Why we don't call it the Lapdance Film Festival

My regular duties as Carriage Driver are finished now for the season, although if you want to take a ride go on down to South Gate and hook one with the fools hearty individuals willing to work the cruel month of January. I'll be inside the cozy and inviting Rose Wagner Theater, working the Sundance Film festival. That’s my excuse, and I'm sticking with it. It has, after all, worked for 4 years now…

Getting ready for Sundance takes a lot of preparation:

First, I have to warm up.

Second, I need to catch up on all the sleep I missed out on while carriage driving. Luckily for me I will be on approximately the same schedule I'm on when driving; go into work around 4:00 pm, go home sometime after midnight, so no change there.

Also, I won't have to wear quite so many layers, although I still put on the under-roos because it is, after all, January in Utah. Kenneth Cole, the fashionista that provides the Sundance Volunteers with their coats and liners (which are our "official" uniform) has apparently never lived anywhere other than the Equator because, while stylish, his garments are not precisely warm.

Then there is my hair. I have not had my hair cut in about three years. Why? Because I don't like getting into conversations with stylists, that’s why. If I could find a deaf/mute stylist I'd go every month. Okay, it is me we're talking about, and I am both lazy and cheap, so every six to eight months. But since my hair gets bleached out in the summer from my pool, is cursed with split ends, liberally sprinkled ( okay, doused is more like it) with grey, and is all around fugly, I need to so "something" to it prior to the festival so I can hobnob with 1) folks much younger than me and 2) Hollywood types and 3)New York City people all without being sneered at like I've just crawled out of the Van that I live in down by the river.

What the hell, you are asking right about now, does my #$@$%^#$ hair have to do with the title of today's blog?

Okay, here is how it all ties in: the last few years my job for Sundance was OUT Asst. MGR. This job involves me being in charge of the wait list line, which is an exterior (yes, outdoors) position. Except last year the line was moved indoors. Which was nice. Because it's warm. Anyway, I had several people vying for the last seat in the house, and since we only had one seat available, and there were two of them I could not accommodate their request. Because they were together; would not go without the other one, and refused to entertain my suggestion of either a duel to the death or at least an arm wrestling match.

Their suggestion was that I allow them both in and the man would sit in the seat and the woman would sit in his lap. That was when I advised them that this was the Sundance Film Festival, not the Lapdance Film Festival which takes place at the adult theater in Wendover, Nevada.

That was my old job. I got to do stuff like that. It was a lot like being a verbal hit man. One of the titles was "Crowd Liaison" which is polite-speak for "Bouncer."

Now, however, my job is IN Asst. MGR, which means I have to be NICE. Why? Because I'm the person the customers will come and complain to after visiting with the new OUT Asst. MGR.

Grrrrrrrr.

So this is going to be an interesting test for me, seeing if I can switch gears and be nice. And if I can't fake a smile very well, at least my hair will look good.

Returning to Normal

Okay, my life is not exactly “normal" anyway, but it’s back to the usual routine. I work once more this week, Saturday, and then, unless something weird comes up and Ro needs me, I won’t work again until February.


January is when I get all the things done that I’ve put off until A.C. That’s After Christmas, for you non-Carriage people. That’s when we slave drivers do all the crap we’ve procrastinated for two months. For example, prior to my birthday I, according to the fine employees at the DMV, need to straighten something out at the Social Security office. Mainly that I never changed the name on my card after I got married, which was lucky for me since 18 months later I got divorced, but then another 3 years I got married again…To the same guy. So, I apparently need to scurry downtown and sit in the olfactory offensive/overly warm office for hours on end and get the name straightened out before my drivers license comes up for renewal.


Sitting in the Social Security office and then the DMV. Bleh! Thankfully I got an iPod touch for Christmas and have already downloaded movies to it. YAY! There is only so much Bubble Blaster I can play on my phone before I start looking for something new and exciting to do. Like mocking the people next to me.

Also I have to go online and do my Sundance management training in preparation for the Festival, which is next month. They’ve bumped me up a spot so I’ll have new duties this year and I should probably figure out what the heck they are.


I also need to go with Ro to The Tin Angel café and collect the rest of my tip. The Chef and his wife who own and operate The Tin Angel took a ride with me and did not feel that I was compensated enough in comparison to the joy/happiness they felt during their ride. So they said “Come to the restaurant and we’ll “Take care” of you.”


Now, someone “Taking Care” of you can go two ways. Either they treat you liked royalty and fawn over your very presence, or, a la the Sopranos, you wear cement shoes and sleep with the fishes.


I’m just hoping to get their recipe for Tiramisu, since there is the best freakin’ tiramisu I’ve ever had. YUM!


My Jeep needs an oil change. My office looks like someone threw dumpster full of paper on top of the desk. My Pomeranian needs a grooming. Bad. Like she’s gone Rastafarian. And of course there’s all the Christmas decorations to put away, and writing and editing to start up again, and pounds to lose and Chiropractors to see, and wine that needs drinking, and …


Well, you get the picture.


So here’s to getting back to normal. I’ll begin by making a toast. See? That takes care of the wine that needs drinking.

The Twelve Days of Carriagemas

Editors note: I'm tired and beat to crap. Please enjoy (or not) this rendition of "The Twelve Days of Christmas", carriage driver style. It's the best I can do right now on so little sleep and under the influence of large quantities of Advil.

"Rubbers", for you straights who do not drive carriage, are the rubber "tires" that go on over the metal wheel rims. Newbies are recent trainees. Also, "Barn Ro" is Ro, the barn manager. That's how her name appears on our Nextel direct connect phones we use as our communication system, aka "Radios", which is stupid because they really arn't radios but phones , however old habits are hard to break.

Sorry, I'm rambling now. Bye.




On the first day of Carriagemas my Barn Ro said to me
“This appointment’s a little goofy”

On the second day of Carriagemas my Barn Ro said to me,
“Don’t take two batteries, and this appointments a little goofy.”

On the third day of Carriagemas my Barn Ro said to me,
Three declined credits, don’t take two batteries, and this appointment’s a little goofy.”

On the fourth day of Carriagemas my Barn Ro said to me,
“Four rigs at Westgate, three declined credits, don’t take two batteries, and this appointments a little goofy.”

On the fifth day of Carriagemas my barn Ro said to me,
“Five fatties won’t fit! Four rigs at Westgate, three declined credits, don’t take two batteries, and this appointments a little goofy.”

On the sixth day of Carriagemas my Barn Ro said to me,
“Six groups are waiting, five fatties won’t fit, four rigs at Westgate, three declined credits, don’t take two batteries, and this appointment’s a little goofy.”

On the seventh day of Carriagemas my Barn Ro said to me,
“Seven newbies working, six groups are waiting, five fatties won’t fit, four rigs at Westgate, three declined credits, don’t take two batteries and this appointments a little goofy.”

On the eighth day of Carriagemas my Barn Ro said to me,
Eight missing rubbers, seven newbies working, six groups are waiting, five fatties won’t fit, four rigs at Westgate, three declined credits, don’t take two batteries and this appointments a little goofy.”

On the ninth day of Carriagemas my Barn Ro said to me,
“Nine feet of snow, eight missing rubbers, seven newbies working, six groups are waiting, five fatties won’t fit, four rigs at Westgate, three declined credits, don’t take two batteries and this appointments a little goofy.”

On the tenth day of Carriagemas my Barn Ro said to me,
“Ten below zero, nine feet of snow, eight missing rubbers, seven newbies working, six groups are waiting, five fatties won’t fit, four rigs at Westgate, three declined credits, don’t take two batteries and this appointments a little goofy.”

On the eleventh day of Carriagemas my Barn Ro said to me,
“Eleven late appointments, ten below zero, nine feet of snow, eight missing rubbers, seven newbies working, six groups are waiting, five fatties won’t fit, four rigs at Westgate, three declined credits, don’t take two batteries and this appointments a little goofy.”


On the twelfth day of Carriagemas my Barn Ro said to me,
“Twelve bitching drivers, eleven late appointments, ten below zero, nine feet of snow, eight missing rubbers, seven newbies working, six groups are waiting, five fatties won’t fit, four rigs at Westgate, three declined credits, don’t take two batteries and this appointments a little goofy.”

The Object of My Addiction:

Now for something a little on the lighter side.

Obviously, you know I like horses. How much do I like horses?

WAAAAAAAAAY much.

To the casual observer entering my house through the front door, my living room is an explosion of horses. I have a bathroom decorated in horses, and my kitchen is pretty much...well, you get the picture.

But my obvious addiction shines brightest at Christmas. How? Well, my Horsemas Tree, of course.








Some of these you can get from Breyer, others are weird custom jobs that have been gifts.









More than a few I've painted myself. Because I have an addiction. And I love horses.


I also love my Pomeranian, Sammie Two Chews.































And just to prove that I am a well rounded individual, here is a recent addition to my Christmas ornament collection:


I understand it's a Major Award!

A Permanent Solution to a Temporary Problem

We lost a member of our Tribe Saturday night. For whatever reason he decided to take matters into his own hands and take the long sleep.

The last time I saw him was the day after Thanksgiving. He was the man who trained me my first night almost five years ago. He was amused by the fact that I am a short little shit and the horse we drove that night, Sam, was a behemoth of a Clydesdale who's back I could barely reach on tip toe to groom.

He hadn't worked much over the past year; he was kind of a grumpy guy, and difficult to get to know. If he thought you knew something about horses then he was okay to you. If he perceived you as a fool he treated you as such. But the fact of the matter is, he left a wife we liked and two pre-teen boys fatherless and heartbroken, and the rest of us wondering when it all went south, and what we might have been able to do to change the turn of events.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

The event has left a pall hanging over the barn. The next 10 days are our crunch time. This is when business gets hopping and those families who make taking carriage rides a tradition become frantic when they realize that time is running short and once again Christmas has snuck up on them. We tend to circle the wagons, trying to keep our petty bickering and high emotions in check because we are all, by now, exhausted and frazzled. The weather was crappy on Saturday. Traffic was a nightmare, the snow making getting around town an exercise in creative carriage driving, and every one of us now on the bubble. But, the end is in sight, we have passed through the eye of the needle and come out unscathed, putting our shoulders to the yoke and pulling straight ahead until we get to the other side.

We are a group of strangers who have morphed into a quasi-family, our employment and common love for the equine persuasion the tie that binds. This makes us our own special tribe. That we've lost a member is stunning to us. But we will carry on, trying to reach out to the rest of our herd and let them know that no matter what is happening in their lives we are there, we have their back, and they can come to us anytime they feel the need to vent, to rant, to cry, to hide. Because the alternative is permanent. And it pisses us off.

It's Raining Cats and...Nevermind.

Okay, this is a quickie since I have to go to The Fabulous Todd's Fabulous Christmas Party in a few minutes so…

What is the weirdest horse/barn/farm thing that has ever happened to you?

I'll start:

Once upon a time I was a mare handler for a Quarterhorse breeder in Missouri. The owner and I were standing in the hall of the barn when it suddenly began to rain Kittens.

Okay, it was two kittens. But suddenly two kittens fell from the sky…

Okay, they fell through the trap door for the hayloft above us.

Anyway, two kittens fell from the hayloft and landed smack! on the ground between the two of us. One got up and ran away. The other had a broken neck.

We silently looked at each other, then up at the trap door, as if expecting more kittens. No more came.

Weird, huh?

Tom and his "Wheel Of Mystery"

Tom. Ahhhhh…. Yes, Tom. I like Tom although he's no great beauty. He has a very noticeable sway back, he's scruffy and a little goofy looking. To counteract these handicaps he has a great work ethic, likes to blow raspberries, and has multiple personalities.

I'm sorry, what was that again?

Oh yes, Tom's "Sybil" complex. Well, it has to be that, or the other choice is "Tom's Wheel Of Mystery." You see, with 99% of the other horses we know their personalities and therefore the things that "Set Them Off." For example, Cletus dislikes Balloons, stepping on manhole covers, and the open back of box trucks. Charlie is not a big fan of Schnauzers and cement mixer trucks. Tony is afraid of leaves blowing around, and Max? Grocery sacks do it for him.

With Tom, one can never be too certain. Sometimes it's bells, sometimes it's, well, I've made a graphic to assist in your understanding. You see, I firmly believe that Tom, on a daily basis, spins a wheel in his head to randomly choose what he will be spooking at that day.

Things Tom might choose to spook at:
(AKA Tom's Wheel of Mystery)















A Stinky Bum
Tall Skinny People
Anything In The Color Taupe
The Same Pothole We've Driven Through 47 Times
Screaming Children
Strollers
Air
Screaming Children Being Pushed In Strollers By Tall Skinny People

Sunday night Tom and I worked together. While we were in the barn getting ready he tried to bite me, but I'm too fast for him and he missed. He never made a second attempt. Once we were on the street he spooked when I sneezed and again when we went through the same pothole that we had gone through at least 5 times that night. Then he jumped sideways, I have no idea why, it must have been scary air or something.

So working with Tom is an exercise in vigilance. One can never be quite sure what might make Tom go "Aaaakkkkkk!!!" and take a sudden jump to the left (or right, depending on which side the mystery object/sound/shadow is on) or come to a full and complete stop to take a good long look at the scary monster he perceives might eat him.

Mr. Carriage Clause had a photo of Tom in his locker from a parade they were in. Mr. Carriage Clause proudly pointed it out to me once, and then advised me that it was Toms one and only parade appearance. Parades, you see, while full of merriment and wonder for the audience, are rife with Things That Eat Horses. This is why there are certain equine employees that are considered "Parade Material" and others that are "Not a Snowball's Chance in Hell."

I did a video shoot last January for a local TV station that wanted footage of their weather person and her husband in a carriage to prove that they were just like the rest of us. Out and about the town, riding in a carriage up in Memory Grove, having a delightful time. I was asked to take Tony. Tony's nickname is "Tony the Kitten-hearted." I've worked with him before up in the grove when a bride was having her photos done, and the camera crew was using one of those big floppy silver light reflectors. Turns out, Tony is not a fan of big shiny objects. Not knowing exactly what kind of equipment the crew was bringing with, I opted to drive Rex, who, while not a great beauty like Tony, is as solid as a rock when it comes to weird shit. So fugly horse it was. At least we both matched.

So if you are wandering around downtown Salt Lake some evening and see a swayback black horse that looks like he's doing the "Time Warp" dance from The Rocky Horror Picture Show, it's probably Tom. Please be kind to him, and leave all your weird horse eating stuff at home. I'm sure he'll appreciate it. I know the driver will.

It's beginning to look a lot like...Las Vegas

The Christmas Carriage Driving season opener was this past Friday night and we were fortunate that the weather was good and people came out to take rides around Temple Square to see the lights. The usual suspects made their appearance; Bagpiper guy wearing his kilt and Santa hat; harmonica guy standing on the north east corner by the wall that surrounds the square; Gary and Raine with their hot cocoa stand; assorted panhandlers preying on the generosity of the ignorant but soft hearted who unwittingly finance their addictions, and of course the cast of thousands of morons piloting their vehicles who bypass public transportation (which would drop them a block from the lights) in favor of cruising around for 45 minutes looking for a parking spot, legal or otherwise.


It's all good. I guess.


The funnest part for me is the annual "Pimping of the carriage", and yes, I go all out. Why? I think I already told you; when all the carriages are the same price why choose economy when you can go first class?


Now, I advised The Fabulous Todd a while ago that lights sell rides. After decorating his carriage he finally believed me.


About half of the carriages are decorated, and although on Friday and Saturday,when Ro was our stager, decorations are superfluous because we are loaded from the front of the line, on Sunday we were on our own.




On Sunday I kicked ass. Besides the lights I also run my iPod loaded with Christmas music. People were walking down the line, passing up all the Plain Janes, and picking me out of the middle.


YAY!


Anyway, for your visual pleasure I took photos of the decorated carriages and some of the horses.

This is my carriage sitting in front of the carriage barn on Friday before we went out.












This is Marky-Marks carriage at South Gate












And of course, Marky-Mark and Rex. In matching hats.












We haven't had bad weather yet so my top has remained down, but here is a photo of the garland that runs along the top bow supports for the roof.













I dumped my old Christmas lights because they sucked too much juice out of my battery and would therefore crap out around nine pm. I bought LED lights at Wal-Mart and layered them over the old lights because I'm too lazy to take the garland off, unwrap the old strings, and re-wrap new ones. These are so much brighter it's amazing, althought I liked the colors of the old ones much better.

Here are the old lights:













And new lights:











The Fabulous Todd pimped his ride. Black carriages suck the illumination out, so he needs to add more lights to compensate.














And of course no photo album would be complete without Scooter's carriage with Drunken Santa on Wessons back.













By the way, Drunken Santa is so popular that people have caused car accidents stopping in the middle of the street to take his picture. Of course there are also a number of traumatized children from the night his head fell off.