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Email Pete about the world. He might reply. All work herein (c) 2002-2004 by Peter Petrisko

[ REUNION SPECIAL ]

The fun to be had at other people's high school reunion!

We stopped to get a bite to eat and, just our luck, it was some high school or another’s big reunion party at the restaurant we visited.

The place was chock-full of thirtysomethings wondering what the hell had happened in the intervening days as both their dreams and memory of the glory years slipped through their fingers – one precious moment at a time.

My dining companion and I watched the festivities and wondered who had been the school jocks, who were the nerds back in the day, and which woman would drink herself into a stupor first only to later prove she was still the school slut.

After a while I got bored, so slyly walked past a table in the corner and pilfered myself a nametag.

I slapped it on and was reborn as “Bob”. I felt like a “Bob”. I became “Bob”.

Bob mingled.

“Jeez, how have you been? I haven’t seen you, well, since high school!”

“Hello there, Steve. Tell me, you used to have hair… so what happened?”

“Gee, Monica, I don’t remember you having breasts in high school. Those implants must have set you back a pretty penny!”

“I’m Bob. Don’t you remember me? We were in social studies together.”

When the issue was pressed, with more than one person wondering who I was, I told them the pinnacle of my high school career was being president of the Chess Club. They seemed satisfied with that explanation because, after all, who remembers anybody in the Chess Club?

But one obnoxiously drunk lout carried on and on, “I don’t think you were in the graduating class. I was the quarterback of the football team and homecoming king! Everybody knew me and I knew everybody… and I don’t remember you, Bob!”

“You don’t?” I replied, “That’s funny, because I remember you. And I haven’t forgotten what you did to me. In fact, it’s been festering for years. Here’s a hint.”

That’s pretty much when I punched him. The next thing I knew I was being manhandled and quickly found myself face down in the parking lot outside.

As I lifted from the asphalt and dusted myself off, with the small crowd wandering back into the restaurant, I quietly took stock of my life as my dining companion appeared and helped me to the car.

Having avoided the tediousness of my own high school reunion(s), my life didn’t seem so shabby in comparison. Heck, I didn’t much care for those losers back in high school so why would I want to see them again now?

I would, however, attend a preschool reunion if there were such a thing…

“I’m Pete. Remember me? I slept on the mat next to yours during nap-time.”

“How can I forget you? You’re the guy who peed on me when I was four years old!”

Now that would be a fun reunion.

posted by Pete 2:00 AM

[ DARK NIGHT OF THE SOUL... OR SOMETHING TO THAT EFFECT ]

Have you ever had one of those nights when you can't seem to catch your breath, and the pressure in the back of your head is so great you fully expect your eyeballs to be bulging out of your head but you don't want to check in the mirror to see if they are because you know nothing good will come of that?

In any case, you're too dizzy to stand so that, as they say, is that. You feel overwhelmed and can't concentrate enough to watch TV or read so, instead, you lay in the dark and concentrate on being overwhelmed. You're waiting for Death to come but he's evidently taking his sweet time.

Damn that no good Death anyway. "Don't call me. I'll call you," he says.

That fucker.

Then you hear quiet sobbing coming from your darkened bedroom and you wonder what the hell is going on in there, until you realize you're the only one in the bedroom but, since it's dark in there and you want to be sure, you give the room the once over. Yup, you're alone. Never a good sign when sobbing is involved.

Pretty soon, you get tired of waiting for Death to arrive so you get dressed and go out walking. It's 2AM and nobody else is on the street, except some homeless drunks. No, they haven't seen Death lately either.

So you can't find Death. He doesn't have a permanent address, which makes him kind of hard to pin down. Death is like a homeless drunk in that respect.

Eventually, hours later, you end up back at home. You don't know where you've been or how you got back. The last thing you remember is feeling a bit overwhelmed and then all hell broke loose. Finally, you're exhausted and go to sleep.

The next morning you feel much better. You wonder what the heck you were thinking the night before. To the first friend you see, you answer, "I'm feeling much better today. Thanks for asking." even though what had actually been asked was, "Did you watch the game on TV last night?"

So the friend just shakes his or her head in the affirmative while smiling way too big, figuring you're in no mood to be trifled with.

In retrospect, you wonder if this is what St. John of the Cross had in mind when he wrote Dark Night of the Soul, and you'd ask him but, of course, he's dead.

The lucky bastard.

[]

(The preceding was a reprint. Sometimes you still feel the same way come morning, but I avoided addressing that because I wanted to end things on an 'up' note.)

posted by Pete 12:11 PM

[[ MEDIA PETROS ]]

From the "Shameless Self-promotion" Department, here's a bit of what I do when not blogging...

"Same space. Different name. New attitude… Agitprop-creator extraordinaire Pete Petrisko has transmogrified Crisis Gallery into a one-man show, but still promises the same sociopolitical sarcasm seen in past paintings, performances, and photography."

– Phoenix's New Times (3/3/05)


You've read the media hype. Now check out the real deal.

m e d i a p e t r o s

"primitive pop" art [] surreal portraiture situational performance art [] satirical word

posted by Pete 11:53 PM

[[WHEN GOOD GIRLFRIENDS GO BAD]]

A few weeks ago, my girlfriend walked out the door and never came back. That was her way of breaking things off.

She said, "I'm going to the store for cigarettes" then never returned. She didn't say that literally of course. I'm speaking metaphorical here.

Since that time, she refuses to tell me why. No explanation. No closure. No nothing. Well, except for that open wound she left me with – the one that has yet to heal. I guess that's something. At least now I can't say she never gave me anything, huh?

For the sake of closure, I'm going to guess as to why she left...

She has "men" issues. So it wasn't so much anything I did, but the fact I did it with a penis attached.

She got scared and is hiding out.

She was recently diagnosed with an incurable terminal disease and wanted to spare me the suffering of watching her die. One can only hope, right?

When we first met she said she found me to be "so odd" and thought it charming. But charm doesn't last forever and it finally wore off.

The Other Guy she claims doesn't exist. That's the story she's going with – "There is nobody else" – and, in a way, one almost wishes she's lying because that's far less worse to contemplate than knowing she'd just rather be alone than with me.

She once told me it bothered her that I fluctuated between being very passionate and being detached or aloof. Maybe it bothered her more than she expressed. I know when she first told me that I was very very mad but now I don't care. But I'll probably be pissed off about it again tomorrow.

She lived with me for a couple of weeks until her new apartment was ready. Suffice to say I'm not the easiest person to get along with on a 24/7 basis – so that situation rarely turns out well.

She wanted to give her heart to me completely, but didn't believe I felt the same way about her. She would've been wrong, of course, so I chalk it up to some deep-rooted self-esteem issues on her part.

Our lives are very different and, to some extent, we want different things out of life. For example: When I break up with somebody, I want to give that person closure. She doesn't.

She's fucking nuts.

That's all I can figure on that issue, so take your pick. I'm going to study up on that list real hard in the hopes I'll find some semblance of closure.

Until I do, however, I'm going back to bed where you'll find me hiding under the covers. Over the last few weeks its become quite comfy under there. I have a small refrigerator, a TV, a reading lamp, plenty of books, a telephone, an ice cream maker, a kick-ass stereo system, a portable john, George Foreman's Lean Mean Fat Reducing Grilling Machine, a coffee machine... and I'm having an old-fashioned pinball machine delivered next week. I'm set for life and I'll never have to leave my bed again.

But even with all that stuff, it seems like something is missing.

Or, more accurately - - someone.

posted by Pete 3:39 AM

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