Especially if you are bright enough NOT to use the real names of people in pieces of short fiction. *cough cough*

But, I am a bit perplexed by the "Top ___ " friends thing. You can show your top 4, 6, 8, 12, 16, 20 and 24 friends. Which was great when I had less than 24 friends. But, lately I've been getting more popular. Probably because I'm willing to put out.

What do I do now? I don't want to offend anyone.

Most of us have added "friends" that are famous singers, bands, actors, TV shows, etc. -- I have too, but I have no idea why. So, there is a good chance that they aren't going to ever see our profiles. No need to front page them.

Do we just top-friend people who top-friended us? What if top-friending someone, that doesn't have us top-friended, suddenly inspires them to move us up their list? And why do we care where we are on someone's list?

Kind of smacks of high school and whether or not you get invited to a party that the cool kids are having.

I thought about randomly alternating my list, so that everyone gets equal love.

But, that sounded like it would involve effort on my part. That's my least favourite type of effort.

So, I've settled on making it a meritocracy of sorts. People are going to have to earn their place on my top friend list.

Commenting here on my blog. That gets you points.

Sending me an e-mail to tell me how awesome I am... Points.

Remembering my birthday... Points.

Posting a new default user pic that is cute... Points.

Despising "Family Guy"... Lots of points.

Indianapolis Colts beat the New England Patriots next Sunday... Points for everyone!

I reserve the right to add more criteria whenever the urge strikes.

I also reserve the right to not really keep track of these "points" and to move people around willy-nilly whenever the whim strikes.

One thing is for sure, any of you fellas post shirtless pics of yourselves, and you are off the Top 24. Unless I am in the market for a "fine previously-owned, but new to me, automobile."

Labels: MySpace

Though they'd likely use funny lines and little hats over some of the vowels.

And, yes, I know what those little dealies are called and what sounds go with them. I took French every year K-12. And even took a class in university. I needed a language credit. And German just sounded way too angry all the time.

For Christmas I got this jobbie that converts my mountain bike into a pseudo-exercise bike. It is pretty slick and very simple. It basically jacks up my back wheel and... well, it's not really much more complicated than that.

It is pretty sweet. Good exercise, and you don't have to deal with pesky things like people or (shudder) nature.

One problem is that when using things like exercise bikes, threadmills, etc. I get insanely bored. I am not so good with repetitive activities. I could never work on an assembly line. My mind wanders and my hand would get lopped off on my first day.

When I used to lobster fish in the summer, I'd be emptying out traps. Crabs get chucked back overboard (quickly) and the lobsters get put in a box for banding. On more than a few occasions, I was replaying scenes from my favourite movies in my head while chucking crabs into the lobster banding box. I even tossed a lobster or two overboard. People don't like it when you do that.

My mind can go anywhere. I could be writing haikus or horror musicals featuring singing cockroaches in my head. No, really. I've done both.

So, I came up with a plan for my basement mountain biking excurions. I put my portable DVD player in front of my bike, so that I have something to watch. This morning I was enjoying some of Season 2 of Seinfeld. Good times.

But, this plan isn't perfect. Because I've seen all these episodes of Seinfeld dozens of times, my mind still wanders a bit...

This morning it spent some time thinking about how last night's episode of "The O.C.' was the worst... episode... EVER. And I never thought that I would say that for a Taylor-focused episode. I wouldn't hire Regis Philbin's daughter to write my grocery list.

The fun beginning to this season was just an aberration. A little post-Marissa honeymoon maybe. The plot was lost - quite literally - after season 1. Too much melodrama, not enough snarky fun.

Now they are just damaging the legacy (such that it is) and crapping all over my good memories. It's like when Michael Jordan came out of retirement to play with Washington. Or like when you take a nice young lady home with you one night, and the next day you see her pistol-whip a priest. Or something.

I started my "morning pages" for The Artist's Way this morning. Whoooo!

Essentially, these are three pages that you have to write every single morning. They can be about anything at all. And there are no "wrong" things to write. The purpose is to trick our enternal censor. Because there is no "wrong" answer, that whiney sumbitch has nothing that he can complain about.

I don't remember what I wrote. I can't show them to anybody. And I can't even read them myself. That's not what they are about.

I thought it would be harder to do that it actually was.

Of course, the fact that I can prattle on for three pages shouldn't surprise any of you.

In fact, I just mentioned that in an e-mail reply to fellow blogger Mood Indigo. I remarked that I had nothing to write in my blog this morning, but yet my e-mail was longer (and better) than War & Peace.

And now this post is also stretching out pretty well.

But, I know that blog posts are more about quality over quantity (of words.) It's not like sexual conquests or anything. (I kid, I kid.)

Still, even I am amused by my own verbosity from time to time.

But, seriously, Summer's hallucinations on "The O.C." last night?

Come on.

Labels: rambling

I want to see AN INCONVENIENT TRUTH.

I've stopped using Aqua Net hairspray. I've stopped spraying butter-flavoured Pam inside of my skin-tight Sergio Valente jeans to make them slide on easier - and smell delicious.

Still, I think that there is more that I can do.

I do have some knowledge about global warming. This isn't like the Middle East. But, I don't have nearly enough.

I am, however, a little a-feared to see the documentary. I half suspect that it may freak me out and cause me to begin tracking global temperatures maniacally. The fact that I've spent more time outside in t-shirts than jackets over the past few weeks was already enough to make me say "Hmmmmm." This is Canada. In January. Come on.

I woke up way early this morning, and checked my satellite dish to see when the next pay-per-vu showing of AN INCONVENIENT TRUTH was beginning. I would have had to wait an hour, so instead I finally started reading The Artist's Way.

And already I am finding myself much more excited about it than I expected.

A few years ago, I would have considered this book kinda [please note that Peter is making "out there" hand motions and sound effects.]

But, now I seem to be at the right age, in the right mindset, and experiencing the right amount of dissatisfaction with my writing to be more open.

A couple pages in, the author pretty much listed - and dispelled - all of the concerns I would typically have with this kind of book. I'd be lying if I said that it didn't make me feel a smidge less unique, but it also made me hopeful.

The author made it sound like even stubborn shits like me could have success with her teachings.

I hope that she's right.

I've already learned that Einstein did his best thinking while in the shower. So, that's another thing that he and I have in common. The first being the unruly hair. Why? What did you think I meant?

Although I am still a bit uncertain on how to have artist child play dates, I can see the benefits of the two main exercises in the book. The things that they are supposed to help with are things that I definitely feel like I need help with.

I'm not going to go into any great detail at this point. Perhaps I will as I get further along in the book.

And while it is definitely not the reason for me doing it, maybe the book will help the quality of my blog posts.

More importantly, maybe it'll teach me not to be so critical of writings on a blog that, by it's very design, was meant for first-drafts and writing exercises only.

We'll see.

Labels: An Inconvenient Truth, Sergio Valente jeans, The Artist's Way

45) I hate sequels.

46) Ethan Hawke annoys me.

47) I find "Family Guy" to be spectacularly unfunny.

48) Except for Stewie. He has his moments.

49) If I had to do karaoke right now, I would do Bruce Springsteen's "Born to Run."

50) I REALLY should not ever do karaoke.

51) I hate charging people money to do things for them.

52) I'll never be a gigolo.

53) And I went to business school.

54) I wish that I would have went to journalism school

55) I can be a teensy bit sarcastic. No. It's true!

56) I have never given anyone the gift of a dick in a box.

57) I wonder if people are going to read #56 in the future - without remembering the reference - and think that I am quite odd.

58) I once told a woman that Simon LeBon from Duran Duran was my uncle and that they were singing "Hungry Like DeWolf."

59) I am beyond addicted to "The Wire."

60) I'd still like to know who, exactly, let the dogs out.

61) I wouldn't have voted for Mark McGwire to get into the baseball hall of fame either.

62) I think that Emily Proctor has the best accent ever.

63) But, I still have't heard all Aussie women yet.

64) I enjoy Lisa Loeb's "Stay" WAY too much.

65) The Dixie Chicks' version of "Landslide" also.

66) Even in high school I had sappy music around (mix tapes!), though I claimed it was "for the girls" and "to set the mood." I wonder if my friends bought that.

67) Dreams affect my mood for the next day. If you showed up in my dream and were a jerkass, then I'm not going to like you the next day.

68) Last night I had a dream that I was kissing a woman and she kept accidentally biting my tongue. I don't think that I want to know what that represents.

69) My father had a '69 Mustang (!!!) and sold it (for little or nothing) the year I was born. This may impact what kind of home I eventually put him in.

70) I recently realized that 100 things is a lot of friggin' things.

71) I like gadgets. Too much. (Was looking at this new Blackberry last night...)

72) I was a card-carrying member of the "Guy LaFleur Fanclub" when I was a little Pete. I carried the card and everything.

73) I read a book when I was a kid that taught you how to carve out the middle of a book so that you could use it for a hiding place for your valuables.

74) So, I carved out THAT book.

75) I stored my Guy LaFleur Fanclub card in there when I wasn't carrying it.

76) I check my e-mail obsessively. Even though gmail checks for new mail automatically, I still hit the "Inbox" link to make it check sooner.

77) I can't believe that there are still people who haven't converted to gmail.

78) If Lauren Graham was a cult, I'd join.

79) Unless they made us wear matching tennis shoes.

80) The best pizza I've ever eaten is at King of Donair on Quinpool St. in Halifax, Nova Scotia.

81) By my rough estimates, I spent almost $3600 there during my university career.

82) The drivers all knew me by name, and I always asked about their kids, wives, Star Wars collectibles collections, etc.

83) While in university, I was probably paying for their kids to go to university. Isn't that like paying it forward, or something?

84) I've never seen PAY IT FORWARD.

85) I watch OFFICE SPACE every 3-4 months.

86) I watch SWINGERS once a year.

87) I have a head full of useless knowledge. Seriously. Trivia that nobody should know.

88) I sometimes wonder if Menudo is still going strong.

89) For a frosh week hazing thing, we had to sing NKOTB's "Step By Step" in front of a (now gone) famous bar in Halifax.

90) I was step four.

91) I can totally give you more.

92) I used to wear contact lenses, but then I had cigarette ashes flicked into one of my eyes. It messed up the lens and I had a blood shot eye for months. I never went back to wearing them.

93) I hate shaving.

94) I just checked my gmail account again.

95) I just realized that I really didn't share very much information in this list.

96) I am okay with that.

97) I think that Shakira's hips might actually lie, but I may need to study them more to be certain.

98) Empire State Building Fun Fact #98... It was declared by the American Society of Civil Engineers to be one of the Seven Wonders of the Modern World.

99) Red Balloons go by.

100) You didn't think I'd make a list of 100 things and not mention my little ACN, did you?

So, there ya go. 100 things. And you read them all. In some cultures we'd be married now.

Labels: 100 things

So, two years after everyone else did their "100 Things" jobbie, I am dipping my toe in that pool.

I am not a trend setter.

I am not even a trend follower.

I'm apparently something of a trend archeologist.

No matter...

Here is my list, suckas:

1) Yes, this is really my name.

2) No, I actually haven't been picked on very much about it.

3) When I stand up from my chair and stretch my arms up, my fingers hit the (eight foot) ceiling.

4) I had a cat named "Lippy" that I adored when I was a kid.

5) I named him "Lippy" because of the way he drank milk with his tongue.

6) I wasn't an overly bright kid.

7) I stole Lippy from my great aunt who lived a few houses away. (This, oddly enough, didn't lead to a life of crime. Yet.)

8) When I was a kid, I thought that "making ends meet" was actually "making end's meat" and that it was a recipe for poor people.

9) I figured that it involved spam in some way.

10) Also when I was a kid, I saw a want ad for someone to do "some light house work." I read it as "some lighthouse work" and figured that they would have a hard time finding someone with such specialized experience.

11) I would probably like to get married some day.

12) Ideally this would take place in Vegas. (An open-mind to the possibility of getting married in Vegas is a definite selling point in a potential wife.)

13) If I HAD to have a traditional wedding, I'd want to enter to Nazareth's "Hair of the Dog" playing very loudly.

14) I have a favourite fork and try to use it at as many meals as humanly possible.

15) I've never seen FORREST GUMP.

16) I never will.

17) Until recently, I described broccoli as "the dealie with the little green trees."

18) I am not big on veggies.

19) I've never, ever cheated on a girlfriend.

20) Many people don't believe #19.

21) I once convinced Sir Ian McKellen to e-mail my girlfriend at the time for her birthday.

22) I take LONG showers.

23) I occasionally find myself singing/rapping all of the lyrics to Ice T's "Colors," from the 1988 movie of the same name, despite the fact that I haven't heard the song in many years.

24) When I played high school basketball, that was the song that we entered the gym to, despite the fact that we were the whitest team ever that didn't appear in the movie HOOSIERS.

25) Dennis Hopper directed COLORS and starred in HOOSIERS. Which, admitttedly has very little to do with me. But, I knew that fun fact.

26) If I am going to keep this up, 100 things might not be nearly enough.

27) Years ago I tried to convince the people that publish Archie comics that I should write for them. I never heard back. Fuckers.

28) I love having pancakes for dinner.

29) I feel naked without a baseball cap on.

30) And not in a fun way.

31) I haven't vomitted since November 18, 1988.

32) It was my birthday. I missed out on seeing the Harlem Globetrotters.

33) I was the National Security Advisor under Richard Nixon.

34) I pioneered the policy of détente with the Soviet Union.

35) I sometimes forget that I'm not Henry Kissinger.

36) I originally planned to take this a bit seriously.

37) I am never, ever satisfied with my blog - especially not the writing contained therein.

38) I have a crush on Giada from "Everyday Italian" on the cooking channel.

39) I have a MySpace account. I am still unclear as to what the point of it is. Yet, I think that everyone should add me as a friend.

40) When I refer to a woman as "cute," I mean it as a big compliment.

41) When I refer to a woman as a "chick," I mean that she is cool enough to have earned that title.

42) I LOVE 80s music. (I am listening to Big Country's "In a Big Country" even as I type this.)

43) I have a t-shirt that says, "Have you hugged my t-shirt today?" Yet, I'm not big on receiving hugs.

44) I also have a long-sleeved white T that says, "Peter's Hotdogs - If it isn't 12 inches, it isn't a Peter"

That's enough for now.

Labels: 100 things

Welcome to the first installment of "Ask Pete."

Today's question comes from a blog reader that would prefer to remain anonymous... for some reason.

"Dear Pete, what is your current relationship situation? AND how do you feel about it?"

Good questions both.

My current relationship situation is: not in one.

And I am not actively looking. But, if I happen to fall ass-backwards into one - and that is typically how it has happened for me - that is cool.

Probably.

With every passing year, and each failed relationship, I get a little bit wiser with regards to what I need in a woman and whether or not she's a good fit for me. I'm even getting better at determining whether or not I'm a good fit for her.

And, not surprisingly, the overlap of those two groups is getting smaller and smaller.

I joke about "getting pickier in my old age," but really it is just learning from experiences.

Or so I keep telling myself.

Also, keep in mind that I never really learned how to date. Which probably explains why "ass-backwards" is usually how it happens for me.

As for how I feel about it...

Indifferent, for the most part.

I've never been one of those dudes that goes from one girlfriend to the next. I don't NEED to be in a relationship at all times.

Are there things that I miss about being in a relationship? Sure.

And I'm not talking about the obvious.

One of my favourite things about a relationship is the pre-sleep chat.

I'm serious.

Just the chance to recap your day and to hear about someone else's.

To lend support when needed. To get support when it is appreciated.

Or just to listen. Sometimes it's nice to forget about your own shit and to care about someone else.

Doing this in person is ideal, but even having a nice, friendly female voice on the phone as you get drowsy is not without it's charms.

(Can one have that without being in a relationship? Maybe I'll post a craigslist ad.)

There are other things I miss, and enjoy, about relationships, but that one is the first that comes to mind.

Hopefully that answers the questions.

So, a fairly sensible post on a Monday morning.

I just blew your mindhole, didn't I?

Labels: Ask Pete

Remember when I posted "I'll take famous quotes for $600, Alex?"

Oh, really?

Well , here it is again.

I decided to take another crack at it today...

"I had my freak flag turned into a pair of boxer shorts, but I still show it to as many people as possible." - Peter DeWolf, 2007

It's funny in MY head.

It is!

Screw you guys.

I know that I have.

So, over the holidays, in between watching a buttload of episodes of "The Wire" on DVD, I learned to speak Cat.

It was either that or Italian, and since I'm off Italian women...

I can see that you are skeptical. (About the Cat thing, not the Italian chick embargo.) Permit me to demonstrate.


Scamp: You don't HAVE to fuck off, but it would be really super if you did.

Whiskers: That's not you talking, man. It's the 'nip.

Scamp: Please... I'm barely using any of the stuff. It's purely recreational.

Whiskers: And I suppose that you can quit at any time?

Scamp: Absolutely.

Whiskers: You are lying to yourself. Tell him, Sir William James Purrington III.

Sir William James Purrington III: Well... see... the thing with catnip is... and studies have shown...

Whiskers: Yeah, thanks. You've been helpful.

Scamp: I appreciate the concern, but--

Whiskers: It's that Princess next door, isn't it?

Scamp: Princess has nothing to do with anything. I'm just bummed that they cancelled "The O.C."

Whiskers: We all are, but it's more than that. You fell for her, didn't you?

Scamp: No. Not at all.

Whiskers: Come on. She did that neck nuzzle, deep purring thing. It got to you.

Scamp: So what if it did?

Whiskers: But, you let her know that she was getting to you. You gave her the upper paw!

Scamp: That's crazy.

Whiskers: Is it? What do you think, Sir William James Purrington III?

Sir William James Purrington III: Well, relationships... They are a tricky thing... When emotions... Feelings are--

Whiskers: Exactly!

Scamp: Listen, I'm fine. I just want to read today's Garfield strip and be left alone.

Whiskers: Can't do it, homey. We are going to get you off the 'nip. And there is a cat show tonight down at the civic center. We'll go chase some tail. You'll see.

(They are interrupted by some humans speaking nearby.)

Scamp: I wonder what that is about.

Whiskers: Sir William James Purrington III, you can speak human. What are they saying?

Sir William James Purrington III: Well... Okay... I'm a bit rusty, you know... Someone named Britney is in rehab... Uh oh...

Whiskers: What is it?

Sir William James Purrington III: It's just that... Not sure how to... Princess has fleas.

Scamp: I can't believe this.

Whiskers: (scratching himself) Me neither.

Scamp: Don't tell me...

Whiskers: You know that I have a weakness for calicos.

Scamp: Bastard.

Whiskers: Sorry, dude.

Scamp: Forget it. I need a flea bath.

Whiskers: Me too.

Sir William James Purrington III: Me too.

Scamp and Whiskers stop in their tracks.

Whiskers: You?!?

Sir William James Purrington III: Well, she was... playing with a roll of toilet paper... It was double-quilted... Double-quilted, motherfuckers!!!

The three kittens walk quietly down the hall together.

Whiskers: So, that Pat Robertson is a huge sack of crap,