Most of our parents had record players back in the day, but Peter's was special. Peter's record player was portable. It took ten huge batteries and despite the weight of it, Peter took it everywhere. I mean, everywhere.
One day, Peter was meeting some friends at the beach and brought the party with him. He proudly set up his portable record player and began enjoying the afternoon with his friends.
"All of the sudden, the record started sounding like it was playing too slow, then it started making really strange noises, then it just stopped."
The sun melthed Peter's record right onto his record player.
"It was never the same again" he tells me.
Of course it wasn't.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Monday, April 19, 2010
more peterisms
"You really think so Peter?"
"Obsolutely!"
"Why don't you go inside and finish your beer? It's getting kinda cold, Peter."
"Because I don't drink in walls."
"You know Peter, I think I could live here and be a writer."
"What the f*ck would you write about? Do you feel aspired by these rocks?"
"You'd really do that?"
"I would do it in a New York heartbeat!"
"Obsolutely!"
"Why don't you go inside and finish your beer? It's getting kinda cold, Peter."
"Because I don't drink in walls."
"You know Peter, I think I could live here and be a writer."
"What the f*ck would you write about? Do you feel aspired by these rocks?"
"You'd really do that?"
"I would do it in a New York heartbeat!"
Sunday, April 11, 2010
peter and a parrot
I just listened to Peter have what he thought was a short conversation with my mom from the kitchen, in which every one of her responses was "yeah."
Peter was having a short conversation with my mom's parrot.
Peter was having a short conversation with my mom's parrot.
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