i have arrived
Call me Captain Oats. To the undiscerning eye I am but a plastic mold, painted and shaped to resemble little more than a common exemplar of 'Equus caballus', or what the less taxonomic nomenclaturely inclined refer to as a "horse". But like Odysseus disguised as a poor wayfarer upon his return to Ithica, I am simply biding my time—ever vigilant, ever watchful. I presume you are familiar with my keeper and loyal friend, the venerable Seth Cohen of Newport Beach? As a stalwart guardian of Seth's pen in his glorious beachside stable, I am privy not only to the intimate details of my keeper's life, but my Foucaultian gaze falls lustily upon all that transpires in the decadent land that is Orange County. And though I choose to keep my motives cloaked in ambiguity and my endgame shrouded in mystery, I assure you—oh gentle readers—my intentions are virtuous and just. In closing, I think it important to stress that, counter Barthes' adage that "what the public wants is the image of passion, not passion itself", I, Captain Oats, pledge to untangle the multiplicity of meanings in the great metanarrative that is The O.C. with a passion rivaling that of both Captain Ahab during his relentless search for the great white whale in Moby Dick and Lincoln Hawk through his Herculean trials and tribulations in Over the Top. Your loving panopticon.