(no subject)

[rm]

I have to ride today, in what apparently feels like 29-degrees with the wind chill. Now, I ride in the indoor ring, so things will be a little better, but among other things, I'm getting over a cold and hardly have the clothes for it. Also, Benny, is so Benny. Last time we trotted (which still involves my instructor ordering him where to go and me holding on for dear life), I felt him trying to do his "I'm gonna turn around in the corner!" thing. At speed (trotting is speed for me) this freaked me out badly, and although I was able to get him not to do it, it didn't do wonders for my trust factor. With the weather, and the fact that he apparently kicked my instructor last week (although it was her foot that got hurt so maybe he just stepped on her?), I'm expecting a bit of drama with him today.

Riding is always a psychological battle, both over my own crap and the horse's, but there's the added fact that Benny doesn't just like to test you ("do you really have authority over me?"), but also is notorious for making new riders stop being lazy or afraid ("you can ride better than this, let me do something annoying to prove it to you"). He's a fantastic horse to learn on, but it's a little like learning to drive in Manhattan or fly out of Teterboro -- it'll drive you nuts, it'll take twice as long, but you'll actually know what you're doing when you get there.

This is where I'll be riding in Australia: http://www.centennialstables.com.au/index.php which is _such_ a change from ghettobarn (tm), I won't know what to do with myself.

Finally, Giant Squids Are Taking Over the World. No, really.

Comments

[daverhodester.livejournal.com]

I've always been a little intimidated by them myself, and have followed your riding adventures with interest. When filming a scene for "Seabiscuit" at Santa Anita, there were about twenty of us standing around in a paddock area.. extras were recruited to play owners, trainers and groomsmen, but the company had real jockeys up on the horses for obvious reasons. Even though it cost them more, it was best to have pros up on the thoroughbreds at all times (besides, the REAL owners insisted on it in the contract).

I was a "trainer" and was standing near a huge thoroughbred that started to act up. The extra who was playing the groomsman assigned to that horse had told the CD he had horse handling experience, and he'd been boasting about it to us while the scene was being set up. He spoke of having worked on his Uncle's ranch and how they used to handle boisterous horses all the time. This guy was about six feet something and weighed maybe 240, but it didn't make a damn bit of difference to the horse. It started kicking up on it's rear legs and pawing the air while neighing loudly. The groomsman/extra kept trying to reign him in but to no avail.. the harder he tried the more rambunctious the horse became.

After about a minute of this, a jockey named Danny Sorenson climbed down from his mount, walked over and grabbed the huge thoroughbred by the reigns, shouting, "Whoa NOW! That's ENOUGH! NO BOY, DOWN!" Of course Danny is about five feet tall and maybe weighs around 105, if that. But the horse calmed right down and Danny handed the reigns back to the groomsman, saying, "You HAVE to let him know who's boss. Don't show any fear and don't be afraid to yell at him".

[fleur.livejournal.com]

Ghettobarn. heh. There's some fantastic mental imagery happening for me with that.

[roy-batty.livejournal.com]

I need to make calamari a more regular part of my diet, it seems.

Pardon my tangent....

[monkeycurious.livejournal.com]

There is a short story that I believe was called, "Fuck you, Andromeda!", which I think was by Kurt Vonnegut.

The story: In the future, people decide they want to load a rocket with the semen of all their greatest (obviously, male) minds and shoot the rocket to Andromeda. "Fuck you, Andromeda!" becomes the rallying cry, but it isn't meant to disparage our closest galaxy in any way. Everyone swears like that in the future. They, as a culture, just want to fuck Andromeda with their large, semen-filled rocket. I mean, how's that for obvious symbolism?

At any rate, at the end of the story a 30-foot lamprey crawls out of Lake Michigan and eats a police chief.

For some odd reason the article reminded me of that story. Probably only because of the old sailor's tales about giant squid that devour ships at sea. Also, the idea of so much of what we do is done on such an enormous scale and almost without any consideration as to why or the consequences.