Specific Gravity

This is going to be a tough one.

I thought all the way home how I'd write this entry.

I hate to break it to you guys (all five of you), but I'm gonna need some time off. From November 1st through November 30th, this blog will become completely dormant.

I hate to do it, because I really enjoy writing here, but I've got another commitment that's gonna take all of my time for the next thirty days or so.

I'm just not going to have the time to write a blog entry here every couple of days. I'm really sorry.

Here's why.

That's right... this mofo is writing a novel.

50,000 words long (at least).

In thirty days (at most).

Remember a couple of months ago how I was talking about the album I was recording and how I wanted to write a "novella" to go along with it? Well, I found out about NaNoWriMo (I guess it's leet speak for National Novel Writing Month) this morning and mulled it over for an hour. And then I thought about how the hell I would do it if I decided that I was going to go through with it.

I came up with a tentative schedule and decided to go for it. I mean, I've got almost all of the songs for the album written, and while they themselves don't really tell the "story" of what's going on, it's about as good of an outline that I'd ever be able to come up with. So, I'm doing it.

I'm writing a novel called "Few and Far Between". It will be 13 chapters long with a prologue and an epilogue, and each chapter will be named after the songs that will appear on the album. And when I'm done with this thing, I'll get back to work on recording and you'll be able to hear the music behind the story (kind of the reverse of VH1, I guess...).

I know what you're thinking... "Pete, you've come up with ideas that you started and never finished. Why should we believe you when you say that you're going to have a finished novel, 50,000 words long, in a month?"

Why, you ask? Because I need your help. I'm going to write my novel here. You guys get to read the first draft, as it happens, day-by-day. I'm going to leave the comments open, so that when the story starts to suck or you have a suggestion, you can let me know.

But all I ask is for you guys to let me know what you think. Whether it's "you used 'their' instead of they're, dumbass" or it's "this is moving to slow" or it's "I read it", let me know.

'Cause I'm going to need some advice, a little feedback, and a lot of encouragement to get through this bad boy. And once I'm done with the novel, I'll finish the album (target date of 1/31/2006 for a rough draft), and you'll get both of them from me, completely pro bono. And you'll get shoutouts in the liner-notes of the CD booklet. And maybe some other cool stuff too...

But please be aware that this is going to be a first cut, very rough draft that will be full of typos and plot holes and will not be the best story you've ever read. But it'll be one hell of a serial that you'll be viewing real time.

So, who's with me?

But I did want to thank Sara for getting me hooked on the CRACK that is Lifehacker.com-- it's completely safe for work (and might actually help you do it better!).

I'm also working on getting a myspace music page together, but I've got to do some refining. I'll let you know when I've got something substantial up there.

Oh, and I thought I'd pass this along... funniest thing I've seen in a few days (via Screenhead)...


















BWAHAHAHA!!! Totally gets me in the mood for Halloween.

I've spent my life enduring a myriad of nicknames-- some welcomed, some not.

My friends in pre-school dubbed me the inevitable "Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater".

My best friend in grade school called me "Peebee".

My mom used to call me "Peter-roo" (and if you know me personally and ever call me this, I will be royally pissed).

My fraternity brothers dubbed me "Petsey Fly".

My wife calls me all sorts of things from "Schmoopie" to "Honey-kins" to "Bunny", ad nauseum.

But the one nickname that I've never shaken was the one that was given to me in high school-- Tampson.

To this day, I am known in certain circles as Tampson. It all evolved from these two guys who I wasn't even really friends with (guys who named themselves "Larry Begina" and "T.T. Boyd") that got a kick out of calling me by my last name-- Thompson-- in a ridiculous Boston accent. "Hey Tampson, wanna get some chackolate and come cahfee? Maybe some sahsage?" (Think "Pahk Yah Cahr At Hahvahd Yahd" style Boston accent.) My friends picked up on this almost immediately... it made sense because I was one of two Pete's and this made it easier to differentiate.

While I have now gotten used to being called Tampson, I had reservations at first. Mainly, I was a bit concerned that a dyslexic might think people were calling me tampons. And plus, I wasn't really huge fans of Larry Begina and TT Boyd, but after a while, I got used to it.

And I'll be at the office or in a crowd of people calling one of my high school friends and refer to myself as "Tampson", and people will give me strange looks...

But I am not ashamed. Not at all.

I am Tampson.

I buzzed my head again.

I do this every year right around this time. People always ask me why I don't do it at the beginning of summer and I never really have a good reason. I just get bored with having long hair and having to make sure I don't have a huge freakin' cowlick sticking out the back of my head, which happens perpetually.

My sister came over for dinner on Saturday just a couple of hours after I dropped it down... she said I looked like I was going to kick some ass. Papa Bear said that he was glad to see I was ushering the "military look" back into fashion. And a couple of people I work with said it made me look older. Word.
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The Boy Who Lived...

The only downside to this haircut is the fact I've got an inch-long scar on the back of my head on the right hand side. People always notice this (usually they attempt to gently inform me that the barber screwed the pooch) and when I tell them that it's a scar, they always ask why...

Depending on the mood, I'll switch up the reason why... some of which are:

-The "I hit my head closing the trunk of my car" excuse
-The "Dark Alley/Knife fight" excuse
-The "Voldemort/Avada Kedavra Curse" excuse
-The "I was a brain donor" excuse
-The "Old High School Football injury" excuse
-K got pissed 'cause I didn't do the dishes (a.k.a. "Knife fight #2 excuse")

Or I'll just be straight with them and tell them the real reason why... when I was three years old, my mom was driving my brother, Robert, and I home from the doctor's office. Robert had an ear infection (one of the hundreds he had when he was a kid), and I was along for the ride. As my brother slept beside me in the back seat, I managed to houdini my way out of my car seat and climb into the front seat to sit shotgun as my mom turned into our subdivision.

Getting out of the car seat wasn't enough, I guess, because I started messing with the knobs and buttons in the front seat. I reached over and pulled the door handle (which was usually locked) and all the sudden the door flew open and out the car I went. My mom had fortunately just turned into our subdivision and was going no more than 20 miles per hour. But I flew out and hit my head on the concrete curb, splitting the back of my head open.

Explains a lot, right?

I ended up with a severe concussion, 17 stitches, and a completely guilt-ridden mother who sat with me that entire night and made sure I didn't fall asleep (supposedly if you fall asleep after a concussion, there's a high chance of entering a coma). I never told her how much I appreciate what she did for me that night or how sorry I am for worring her... But I'll make it a point to when I see her tomorrow night.

Oddly enough, I now live a block away from that spot, and every time I drive pass, I still get the chills.

Good googly-moogly. I think my liver's broken. And I think I'm down to my last baker's dozen of braincells.

So, I went to Sewanee last weekend for homecoming and spent the last four days killing a hangover. I am just now back to feeling okay. (Not that I was really feeling "bad" per se-- no nausea, or headaches-- but I just didn't feel that it was really safe to rejoin society. You know, forming sentences, handling heavy machinery, carrying sharp objects... those types of things.) It used to be that I could bounce back from a night of drinking no problem... sure, I may feel like shit the next day (especially if I went a bit overboard), but this feeling never lasted one, MAYBE TWO, days max. But this time, I couldn't keep focused, I was in bed every night this week before 9:00, I was drinking coffee like I was Brazilian, and I haven't touched beer or a cigarette since Sunday.

Well, that is until tonight. But it was just a Heineken. And a Marlboro Ultra Light.

The journey I have dubbed "Project Emergency Detox" has made things a little less exciting than usual. In turn, I have very little to report. [But, in case you're wondering, I did try that Chaser stuff, so expect a thorough review on DTSRW?! in the next couple of days. I've written most of it, but I've got to go through a couple more "tests" in the interest of science.]

Have much great weekending, people.

I changed the layout... got kinda tired of the same old stuff...

I'm headed to Sewanee tomorrow, so if, by the grace of God, I have access to the computer (assuming computers have made their way into Tennessee), I'll post an update while I'm up there.

If not, expect lots of embarrasing photos and a new post on "Does That Sh*t Really Work?!" next week.

So, K and Jorge and I are packing up the PT cruiser and headed up to Sewanee for the weekend. We're renting a house on campus with an older fraternity brother of mine, Brad, who is one of the nicest gentlemen I've ever met. Anyway, K decided that it'd be cool to be up on the mountain and have her gumbo. She's been cooking it all day, and I came home to the best smelling house I've ever come home to.

Some metaphors to tell you how good K's gumbo is...

-You know that point in romance movies when the cute, quirky couple kisses and the sappy music kicks in right before the credits? That's what it's like when you take the first bite of K's gumbo.

-You know when you eate something that tastes so good, you know that the instant you injest it, you're just taken 5 years off your life (or put yourself on the waiting list for a triple-bypass surgery)? That's like eating K's gumbo.

-You know that day in spring when the sun is finally warm enough that when you step into the sunlight it warms the back of your legs? That's like eating K's gumbo.

-You remember the songs your mom/dad used to sing you when you were a child? That's like eating K's gumbo.

-You know why I feel bad for vegetarians and vegans? K's muh-fuggin' gumbo.

This stuff is purely magical. K used to make it for my friends when they came over for the fantasy baseball draft. People used to join the league and come to the draft JUST FOR THE GUMBO. They wouldn't check the team for the rest of the season, but they'd walk out of that apartment feeling like they could conquer the world.

I'm gonna be eating that muh-fuggin' gumbo all weekend. And I'm gonna conquer the world.

Or at least a twelver of nattie light.

No post here. But a post here. "Does That Sh*t Really Work?!" has gone live, mofos.

Someone suggested that I do a top ten about myself. So here ya go...

Pete's top ten least known facts about me:

10) I come up with hot-as-hell freestyle rhymes while I'm mowing the lawn. But can never recreate their brilliance when not behind a lawn-mower.

9) If you calculate my year's intake of ketchup, I eat close to FOUR GALLONS of the stuff. Wow. That's a lotta fuckin' sauce.

8) I came up with one of the most brilliant ways to get screwed up on a Monday-- "Monday Night Football: The Drinking Game". And I played it tonight. And Tuesday isn't going to be much fun. Someday, I'll share the rules with you guys.

7) It wasn't until a year after I started dating K that I realized "yes, girls really do poop."

6) I have a miniature bust of Abe Lincoln that I'm especially fond of:


















I bring him with me to every musical performance I have. I don't know why. Sometimes I put him on the amplifier, sometimes I leave him in my bag. But Abe is always with me at my shows.

5) I love Madonna. I saw Madonna at MSG. I don't think I'll ever see Madonna again.

4) I was talking with my sister tonight, and got on the conversation of really embarrassing things we've said to people we were interested in while at college. My freshman year, I called this senior up who I was ga-ga over... I asked her what she was doing and she said, "Ah, just watching the Miss America pageant." I said, "Really? Who's winning?" As soon as I said it, I realized how dumb of a question it was. I never got the gall to ask her to the university pub. And she never talked to me again.

3) It wasn't until two years after I started dating K that I realized "yes, girls really do fart."

2) I have RIDICULOUSLY vivid dreams. I have this one reoccurring dream where my left hand is cut off by terrorists/assassins/my first grade teacher. And I wake up suddenly and after sleeping on my left arm for a few hours, it's fallen asleep. And I freak out because I have no feeling in my hand and I can't move it at all and truly believe that my left arm has been cut off and I'm never going to play guitar again. And then I realize that it's 3:40 in the morning and I'm gonna be worthless at work the next day.

1) I always think about how I ended up at the age of 27 and where I pictured myself ending up when I was a boy. I find myself looking in the mirror every morning and wondering, if I was 10 and could see me as I am now, what I would think of myself and what I have become.

And while I didn't become an astronaut or a doctor, I sure hope I would have been happy.

1) Compeltely out of character, Pete seems very happy this Monday morning as he sits and types out his morning entry. Why is Pete so happy this morning?

a) Because he got eight hours of sleep last night.

b) Because his fantasy baseball team, "The ATL En Fuego", finished in first place, netting him his first fantasy sports title ever.













c) Because he's eating a Little Debbie Oatmeal Creme Pie for Breakfast.
















d) Because his fantasy football team vaulted him into second place in the laywer's "BIG MONEY" tournament that he was guilted into playing.












e) Because this Friday, Pete is going to be going to Sewanee for his five-year reunion.

Pass your answers to the front of the class. And yes, spelling does count.