Why Some Drivers Hate Me... (Okay, to be honest, providing music on my carriage is only one of the reasons...)

Attention K-Mart shoppers, I’d like to draw your attention to the blue light, located in the center aisle of our store. Here you will find 15 carriages lined up and waiting to take you on your traditional Christmas Lights tour. If Scooter, Marky-Mark, Mr.& Mrs. Carriage Clause, and Slave Driver are working, your choices are as follows:

A black carriage or a white carriage (all the other drivers)

A heated carriage (Scooter, and trust me, you really do not want to know how he rigs it up.)

A carriage with delightful Christmas lights (Marky-Mark)

A carriage driven by Santa (Carriage Clause) or Mrs. Clause (Carriage Clause’s better half)

A carriage with delightful Christmas lights, foot warmer, and joyful holiday music (Slave Driver)

Now, when we have a stager, a person who stands at the front of the line and puts you in a carriage, you get Hobson’s choice; meaning, when you get to the front of the line (and believe me, if it’s a Saturday night, there will be a line) you get the carriage at the front. You don’t get to pick and choose, unless you want to stand around and wait for the carriage/driver of your choice to come back up to the front again.

Some people do, especially if they are friends or family of the driver.

But if it’s a weeknight, or it’s slow and we are selling our own rides, you get to pick. And you know what? A lot of people pick me, and Marky-Mark, Mr. & Mrs. C, and Scooter. Right out of the middle of the pack. Why? Because we’re all the same price. And if you paid the same price for a seat in economy as you did for a seat in first class, where would you choose to sit?

Now, I guarantee you, I will never go the Mr. and Mrs. Clause route. What’s that? Why would I pass up the chance to have a carriage packed with screaming children, smelling of overripe bananas, messy diapers and fruit loops, clamoring for my attention so they can tell me that they’ve been good all year and what kind of gift they want? Oh, I don’t know…

(Pause for maniacal laughter accompanied by gagging sounds…)

Besides, children are notoriously bad tippers, as are people with lots of children. Why? Because they’re broke, because they have so many children. And they all want Xboxes and Tickle Me Dancing Elmo for Christmas.

Okay, where the hell was I?

So, I will now show you one of they ways I pimp my ride so I can pull one out of the middle.

This is Carriage Sound System 101. Over the years I have perfected my design. In the beginning I used a CD Boom box. Let me tell you, not so good. Carriages are not the smoothest vehicle around, and every time I’d go over the light rail tracks it would skip. The I had some speakers that ran on batteries and I hooked up an iPod to it, but the wires frayed over the years and substitute speakers I found were not as loud. So now I use speakers from an old computer system. Anyway, here is a step by step of how you, too, can have a carriage sound system:

First we start with a lawnmower battery. This one is brand spankin new. They tend to only last a year or so because it gets charged every night.

Then I customize mine. How? I paint the positive side red. Why? So I don’t screw up my inverter by connecting it incorrectly, not that I would ever do something as stupid as that...

(Slave Driver scuffs her toe in the dirt and whistles.)






Hey, sometimes it's dark out and I don't see real good, okay?

Then I add a handy dandy carry handle because juggling a battery when you have a lot of crap to carry out to your carriage is tricky. So,















You hook a 100 watt inverter up to the battery using a battery clip power adapter.













Then we add the speakers and an iPod.



I have both a Nano and a Shuffle, I prefer the shuffle because the battery lasts longer and I only play Christmas music. I put it on "shuffle" setting because I've found that I memorize the playlist and cringe when things come on I'm sick of. This kills the anticipatory cringing factor. And in the end it doesn't matter. I'm sick of all of it and really want to hear some AC/DC.


Then I shove the whole shebang into some cheap Gladware for

waterproofing (It doesn't have to be enclosed real well, it sits under my seat and mostly stays dry. But I have killed an inverter by getting it wet, so...) Turn on the speakers and let the festive music of the joyous hoilday season drown out the clammoring for my attention coming from behind me...




Edited to add:
It wasn't until later that I put everything into a grocery bag, and noticed that it looked suspiciously like...




Well, you decide.

However Mr. Slave Driver strongly suggested that I do not attempt to go anywhere near the airport with it.

Everything You Thought You Knew is Toast

Harley, looking sad, because it's not his first Rodeo either, and he knows what's coming...


Monday evening we had the Barn’s annual Christmas Carriage drivers meeting. Looking around at the hope filled, shiny faces of the Rookie employees, and the stoic expressions of the old Pros, it’s clear to us seasoned drivers that our work is just beginning, and the newbies haven’t got a clue.

This will be my fifth year driving during Christmas. Every year presents new challenges to the slave drivers because it appears that the City of Salt Lake has acquired a hobby, and that avocation is demolition and construction. They have amassed a nice collection of orange cones, too, which makes downtown oh so jolly to navigate.

The rest of the year a driver might amble into the office, bullshit with Ro for a while, chat with co-workers, leisurely pull their own carriage out, get the assigned horse ready, saunter into the driver’s room to change into an appropriate ensemble, hook their partner to the carriage and head out to downtown.

Yeah, forget all that shit. Welcome to our brave new world.

From the day after Thanksgiving until January 1st, the new people will experience a downtown like they have never seen before. The mass of humanity, the intersection clogging traffic, the plethora of panhandlers and street musicians who come out of their hidey-holes is unrivaled by any other event during the year.

First off, anyone who arrives early will be enlisted in pulling out every carriage assigned for that evening. We don’t bother with parking them into the barn lot, we drag them all the way out to the street, where they sit, batteried up, waiting for the horse and driver.

After all the carriages are out, then the horses working that night get yanked out, groomed, tacked up, and wait for their co-worker.

The employees arrive, SILENTLY get their driver’s sheet (if they talk to Ro while she’s on the phone they will receive a withering glare that could melt stone, not to mention the ass-chewing directed at them once she’s hung up) change into their winter gear, get whatever other shit they need and GET OUT! NOW! No chatting, no BSing. It’s Guerilla driving; Get in, get out, and nobody gets hurt.

Then they will proceed to South Gate and attempt to negotiate around Temple Square, where people who only come downtown once a year and have no idea where they are going will test their patience. The concept of the WALK/DON’T WALK crosswalk signs are no longer understood, or obeyed.

They will find that their patience has a very short fuse, and our driving becomes less traditional and more, ahem, creative.

They will start looking for holes in traffic so they can make their ride in the appropriate time. Soon, the horses will start to look for holes all on their own. This, you see is not their first rodeo. Unfortunately some of the horses either don’t realize or don’t care that the hole they have chosen to slide into is, while large enough for the horse, too small for the carriage they are attached to. This can be a little tricky. Some of the horses get road rage. This is not a pretty sight. And when Tony looks into a car window, all pissed off at the driver, he appears to be one of the four horses of the Apocalypse. Okay, he’s a Belgian Draft, so he looks like two of them combined.


The newbies will also learn that whatever traffic laws they might follow the rest of the year don’t apply at Christmas. So, while driving on the wrong side of the road, making illegal turns, cutting corners by using the sidewalk or the crosswalks, making a right from the center or even the left turn lane are usually frowned upon the rest of the year, during Christmas it is “Open Season.”

We even get to drive down North Temple when the cops have shut it down. Why? Because they like us. Because we know where we’re going. Because we slow down traffic and keep cars from running over pedestrians. Because the horses are big and pretty.


So, welcome to the brave new world of Christmas Carriage driving, newbies. Enjoy the warm spirit of the holiday now, because in a couple of weeks you will develop a hunchback, abhor seasonal music, start talking in a series of grunts and growls, and avoid eye contact.

In other words, you will turn feral.

And because of that, to you, dear reader, I take the opportunity to say right now, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.

Because four weeks from now, if you say “Hi” to me, I’ll probably bite you.

All's fair...

Friday night the drivers at South Gate found ourselves bobbing in a sea of signs and slogans. For those of you who have no clue what I’m talking about:

“Let me explain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up.”*

People against Proposition 8 protested around a LDS (Latter Day Saints AKA Mormons) temple in California on Thursday and decided to do it again in Salt Lake on Friday. 3000 of them.

I work in Salt Lake, right in front of the temple, matter of fact. Well, maybe not in front, more like the southwest corner, but about half a block way.

Anyhoo—

Now, I’m all for equality. I even held up a sign stating as much last night to the passing throng. But while the “Oh yeah I love you AND your horse” is appreciated we also got a lot of “That’s wrong and abusive” about being a carriage driver. But how equal is it if I support you and your quest to be allowed to live your life in the manner you want to without criticism and reproach and you will not afford the same consideration to me? I don’t walk into your house, point my fingers and say "Shame on you for doing something that's not hurting anyone else, but because some people don't understand that they insist on creating an atmosphere of hate and conflict."

I wouldn't exactly call that equality.

So, let's try and get the problems directed at humans ironed out in the world first; and once we've wiped out prejudice against race, sex, lifestyle, religious choice, socio-economic status, eye color, height, Plain or Peanut M&M's and Coke VS Pepsi, then we can start a dialogue about the life of the working domesticated animal.

Which, by the way, is not as bad as the Anti-Equestrienne-Eco-Terrorists like to make it out to be.

*From The Princess Bride by William Goldman

Back in the saddle or why it’s fun to f*ck with the newbies

I have been away from downtown a while now, 6 weeks to be exact, and according to Ro, barn manager extraordinaire, there are a few newbies whom I have yet to encounter.

I love f*cking with newbies, it makes my day.

By now the most recent crop of carriage-drivers-in-training have found their feet— that is to say they have finally gotten past that deer in headlights look.

He he he…

Some have been there long enough now to see the even newer newbies show up and be trained. A couple, Ro tells me, even think they know what they are doing.

That’s where I come in. And for me, it’s where the fun begins.

For example, without even looking at them I can tell you that this weekend none of the newbies will be prepared. Why? You ask. Because, say I, first off it will be cold.

I can break “cold” down in to a mathematical equation:

Cold + possibly damp= the ink in a pen will not write. So, filling out a credit card slip or the driver’s sheet will be an exercise in futility. Unless you have a pencil. Markers or Flair Pens wont work on wet paper.

I carry so many pencils with me that if I duct-taped them together I could fashion a Louisville Slugger.


I also keep my drivers sheet in a Ziploc bag on my clipboard. This keeps it dry. ~A~, who has left us to pursue a career as an OTR trucker has left me a box of them in my locker. I love ya, ~A~!

Newbies, no matter what the season, are never prepared for the weather. They use their personal experiences of walking from house to car and car to grocery store to gauge how cold it is outside.

Yeah, that doesn’t work. Why? You ask.

Because unlike skiing or snow shoeing or some other outdoor activity, when you are standing at South Gate trying to sell a ride, or actually on the box driving the carriage, your “Weather preparedness skills” are tested. Because unlike those activities, you are not moving around very much.

So, the boots which were purchased because they are rated to “Below 10 degrees Fahrenheit” are really only warm if you are walking in temperatures below 10 degrees. Standing around holding a horse on a string— not so much.

I would love to be a Columbia Outerwear test subject.

When it comes to gloves I think I trump everyone. I typically carry 8 pairs of gloves with me. I have a duffle bag that I clip on to my carriage. Why? You ask. Because “waterproof” is subjective.

Then of course there are the accessories I use. Some are purchased and some I had to develop on my own. For example, I use a “Heat seat”; this is an ugly bright orange pad hunter’s use in the field to keep from freezing their ass and kidneys to the ground while waiting for game to sashay into their crosshairs. For me it creates a barrier between the depression in the seat from my buttocks and the pooling of rain or snow. Because, as we all know, water seeks it’s own level. So I sit above the water, thus eliminating what we refer to as “Swamp Ass”. Or, in the winter, Popsicle Ass.”

I tried several “Stadium Blankets” and they have all failed. Some which were touted as “Water proof” are really only “Water resistant”. Others which have a plastic coating get so stiff when it’s cold that the flexibility is lost and I might as well be trying to fold a ¼ inch piece of plywood over my legs. So, no good.


I finally found a thickness of vinyl at Wally-World at is more flexible in the cold, and sewed it to some polar-fleece. This I cover my legs with when it’s snowing/raining and it keeps my feet dry. I also use “Foot heaters” a fun antique I buy on eBay that is filled with charcoal and lit- as it burns it warms the metal surrounding it, we put our toes on it and they stay toasty. I also keep one in the carriage for my customers, a great selling point that really pisses some of the other drivers off.

So while I will be warm and dry, and, unfortunately so wrapped in clothing that I appear six sizes larger than I am, the newbies will be huddled in a ball shivering.

In addition to the cold, there is the boredom quotient. That’s where the newbies come in. I will amuse myself by f*cking with them. They will be too cold to try it with me.

So, now I have to go, because it’s Thursday and that means Ro will call me 147 times today to chat. And that’s okay, except I have 50 or so carriage-driving tools I have to gather and bring into work tomorrow and somehow shoehorn into my locker. So I’m prepared. Because f*cking with the newbies is no fun if I forget something and end up looking like one myself.

Use it or Lose it

Tomorrow is Election Day here in Utah, as it is all over the United States, and since I don’t consider the state I live in to be a part of America most of the time, it’s nice to feel solidarity with the good ol’ USA once in a while.

I registered to vote when I was 16, and the state of Illinois gave me a Voter’s registration card. Once again, a case of me not reading the instructions… But it was Chicago, after all, and there everyone votes at least once, sometimes more, even the dead. So, did I fraudulently go to the polls when I was 16? No. I figured I’d have enough time to rack up felonies later in life, so I actually waited until I was 18 and legal.

Although he was eligible to vote in 1978, The Husband cast a ballot for his first time in the election of 1992. He returned on a stormy evening from out of state in time to vote before the polls closed. The next morning he drove me to work, totaled my car on the way back from the grocery store, went to the ER, where I picked him up and three hours later we drove straight through from Chicago to Fort Worth, Texas, to compete in the Appaloosa Club World Championships. Ah, good times…

He’s been voting ever since.

My father never voted. Not once. * Sigh * He figured that if he didn’t register he would never be called to jury duty. To me that is a lame-ass excuse. You can always get out of jury duty by standing up during Voir Dire and singing “Alice’s Restaurant”; at least that’s my plan. MBA got out of it by telling the attorneys that she was a carriage driver. That will be my backup. Unless, of course, I really need the $18.00 a day. One never knows.

Besides, I like to bitch a lot, and if you don’t go out and vote (which I already did last Thursday) then you don’t get to bitch. Those are the rules, plain and simple. So, are you ready to hold your tongue for the next four years? If not then tomorrow is “Put-up or Shut-up” day.

Go vote. I have a roll of duct tape over here, and if I hear you bitching next week and you don’t have a little “I Voted” sticker…

An Interview with Melissa Blue, Writer and Shark Expert.

Today we have a very different kind of post, for me at least. One of my “Imaginary Friends” (so dubbed because they are people I only know from “The Devil’s Playground” aka “The Internet” and have not actually met in person) has had her second book published today. Her name is Melissa Blue and she writes Romance, although she’s thinking about dabbling in YA just for a change of scenery, and possibly Erotica, but not combined into one book because I’m sure she could get in lots of trouble for that.

Mel also pens a great blog and includes tips for writers at Brain Clutter.

So, for a nominal fee (just kidding), I offered to interview her here because I’m always happy when one of “us” back alley writers claws their way into the light of actual real live publishing. Yay! Melissa!

Now, for your reading pleasure, here is our conversation. And if you like this, you should checkout her books over at Wild Rose Press, and if you don’t like it, blame me. I’m used to it.

Slave Driver


Slave Driver : You claim to write romance novels with a lot of sharks in them. Exactly what kind of sharks do you write about? Great White sharks? Nurse sharks? Tiger sharks? And what exactly qualifies you as a shark expert? Are you an oceanographer? Because I read a rumor on the internet that you're really a Slurpee Wrangler at the 7-11.


Melissa Blue



Melissa Blue : I never said shark, I said snark. Snark is a fine art form full of sarcasm and wit. The best writers serve it with dark humor, but it's not mandatory. Ask anybody who knows me I serve it well. You really don't see it coming.

Slave Driver : Your name is Melissa Blue. Is that a pseudonym? Or are you really Blue? And is it like a neon blue, a sky blue or a Smurf blue?

Melissa Blue : I'd call myself a nice Carmel color, but from reading my books one would think I don't accept my "blackness". Not quite sure what that is. Even in today's world people think there is a recipe to writing African American books. And if you don't sound "black" then you must be selling out. I sound like myself. I sound like my upbringing. Of course my characters are going to sound like me. The important issue isn't color, but having two characters meet and fall in love.

Slave Driver : Do you like the singer and PETA freak 'Pink' ? And if you say yes this interview is over.

Melissa Blue : I'm too poor to own real fur, but if I could...

Slave Driver : How hard was it to break into a field dominated by fugly middle aged women? Because I've seen the jacket photos for many of these authors and they're kind of dowdy looking to be writing such hot and smutty stuff.

Melissa Blue : I lucked out with having both brains and beauty. Just kidding. Not all romance authors are fugly. We all don't wear house robes, and eat bons bons. That's a myth. Romance authors come in all shapes in sizes. Many have very high profile professions like attorneys and doctors. Me, I'm going to school to become a paralegal. Come hell or high water, I'll be graduating in May with my certificate.
As for was it hard to break into publishing? Yes and no. I lucked out with my first story. I'd only submitted it once and on the second submission it was contracted. I didn't know what real rejection felt like, but trust me I've made up for those in spades.

Slave Driver : How many books have you allegedly written? Do they have titles? Can we get them at a book store or must they be purchased from a creepy guy on the corner wearing a trench coat, black socks and not much else?

Melissa Blue : I only count books I've finished, so since I started writing in 2004 I've written seven. Only two have been published with The Wild Rose Press, See Megan Run and How Much You Want to Bet? Since SMR is a new release you can get it as an e-book directly from their site. HMYWTB? (A mouth full of a title) you can find it on Amazon, the Barnes and Noble site, or download the e-book in varies locations. Truly, if you are buying it, I'm not picky.
Side note: My mother has said she'd be willing to sell it out the trunk of her car. She's not creepy, but she might feed you.

Slave Driver : How do you research your characters? Because I've seen a picture of a placeholder for one of your stories and he's yummy looking. Do you ever ask someone, say, me, to volunteer to take one for the team and do the research for you? Because I promise I'd turn over all my notes when I was finished with one of your boytoys character models. But you might have to take a hairdryer to it to dry all the drool off the pages.

Melissa Blue : I'm a visual person, but it amazes me finding a placeholder is the last thing I do when I'm researching my characters. I do free-writing sessions and write down what comes to me. I need to know my characters back story or I get stuck in the story. I truly believe a person is made up of everything they've experienced. How they dealt with it. Who they have as friends. Who raised them. And most importantly what's their profession. A cop will think differently than a librarian. But both would have chosen their jobs due to their personality.
Then the grand finale is finding their placeholder. That's the most fun part.

Slave Driver : Vegetarian or Omnivore? And if you say Vegetarian this interview is over.

Melissa Blue : I tried to go without a beef when the tainted meat story came out. I live in the valley so we were the main target area. The day the ban was lifted I had a burger. Does that answer your question?

Slave Driver : Do you have any pets? Expound. And do you have pictures of them as long as it's a dog? No pictures of children please, you are, after all, talking to me.

Melissa Blue : I have children. That's enough.

Slave Driver : Have your parents read your novels? Many people who write sex scenes in their stories have some concerns about their Mother reading those sections, but has your Father tried to send you to your room until you change your wicked ways?

Melissa Blue : When I gave my parents my first book I told them, "Don't read it. You can brag, but for the love of all that is holy don't read it."

Slave Driver : Do you have a day job? And do they know what you do while you are 'On the clock?' Because even if you're not actually writing on the company dime you're probably thinking on the company dime and most corporations don't like that. They don't appreciate it when their employees think while on their payroll. And if you do think about a character do you punch in and out while you do it or subtract the twelve minutes you've been running a scene in your head from your weekly time sheet?"

Melissa Blue : Yes, I have a day job. If "thinking" on company time could get me fired than my boss would have gotten rid of me a long time ago. Though to be honest if I had all the time in the world to write I'd probably wouldn't. I have a lot of respect for authors who write full-time. I don't have the discipline to write every day from nine to five. But here's my secret: I write better (and more) when I only have 2 hours a day to write. Plus, all that isolation would get to me. I won't go as far to say I'm a people person, but I need human contact every once and while. So, in a perfect world. I'd work part-time and write part-time.

Slave Driver : When you die what would you like on your Tombstone? And do NOT say Pepperoni, that's already taken.

Melissa Blue : Well, first I won't be buried. I've never liked being large crowds, but if I did... Don't mourn. Celebrate her life with Cabana boys.

Slave Driver : To continue in this vein, Pineapple on pizza; Yummy or an affront to God that should be banned from Pizza Parlors for life, like Pete Rose and Baseball? And Cubs or White Sox. And if you say White Sox this interview is over.

Melissa Blue : Umm, so not a fan of sports. That's why I became a writer.

So everybody jump on over to Wild Rose Press and buy an e-copy of Mel’s new book, See Megan Run.
And for those of you who insist on buying it in actual paper form, it comes out December 12, 2008.














While you’re there buy “How Much do you Want to Bet?”
also. I’ve read it and it’s really good. And you can trust me on this because my personal philosophy is “Life is too short to read crappy books.”

More of my favorite people, uh, I mean Horses…

PART TWO (for part one, skip to "What's in a name", it's right there! Just below this one>)


Charlie Horse is a favorite amongst the drivers because of his funny and curious personality, mixed with his arcane habit of “exploding” for no particular reason. For example, with me he enjoys breaking into a gallop when we leave the parking lot of Little America and make a right onto West Temple. No reason. He just does. And I know it, so I’m prepared. Of course I wasn’t the first time. But we were okay. Charlie is all black with a strip and snip on his face which makes him look a lot like Cletus, but he’s shorter ( although w i d e r ) and is half Percheron Draft and Morgan saddle horse. He was the horse I was working with the night I had a mechanical failure, and we got through it just fine. He is a very oral horse, always trying to snatch your cell phone off of your belt or the barn phone we hang around our necks. His favorite snack is Starburst Fruit Chews, any flavor. And if you have snacks, and he knows it, he will continuously use his lips to tug your sleeve, or your wrist, to remind you “Hey, lady, I’m here and I’m starving and would you pleeeese gimme a treat?” Of course the joke is that Charlie is so fat he’s lucky to fit between the shafts. And to demonstrate that, here is a picture of what we have lovingly dubbed his “Apple Butt.”


Rex has been described by Wease as “The first horse who will try to bite you when you enter the pen.” I don’t know if I’d agree with that, but he does tend to be sullen. Maybe it’s because Marky-Mark makes him wear a hat when they work together. And although I am not Rex’s biggest fan, I have asked to work with him on the occasion when I have some weird assignment, because he is willing to go anywhere and do anything you ask. Rex is a red Belgian Draft, so his color is a little unusual compared to a horse like Tony.

Ralphie
a Clydesdale, is the newest addition to our work force. He came from a family that kept him as a pet. When he first started his employment with us he occasionally decided he was “done”, like a lazy teenager, and simply sat down, once in the middle of a busy intersection. He was the horse Em was driving who rubbed his headstall off and took her for a leisurely walk around downtown, looking at stuff like a tourist, until Em got a man to grab his halter and stop him. Ralphie isn’t naughty, he’s just…different. When Ralphie is standing his upper leg bone ties into his hip about five inches above my head. He is very tall.

Jerry is one of the most beautifully colored horses we have. A Percheron Draft off of an Amish farm, he is a beautiful Dapple Gray. Jerry came to us with a partner named Ben, who looked identical to him. Ben, sadly, died of cancer. Jerry mourned for weeks, and when a driver would take him through The Gateway mall and Jerry would see his reflection in the store windows, would whinny, thinking it was his long lost buddy Ben. When they first arrived they had no idea what pets or treats were, but Jerry has since become attached to humans, and will follow you around the pen, attempting to stick his face into the halter you are carrying to get the horse you are working with. When he realizes that you are not coming for him, he stands by the gate, because whether or not you’ve come to get him, he’s leaving with you, like it or not!
People often ask if his dapples are real. We’ve started saying “Oh, no, it took me all day to paint those on.”

Some of the horses that live at the carriage company have never worked for us a day in their lives. One of those is Picaso,

a beautiful Black and White Percheron. He's a paint. His name is Picaso. Get it? When he first arrived he was called Hutch, and he came with Starsky, a gray Percheron, who also never works.

But they get fed, and wormed, and spend all day long with the other horses in the pens, mostly doing this.

What's in a Name...

Slave Driver. Yes, that’s how you know me. Google it and you get some, ah hem…strange links which have absolutely nothing to do with me. Many of them more than a little kinky… It is the name of a Bob Marley song, and also the name of a heavy metal band from Chicago. So, you might ask, why Slave Driver? I have explained to a few people that the name comes from what one would deem an unlikely source— Anti-Equestrienne Eco-Terrorists, or, as TheWiffleTreeNYC likes to call them, the “Humaniacs”.

But you see, I do not look upon the horses that pull the carriages around as my slave, or even as a beast of burden. I consider then my co-workers.

Just like you, I work with all kinds of individuals, each with their own unique personality. So I have decided to let you meet a few of them today so you too can get to know them.

First we start with my favorite. His name is Cletus
and he’s a black Percheron Draft with two white socks (both on the right) and a blaze that turns into a snip down his face and a white chin. Cletus is my favorite because of his work ethic. He is all about the business. Don’t cuddle him, don’t bother with endearments, just brush him down, tack him up, hook him to the carriage and lets go! His dislikes are balloons and the open back doors of box trucks. His favorite treats are Oreo cookies.

Tom
has a sway back. He also is a black Percheron Draft who was saved from the killers by the Carriage Barn owners when he quit bucking in the Rodeo. He would lie down in the chute and refuse to get up, so the rodeo people would twist his ears to make him stand. He’s had an additional 13 years of life because the owners outbid the killers at auction. Tom blows raspberries with his lips. Not the normal horse “snort’ you hear, but raspberries. He also likes to play “tag”. Every time you walk by him he is compelled to touch you with his nose, as if you need to be reminded he is still here.

Libby, AKA Liberty is the only mare. Tony thinks that she is his girlfriend, but that’s because Tony is a ladies man, and you’ll see why in just a minute. Libby is a Clydesdale, and yes, like the Budweiser horses but no, nothing at all like Stace’s mare Klein. Klein is not a Clydesdale! Libby doesn’t like to be touched by strangers, but she’ll take a treat if you’ve got one. MBA and The Fabulous Todd are the two people who work with her the most, and she can be a handful but they both love her because she is so sweet.

Tony

is my man, although Bill likes to think that Tony belongs to him. But since Bill doesn’t actually drive anymore, I guess that makes Tony mine. Tony, or “Fat Tony” as Ro likes to call him is a gorgeous hunk of Belgian Draft. Tony’s previous jobs included competitive puller and wagon hauler in a reenactment group out on the Oregon Trail. Tony likes any and all treats, but is a big ‘fraidy cat, despite his size. He’s also a natural blonde, something you don’t see too often these days. In the summer we try and find shade for the horses to stand in at South Gate, but Tony prefers to stand in the sunshine. I think he was, like, totally a surfer dude in a previous life.

And, yes, I could never forget Stace’s favorite, Wesson.

Stace left us for the Air Force but we continue to give Wesson the treats she got him hooked on, Nature Valley Oat and Granola bars. It’s his favorite. Wesson came to us from an auction with his teammate,




Smith.

Both are Belgian Drafts. When they were a team, some believe, that they shared a brain, but after they were broken into singles it is my opinion that Wesson got custody of it and never, never gives Smith brain visitation. Or so it seems.

Well, that’s all for today. Adding the photos has made this post very long, but never fear, I have more, and there are other fascinating individuals for you to still meet. Next time.


Tony again.



And of course I had to add more pictures of Tony He's the best looking one of all!

The importance of cross training...

I’ve been a carriage driver for over four years now, and in that time I have done a number or fun, weird, wacky, and interesting events. I usually drive a Vis-à-vis (the style of carriage you typically see in the carriage trade) but I have also driven a wagonette on occasion. A Wagonette is a much larger, taller vehicle with a higher center of gravity (Translation: topples easier at high speeds and sharp corners, but luckily never with me driving) and it can hold 8-12 people, depending on size and how much grease you use to pack them in.


This month I have been working at Gardner Village, a quaint old mill once owned by Archibald Gardner. The property was turned into a series of boutiques that sell everything from Christmas ornaments to home furnishings and accessories. There is also a yummy but overpriced restaurant and a bakery that sell the best damn chocolate cake donuts I have ever eaten.

And if you’ve ever seen me then you know, I’m a donut connoisseur.

Anyway, October at Gardner is Witch Month. They do a great job decorating the village with witches, and the store employees get into the spirit too. We (the carriage company I work for) have been contracted to provide an amusement entitled “Ride with a Witch”, where, for a very nominal fee, you and your children (and twice now, a dog) can go ‘round the village and be entertained by one of four witches. Some tell a story or sing a song, one makes the wagonette occupants perform in a “Rat Choir” (my personal favorite, especially when I get to yell “More rat! More rat! Like some people want “More cowbell!) And one tells terrible jokes.



We do this on Monday, Friday and Saturday nights, but this past weekend was Witch-a-Palooza
and we had to run a hayride pulled by a tractor out in a field because the parking lot was too jammed full of cars and people to drive the horses and wagons in.


Originally Ro, barn manager extraordinaire, and her boy toy Steve were to be the people running this gig, but then it was changed to Ro and I. I was elected because besides being able to drive a carriage I know how to drive a tractor.

You see, I had a farm once, and the tractor I had was almost identical to the one we used to pull the hay wagon around.

I owned it when I lived in Missouri, and every female friend of mine either owned a pickup truck, a tractor, a horse trailer, or all three.

So, instead of having time off, I got to work at Gardner with Ro all weekend. Yay! For me.

Now, several thoughts about driving a tractor:

First, for the life of me I cannot imagine how any farmer was able to do this mind numbing crap for hours on end without an iPod. There are only so many cartoons I have stored in my brain that I can pull out and watch during times of coma-like activity. And never could I have imagined going through my entire Ski playlist in a single day.

The difference between driving a tractor and driving a carriage is that after about the fifth time around the horse “gets” it, and you can pretty much go on autopilot. A tractor, no matter how many times you go around, never does. You still have to steer it.

Some people would probably disagree with me but I prefer the smell of horse exhaust to tractor exhaust. At least with a horse it’s not a continuous emission, unless you’re driving Cletus. But at least he has good rhythm.


My triceps are going to have a very nice cut to them, except the right one will be huge so I will look freakier than I usually look.

I average going in the same elongated figure-eight 50 times a day. I’ve memorized where all the rocks are. Just like downtown, where I’ve memorized all the potholes.

When the price of something is “per head” that’s exactly what it means. If it has a head, you must pay. On the upside, headless children are free. It is, after all, a Halloween-themed ride. I chided Ro for not charging the people who brought their dogs.

My rides are slightly shorter than Ro’s because she’s afraid to take it out of 1st gear into 2nd. But she’s learning; she’s already found out how important cross training can be.




Ro driving the Farmall. One day she will make the jump into 2nd gear...

Hell for the technically challenged.

I got a new printer. It’s a laser printer. I got it because it was recommended that if I’m going to be sending out sample copies of my manuscript I need to have nice, crisp print on the paper. That’s a must, or so I am told.

I’ve been told a lot of things. They include but are not limited to this criterion:

An agent will not read your manuscript if it has any of the following No-No’s:

Spelling errors. Punctuation errors. Margins that exceed 1 inch all around. Font that is not 12 pt. Times New Roman. Stained pages. Wrinkled pages. Dog-eared corners (because that proves that someone else has read and rejected it so why should they bother?). Staples. Paper clips. Holes. Red marks, blue marks, green marks, coffee marks, the orange stuff Cheetos leave on your hands, or spit.

So, I bought a new laptop a few weeks ago because my former laptop was old. And I woofed the operating system. Yes, I am talented. So I got a new laptop with wireless. I managed to set that up with my thing. I think they call it a modem. But not before I messed the entire “network’ up and had to call Qwest to be bailed out of connection jail.

So now I can sit on the couch and write, or surf the net, or play spider solitaire. I wanted my laser printer to be wireless also, so from my ass plant on the couch I could print the pages of my masterpiece. I waited to purchase one that would be inexpensive, so when a big box computer store close to my home had one on sale, I bought it. It was small, wireless, and inexpensive, all things I wanted. I even researched it online, checking reviews of previous owners of the printer. They all said it was great. Fabulous, even. So simple even a caveman could do it.

Oh, yay.

So, I liberated it from its box, followed all the step-by-step easy instructions, and went about connecting the laptop to the printer.

Needless to say I was hopelessly lost. You see, I’m a carriage driver. I drive a carriage, attached to a horse. It’s kind of low tech. Bill Gates I am not. Of course I’d like to see Bill Gates pilot a 17-foot vehicle whose engine has it’s own agenda around Temple Square during the Christmas traffic cluster f*ck.

That would be fun. I’d pay a dollar to watch that shit.

My laptop’s wireless capabilities couldn’t “see” my wireless printer. So, being that my laptop has a web cam, I lifted the laptop and “showed” it to the printer.

I said, “Look, there it is! Isn’t it pretty? And it has a great personality. I bet it’s a good dancer, too”

Nope, still not working.

I waved the laptop over the printer, hoping some magic voodoo might help them connect.

Nope. I got nothing.

The instructions, which were in Engrish, said I could use an Ethernet cable to connect my printer to my modem thingy and then once they were connected, I could disconnect them and POOF! The wireless part would work. So, I hunted for my extra Ethernet cable, but I put it away several weeks ago when I connected the wireless laptop to the modem, wirelessly. I put it in a “Safe Place.”

Apparently my “Safe Place” is in the same location as my “Happy Place.” I can’t find either of them right now, so I unplugged one of the desktops and poached the cord. I connected the modem thingy to the printer and followed the Simple Step-By-Step instructions which were as follows:

“Simply saunter down the Congo, pass a funnel cake stand and rub the solution in your follicles. Rename your phlebotomist “Weezer” and wash, rinse, repeat.”

I followed the instructions and got the modem to recognize the printer, even though I did not lift the laptop and “show it” to the modem. Happily I disconnected the cord and POOF!

They lied.

Finally, digging around in a drawer full of cords and other technical gee-gaws that belong to who knows what I found a USB cable and connected the printer to the laptop. It is not cordless, but it does print. And the print is clean and crisp. But the laptop has to sit in a chair next to the printer.

Maybe they’ll get to know each other over time, build a relationship of trust and mutual respect, and eventually, connect.

Wirelessly.

And the Oscar goes to...

I awoke this morning to find that my friend and fellow Slave Driver, Stace, had bestowed upon me a prestigious award.

I was surprised by this because I didn't have to fill out any Publisher’s Clearinghouse type form to win it. She just awarded it to me. That was very nice of her, although I don’t think I deserve it. After all, I have, in the past, won numerous awards, some of which I did and some of which I did not deserve. Anyway this award comes with a list of requirements, which I will get to in a minute.

The most recent award I won, not counting the one from Stace, was this:





Yes, I know what you’re thinking. “What the hell is that piece of crap?”

I’m going to tell you. Occasionally the youth of Salt Lake get together and roam in packs. One on one dating is frowned upon until such an age as you start looking for your life-mate. So for the 16-19 year old set the approved dating ritual is en mass. Or, as we like to call them, Free-Ranging Teenagers.

Late one fine Saturday afternoon in July several years ago, ~A~ and I were making our way to South Gate to begin our evening shift as Carriage Drivers when, at the corner of South Temple and West Temple, we were stopped by a crowd of the afore mentioned Free Ranging Teens. They asked us to wait for just a moment as they conferred, then one girl stepped up and handed me the above trophy.

“You win!” She said as a cheer went up from the crowd, and my horse danced in place with enthusiasm.

I looked down at the thing she handed me. It was a Soccer trophy with the name scribbled off and “Carriage Driver” written in the margins.
Clearly, they had been to DI and had stocked up on awards and trophies that had been languishing in the “Miscellaneous” section.

I thanked the young lady and ~A~ and I continued to South Gate, where I showed her the honor that had been bestowed upon me by my adoring public. I then advised her that for the remainder of the day she was to address me as “Your Majesty.”

The carriage horses do not belong to us, although we do have our favorites. I have a horse of my own, his name is L.P. PrairieDreamer; Dreamer for short. I used to show Dreamer on the “A” circuit but it’s really hard to find a babysitter willing to start at 4am so I quit the club sanctioned shows and just putzed around with him in fun shows. “Fun” or “Barn” shows are more relaxed and entertaining anyway,(especially when combined with a few cocktails) as evidenced by the awards I won at those:

I won this for a game called


"Bozo Buckets" where you sat on your horse and had to throw wiffle balls into a 5 gallon bucket, which was moved further away with each toss. The game is not hard, but the horses don't like the noise the ball makes when it drops in the bucket, so they tend to dance around a bit. It's a really fun game to play when you've had a few cocktails.





I won this at a Halloween Party at my boarding stable in Illinois. Ah, good times. Anyway, I dressed up like Jane, you know, Tarzan's Jane, and I cut up an old set of sheets that were Zebra striped to costume-up my Appaloosa.

Yeah, he puts up with a lot of crap. But this is nothing compared to when he was dressed as a Uni-Peg-Aloosa. Anyway, this is us:And keep in mind we've had a few cocktails.

And finally, these are two more we won after we moved to Utah. They had a fun show at the place we board now.

















Okay, now, back to the Arte Y Pico award:




There are some Rules that come with the Award:
1) You have to pick 5 blogs that you consider deserve this award, creativity, design, interesting material, and also contributes to the blogger community, no matter of language.
2) Each award has to have the name of the author and also a link to his or her blog to be visited by everyone.
3) Each award-winning, has to show the award and put the name and link to the blog that has given her or him the award itself.
4) Award-winning and the one who has given the prize have to show the link of “Arte y pico” blog , so everyone will know the origin of this award.
5) To show these rules


So, here are three of my five award winners, with two more to be chosen at a later date:
www.jumping-percheron.blogspot.com
Right back to Stace because she posts a lot of pictures and video and has been blogging about her mare to help track her training and because she loves her so much that her mother has to ASK about her husband during phone calls (Yes, Stace, Paul got an earfull from your mom the other day...)

Jen at Cake Wrecks because she is f*cking FUNNY and I wish I could meet her and we'd go out drinking then stop by the bakery department at Walmart and mock them. Repeatedly.


Mel the Great because she posts such useful and funny stuff about being a writer. And did I say she's funny? And, she's a writer. And we should go drinking with Jen from Cake Wrecks and then stand at South Gate and mock everyone.

So, anyway, that's my three and when I find two other blogs to bestow it upon I will, but I don't get out much and during the time I was writing this blog I was supposed to be editing chapter 3, so...for the fine art of procrastination when I should have been working I will now bestow upon myself the following Major Award!!!


And, it doubles as a lamp.















And, yes Stace I do remember that man. We were waiting in the parking lot of Cuccina Toscatta for a double ride. You had Wes, and I had Tony, I think. We pulled into the parkling lot and took up/blocked almost all the spaces. And it was cold. But we had fun. We always had fun.

Yo ho ho and a bottle of WTF?

September 19: This day in history:

1985: Mexico City was hit by the first of two earthquakes that would devastate the area.
The second earthquake arrived 36 hours later; both would take thousands of lives.

1982: The first Emoticon was used by Scott E. Fahlman of Carnegie Mellon University.
It was this one : - ) . He suggested it be used to indicate a joke, which just proves that Geeks have no sense of humor. You know, when you have to tell them it’s a joke?

1955: Juan Person, the president of Argentine and husband of Evita, the inspiration for a mega-hit Broadway musical, was deposed by a military coup and sent into exile.

1928: The first talking cartoon, Steamboat Willie, premiered in New York. It starred the soon-to-be world’s most favorite rodent, Mickey Mouse.

1881: President James Garfield would die from a gunshot wound he received from a disgruntled voter twelve weeks earlier. Ouch!

September 19 is also National Talk Like A Pirate Day.

Arggggggg………

In the four years I have been a carriage driver I’ve done a lot of weddings, many of them routine and forgettable. Most often we are hired to take the newly married bride and groom away from their reception, usually to their hotel. In my carriage I’ve dealt with the young and scared, (“Yes, please drive us around for the entire time you’ve been paid for. Drag it out as long as possible until the last minute when we have to go to our hotel room and figure out what comes next.”)

This is Utah. The only thing they teach in Sex-Ed is abstinence. Members of the LDS church don’t watch ‘R’ rated movies. I’ve had young adults so scared they look green.

I’ve had the young and horny (“Heck no, go RIGHT to the hotel. Forget this slow crap. There’s an extra twenty in for you if you get the horse to gallop.”)

Sometimes we take the couple from the wedding to the reception. This doesn’t happen as often, and is mostly for photographic purposes. It makes a nice wedding picture, and you get the bride and groom together before they’re all sweaty from dancing or icky from smearing cake in each others face.

Occasionally we bring the bride to the ceremony. I’ve taken the bride alone, the bride and her father, or the bride and her attendants. It’s a great show, arriving at the church/park/whatever in a beautiful white carriage. Gracefully exiting the carriage, bouquet in hand, the bride gets out to walk the plank…

Oh, I’m sorry. Did I say walk the plank? Usually one would call that a metaphor. Not so on Friday, September 19.

Remember? National Talk Like a Pirate Day?

I had a trainee on Friday. We call trainees “Monkeys”, as in “A monkey on your back,” and I was happy to have one on that day, if nothing more than to be a witness to the appointment I had.

My monkey and I arrived at the Marriott for our 6:30 appointment. I was advised that it was a wedding, so I wore my Tux jacket, and when we arrived there was a bride and her three attendants standing under the canopy by the stairs. I pulled up and waited, we were a few minutes early. No one waved, no one smiled, no one indicated that they acknowledged me at all, but that’s not unusual. Some people treat us like an ugly cousin. They know were there and why we’ve come, they just don’t want to deal with us. And I understand, weddings are stressful. After a minute or two the bride and her girls went back into the hotel.

“Okay,” I said to my monkey, “maybe they forgot something. Or they feel compelled to check their makeup one more time…Whatever. We’re early.”

So we wait, and wait, and…wait. Finally the doorman gets a call and says, “Your people will be down in a minute.” So we wait, still. I’m scanning the crowd in front of the hotel, looking for a bride when a middle-aged woman and three teenage girls stride up to the carriage.

They are all dressed as Pirates.

The woman looks at me and says, “We’re here, and sorry we’re so late.” I’m just about to say “I’m sorry but I have an appointment.” But not quite knowing what’s happening, instead I ask for the name (on our drivers sheets where we record our rides there is a space for “name” when you have an appointment. We always check to make sure they match because we have had people get in the carriage and say they have an appointment, when in fact they don’t. The appointments are pre-paid, so giving away someone’s pre-paid ride can create a messy situation.)

So she tells me her name, and it matches. With a sweep of my arm I indicate they are to get in. Driving Jerry, my horse-work partner for the evening , out on the street I turn and say “Okay, I gotta ask…”

The woman laughs and says “September 19 is Talk Like A Pirate Day. I’ve already had a traditional wedding. I’m a fun person, and I wanted a fun wedding. So we decided on a ‘Pirate’ theme.”

“Well,” I tell her, “this is my first pirate wedding.” So we go around the block and end up at The Gallavan Center, where I’ve been instructed to go up on the plaza, over the small bridge, make a loop, and drop her and the girls off.

When we arrived, there was a crowd of about fifty guests.

Every one of them was dressed in pirate attire.

And as we dropped off the bride and her attendants to walk the plank, they gave us a hearty “Arggggg” and a wedding experience I will never forget.



Sorry the quality is so poor, but I was 1) using my phone 2) standing up, turned around backwards and 3) driving a carriage, so , you know, multitasking...

What to do with those pesky leftovers...

Potato Skin Casserole

Yeah, I know. Who do I think I am, the Galloping Gourmet? Not exactly, because I don’t let the carriage horse gallop. Intentionally. However, I was at one time a lunch lady for the high school in Smithville, Missouri. So I am a professional. Kind of.

Anyway, now that you’ve made the baked Potato soup you probably have some potatoes, green onions, bacon bits and cheese left over. I know I do. So, here’s how you use them up.

Yes, yes, I know, another high carb, high calorie, chocked full-o-fat recipe. Do I look like I’m a member of weight watchers? I did not get this way by noshing on celery, ya know. I only eat celery when it’s stuck in a Bloody Mary. Otherwise why bother. It’s like eating crunchy water full of dental floss, and the only flavor you get from it is when it’s dipped in ranch dressing.

So, here is what you need:

Potatoes
Shredded cheddar cheese
Diced green onions
Bacon Bits
Ranch dressing
a casserole dish and an oven.





Boil the potatoes until they’re soft. They don’t have to be mashed potato soft, but when the skin cracks it’s a good indicator that they’re ready. Take them out of the water and let them cool.

Pre heat your oven to 350 degrees.

Spray a casserole dish with Pam or the generic equivalent. Trust me, whoever does the dishes in your house will thank you. When your potatoes are cool enough that you won’t get 2nd degree burns handling them, cut them into quarters. Leave the skin on. It has more calories that way. Layer the casserole dish with half of your potatoes. What’s that? I didn’t tell you how many potatoes to use? How many people are you feeding? Use two potatoes per person. And if you have leftovers, so what. This makes a great breakfast item, too. So shut up already!

So, layer of potatoes, on top of that sprinkle ½ of the cheese, green onions, bacon bits, and them squeeze a bunch of ranch dressing on it. You know, it really doesn’t matter how much you use of any of it, with the exception of the ranch dressing. Use enough of that to make it moist but not potato/ranch soup. Although that doesn’t sound half bad.

Repeat the layering process with the rest of the potatoes, green onions, bacon bits, cheese and top it off with another long and healthy squeeze of Ranch. Put it in the oven for about a half an hour, or until the cheese melts and the whole thing is hot.

Serve. Eat. Repeat.