January 30, 2007

So, readers: Where the fuck is everyone? I post and nobody reads. It's like: when a tree falls in the forest, is that the sound of one hand clapping, a koan? Whatthefuckever.

I am in mourning for Barbaro, one of the most beautiful creatures on earth, who, at the end of his tragically short life (three years, ferfuckingchrissake), was nothing less than each and every one of us. If there's anything I truly learned while in Cuba, it is that we are all beautiful, inside and out. I know this, but the collective 'we' needs a horse to teach us that. ARE YOU LISTENING, PEOPLES?

In addition, the Barbaro saga brought back memories of my own experiences, however brief, as an equestrienne. I was at Mills College (the prestigious all-girls school, indeed, the Vassar of the West), and had enrolled in a horse course, whereupon I was duly trotting around, when my teacher, said, rather snarlingly, "Would the Cher look-alike, please come to the center of the ring," after which he humiliated me with, "I don't think you'e cut out for this sport" (after all, what Jew is), and, am loathe to admit, gave it up.

Subsequent dressage tales may or may not surface here (part of my opera-in-progress, "Scott and Zelda on Ecstasy," the metaphorical updating of Faust, fersure), but I need to hear from someone.