I had a dream last night that I was on a quiz show with Barack Obama and Bill O’Reilly. They were to face off against each other to determine who knew more about politics, and I was to team up with O’Reilly. I wondered why I was invited to be there, because while I have a decent knowledge of politics, I should certainly not be on a quiz show about it. There was also cooking involved, and Obama was spilling sugar everywhere. He was casually swearing and wearing street clothes, joking that he didn’t have to worry about such things anymore.

Michelle Obama was the host of the show, and one of the questions was “What was my father’s name?,” and none of the contestants knew. Michelle had tears running down her face, saying that she had been married seven times, and I wondered how she had time for that. I was in the midst of admitting to everyone that I didn’t know we could use our phones to look up the answers, and then we switched locales to my old middle school.

I was talking to my teacher Mr. Miller about how even though I was a college graduate, I could never figure out how to finish high school, and I wasn’t going to worry anymore about going back. We decided to take a group picture with all the middle school students on the top of a hill, and I noticed a pair of my sunglasses was lying on the hill. I then accused a man and a woman who passed by behind us in a truck of stealing it from me. It turned out that the dealership had my truck all along.

Fall 1994

Solon, Ohio

After my Summer at Sea World, I'm not sure why I chose to pursue a job at the Solon Kmart (pictured here, 1978) other than for the kitsch value of it. Much like Sea World, I had spent a good portion of my youth there so it was familiar. When I was younger I'd often go shopping there with my mom, and around this period of my life I was successfully stealing cigarettes from the store while on those same (less frequent) shopping trips, so I knew they were trusting. Lastly, this girl at school I liked whose mom worked there approached me and told me she had heard I applied for a job, so it was all around in my best interest. 

I seem to recall it starting well enough, but they were on to me and my smirk pretty quick. I didn't set out to get fired in a few days, one thing just led to another. (Besides, my getting fired stories are always solid). I was assigned to be a cashier along with several other new young hires, and we started doing training, with the signature red vest and everything. We were asked to take turns and rotate with each other to train on the register, simulating employee and customer transactions. We were encouraged as the "employees" to compliment the purchases of the "customers" at the register, and to say things like "Hey, this is a nice (fill in the blank)." At one point this boy was playing the part of cashier, and softly muttered to whoever was playing the customer, "Nice shirt," and it was charmingly hilarious. Of course, that meant I had to up the stakes a little. When it came to my turn to be the customer, I made a finger gun point at the boy and shouted "THIS IS A STICK UP!!!," which elicited roars of laughter from the children and left the trainers unimpressed.

When it came to my first (and I believe final day) of actually being on the job, I worked at a register while being shadowed by one of the trainers. I remember it being a little rocky, because this was when people were still writing out checks, and they had to be called-in and/or stamped in one of those plastic check sliding deals. I remember a customer telling me with a smile "You're doing great, Pete!," which was the last good thing that happened there.

During the initial training, they had told the trainees that there was a method to collecting the cash from the register at the end of a shift, which involved putting it in a bag and securely storing it, and I thought I remembered that the bag was stored under the register that was being used. This is where the innocent version of me comes to the surface, because this is the type of thing that I still get easily confused by. If I'm shown something completely new, I need a little time before I can mentally grasp it, because I tend to either space out or panic and overthink things. Whatever I did with the bag at the end of my shift was wrong, and I guarantee you they thought I was plotting to steal the money.

At the end of the work day, I was called up into the supervisor lady's office, and she told me they were firing me. I was genuinely shocked, because I didn't think I did anything that bad. She told me that I didn't handle the money correctly, they didn't like my sticking up the register, and I think generally found me obnoxious. She gave me plastic bag of two work days worth of payment, and asked that I be on my way. I walked down the stairs from her office, and I felt that I had to retaliate in some manner. There was a paper employee schedule hanging off a binder attached to a wall, and I smacked it with my hand, knocking one piece of paper off of the binder. Within seconds, I heard the "BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!!!" sound of the supervisor running down the stairs, almost as if she was already expecting to have to further confront me. She yelled at me about what I had done, and I told her it was an accident and that I just bumped into the binder. She told me she was going to call security and have them escort me out, but I ended up being able to walk out on my own. She followed me the whole way, shouting that I was never to come back to the store again, and while I told my friends later I responded with "Fuck your fucking store!" or something, I think I just said "Whatever" and stormed out.

I had gotten dropped off there by my mom, so I took it upon myself to walk straight from Kmart, over the nearby railroad tracks, and down a hill to Burger King where two of my best friends worked to apply for a job. It was honestly where I should have gone in the first place, I'm not sure what the hesitation was about. I also don't recall how I explained to my mom that she was to now pick me up from Burger King. I worked there for a span of three years before I left for Hawaii.

One last Kmart note - I had unknowingly taken one of the red Kmart vests with me, and I was asked to return it to the store. I think at one point I had intended to, but I ended up throwing it out of the car window while driving. I looked back it in the rearview mirror, lying on the road as rain fell.

My flight out of Seattle is delayed, so I thought I’d take this time to review the Singles soundtrack song by song, as I listened to it most days I was here in the name of being festive. Please enjoy this visual of the dearly departed longbox.

1. “Would?” - Alice In Chains - Obviously one of the most kickass songs ever.

2. “Breath” - Pearl Jam - I feel that this is one of their better songs. For me, this band has always had the disadvantage of not being Nirvana, but I actually think the “Seattle sound” title is better suited to them, at least from a marketing perspective.

3. “Seasons” - Chris Cornell - I actually always preferred it when Chris Cornell sang lower, like a lot of the songs on Soundgarden’s “Superunknown” album. Other people disagree, but it’s honestly why I never liked Soundgarden, because it just sounds too much like 80’s metal to me.

4. “Dyslexic Heart” - Paul Westerberg - A lot of people shit on this era of Paul as it seems a million miles from The Replacements, but I associate both of his songs from the soundtrack so much with the movie that it doesn’t matter to me.

5. “The Battle of Evermore” - The Lovemongers - This band is essentially Heart, and they’re covering a Led Zeppelin song. I’m not really a fan of either band, but this song has a cool and mysterious feel to it.

6. “Chloe Dancer/Crown of Thorns” - Mother Love Bone - I don’t mean to speak ill of someone who died so young, but the people who thought Andrew Wood/MLB would be “it” were completely insane. Kurt was always going to lead the revolution. This band just sounds like a slightly artsier continuation of the hair metal that came before it, the kids would have never gone for it.

7. “Birth Ritual” - Soundgarden - You know how I feel about Soundgarden, and the chorus doesn’t sound like he’s saying “Ritual,” it sounds like he’s trying to say “Situation” but stops at “Situa.”

8. “State of Love and Trust” - Pearl Jam - Another banger, quite frankly. And it always makes me think of the part in the movie where Kyra Sedgwick finds out that exchange student guy is a dirty dog.

9. “Overblown” - Mudhoney - Before Nirvana retroactively bankrolled Sub Pop, they were counting on Mudhoney’s “Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge” to be their salvation. Get real, Jon and Bruce.

10. “Waiting For Somebody” - Paul Westerberg - If you can’t manage to enjoy this song during the opening credits, there’s no hope for you.

11. “May This Be Love” - The Jimi Hendrix Experience - I always liked this song despite never having explored Jimi Hendrix in any serious manner.

12. “Nearly Lost You” - Screaming Trees - Hell yeah buddy.

13. “Drown” - Smashing Pumpkins - This band has no business being on this soundtrack and was likely included because Nirvana declined. Billy Corgan is a fartface.

Overall, I give the soundtrack a rating of 103.

I had a dream last night that we were at this enormous house warming party for a couple, and people we knew had even flown in for it. There was one room where people were doing karaoke, another room where people were playing Twister, and a group of people outside in a pool.

The booze was flowing like crazy, people were already passed out early. I got up to sing “Interstate Love Song,” but the speed of the song and the words on the screen were all off. I went in to the Twister room to meet someone I knew had flown in but I had never met before, and she was about one foot tall. She introduced me to her boyfriend, who was around the same height.

We decided to leave after just having a few drinks, and the next morning a newspaper ran a story about the party, and the headline read “Two people killed, good.”

Summer 1994
Aurora, Ohio

I remember it all starting with my dad growling at me, "We expect you to get a job this Summer," as if I wasn't already looking forward to finally having money of my own. I believe my first stop was to apply at McDonald's, the very same one that had built just a few years earlier by a vague process where the townsfolk were advised to "Put a yellow ribbon on your mailbox if you want a McDonald's in town." It may or may not have already been a done deal until my initial interview. I sat down at a booth and interviewed with this girl who told me that boys had to make sure their hair was cut above their ears. I told her it wasn't gonna happen.

I had made a point to recently become a freak, a grunge dude, a punk rocker, an "alternative guy," or whatever mixture of weirdo label we could never really collectively decide on in the early 90's. Kurt Cobain had just died a couple months prior, and I was already in the process of growing my hair like his, come hell or high water. She laughed and said something along the lines of "I know it's kind of taboo to ask," and I still don't really know what she meant by that. She also inquired if "I was in a band or something?," and I shyly told her yes, because in my mind going to my friend's house and randomly wailing on an electric guitar through a tiny amp meant I was in a band.

I don't recall where else I applied if anywhere, and I think I might have gotten the tip about a Sea World mass hiring from somewhere, so I ended up in some building filling out an application alongside a bunch of other kids. (This is where I pause and let you soak in the fact that I grew up right behind a Sea World. I suppose it was always my destiny to work there; we went there countless times when I was growing up, and on Summer nights would often perch ourselves by the window and watch their nightly fireworks display over the lake. And get this, we also had an amusement park called Geauga Lake right up the road from that. It's one of those times where I have to lament the fact that growing up was so difficult, because on paper this all sounds pretty magical).

I do recall when hired that they also had a "boys cut their hair" policy, but I thought the hell with it, I'll just take the job and then refuse if anyone ever asked. I figured if worse came to worse, I could tuck it away in the crummy Sea World trucker hat we were given to wear. I was officially hired as a dishwasher in an Italian restaurant called Mama Rosa's, but they weren't going to open until a couple weeks into the season, so I was assigned odd jobs around the park until then. The first job I was given was to prepare food in their employee commissary. I made friends with this boy I was working next to, and since I had recently decided I was now a smoker, I asked him for a cigarette. I learned a valuable lesson that day that if you put a cigarette in your pants pocket, it will break.

The next job I was given was scooping ice cream, which was extremely hard work. This was before the days where they had those heated spoons to assist with scooping, and digging into the ice cream was like trying to penetrate hardened cement. I honestly wasn't strong enough to consistently create sizeable scoops for the cones, so a lot of people got screwed over. Time seemed to move at a blindingly fast rate, and I ended up with a lot of bruising on my arms. I do remember a mom telling her kid to "Tell the guy what you want," referring to me, and that was the first time I'd of ever been referred to like that, and it was pretty cool.  

Once my job at Mama Rosa's began, I discovered I would be washing dishes alongside a couple of guys I knew from school, Chris H. (who I knew especially) and Chris G., who was a grade behind me. There was also a young looking and stout boy named Eddie, some additional auxiliary characters I'll skip over, and Bill, our 18-year old supervisor (for more on Bill, click here). I shortly realized after starting that this job was very hard work, and time moved very slow. The dishes would be bussed from the tables in the dining room, then given to us to clean in a steamy back room. First we'd rinse the dishes with a spray valve, pile them onto a rack, then send them on track through this large industrial washer. Once the dishes came out the other end, they were blazing fucking hot, and I took to eventually wearing rubber gloves to handle them. Bill had worked there three Summers already, and had somewhat proudly declared to all of us that in that time he had lost some feeling in the tips of fingers from handling the hot dishes, and I wanted no part of that.

In addition to the main dishwashing area, we also had "pots and pans" handwashing duty, where if one was assigned to they disappeared for hours at a time. I also was introduced to the concept of a "wet dry vacuum," which smelled terrible. I would use it to clean the floor when I was on closing shift, sometimes until 12 or 1 AM. I realized long after the fact that I would often be working an illegal shift for a 16-year old, often more than 8 hours per day or 40 hours per week. One day I worked a 12 hour shift, noon to midnight. They asked a lot for $4.65 an hour.

I got into the habit of singing loudly while I worked out of sheer boredom. Word got out that I could sing, and this dopey kind of tough guy waiter asked me to demonstrate for him. I sang a few bars of Teenage Fanclub's "Mad Dog 20/20" while he stood looking at me, and when I was done turned to someone and said "Can he sing?" in a manner indicating that I hadn't just sung in front of his face. We eventually managed to get a CD player back there, and Chris H. brought in The Crow soundtrack. I found myself singing with great expression Nine Inch Nails' cover of "Dead Souls" by Joy Division out loud after just one listen, which Chris H. pointed out was a bit odd. I agreed that it felt awkward, and wondered to myself how many times does one need to hear a song before they can rightfully sing it out loud? 

Chris G. would consistently crack me up. He was so strangely funny for a 16-year old, and would make these bizarre quips throughout the day. It's not like he was an underdog either, he was a good looking guy and a great soccer player, but he also wasn't the upper crust of popular. He would obsess over Julio Iglesias, and would randomly ask the waitresses if they liked Scott Baio. I can honestly say this was a precursor to the concept of "Sitcom-Core," because one day we found ourselves laughing hysterically while both asking the waitresses "Would you let Charles be in Charge of you?" (to which one enthusiastically replied "OH yeah.") One night recently Mary Alice and I had both had a few, and it suddenly became the most important thing in the world to try and locate Chris G. We found a Facebook profile that could be a possibility, and so I messaged this person, but to this date the message has not been viewed. I will make an addendum to this story if this ever changes.

Despite the long hours we all put in, it was amazing that we got anything done. We'd fuck off for what seemed like hours at a time. We naturally would spray each other with the sink valve when given an opportunity, and eventually it broke from all of our abuse. We invented the "glove bomb," which involved filling a rubber glove with dish soap and throwing it at someone. Sometimes the waiters would steal food from the kitchen and bring it in this secret utility room that was behind ours, and eventually we started doing it too. At one point I just said fuck it, and started stealing beers from the restaurant cooler in broad daylight. I remember standing near the front of the secret room downing a beer while a waiter walked past me laughing. I was a pretty skinny kid back then, so quickly drinking two bottles of beer got me drunk for the very first time.

The debauchery didn't end at work. I went to my first rock concert that Summer, and I had to lie to my parents to get there. I told them I had the day off from work, and was going to the aforementioned Geauga Lake with a friend that day. There was a comedy of errors that made my lies fall apart. First, they had said when we started at Sea World that if we ever felt like "We needed a day to ourselves," or something generic along those lines, that we could take the day off. When I called in to the restaurant that morning, I told the girl who answered "Um, I need, I feel like need to take a day," and she interrupted me and said "You're sick?," and I said yes, and she laughed and said "Sounds good." Whoever I spoke to didn't tell my supervisors until much later that day, so they called my house leaving messages asking where I was, which my parents heard. Second, a person who was supposed to be a part of the lying cover up made the error of calling my house and said that they were my friend who my parents had just seen with me, and when confronted he hung up on them.

The lineup for the show included L7, Violent Femmes, Candlebox, Material Issue, Sons Of Elvis, Gigolo Aunts, Machines Of Loving Grace, The Judybats, The Clarks, and Hot Tin Roof (possibly more, but that's all the info I'm seeing). I was skinny and small enough to easily be passed around, so I'd stand outside the mosh pits (which seems absurd considering most of the bands listed) and give bigger guys the thumbs up, like "pick me up and pass me around the place," which they gladly did. I ran into some people from work there, including a couple of cute waitresses who were high or drunk or something, because they kept asking me if I was 18, and I stupidly said I wasn't. They asked me to headbang and I sheepishly obliged, and they were like "WOOOO!" I later found out that the singer of Candlebox (who was headlining and my friends and I made a point to miss) was trying to hook up with one of the waitresses and invited her to do coke with them backstage (she declined), and when I heard that I was so scandalized, like I knew a sinister dark secret about this famous band.

During Machines Of Loving Grace the sky opened up and a huge downpour began, and my friends and I took shelter in various tents at the fairground (One of my favorite stories/memories from one of tents is documented here). After a significant delay, they started up the music again, and we all ended up soaked head to toe in mud. We were exhausted and decided we'd had enough, and left during Violent Femmes. I knew I needed to somehow explain to my parents how I ended up covered with mud, and I figured I would tell them we someone had a mud fight at the amusement park. When I got home, my parents already knew everything, and were quite upset with me. For what it's worth, I did hear later that my mom called the mom of my "alibi" friend (who was perfectly ok with him going to the concert), and started an angry rant when she found out what was happening, to which my friend's mom told her "Well, maybe if you loosened up your rules a little, he wouldn't rebel as much," which amazingly got through to her. The next day at work, one of my supervisors approached me and asked "Are you feeling better?," and in the middle of my reply laughed and said "YEAH, RIGHT, how was the concert?" 

Again I say, the debauchery didn't end at work. One of the restaurant managers threw a party at their house, with the caveat that "the 16-year olds couldn't drink" because she had thrown a party the previous Summer where the 16-year old employees had gotten busted by their parents. We badgered and pleaded with her until she eventually gave in, declaring "Ok FINE, the 16 year olds can drink, just DON'T GET CAUGHT!" I played pool at the party while smoking and wearing a Nirvana t-shirt; I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I looked so cool. I think I had three beers plus some sips of Zima, and I was pretty sauced. Someone put on heavy music and this girl started a "mosh pit," and sent me drunkenly over a couch. I got a ride home along with Bill from another girl, who was absurdly lecturing me about my getting drunk, saying "What are you going to do, have Bill carry you home the rest of your life?" I got home, and somehow did not get caught.

As the Summer wound down, I determined that despite this time of reckless fun I would not be returning next year. The job didn't pay a whole lot, and was pretty backbreaking work. I started to abuse the luxury of my not returning along with some other employees who did not plan to return, like taking excess or multiple breaks to the commissary (where I have a specific memory of hearing on the TV that investigators had found a "bloody glove" at OJ Simpson's house). On one occasion, one of the managers asked me where I had been after taking a second break, then immediately followed before I could answer "You don't care, do you," then turned away. That one stuck with me. I didn't want to be a jerk and make people sad, I just found it funny to suddenly be able run amuck at the park. I quit one week before the end of Summer because I wanted some time for myself. During that week, I went back to Sea World as a visitor, and walked in to the employee area in street clothes just to be obnoxious. I was told amidst some laughter that I couldn't be back there, and that was that.

There's so much more I could say, but probably not enough room on the internet to say it. I left some things out from this time because they're a little too painful, like getting in way more trouble than I mention here, involving the police and such. But since I put that stuff aside, all this really made me happy to revisit. I feel very lucky to be able to retell these tales. Sea World is now long gone, and no I didn't see Blackfish, I don't need to be reminded that keeping a killer whale captive was weird and wrong. Besides, we were just washing dishes. I hope one of my old co-workers stumbles across this one day. Long live the Mama Rosa's dishwashing crew of '94.

On September 21, 1993, Nirvana released the “In Utero” album, the long awaited follow up to “Nevermind” (“Incesticide” being a collection of old singles, outtakes and b-sides). Nirvana had been my favorite band since 1991, I never wavered on that like the other Pearl Jam and Soundgarden jerks I knew. My close friend had his mom take him to get the cassette, something I knew I wouldn’t be able to contrive due to my mom’s disdain for my interest. He let me borrow the tape for a little while, but I feverishly yearned to have a copy of my own.

One weeknight while my dad was out of town for work, my mom and my older sister were headed out somewhere for the evening, and I hatched a plan. My hometown of Aurora didn’t have anywhere where you could buy music, the closest option was the neighboring city of Solon. I not-so-subtly asked my mom what time they would be home, and I calculated that I could ride my bike to a store in Solon, buy the album, and make it back home before they got back.

Right after they left, I put on my Cleveland Browns jacket and began to pedal like hell. They had recently built a housing development that acted as a bit of a shortcut to Solon, something I had noticed the previous year when carpooling with my friend and his dad when we both went to summer school at the Solon High School. Something I didn’t count on was a light rainfall occurring, but it was now or never.

After turning the corner out of the development, I started down the main stretch towards my destination, Route 91. The rain was picking up a bit, and there didn’t seem to be a ton of street lights to help out. It’s probably in my mind, but I seem to recall semi-trucks and their horns going “BERRRRNNN!!!” at me while passing to my left in the pouring rain. I eventually got to market area where I went to Blockbuster Video* and got my grubby wet hands on the album. As soon as the deed was done, I got right back on the horse and headed back.

I got back in plenty of time, but I made the mistake of leaving my jacket out in our living room. My mom took one look at the wet, muddy splatter all over the back of my jacket and angrily demanded an explanation. I told her that I inexplicably decided to go out and ride my back around in the immediate neighborhood while she and my sister were out. “Oh, so THAT’S why you wanted to know when we were coming back,” she growled. In retrospect, while this was better than the truth, I’m not sure how normal it seems for someone to lie in wait for a parent to leave so they could maniacally ride their bike around in circles while it rains, but she bought it, and that’s the important thing.

Included here are pictures of the tape, as well as my route to Solon. In the past when I’ve told people this story, they often say “You rode your bike from where to WHERE?,” but if you look at the map it’s only around a half an hour. One short P.S. for the tape - as we were a church going family, I did attend Sunday School, and one Sunday morning when the teacher (or whatever) was out of the classroom, I put the tape in the player they had there just to be an obnoxious cool dude. During the outro of “Heart-Shaped Box,” the pastor’s daughter got up and angrily pressed stop on the player, which caused a little damage on the tape which can still be heard on it today.

*This didn’t seem to make sense, so I was wondering if my memory was failing me, but I looked it up and there was a time starting in 1992 where they would sell music, not sure how long that lasted.

I had a dream last night that there was a branch of the military called "Peach."

My older sister and I were moderately deprived of pop culture growing up. A major crossroad I remember occurred at her (probably 9th) birthday party at our house when she received Madonna's "Like a Virgin" LP as a gift from a friend. I knew there was no way it was staying in our house for long, so I stared at it in awe for as long as I could before its inevitable departure. It was taken to Kmart and traded in for a children's record.

Because of this deprivation, we often ended up being distant observers of culture as opposed to its participants. To this day, my sister has a tendency to imagine past scenarios as if they were real, generally gleaned from the bits and pieces of television we were allowed to watch. There was one instance where she claimed that my friends and I used to come into our house after playing football yelling "FOOOOOOD!!!," and raid our refrigerator. Although I would play sports with my neighborhood friends, our house wasn't a destination for snacking as we never had anything very good, so I can say with 100% certainty that this never happened.

Based on this, Mary Alice and I have gotten in the habit of saying "FOOOOOOD!!!" to each other, and below is an AI-generated image of "Football boys running into a house," and they look like Sloth from The Goonies.

When I was younger and would hear about the “Wild times of the 1960s,” I presumed the President could allow or disallow this sort of behavior, and I pictured John F. Kennedy chortling like a reluctant father and saying, “Hahaha, ok, you kids go ahead and have fun.”