we're not in kansas anymore

I LOVE WATCHING PEOPLE IN THE MIDST OF BEING HAPPY. DON'T GET me wrong, I'm still reeled in by the unspoken suffering on a stranger's face. But I can get seriously mesmerized by witnessing bliss. Things like a kid overcome with laughter, couples clearly in love, glowing pregnant women, giddy drunks singing in a cab — I'm a sucker for all of it.

Even more satisfying than witnessing the bliss, though, is helping to instigate it. Which has been happening with much greater frequency since I've been making these 13-song CD mixes.

A couple weekends ago I picked up a group of friends from Kansas — 4 women near the corner of Congress and 6th — after 3 in the morning on a late Saturday night. The girls needed a ride to an apartment complex not far from our house in Hyde Park, which gave me about 13 minutes to give them a quick California Bob Moves To Texas synopsis before letting them know they were in a magical cab with serious karaoke mojo, thanks to these CDs I've been concocting.

"Well let's see what ya got then, Bob," said Heidi, the husky-voiced gal up front with me. "'Cause you're dealin' with a cab full of Kansas karaoke queens."

"Except for Ellen," a voice called out from the back, sparking a burst of Kansas corn-fed laughter.

"Awww," I said over their spasms of happy, feeling bad for whoever Ellen was.

"No, it's true," piped up the soft-spoken girl directly behind me. "I'm tone deaf. I can't carry a tune to save my life. It's okay though. I accept it."

Her friends kept laughing as everyone agreed Ellen can't sing for shit.

"C'mon, Ellen!" I said, my words getting lost in the laughter that would not die. "There are no bad singers in this car! Everyone's a rock star in karaoke Bobcab!"

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Seconds later I am scrolling through the various CD singalong possibilities. The first several selections — Flight of the Conchords, The Who, Bob Marley, Arcade Fire, The Band, Black Eyed Peas — are met with a mix of groans and tepid enthusiasm. Then the opening guitar notes to one my favorite Dave Matthews tunes enters the scene and the energy in the cab instantly changes. The gals in the back excitedly insist that I stop looking for the perfect song.

We've found a winner.

"Ohmygod, ohmygod," gushes Heidi, holding out her hands like she's Barbra Streisand getting ready to belt out a high note in Vegas. When Dave's falsetto finally arrives, Heidi is all in.

"You've got your ball
You've got your chain
Tied to me tight
Tie me up again..."

And it's not just Heidi. All 4 of them — best friends from college a decade ago — are singing at the top of their lungs. Even Ellen. And, yes, she was right. Despite the high decibels coming from the other 3 songbirds, Ellen's tone deafness is registering loud and clear in my nearby ears. But I have to smile, seeing as how the girl is singing with such unbridled gusto.

"Who's got their claws in you my friend
Into your heart I'll beat again..."

Nobody is singing with more gusto than my co-pilot Heidi. With the extra room the front seat affords her, Heidi is able to accentuate her passionate singing with a series of impressive arm movements and hand gestures. Her earnestly arched eyebrows sell the overwroughtness of it all.

"Sweet like candy to my soul
Sweet you rock and sweet you roll
Lost for you, I'm so lost for you..."

As we roll up Lamar towards Hyde Park, the taxi positively rocks. The Kansas karaoke queens are so into it they're oblivious to the stares at the North Loop red light. The energy inside the Dave-juiced cab continues to build.

"Hike up your skirt a little more
and show the world to me
Hike up your skirt a little more
and show your world to me..."

The quiet crescendo hits hard before Dave's falsetto climax and the ladies bring it home with a double shot of enthusiasm.

"Tied up and twisted
the way I like to be
for you
for me
come crash into me baby
craaaaaaaaash into me..."

As fate would have it, the song ends just as I'm pulling the Bobcab up to Heidi's apartment. The meter is almost at $13. The timing is perfect. So perfect, in fact, that the 4 ladies from Kansas don't want the ride to end.

"Can we just drive around with you until the meter hits $20 bucks?" someone asks before our little rolling karaoke club once again erupts into drunken howls of late night laughter.

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So back out into the Texas night we went.

Luckily the next song on the CD was met with another blast of enthusiasm and the Kansas crew seamlessly segued into Elton Johnsville. The lovely ladies of Lawrence had nearly wrapped up "Tiny Dancer" when Heidi spotted an Asian karaoke bar in an empty strip mall on Burnet Rd. that still looked open.

Forever bonded in karaoke, the girls tried to coax me into parking the Bobcab and joining them. I'd told them earlier that I would come in for a song, back when I was asking everyone in the car what their go-to karaoke song was. (I had confessed to "Hello, I Love You" by The Doors.)

But my inner Jim Morrison was gonna have to wait. It was now close to 4 in the morning and I had a hot Tamale at home waiting for me.

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