My Horse is Crazy

My horse, Atreyu, is a very unorthodox jumper. About one year ago I picked him out of a girl's backyard in Tampa for only $4500, a very good price for a competitive show jumper competing at 1.10m (3'7"). Why you may ask was my horse so cheap? Because he is crazy. Yes, my horse is insane, psychotic, barely hanging on by a thread. The first time I got on him, I spent about 20 minutes trying to get him to walk quietly in a straight line. He seemed to have only 2 speeds: freaking out in place, and freaking out while bolting forward. However, his abilities and willingness as a show jumper captured my heart as a rider and challenged my abilities as a trainer. This horse has more heart than a Disney movie and talent to match, but is dealing with his chaotic craziness worth the effort? I puzzled myself with this question for a long time. Slowly but surely as he progresses in his training with me, he has calmed down. He now has 3 solid gaits in both directions, an ability to jump quietly, a flexible stride and a softer, more responsive demeanor. I wouldn't go so far as to say he is a pleasure to ride, he continues to challenge me on a daily basis. But if it weren't for his jaw dropping craziness, I wouldn't be half as accomplished a horse trainer as I am today. A common reaction I get from other competitors is "Wow, I can't believe you can ride that thing!" My reaction is always secretly "You should have seen him a year ago!" My hope is that a year from now, I can look back at the initial steps in his training and remember fondly the day I finally broke through to him and he became an extension of my body, two became one.

First of the Year (Equinox)

There are few things in this world that I love with the same intensity that I love Skrillex. From the first time I heard a Skrillex song, I was instantly in love with the intense, insane, twisted, unpredictable, unique, beautiful noise. Skrillex's songs have provided me with passion, power, and energy. They have carried me through and helped me out of some of the worst ruts in my life. You might even say that I am his biggest fan. So, of course, the music video I have chosen to analyze is this one: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2cXDgFwE13g&ob=av2e

The video begins with what is clearly a pedophile sitting on a bench and stalking children. The audience is made aware of the fact that this man is a pedophile from the sinister way he twirls a candy in his hand, the stereotypical trench coat, and the perverted stare in his eyes as he watched children play. As the upbeat, almost Jamaican-sounding music begins, a little girl is seen skipping down the road of a secluded alley with the pedophile in pursuit. The adorable innocence of the little girl is complimented by the cute, high-pitched, distorted vocals of the song and is contrasted by the evil of the stalking predator as he continues to follow her down a staircase into a dark, abandoned, underground warehouse. As the upbeat music continues, we see the predator filling a cloth with what is assumed to be chloroform, and we see the little girl standing with a somber look on her face while holding a phone. Just as the pedophile is about to strike, the girl screams into the phone "CALL 911 NOW!!!" synchronizing perfectly with the screaming vocals of the song. The phone then hits the ground with an unusually powerful thud, which sends the predator flying through the air, screaming. The music instantly turns dark and distorted as the girl is revealed to possess some sort of magical dubstep powers, tormenting her would-be molester to the rhythm of the screaming bass. The pedophile appears to be out cold and hallucinating that he is in a room with a number of creepy dolls. As the music returns to its former, less dark tune, you see the pedophile reach for the dolls longingly, symbolizing his perverted desire for children. A pair of dark, demonic hands then grab his face and drag him back to consciousness, where he awakes face down on the floor. He scrambles to find his phone, and screams "CALL 911 NOW!!!" yet again matching up perfectly with the screaming vocals of the song. The music once again plunges into darkness and distortion as plumes of smoke begin to shoot out from around the little girl. The audience then sees a giant, black, dubstep demon-monster rise from the smoke and join the little girl in torturing the pedophile in time with the pounding bass. It is implied at the end of the music video that the pedophile has been killed by the girl and the demon as she finger paints yet another black line on what is unmistakably a wall documenting the number of pedophiles fallen prey to the little girl.

Working at Hooters

Working at Hooters was the worst job I've ever had. The summer after graduation, my mom moved out west and my dad decided to cut me off. Because I not only had myself but also a horse I needed to support, I walked into Hooters one day and got the job. Being a Hooters Girl is no glamorous job. Aside from having to dress like an 80's gym teacher, a Hooters Girl must deal with rude and drunk customers, incompetent managers, and catty coworkers. Peeling the constantly running, thick pantyhose onto my legs was an aerobics routine. I would occasionally be called in for a mandatory staff meeting, during which I was shown an instructional video on how to respond to negative criticism of my job position. My fellow Hooters Girls would routinely make each other (including myself) cry as a result of some drama or fight. I found it shocking that my general manager would get high every day before work until I discovered that 2 of the girls I worked with would go behind the building and snort blow before their shifts. Frankly, I'm sure there were other drug and prostitution related debaucheries taking place at the Hooters I worked at that I will never know about, nor do I care to. All the other girls would laugh and scoff at the fact I spent most of my time outside of work training horses, except for one girl named Emily. She trained horses herself and was my only friend at work, and frequently the only other girl that would talk to me. We remain friends to this day.

One day, a man in his mid-fifties (about the age of my father) rolled up to Hooters in his imported concept Porsche, came inside and ordered beer and wings. It soon became apparent that this man was a regular and beloved by all the girls. As a new girl, it was obligatory that I introduce myself to him as he apparently had the desire to know every Hooters Girl that worked at this particular Hooters. After introducing myself and striking up a conversation, we talked for a good 20-30 minutes as he guzzled down beer after beer. The conversation began with where I went to college and the horses I trained and soon trailed off to my life ambitions and both of our bucket lists. I learned that this man was an overnight billionaire through the trade business who spent most of his time sailing and traveling to Europe to pick out his newest concept car. He learned that I was a college student struggling to pay for myself and my horse with dreams of one day competing in the Olympics and owning my own stable. At the end of our conversation, instead of asking to be my sugar daddy as I would have expected, he gave me a $50 bill and told me that I was too intelligent and ambitious to be a Hooters Girl. That was the last night I worked at Hooters, I found a waiting job at a Mexican restaurant the next week.

The New Underground

Because I can write about anything I want, I have chosen to write a post about a book I want to write, which I have entitled "The New Underground." The book is about 3 friends named Bryce, Mary Kate and Landon who are offered $10,000 to make a drug run from San Francisco to Atlanta. The following is a small excerpt from the book (in fact, the only paragraph I have written so far) which will set the tone of the entire work. I hope that this English class will help give me some basic direction to where this book is going in terms of style and structure.

Mary Kate entertained the possibility that the most unsettling thing is to watch something you love be demonized, something that has never brought you any demons. The talking heads judge and preach from the safety of their own ignorance. Underneath their misguided concern, skewed data and pretentious writing lies a more sinister and twisted motive. For all their infinite wisdom, they continuously fail to identify demons of their own. In a sense, you must pick your poison. Choose between condemnatory mob mentality or emotional and mental displacement from society. At first Mary Kate resisted this displacement, stuck in the endless struggle against conventional thought. However, she soon learned to embrace her new-found freedom from convention, a raw freedom to explore and dream and do anything and everything the world had to offer. Bryce and Landon also shared this ecstatic freedom; they were all three drinking from the fountain of life as it poured like a waterfall from the top of a cliff. None of them knew or even cared exactly how close they were to drowning.