I don't know how to give enough credit for this story not being mine and being published in a book, and the link is on McSweeneys, and this is seriously one of the best short stories I've read in a long time.....Dave Eggers, this is AWESOME. I wish YOU were my best friend. I just had to record it here for posterity, but I'll go out and buy your book too,http://store.mcsweeneys.net/index.cfm/fuseaction/catalog.detail/object_id/2c1bfd66-f2a2-4c3f-9ca0-688a10f2c1fc/OneHundredandbrFortyFiveStoriesbrinaSmallBox.cfm I promise. Unless they're all just online :)



The Anger of the Horses.

BY DAVE EGGERS

Last week we let all the horses go. It seemed the right thing to do. We tore down the fences, burned the bridles and the saddles, and told the horses they were free. At first they hesitated. "Go, go," we said. "Go." And so they went, up over the hill, across the plain and into the mountains. Two days later they returned. "We're bored," they said. So we sat with the horses for a while, trying to think of something for them to do. Before we could think of anything, the horses had an idea of their own. "Let's kill all the rabbits!" they said, their black eyes alight. "Let's kill all those goddamned rabbits!" they added. The horses became more and more inflamed as they talked about the details of the plan. "We'll run and find them, help flush them out," they said, "and then you can shoot them since you have the guns." They were pacing and snorting, shaking their manes and tails, ready to get started. It turns out the horses had hated the rabbits for a long, long time.

Despite being absolutely stellar at work today, running meetings and doing sit-withs and being an overall perfect corporate smiley face, I still feel very very lost there. Also, my eyes are taking turns being allergic to various substances and swelling up individually. I have a scarf around my one eye right now. I am a polka dotted pirate.

So champagne is officially my drink of choice, cheap or not. I think it was waiting there for me this whole time, but I avoided it out of a preconceived notion that bubbly should be withheld for toasts and new years and romantic celebrations. Turns out, champagne is also the perfect accompaniment to gross feelings of inadequacy and lost glamour of youth.

I suppose when I turn forty I'll have to find something else, but champagne has shown up just in time to usher in my thirties.

So here's a list of things I can count on for at least the next ten years...

1. Champagne. Unless there is a worldwide drought that kills all the grapes everywhere ever. Which could still happen.

2. Al Gore not being president.

3. My eyelashes.....I think. I suppose there could be a fire.

4. Being kissed. By somebody. Somewhere. At some point.

5. Knowing how to make pie.

6. Being able to read....I think. Oh my god, I could go blind.........

7. My hair remaining basically the same color.

8. There still being no god. But still lots of people who believe there is. And them getting in my way.

9. Money still being important.

10. Me still not caring that money is important, but having to work anyway.

11. Rocco De Spirito still being dreadfully hot.

Three bottles of champagne later, with a fur hat and a belt around my neck....I concede defeat.

I swear to god I just saw an ad for Speriva, which treats COPD. Wanna know what that is? Its chronic bronchitis and empheseyma. You know what the commercial states that it treats? The effects of smoking.

BECAUSE WE REALLY NEEDED A NAME FOR THAT.

I wonder what they'll call it when they find out how to treat the cancer along with it?
CCOPD?

I also have been screwed over 500 dollars for being smart by the company I work for. So I've drank a lot of champagne so far, and I swear to god, I'm gonna drink a lot more.

Funny enough, Designing Women is in the background right now, and as I'm watching it, the blonde one just made up a disease too called OOPD.

CRAZY.

MySpace is not George Martin

If you have a Myspace account, which you probably do even if you don't know it yet, then you have been on the receiving end of numerous requests from bands to "friend" them. Technically it should be "befriend", but whatever.

Myspace is a great place to look up a band you've heard of and want to check out. Myspace is a terrible place to look up porn, because then your inbox is full of girls named Debbie who are in your extended network and really like sparkly things.

If you are in a local band and you're gonna try and woo me, here are three things not to do....

1. Don't mention anywhere in your profile that you don't know quite how to describe your sound. For instance.."I don't know how to describe the sound. Kinda like Scratch Acid-fucked up classic rock with a heavy garage rock twist. We have some slow songs some fast, and even one with poetry. "

Really, even one with poetry? Please explain to me the difference between poetry and lyrics? Is it the sincerity level? Do you scream one and whisper the other? Or is it the only song you have that has any hint of rhythm or flow?

I'll tell you what you sound like. Styx.

2. Please do not post concert pictures of yourself. I am less inclined to go to your show when I already know what you look like. Without knowing, I can motivate myself with visions of tight t-shirts over lithe college bodies, and maybe a super cute not gay drummer. If you show me pictures, then I already know that I'm looking at tight t-shirts over beer paunch and a drummer I'll probably wish was gay.

Just because you have a girlfriend who thinks you're hot, don't let that get in the way of your music.

3. Don't post your music.
Seriously, haven't you spent a lifetime going to shows? Don't you realize that most local bands only get people into their shows by not letting them know at all what to expect? I can't tell you how many times I've paid the cover charge with no idea who I was going to see.

Also, do you really expect to hold up next to all those other bands I can see on MySpace. I mean, I can go to Os Mutantes, Lupe Fiasco, Built To Spill, Boston....and then you.

Posting your music is just a bad idea period. I would suggest instead substituting some funny youtube videos. People will think you have quirky personalities. Cause face it, most of those people telling you how good you are... are your friends. And they were your friends before you started this crappy band. I'm not saying your personality will win them all over, but its certainly a better chance than your shitty badly recorded 13 minute long serenade to Bad Brains.

My Unitarian Jihad Name is: Sister Trident of Undeclared Debate. What's yours?

There is something about weddings that make everything catastrophically sexual afterwards. And its not loneliness or some sort of girly wedding jealousy. Its more like...near death experience.

Atlanta

There are two things that seem to be important to remember about Atlanta. 1, people drive like assholes. 2, when you get back home, you too will drive like an asshole.

The wedding was very pretty and emotional and all. Both of them will be very happy. They were already happy to begin with.

Everything else was lots of fun. The aquarium kicked your aquarium's butt. Whale sharks are a physical reaction. I fell in love with Tennessee, specifically the height of Tennessee. I learned that when you are waiting in the Intercontinental's very pretentious, "filled to the brim with suits and orchids" lobby, everyone who walks in to talk to the concierge will have a drink in their hand, and sometimes dogs. I met an English bulldog with flowers in his collar.

The highlight will not be televised. Suffice it to say, if I was famous, you could make a lot of money off of it.

What I find personally offensive is that even though most of the 5 star hotels in Atlanta are all nonsmoking now, the travel sites don't allow you to search for hotels by a preference for SMOKING ROOMS. So because I'm not famous, I can't get fucked up and blow a bunch of money in your hotel, Mr Rotating Restaurant in the Sky? Fuck That Shit.

I am over you Jack Kerouac. You know where the Subterraneans is sitting right now? On the back of my toilet, because its only worth picking up and reading random pieces of it. Reading the whole thing through has the intellectual value of watching a marathon of Project Runway.

At least I'm not the person who watches Heroes and then runs to post about how she's figured out who the mystery killer is already, and has to be the first person to hit the boards with it. Even though I have. And technically, it was suggested to me when I revealed my theory last night. And Sean wants me to write it down in an envelope and seal it up and then we can read it later to find out if I'm right.

They should give out Emmys for this.

If I was really rich I would give out a "Best Person In The World" award every year. And I would make people send in video archives of their everyday lives, and then stay with them and interview them and all their friends, and this would be my entire life all year long, finding the winner of this prize.

I dreamed last night about two couples staying at a historic house in Key Largo, where one of the girl's ex boyfriends died violently, and now that couple is being haunted with ghastliness until they discover that the haunted item is a box full of old coins, and they throw the coins out and he goes away. It was the closest thing I've had to a nightmare in a long time, cause it was pretty spooky, although nobody was injured or hurt. I always dream in third person, I never dream of myself. In fact, I always masturbate in third person too, though I never dream about sex ever. Why is my subconscious incapable of including me in its thoughts? I suppose its a gift, my dreams probably wouldn't be as entertaining and then I would be obsessed with interpreting things and god knows I did enough of that stupid new age shit in high school. See, Kerouac makes you write sentences with too many "ands" in them, the shithead.

I woke up and I was very glad that Sean was sleeping next to me, so that's why even though sometimes its hard to believe you're with this person, I know we're doing the right thing. Also because we are smarter than anyone else in the world with the exception of genetic relatives.

The stupidity and neurotic antics of every person around me is overwhelming. And really, I don't think I'm such hot shit. I usually walk around feeling quite stupid. But god, really, people are fucking awful morons.

However, being smarter than everyone else doesn't make you money. They all make much more money than me. And are happier too. I'm starting to understand how overrated happiness is though. Its not like happiness is the same as being interested. Being interested is so much more important.