Peter

Peter Hill is unlike anyone I’ve ever known. I doubt that there is a person on this planet who knows Peter and does not like him. If they feel otherwise, they simply haven’t taken the necessary time to appreciate Peter’s genius, or, they are offended by nudity – either way they are missing out. The Middle Hill (Peter has older and younger siblings) will always say yes, I can’t stress how much I love this about Peter. It is truly a great attribute in a friend. Ok, sometimes it has taken Peter some convincing – “Don’t go to work Pete, Danish American Farms doesn’t need you as much as I do,” but he always comes through. He is loyal, fun-loving, kind, tough-as-nails, virile, and laughs at everything. But his character is only the beginning of why Pete is a dear friend.

I’ve known the man since junior high school, for about fifteen years I’ve witnessed him blossom into the moustachioed flower that he his. When we were around 15 years old he got me into surfing, I never really mastered the art but Peter always took me along anyways. It is with Peter I took my first non-parentally supervised international trip to Costa Rica, discussed in Costa Rica – Circa 1997. Our surf trips were almost always in his little Toyota pick-up, which is now totaled because Peter is an irresponsible and dangerous driver. But this leads me to me next point; I can’t count how many times Peter has given me a ride somewhere, especially the year and a half before I got a license myself. Pedro has never shied away at helping someone out, and I truly don’t think he minded at all, which is even more impressive. Speaking of things Peter has done so many times that I can’t count; been incredibly drunk, been completely naked, and dubiously ‘provided’ us with alcohol. I have seen Peter’s drunk naked ass so many times I could describe it in a court room (and I will if I have to), but then again so could many people. Peter is an exhibitionist. Speaking of performances, I recommend to everyone out there to go pick up a copy of Chiquita Sunrise, a film that Peter and I helped to produce and starred in. Peter’s role will scare the bejesus of you. It took us all day to make ten minutes of footage.

Pre-chest hair.

Peter is also one of the very few friends who visited me in Santiago, for which I am eternally grateful. That trip is a blog entry in itself. I await your trip to Izmir, buddy.

In Peter’s twenties his love of the mustache and mustache varietals has been unprecedented. He has sported more facial hair of all shapes and sizes in a short amount of time than anyone else I’ve seen. I’ve heard Pete refer to ‘a bet’ but the opposing better is either someone I don’t know or constantly changes, I think he just really loves mustaches. His friends and acquaintances immediately divide into the pro-mustache camp and the anti-mustache camp (also known as the anti-Peter-looking-like-a-child-molester-camp). The debate continues to rage, but only Deena wields the veto power to end the mustache tour-de-France.

It’s Peter’s birthday tomorrow. I won’t be able to be there to buy him a beer or laugh at his naked drunken antics, but I’ve sure I’ll see them again. This tribute to Peter Hill is a pale substitute for my presence or a present (although I promise to get you drunk next time we are together), but I can’t think of anyone more worthy of praise at the tender age of twenty-nine.

-Charles P. Pearson