mr. cab driver

SO HOW ARE YOU LIKING AUSTIN? What's it like out there? Do you miss California? What the hell are you doing driving a cab?!

People keep asking me these things. So instead of answering these queries each and every time, I figured I'd start yet another blog, this one focused on my new life as a cab driver in Austin. How exactly I came to drive a cab in Austin is a tale I've already told many times to my hundreds of customers over the last 2 months. It goes something like this:

I moved to Texas in March to work on a documentary about a certain iconic rock 'n roll star. (I'm pretty sure I didn't sign a non-disclosure agreement on this, but just in case...) This long-dead, Texas-bred Rock Icon spent some time in Austin — went to UT for a while, made her mark all over town — and I moved to Austin to work on a documentary about her. Back in LA I'd been hired to help the director, whose last documentary got an Oscar nomination, write up a treatment that helped the film get the blessings of the notoriously-hard-to-please family of the long-dead, Texas-bred Rock Icon.

The LA-based producers were going to announce the project at this year's South-by-Southwest film and music festival. Thus my purchase of a one-way ticket to Austin, where I'd be joining my girlfriend, Tamale, who graduated from UT about 15 years ago and had moved back to Texas a year ago. I was told that I was in the budget as the writer and I could expect to participate in the project.

Well, about a week into my stay it became apparent that the project was temporarily on hold. The music rights were more expensive than the producers had anticipated and they needed to work some things out.

Two months later, they still hadn't worked things out.

And I was driving a cab in Austin.

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"Let me ask you something."

I didn't get a good look at him, but I think the guy in the backseat is wearing a T-shirt and a baseball cap. Maybe army fatigues. Within seconds of flagging me down at MLK and Lavaca he tells me he's drunk. Then he tells me he just got back from Iraq about 3 months ago.

"Are you okay talking about it? Do people ask you about it? Do you even want to get into it?

"You know, it's funny you should ask," he says. "I just started talking about it 3 weeks ago. I'm seeing someone for PTSD."

"So how's that going? Is it good? Do you mind me asking you all these questions?"

"Nah, man. It's cool."

"What about your friends? Do they ask you? Do you they want to hear about it?"

"You know what, man? Most people, most of my friends, they'll ask me, 'So . . . did it suck?' And I'm like . . ."

I glance into the mirror. I watch him get a faraway look in his eyes. Trying to think of the words to describe what he's feeling.

"Did it suck? No, you know what sucks? Getting your car towed for parking tickets sucks. Getting your stereo ripped off sucks. Going into a war zone . . . watching people get killed . . . trying not to get killed yourself . . . Does it suck? No. It more than just sucks."

He goes on to tell me his name is Kevin. He's in town from Chicago with his girlfriend and, I think, his aunt. Kevin says he was a sargent — one of the leaders — and did 2 tours in Iraq, where he was combat the whole time. He says he's always been fascinated with social science. "The way governments and countries work," he says as we drive down Guadalupe.

When Kevin went into the Army he says he was a true blue neo-conservative Republican. "I thought I was informed, I studied the issues, I voted for George Bush. Twice. But after what I experienced in Iraq . . ."

Again, he pauses. Looking for the right words? Instinctively scanning the thumbnails of his mind, seeing images he'd rather not look at?

"After what I saw in Iraq, I've done a complete 180."

"But why? What made you change your perspective? Was there one incident that crystalized it for you?"

"No," he tells me. "It was gradual. But I just . . . I started asking myself WHY? Why are we destroying this culture? Why are we losing American lives? For what? It's not making a difference. In Iraq, Afghanistan, it's not helping things dropping bombs and killing people. I saw it with my own 2 eyes. We're spending all this money on destroying things over there. For what? We should be spending that money here, where people are suffering, where people are out of work. We need to use that money here. Not over there. It makes no fucking sense, man!"

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When I drop Kevin off at the Hilton Gardens we end up parked for another 10 minutes, exchanging email addresses with promises to stay in touch. He says he's got several thousand digital pictures he took in Irag of everyday life. The stuff you don't see on the news.

"Man, you gotta share your story," I tell him. "Get it on video."

He seems reluctant. Maybe the pictures will have to do. Or maybe it's just that no one's ever asked. Personally, I'm interested in what makes a person do a complete 180 like that.

"The good thing is," I add, "we're at a point in history where there is no one holding you back from telling your version of the truth. The gatekeepers can't keep you quiet any more. You get a video camera and throw it up on YouTube, and you get enough people telling their glimpses of the truth, that's how things are gonna change. The facts can't be ignored anymore, not if people like you report back on what you see."

"Yeah, you're right."

I'm quite done with him.

"It takes being in the middle of a big story, something that's getting a lot of news coverage, to really understand how the mainstream media gets it so fucking wrong, how the truth gets manipulated and distorted and twisted into lies and half-truths."

I was thinking in my case about my experience helping my friends open and run their medical marijuana dispensary back in LA, the other job I had before I moved out here to Austin.

But that's another story for another day.

More stories from the cab to come.

And hopefully a link to Kevin's Iraq photos.

Time to hit the streets.

It's Friday night in Austin.

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