During my entire ridiculous life, I can only remember being inside three taxis, or cabs, or whatever you choose to call ’em. Oh, I should’ve summoned dozens of the things during an earlier, more irresponsible bar-hopping era. But you know how that goes…
Believe it or not, I’ve been in far more limos than cabs. Back during my high-flying record weasel days I rode in limousines on a semi-regular basis. And now that I’m removed from all that craziness, I find it hard to believe it ever really happened.
Anyway, when I was a kid my parents, my brother, and I were in Washington D.C., and took a cab from our hotel… to somewhere. I can’t remember. But the driver was a complete maniac.
You know those car seats for little kids, with a steering wheel attached? And you know how the confined kid always grasps the wheel and violently whips it from side to side? That’s how our driver was doing it. He was constantly in and out of traffic, tailgating, rocketing down the shoulder(!), and just generally scaring the living shit out of us.
But he got us to our destination in record time, despite near-gridlock traffic. You certainly couldn’t question the outcome, it was the execution that almost turned my rectum to stone.
I think that was my first exposure to taxis, and it might have something to do with my lack of cab experience during the years that followed. I was certain we were all gonna die, as a result of fire and trauma.
In New York City, on one of those record weasel junkets, a bunch of us shared a cab to some ludicrous hipster bar across town. Again, the details are a little hazy…
But our driver smelled horrible, I remember that part clearly. The car was like an August crotch, along with afternotes of recent sex. The driver could barely speak English, and was from some country… I don’t know, where bathing is apparently taboo? The dude’s pits were alive with bacterial activity.
All of us were trying to use our shirts as makeshift filters, and just sat there with tears in our eyes, while “music” that sounded like people banging pie pans blared from the speakers. The whole ride was nothing short of excruciating.
And, of course, we continued to smell it deep into the night. I think the funk adhered itself to our nose hairs or something.
My third exposure to the world of cabs was in Georgia. When Toney and I were first married we only had one car, and once had to call a taxi when it was in the shop. It’s a long story…
But the thing showed up at our house just thirty minutes late, a beat-to-hell station wagon with bad shocks, and hand-painted words on the doors: Shitty’s Taxi and CorriEr Service. Something along those lines.
The driver was a big ol’ Baby Huey hick, with a giant rub, or dip, or whatever it’s called, in his bottom lip. But, as these things often go, he was really nice and helpful, and went above and beyond the call of duty. And earned a large tip for his efforts.
When you’re in need of human kindness, I’ve found, big Baby Huey hicks are usually a good bet.
And that’s my history with cabs. Do you have anything to share on this subject? Have you had any especially memorable rides in a taxi? If so, tell us about it, won’t you?
And I’ll see you guys again tomorrow.
Have a great day!
Worst cab ride ever was from the airport in Rome Italy to the hotel. First you climbed inside a singer sewing machine and then were launched via trebuchet into the city.
Lane lines in the street were mere suggestions while we sailed in between buses, scooters and tourists. The driver shifted with one hand, gestured wildly out the window with another all while steering and laying on the horn.
At random moments, all activity would come to a screeching halt where we’d witness the same thing happening in the other direction – then we’d rocket off again. Longest cab ride ever (maybe 15 minutes)
“BO and sadness” – perfect!
Hey Sidney…If you make it down south to the Pagaosa Springs area let me know. I’m 50 miles away and I know a place with good food and good margartias.
dto,
I’m a huge Mr. Roger’s fan. I know all the hits. I’m a kazoo playing motherfucker, as my mom would say. You name it, I’m in. I’ve also been known to play the snare drum at the same time. I know what you’re thinking – talented. Well, I confess, I’m a goddamn artist of sorts.
Hey dto- We are actually planning on hitting Durango and the Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad! One of our last stops before we head home…
Is that close to where you are?
Sidney…Yep! I make a left at Pagosa and drive another 50 miles west to Durango. Easiely done for me No big deal at all.. I’m there man. I fly out of here (well, three hours away from here) on the 19th so I hope I’ll still be around. I’m in if it works out!.
Jason…we should jam sometime. I’ve got a field drum and I also have a mean paradiddle in my bag of tricks.
And Jason… I’m not knockimg your kazxoo chops by any means. I’ve know only two trombone players and and one second alto sax player who could play the thing..
dto,
Don’t worry about it. As I said before, I’m not a blubbering vagina. I can take it. When I was just a boy (12 years old) I asked my music teacher what the hardest instrument to play was. He said the piccolo. And I said, “Well then, I shall master it.” I didn’t. I crawled back in defeat and asked him what the second hardest instrument to play was and he said, “Somewhere between the kazoo and the banjo or the pan flute. But beware boy, the kazoo has ruined many a good man.” So anyway, fuck him. I couldn’t play the pan flute because I’m not the devil. And the banjo had homosex connotations at that time.
So I’m a kazoo player from way back. I’ve played bus stations and pool halls all over this country. And I consider myself famous. Sure, it’s been rough. But when the chips were down I could always pull out that kazoo and change the world – at least in my deranged mind.
And I have another rare talent. I can put a harmonica below my teets and make air go through the thing by bending over. I did Ludwig van Beethoven’s Symphony Number 9 at a YMCA in Mymphis. I got a standing ovation (though it was only four people, all of them drunk, I think). Still, it felt nice. Even though it was in the locker room, and we were all nude.
I’ve never been in a cab, save a couple of rides home from bars. I’ve been in a few limosines and a half dozen buses – even a train a couple of times, but as a general rule I’m a control freak and prefer to drive myself. I can’t imagine living in New York city or in Europe, where most of your travel is done by “public transit”. Fuck that. You can’t even trust people to check themselves out at the grocery store, much less drive you around. Jesus Christ!
Don’t know what’s so hard about playing kudzu. You don’t have to say anything, and you don’t have to do anything. You just put your lips together and blow.
jtb
Jason, this trick looks pretty easy to learn; you could entertain the neighborhood urchins with it…
http://www.i-am-bored.com/bored_link.cfm?link_id=51763
.
jtb
OB12
0445 in the Great Pacific Northwest; all six raccoon pups and their moms have been fed, all five cats are snoring. It’s 56F, much cooler than nights have been lately, but no wind. Pretty comfortable sitting on the back porch making sure everybody gets their share of fixins.
Just idly wondering how many Reporters are too young or too isolated to know who Lauren Bacall is. I assume Bogie is universally known and loved, but I’ve been wrong before. He played a mean kazoo.
Good night and good luck.
jtb
OB12
jtb..
Lauren Bacall was a lead trumpet player’s kind of lady for sure..and that’s the difference between…well…you know…I was getting at earlier. Thanks for giving me a reference.
What a beautiful dame.
I
Sorry about the word “was” Lauren. I’d be glad to have you on my arm any day.
So, what exactly has Gary Newman been up to since the 80’s? Um….
I was once the world’s foremost theremin player, although now I am quite out of practice.
So as we go back and forth and I lean on the trumpet player thing…it’s something I did my whole life to make a buck. It made me and shaped me I guess. And yeah..it was one hell of a way to do that. I’m a lucky fellow to have bought that ticket and taken that ride. It taught me a lot and I learned a lot. And now it saddens me to realize the world’s largest supplier of kazoos is China. The fucking Chineese bastards even control the minds and pocketbooks of young kazooists everywhere. This kind of shit really has to stop.
LHR…
Thought I caught you backing up Clara Rockmore at Wembley in the early ’90s. She had good vibrations. Perhaps you did too.
For the non-experts (everybody but LHR) check out this film. I got it from Netflix…
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Theremin:_An_Electronic_Odyssey
Had Brian Wilson not broken down trying to make Smile in 1967, the theremin might have become somewhat mainstream. In that case, LHR would be a wealthy star by now instead of a Reporter. The Fates laugh at us…
jtb
OB12
JTB: I also got that movie from Netflix. You’re probably holding the very copy I had, given how unknown it is. It’s a strange little film, isn’t it?
dto…
Yeah, it killed Chet Baker and also made him immortal. And you’re dead right about Ms. Bacall.
Ida Lupino was another trumpet moll. A knockout who could sing as well. Good director too.
jtb
Strange and beautiful. I suppose that also describes much else in the universe like R. Crumb and, for that matter, Ida Lupino.
Yeah, it’s a strange film, but a must if your ambition is to understand the 20th century. Mine is, but I don’t recommend it for anybody who wishes to cling to their sanity.
jtb
I don’t know how many dangling phrases I double parked in that last comment, but it might be a record. To be clear, I recommend the film to everyone. I recommend the films of Ida Lupino to everyone. I recommend R. Crumb to everyone.
Twentieth century popular and intellectual deconstructionist relational history I don’t recommend to anyone who wishes a normalish life.
I’m just sayin’.
jtb
I know a bass player who used a theremin-like thing to control effects. He used his foot, not his hands because he was also playing bass. It sounded really good but the visual was distracting. It was hard for people to just listen to the music when he was flailing around on stage like a wounded duck.
Hey Sidney…there’s a narrow gauge train here too if you boys are in the train riddin’d mode. This one’s a real coal burner and you’re free to move around and there’s even a ‘car’ you can stand in outside to take pictures or just enjoy the views. Check it out and come to town if you guys have the time.
http://www.cumbrestoltec.com/
The station is about a mile from my place.