Wednesday, July 14, 2004

Starry Brother

I didn't have an appropriate photograph for this post so I just grabbed something out of the pile. This is a plant in my parents' kitchen. So, I'm going to continue the travel journal tomorrow I guess. Or maybe later today. I should really try working at work once in a while. This is a story about my former friend, Pete. And before it upsets you, please know that no Petes were killed or seriously maimed in the making of this story. I met Pete when I was a freshman in high school. He was younger than me, maybe by two years, but he looked the same age. He was a friend of the boy I lost my virginity to that year. Pete was short, hairy, and he had this weird smell. Now, I don't mean to say that he was like a midget yeti or anything, he was a fairly good looking guy and as the years passed he got better looking, but he was still short, hairy and smelly. Pete was really friendly, always nice to everyone, but he was a huge klutz. He was one of those people who couldn't touch anything without breaking it. If he stood up from his chair, he would knock something over. If he rode his bike, he would crash. If he picked up scissors, something would get cut that wasn't supposed to. It was just the way he was. I was sixteen when I got my tonsils out and Pete took me out for soft pasta when I could finally eat again. I had lost all this weight from not eating - I was down to 84 pounds - and he was really patient while I slowly chewed and chewed and chewed to try to turn the noodles into liquid so I could swallow them. During that meal he got too close to the candle on the table and his big frizzy hair went up in flames. Not like a little sizzle. Pete's head was on fire. I mean, flames flickering in the air above his noggin. He whacked himself about the head until the fire went out and, I'm sorry, but I just laughed and laughed. It was just exactly the kind of thing that would only happen to Pete. He was always having crazy accidents that didn't make any kind of sense. Pete and I ended up having a falling out because by the time I was a high school senior he had gone from hippie to New Age fuckwad. Suddenly he was all about being a shaman and healing people and crystals and auras and hemp bracelets and what the fuck ever. I HATE that shit. He got little business cards made and he had changed his name to some lame-ass star name or something and, I shit you not, the little job description on the card read, "Starry brother specializing in love and light." Uh, yeah. So I was all done with Pete because he had suddenly become the most annoying person EVER. So, a few years ago I got a call from someone I knew in high school who was just calling to say hello. Toward the end of the conversation he said, "Oh, by the way, did you hear what happened to Pete?" As it turns out, Pete had taken his furry, klutzy butt to Hawaii to be a shaman there. And he was all into the spiritual healing, shell-necklace-wearing, and general doofus-being. So one day, there was a big storm and Pete decided to go out and do his medicine-man thing and like, I don't know, prance along in the rain or something. So he's up on this mountain dancing around in the rain and, what happens? He gets hit by lightning of course. Why? Because he's Pete. And that's just exactly the kind of thing that would only happen to Pete. Don't worry, he lived. He's fine. But man, did I laugh my ass off. Posted by Hello

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