ENOUGH OF THIS INACTIVITY, THIS BLOG ABUSE, THIS DREADFUL procrastination bullshite.
I began the year thinking I'd be blogging every day I was in the cab — 2 or 3 times a week at the very least. Yet here we are, nearing the end of February and I've got all of 1 blog entry. ONE. In 7 weeks.
Not good.
And it's not as if nothing's happened. I had a young CIA agent tell me about his surveillance work recently. I had a sloppy drunk hairdresser ask me to go back to her Eastside apartment for some good times (no thanks) before leaving her wallet in the backseat of my cab. Last Saturday night I found myself inside a Texas State dorm room, 26 miles from Austin, trying to collect an $80 fare from an incoherent coed who kicked me in the shin after she refused to pay me. (An appearance by the cops eventually changed her mind.)
Plus I had my first experience with a customer puking in my cab.
Twice.
In the same night.
So it's not like I haven't had anything to write about. Which begs the question: Why the hell haven't I been writing? Too busy with other things — driving the cab, relationship time, other projects? Not quite. I've got at least an hour or 2 a day I can carve out to write something. Anything.
Am I afraid I've got nothing to say? Hardly. I've lived and witnessed countless stories, both during this 9-month run as a cabbie and beyond. Maybe it's a little like having a messy bedroom or an overstuffed garage. You want to clean it up, but it's just so full you don't know where to begin.
I do know that when the majority of my postings inspire 1 or 2 — if any — comments, my enthusiasm wanes. Most definitely. Then I think to myself, most of the time I read someone else's blog — which is shamefully infrequent, I'm not proud to admit — I'll read and run without stopping to leave so much as a "Nice job!" or "P-U!" in the comment box. So how can I fault anyone else for dropping by for a look, having a quick read and getting the hell out of Dodge?
I can't.
And yet...
I heard someone say recently — a writer? comedian? director? — that an artist, any creative person really, can't create just for himself. To complete the circle, whatever is being created requires an audience.
And judging from my malnourished comments sections, I've got none.
Over the last few months, however, I've gotten a fair amount of feedback — during conversations, via emails, in Facebook messages — from a wide assortment of readers, some of whom I was surprised to learn read this stuff. I even got some constructive criticism from a UT frat dude — a fellow SAE, no less — who claimed he spent a recent afternoon reading through every posting.
"The writing's really good," he told me. "No, seriously." Then he added. "I think you should write more stories." (You mean, like I'm NOT doing right now?)
He was advocating cranking out more "No way!" tales. "Write about the crazy shit that happens in the cab," he suggested during one drunken cab ride. "That's what we want to read. That's what's gonna keep us coming back."
Okay then. Give the people what they want. Let the stories begin. I'd be happy to take a crack at this suggestion. (With the right to take occasional detours into the dark night of the soul, remembrances of things past and seemingly inconsequential internal monologues.)
But I need to know someone is reading this stuff. So as of today I'm implementing a new admission price. If you should make it to the end of the day's entry, you are hereby asked (make that ordered for you S&M types) to leave a one-word answer to the Question of the Day.
For instance, today's QOTD is: What is your favorite number? (Faithful readers already know mine.)
C'mon, people. Participate. It won't take long. We're trying to spark a dialogue here. Work with me.
Keep this up and I'll supply you with a daily dose of video love from the Bobcab. Today's clip is a ride downtown with a trio of dancing Zetas. Thanks, ladies.
Jump around, y'all!
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