The week the paparazzi descended upon Eyecandyland... Eyecandyland is what we call the farm here in Wellington, Florida—center of the horse world and home of Eye Candy Jumpers. I live...
(Note: Your columnist continues to miss deadline while struggling with delirium from a persistent virus and an onerous seasonal workload.) “You appear to me to be the sort of man...
“Meanwhile TN wants to murder women for having abortions, we’re building concentration camps for undocumented persons, and Epstein’s best pal is president.” I apologize, Dear Reader, for the untimeliness of...
I was given an assignment by my editor: “Imbibe the Show Pony.” “The Show Pony?” “WEF has a signature drink now.” I did some googling and found the press release:...
“Just don’t have a temper tantrum,” says my editor. “I doubt I can avoid it,” I reply. “I’m so petty.” I’m at the Jumping Dinard in Bretagne (Brittany), France. The...
It is a truth universally acknowledged that one can be brilliant at riding a horse or brilliant at love-making, but not both. “And I don’t ride,” I often add suggestively...
“Your brain is three pounds of Jell-O.” The doctor was speaking, holding a colorful model of a human brain in her hands. Is my brain three pounds of Jell-O? I...
You think you know the game. A rider enters the ring. She is riding a horse. Together, they negotiate a series of obstacles—jumps—and come out with a score based on...
A menacing face hangs over the arena—huge eyes hollowed out by shadows. It is Ben Maher, looking as grim as anyone ever has. Flash! Boom! Pow! Bam! A veiny hand...
A regiment of kilt-wearing, bagpipe-playing Scotsmen enter the ring. Dozens-strong, unexpected, they give every neck whiplash as all eyes turn to them, a triumphant parade of pomp. A small troupe...
Somewhere in the reclaimed swampland of the Everglades, that glorious river of grass (although it’s actually sedge, not grass, and it’s technically a marsh, not a swamp), a columnist is...
