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Notes from the Underground Volume 2 Number 5 - Letters from Loves Past Hey y'all, How's it hangin'? Well, yeah, it's been a long time since I dropped y'all a line, but Crazy Pete's been plenty busy. Busy with what? you ask. Well, I'll tell ya: buying new socks (yeah, some dirtbag stole all my old ones from the building laundry machine), trying to find parts for my car, duct-taping bumper to said car, dealing with a landlord dispute - the chickens in the bathroom were discovered and me and my fine feathered friends were evicted, getting settled with the chickens in a new place (my parent's phat pad while they're in Phoenix for the winter - they probably won't mind and the chickens really dig their luxe accomodations), reading want ads, making posters and stencils for various causes and trying to quit drinking coffee. So it's been busy. Anyway, since I've been staying at my folks' house, in between marveling at the ice cube machine and readily available heat (I hope I don't lose my edge from all their luxurious appointments), I happened across some an old shoe box filled with old correspondences with lady loves of the past. I was half-afraid I would find the remains of my third grade-era hamster, Scottie, as I remember giving him a shoe box burial of sorts after he died of natural causes. Luckily, this wasn't the box, though there are a dozen or so more that need to be looked through in my old closet. Eek. Anyway, though these love letters are embarrassing to me, I thought they'd be mighty fine entertainment for you. That's the kind of personal sacrifice I'm willing to make for your enjoyment, people. Now this first one is one of those cheesy Valentine's Day cards from grade school. You remember, the kind where you buy like 50 assorted little cards and envelopes in a box for a dollar? They have old fashioned pictures of rosy-cheeked boys and ringlet-haired girls, holding hands and looking away from each other shyly. The caption on my card reads "You make me swoon, sweetie" on the front, and it's from the first girl in a long line who fell for my many charms. It's from Rebecca Johannson in the second grade. It says, "Hi Pete, dont foreget you owe me 25 sents from lunch last weak. Happy valentines day. Rebecca." See what I mean? Clearly, she was smitten. It is filled with poignant longing. Ultimately I dropped Rebecca for this girl - Annie? Amy? Anna? - who always had pink eye. Other than that, she was pretty cute. Can't explain my taste in ladies to this day. Moving on. In summer before seventh grade, I met a girl at camp who lived in a neighboring state and we became sweethearts. My first taste of the headiness of long-distance love! Anyway, Connie wrote this during the school year. "Hey Pete, Do you like the Ramones? I'm listening to them right now and I think they're rad, but I HATE bands like Chicago. They're total wusses. Queen and Rush are ok, but Joey Ramone kicks all their asses twice over anyway. My big sister Ellen sucks. She never gets off the phone. It's always, "Blah, blah, blah, do you think I look fat in my blue sweater?" "Blah, blah, blah, should I go out with Geekface or Dorkboy Friday night?" Those aren't their real names, but their real names don't matter because the names I gave them suit them better. My parents totally favor Ellen. All she has to do is like bat her eyes and my dad will practically give her his car keys and a fake i.d. Not really, but practically. It sucks. She likes bands like Chicago, of course. My homeroom teacher, Miss Kavarski, is probably a lesbian, I think. All the girls think so. She's always hanging out with our gym teacher, Miss Cook. Miss Cook is DEFINITELY a lesbian. Mark my words. Her favorite thing is to watch us do pull-ups. Totally creepy, ya know? So my friend Dana asked me to ask you how far was the farthest you've ever gone with a girl. Just curious. She says she's gone to third base, I don't believe her. Then again, she went out with this guy who worked at a carnival near our house this summer - he's like 19!!! - so I guess anything's possible. I can't wait to get into high school already. I'm sick of going to the same school as 11 year old babies. My high school - North Evansville High - totally kicks ass. Our football team just totally wiped the field with South Evansville last week. I can't wait to go there. I'm going to decorate my locker with all sorts of band stickers and I'll have a mirror and brush in it, too. This stupid junior high won't let us decorate our lockers. I'm going to have the very coolest one of them all. I think I'll put up a Ramone's sticker for sure. Do you know where I could get one? I'm also going to put up a Queen poster. Dana claims she got backstage and totally kissed Freddy Mercury when she saw them play in Indianapolis last year. I don't believe her, though. Anyway, Pete, I'll probably talk to you soon. Camp was fun, wasn't it? Are you going next year? I don't think I am - it's kind of for babies now. Connie, PS - You're a good kisser! Allright, I probably didn't have to transcribe that whole letter when the only important part is the post-script. Yea, Crazy Pete was a good kisser even way back then with braces, pimples, excess drool and everything. Imagine what I'm like now, ladies. Ladies? Oh, never mind. Our next submission is from a young lass from my high school days. Gloria was the first real love of my life, a sophomore when I was a junior, a straight-A student and eventual student council president. Opposites attract, I guess. Last I heard, she was living in a trailer in Florida somewhere, married to an alligator trainer or something with like a dozen kids. Either that, or she's an attorney in New York. I don't remember. In any case, back in the Spring of '78, she was my everything. "Peter, I don't understand why you insist on driving that old beater to school every day. You ask why I don't ever want to catch a ride with you? Because it's embarrassing! It looks like it's going to fall apart at any moment. (Editor's note: Shows what she knows - I still have the same car today!) I really don't want anyone to see me in any proximity to the "Pete Mobile." Blech! And while we're on the topic - I don't mean to sound like a harpy or anything - maybe it's time you got some new clothes. I know your parents would happily buy you some new ones if you can't afford it yourself. Bell bottoms are VERY 60s and out, and so are those old Doors t-shirts. Oh my god! Do you know what's in? Shiny fabrics, tight pants, or, when you want to really dress up, white suits like the one Travolta wore in Saturday Night Fever. If you ever want any fashion advice, you can ask me. Please, PLEASE, don't ask any of your friends. So anyway, don't be mad at me. I just wanted to get a few things off my chest. The thing is, you could be the WORLD'S BEST boyfriend if you just took care of a few things like what I mentioned above. When we go to prom this year - I'm assuming we're going, right? - I think I can find a place where you can at least rent a suit like Travolta's. I think it'd look really good on you with your coloring and all. I'm thinking of wearing this really pretty purple dress I saw at Carson's. What do you think? Do you want to go look at it? Oh, and by the way, we are definitely going to HAVE to rent a limo 'cause the beater will not do. I think we should go with Josie and Brad. I know you think Josie's kind of a bitch, but she's just like that sometimes. Her parents are members of the country club. Anyway, Pete, homeroom's over and I have to go to French class. Think about what I said, okay? Remember, you could be the WORLD'S BEST boyfriend if you set your mind to it. Don't you want to make me happy? I thought so. Hugs, Gloria Yeah, that one lasted long. Not. What Gloria failed to understand is that Crazy Pete, even as a hormone-crazed 16-year-old, is a rolling stone. He gathers no moss. He is a rock. He is an island. Any girl who would look down her nose at the Pete Mobile isn't worth the coconut scented air freshener from '93 hanging from his rear-view mirror (actually, the mirror fell off a while ago, so it's hanging from the old metal piece that used to hold the mirror). Whatever - you get the point. So there. My final letter for your perusal, dear reader, is from my revolutionary college girlfriend, Spike. We lived in a commune together ("The Proletariat House"), and this was where I first became a vegetarian. Spike and I used to stay up late drinking espressos and talking about the organic farm we were going to start in Cuba. Never happened. Ah, well. Spike was a few years my senior, and she introduced me to me to the finer things in life: sprouting, Trotsky, a woman's unshaved legs, the WPA, Steinbeck, and the Unabridged Works of Valerie Solanas. She spoiled me for all other women. Eventually she skipped town with some sweet-talker named Mao, but it was fun while it lasted. She wrote this the summer she was working with in downtown Des Moines selling The Worker newspapers on the street. "My comrade: How are you? Today was a not so great day, friend. Aside from the usual "Go back to Russia, commie!" comments, I didn't sell a single newspaper. Not a one. Not even to the stoners hanging out in front of the head shop. I'm beginning to feel like this town is a bit too bourgeois for socialism. Either that or I'm a failure at the newspaper biz. Also the Des Moines public library refuses to order the new Che Guevera biography, and it's pissing me off. Totally oppressive reactionaries. My mom sent me a care package last week with Cosmopolitan magazine and Ritz crackers in it. Okay, now first of all, how many times do I have to tell her I do not support corporate media's misogyny and rampant consumerism? Do I have to completely spell it out for her? Second, she bought me crackers called "Ritz"?!? Hello, I'm selling The Worker newspaper and making about $2.00 a day. "Ritz" is everything I'm not. Also, Nabisco, manufacturers of Ritz crackers, are capitalist swine. Ritz!!! Sheesh. It's so embarrassing. Let's see - what else? Reds is playing the midnight show at the dollar theater. I think I might check it out. Not too much else going on. I suppose I could try to help organize a union while I'm there, but, frankly, I'm not really feeling up to it today. Does that make me a bad person? Maybe after a shower I'll be more in the mood. Guess that's it. I think I'll have lentil soup and bread for dinner. No Ritz crackers, though! So do you think you might want to come to Des Moines to visit? You could sleep on my floor if you like and keep me company selling newspapers. It might be fun...What do you think? Anyway, I should get going. How's the revolution going on your end? Topple any facsists lately? I could use a happy story after this past week. Tomorrow is a new day, though. Viva la revolucion! Your comrade, Spike Awwww...Wasn't she cute? Anyway, thanks for accompanying me on this trip down memory lane. Anyone want to continue the tradition to sending love letters to Pete? Hey, be my guest. Remember - turn-ons: sunset walks on the beach, dredlocks, tree sits in October; turn-offs: narcs, animal products, yuppies. All vegan ladies should apply! Lovingly yours, Crazy Pete |
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