I've been thinking a lot lately about a performance I saw in Seattle last summer. It featured a bunch of people from the This American Life/McSweeney's set talking about this and that, trying to raise money for 826 Seattle or some such thing. I got in free (shame on me). But Dave Eggers (who annoys me from time to time) read some great pieces he wrote as an Irish Setter named Steve. I wish I could find these on the internets! I heard there's one printed in a Nick Hornby collection. Maybe I need to track this down.
Oh! I found one on the internets. It looks like some witty teacher was using it for homework. The letter is on the right.
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heh. my friend chris used to talk about the steve letters all the time. they are really funny. there's also this great one where he pretends he's a parrot and then at the end he's like "fool'd ya. it's steve, the irish setter!" it's hilarious.
He must have gotten them from McSweeney's or Esquire, right? I wish I could get a hold of them somehow. I guess I could try the library. I love the letter I linked to. My favorite part is the one that starts with the pizza. "I once ate a pizza. I’m not supposed to eat pizza, because I am a dog, but I don’t know who makes rules like this, who can eat what. I ate pizza and was fine. I looked at a solar eclipse and was fine. I jumped from the roof once and was hardly hurt at all. Maybe I’ll never die. I’m a fast dog!"
So funny.
i could see if i can find some electronically and send them to you....
Yes please!
yeah. he got them from McSweeney's. he wrote letters to a bunch of CEOs from fortune 500 companies in the character of steve. actually, that one you referred to was Chris' favorite also. he loved the line "i'm a fast dog" and used to say it a lot when he was drunk.
that's one wicked smart setter.
well, it seems i can't find much. looks like the sac public library has some mcsweeney's, but we don't have any and i don't find anything electronically. sorry!
Aww. Thanks for checking!
I used to do something like that once. I'd write letters from the perspective of a garden slug.
I think I'll write one now.
"Food. Food. Food. Food. Food. Not Food, must move. Still not food. Still not food...
...Food? Can't tell, must move.
Food. Food. Food. Food. Food. Not food. Not food. Not food. Food. Food. Food. Food.
VERY MUCH NOT FOOD. UNABLE TO MOVE. STILL VERY MUCH NOT FOOD."
At this point, the slug died, because he crawled onto a peice of driveway salt by mistake and disintigrated.
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