alright already

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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staying power

A NEW YEAR IS HERE. TIME TO TAKE STOCK. ASSESS THE SITUATION. Figure out what you want going forward.

I've been forced to take an even closer look for a few other reasons. Like the fact that I'm turning 50 in June. Or the fact Tamale and I celebrated our 4th anniversary deep into another New Year's Eve-turned-New Year's Day. Or the reality that I'm a writer-turned-cab driver in a strange new town, with a handful of creative projects I need to complete or embark on ASAP lest I spend the rest of my days driving a cab. (Yeah, it's fun and all, but...)

And then there was the Korean couple I picked up at the airport today. I ended up giving them a $50 ride home, so there was plenty of time for taxi cab conversation. Something the young wife, Olivia, asked stuck with me. A simple question that hit me from a different angle than it usually does.

"Do you think you'll stay here long?"

Usually I'll answer that question by saying how much I love Austin and how great my girlfriend is and how much I love her family and friends and the Hyde Park house we live in. However...

I've lived all my life — minus several extended road trips and a 9-month dream living on a tiny island in Canada — in Southern California. I love the beach, my family, my LA friends. "I'm not really the kind of person who has a master plan and looks too far into the future," is how I usually tie up that conversation.

But there was something about hearing that question today that hit me hard.

Will I be here long?

I'm certainly loving this town and most of the people in it. (Yes, I'm talking to you Cougar Woman.) Every day seems to show me another reason to love it. Today I'm loving the fact that my girlfriend is training for next month's Austin marathon — and the course runs directly in front of our house!

No doubt the events of the last week have facilitated this feeling that I'll be hunkering down here for a bit. Last Wednesday night I left Sister Jill & Todd's house in Temecula, 1300 miles and change from my destination. With a borrowed truck full of Bob. (Thanks for letting us take Old Brown, Cousin Todd!)

With Tamale safely back in Austin after our 2-day drive out (thanks, American Airlines), I was now hauling nearly 5 decades worth of stuff, shoved into the back of an American-made pick-up. Just over 26 hours later I rolled into our driveway, a couple hours past midnight.

With a wing and a prayer, I'd gone through 3 tarps, a couple dozen bungee cords and 30+ plastic bags to protect my belongings from the pouring rain, snow and dust storms I drove through to get back to Casa Verde.

Home.

Austin.

Think I'll stay awhile.

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The drive home was made imminently more bearable due to the elephant gift I both bought, brought and ultimately procured at the Makela family gift exchange. Yes, I'm one of those selfish bastards who brings something they'd like to go home with.

In my case, it was the audio version of Life, the recently released autobiography from Keith Richards. Did you see how thick this book with?

I did not listen to a single radio station nor a single tune from the CD player. It was 22 hours of Keith. As read by a worthy British actor whose name I don't recognize and an American guy named Johnny Depp. By the time I pulled into our driveway as the clocked neared 2 a.m. I was literally at the end of the 19th and final CD from my boxed traveling companion.

Thanks, Keith. You were a worthy co-pilot.

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worst. customer. ever.

"I SEE WHAT YOU'RE DOING."

After a few blocks worth of silence, the blonde cougar in the high heels and black cocktail dress sitting in the backseat finally spoke up. Her surgically-altered nose, however, remained buried in her iPhone.

"Excuse me?" I said glancing in the rearview mirror.

"I know you could've turned 2 blocks ago, but...whatever."

I laughed.

"You think I'm going the long way to make a few extra bucks?"

"I know how you guys are," Cougar Woman sniped. "Y'know what, never mind. Whatever. Just get me to the W."

"You guys?" I shot back. It's not often us white males can truly understand how it feels to be under the boot of discrimination and profiling. But when Cougar Woman lumped me in with all the shady cabbies out to take advantage of the tourists and the drunks, my blood began to boil.

I wanted to tell her, "Maybe you shouldn't be so quick to judge, lest someone glance your way and judge you as an aging, bitter shrew who can't face the horror of not being the prettiest, youngest girl in the room anymore."

Instead, I tried to kill her with kindness and reason, if not a touch of disgust.

"Listen, ma'am, don't include me in whatever negative view you have of cab drivers. My integrity's worth more than a couple bucks, trust me."

I scoffed and continued heading down Red River.

"So why didn't you turn back there? Why are we going this way?"

I glanced in the mirror again and thought to myself, "Are you for real, lady?"

"Because," I tried to answer as calmly as possible, "this is the fastest way to get to the W from where I picked you up. Trust me."

"Y'know what, whatever. Don't talk to me. Just get me to the hotel."

I was not gonna let her get out of the cab without hearing my reasons for taking this route. Even if she didn't want to hear it.

"Oh, no, I'm gonna talk to you," I said, half laughing to keep my blood pressure down. "You're gonna hear the truth about the situation. I went this way because about 30 seconds before I picked you up on 5th Street I had just discovered that 4th Street heading west was closed. I ended up getting diverted back up to 5th, which is when I saw you. That's why going down Red River to Cesar Chavez was the best possible way to get to the W."

Cougar Woman finally looked up from her iPhone.

"Why are you arguing with me?" she whined, her voice reeking of contempt. "Just drive. I don't want to talk to you."

"You don't need to talk to me," I answered, not quite ready to give her the satisfaction of silence. "All you have to do is listen. I want you to understand that I was not trying to rip you off. I went the best way possible."

"Really?" Cougar Woman snarked. "How come I just took a cab to where you picked me up and it didn't take nearly as long?"

"Because 4th Street is closed!" I reminded her. "And you were coming from a different direction, down different one-way streets."

"I've lived down here for 12 years," Cougar Woman said looking up from texting. "I know my way around downtown."

"Yeah? Do you drive downtown?"

"No," she said, "I use taxi drivers who know what they're doing."

I shook my head and laughed. My body was consumed with the oddest mix of anger, amusement and pity. In the rearview mirror I noticed Cougar Woman had returned to her precious texting, oblivious to reason and truth.

"Can you please stop talking until we get to the W? I'm done with you."

In the front seat I was sporting a mile-wide smile. This woman's rudeness and vitriol was stunning. I had to let her know.

"Y'know, I've been driving this cab since late May and I've had probably close to 1000 customers...999 of whom have been friendly, generous, kind..."

In the backseat, Cougar Woman was doing her best to act like I didn't exist. Still, I trudged on.

"But you..."

I searched for just the right way to put it.

"...you have been, without a doubt, the nastiest customer I've ever had. In fact, you've been the ONLY nasty customer I've had in all my months of driving."

A charged silence hung in the air. Cougar Woman wasn't going to give me the satisfaction of a response. Meanwhile, the soundtrack to the moment was provided by Cage the Elephant, playing a song that seemed oddly fitting.

There ain't no rest for the wicked
Money don't grow on trees...

"Can we just stop interacting with each other until I have to pay? I'm done dealing with you."

...I got bills to pay, I got mouths to feed
Ain't nothin' in this world for free

I had to get the last word in.

"As long as you realize I wasn't trying to rip you off for an extra dollar or 2 by going a few blocks out of the way."

Cougar Woman exhaled a puff of condescension. And despite my better judgment, I let it get to me. Now it was my turn to snort with derision.

"Are you a happy person?" I asked, turning to face her as we pulled into the W.

"Just take my credit card and stop talking to me," she said reaching into her purse. The woman who had looked so attractive when I first spotted her standing on 5th Street near Trinity had slowly morphed into the homeliest woman in Austin.

I swiped her credit card through my handy machine, handed Cougar Woman back her card and accidentally keyed in "$40.00" when I meant to type in "$4.00." I turned somberly to My Nastiest Customer Yet.

"I need to run your card again. I screwed up."

For the first time all night, Cougar Woman perked up. "Of course you did," she laughed while handing me her AmEx card.

When the screen option asked if she wanted to leave a tip, I didn't bother to ask. But I did get a quick glimpse of her name before I handed Cougar Woman her receipt.

"Happy holidays, Shari!" I shouted as she awkwardly walked off into the night, her bowlegs moving gracelessly towards the stylish W entrance, nearly tripping on a crack in the pavement.

The next day I spent the morning with another customer. Only this one didn't accuse me of trying to rip him off.

Zac just wanted to go disc golfing in Austin. (That's the 13th hole tee-box in today's pic.)

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We're driving to California today for Christmas, so this will probably be our last blog posting for the year. But we'll be checking in on our new Tumblr blog, since we can update that one from our phone. (Loving that app!)

So if you're curious, check us out here: http://austintaxidriverconfessions.tumblr.com/

Happy holidays, y'all!

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backseat bliss

THE RIGHT SONG — WITH JUST THE RIGHT BUZZ AND THE RIGHT collection of friends — has the power to inspire all kinds of things. Angst. Gusto. Big laughs. And 300% tips.

I picked up the 4 guys in this video somewhere over on the "Dirty 6th" stretch of 6th Street one night. It was a month ago, maybe 2. On a Friday night, possibly a Saturday. They may have been visiting an old college friend from Chicago. Or was it Houston?

Maybe one of them will see this thing and clear everything up for me.

What I do recall with utter clarity is dropping the 4 of them off right in front of Kung Fu, a newish hip bar just off West 6th St., as a classic Keith Richards "Sympathy For the Devil" guitar riff announces their arrival.

They seemed pretty happy.

The fare was $6.00 and change. As the happy drunks spilled out of my cab, the guy in the front seat handed me a $16 wad of cash. Another guy drunkenly threw in a $5 bill as I watched the big guy who had just channeled his inner Mick Jagger telling his laughing buddy — "Best fucking cab ride ever!"

Here's a tiny slice of it. You be the judge.

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a new mix

ENOUGH WITH THE NEIL DIAMOND ALREADY!

If you've gone to this site more than once in the last month — and really, why wouldn't you be checking in at least once-a-day? — you're no doubt as tired of "Sweet Caroline" as I am.

Fear not, friends. After an inexcusable 6-week layoff, we've just posted a brand new Bobcab batch of tunes (thanks Playlist.com), a mix inspired by a status update I posted on my Facebook page last month. I posed the question:

What's your go-to karaoke song?

Over the course of a few weeks I got about 2 dozen responses. The new mix you're now hearing (Facebook Karaoke Kab Mix) features my favorite 13 songs offered up by my various FB friends. Songs I could see myself singing at a dimly lit karaoke bar one night in Tokyo if my buzz was sufficient and the company was right. Or maybe it'll happen at a crowded dive in Austin.

Until then....

Over the next several days I'll be posting karaoke kab snippets I shot with my Flip video camera. Featuring a Greek chorus of happy Austin drunks singing various tunes from the Bobcab archives of CD mixes.

Adios, Neil Diamond!

Welcome back, Janis.

And don't forget to spread a little Joy to the World.

More taxi time comin' real soon...

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Today's photo was taken of a house a few blocks from our place in Hyde Park. It's a perfect example of yet another thing I love about Austin: the gardens. And I've seen plenty of them driving my cab around this fine city.

People here take pride in their yards and they're not afraid to do all sorts of unusual, colorful things with their homes.

I'm hoping one day our funky house and work-in-progress yard will be the kind of place a stranger like me might stop to take a picture of.

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P.S. To those of you who've unsuccessfully tried to leave comments, don't give up yet. We're working on figuring out why the hell that keeps happening.

And to those of you who haven't bothered — what are you waiting for?!

What's YOUR go-to karaoke song?

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halloweekend, part deux

THE FIESTY GIRL IN THE DEVIL HORNS WASN'T HAPPY SINGING ALONG to Neil Diamond just once.

"One more time! C'mon, let's hear it again!"

And with that I hit the seek button, returning us to song #13 on the CD mix I made hours before heading off into the Halloween eve night. Before I know it, the ladies you see before you are giddily diving into one more lively round of "Sweet Caroline."

Where it began, I can't begin to know when
But then I know it's growing strong

I went online a few days ago to see what people were calling "the greatest karaoke songs of all-time." I didn't do much digging beyond this list, which led to me adding "Sweet Caroline" (#1 on the list) to today's CD mix. (I still say "Don't Stop Believing," which only comes in at #6 on this dubious list, is the all-time crowd pleaser.)

After the quartet of local co-workers tire of a 3rd round of "Sweet Caroline," I get to find out where these rowdy strangers are from. I soon learn that Devil Woman is from California.

"What part?" I ask, always just a little more excited when I find out a new passenger is from my home state. Maybe I'm waiting for that moment when we discover we've got a friend in common. Or the moment I realize I've pit stopped in their hometown. I've been to or through seemingly every town in California. I'm sure there are a few I've missed. But not many.

"Southern California," she pipes up from the back, just as vague as I usually am when asked what part of California I'm from. I chalk it up to LA guilt.

"Me, too!" I tell her, trying to contain my excitement. "What part?"

"Orange County," she says. "Well, actually, San Dimas."

"San Dimas?!" I cry out, making zero effort to contain my excitement.

Ah, San Dimas. Land of Bill & Ted, Raging Waters and my old friend Sly Mee. Home to Brackett Field airport and Puddingstone Lake, where I learned to water ski as a child. San Dimas. Flanked between La Verne to the east — home to Sister Jeni, my most excellent bro-in-law Warren, and their beautiful boys — and Covina to the west, the town I grew up in and home to my awesome pa and wise stepma Bonita.

"Yeah, I grew up in San Dimas, really," the Devil Woman confirms. "My dad moved us there when I was in 5th grade. Do you know San Dimas?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am. I know it well."

San Dimas. In the back of my cab.

On Halloween. In Austin.

Keepin' it weird.



When these guys first spotted the Bobcab rolling down 5th Street after last call, they figured they could just jump into my empty taxi. The problem was, I was on my way to pick up a new, potentially regular, customer around the corner who'd called for a ride.

After I delivered the news that I wasn't gonna be able to give them a ride, this mad posse of high-end ruffians made faces not unlike the ones they're making in this photo. Only they were sincere.

"C'mon, dude," said the Angry Viking. "I'll pay you double whatever they were gonna pay you. Seriously. Let's go. I'll triple it!"

Unfortunately, I was now stopped at a red light. So I was all but obliged to respond to his tantalizing offer.

"C'mon, man. I gotta pick these people up. They called me 20 minutes ago. How would you feel if you called and expected a ride from me, but I blew you off 'cause I got a better offer? I'm trying to have some integrity doing this job, dude. And it ain't always easy, trust me."

That seemed to calm the Viking down. But the light turned green and I didn't stick around for confirmation. What I did confirm, however, was that the Potentially Regular Customer I was on my way to get was not picking up her phone. After 3 unsuccessful attempts to reach her, I u-turned in a nearby parking lot and set off looking for the Angry Viking and his tribe.

When I spotted them just off of 5th Street on Nueces I pulled over, leaned towards the open passenger window and yelled out, "You guys need a ride!"

And before I knew it, I had a cabload of the happiest angry Vikings and hipster vampires you ever did see. Thanks for selling the menace and terror in the photo, folks!


I picked up these crazy kids thanks to a call I go from dispatch. People often wonder how the hell these strangers end up in my cab. Well, there are pretty much 5 ways in which this could happen:

1) Dispatch. The cell phone I was given by the cab company also receives messages from home base. If you call the cab company looking for a ride, they'll either offer it up to me or one of my fellow cabbies on our company-issued cell phone. Or they'll announce it as an open call over the radio, which turns the whole thing into the cabbie version of Jeopardy! — first cabbie to hit the button on his car radio mic and get through to dispatch wins the ride.

2) Hotels. Most hotels have parking spots reserved for cabs, a.k.a., "cab stands." These are good places to sit around during the day working on my laptop while I wait for a hotel guest to request my services. Some of these places even have free wi-fi.

3) Airport. At Austin's Bergstrom Airport there's a taxi holding area — a lot that holds maybe 100 cabs — not far from the terminals. This is another good place to get work done while waiting for the more lucrative airport fares. It's also a good place to get a glimpse of my fellow Austin cabbies, most of whom appear to be from lands far, far away. (The white cabbie in Austin, as it is in many American cities, is an anomoly. Why is this?)

4) Driving around. Austin isn't like New York City by any stretch of the imagination. There's a fair amount of foot traffic, especially at night from Thursday through Saturday. But it's nothing like Manhattan. So driving around town looking for the random customer flagging you down can feel like a waste of time. Unless it's the weekend and the bars have just closed. Then every drunk in town is clamoring for your services, some not so politely, like a pack of Hispanic immigrants looking for work at a Hollywood Home Depot. It's during these moments that my patience gets supremely tested. Can you say ommmmmm....

5) Regulars. I made some business cards and damn if those suckers haven't been getting me a whole bunch of business. I've got a party busload of very cool, very entertaining regulars and semi-regulars already. Maybe one day I'll have enough regulars so I won't have to do laps around 6th Street at 3 a.m. like a vulture cruising for a desert carcass.

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The couple you see in the above photo were on their way to see a psychedelic band from San Francisco at Mohawk. Apparently the lead singer for Wooden Shjips (yes, that's how it's spelled) reminds folks of Jim Morrison. On the drive to Red River I found out these guys were also huge classic rock fans. I love being reminded that today's college kids are open to embracing Hendrix, Morrison, Joplin and the other greats from 40+ years ago.

"I was just listening to Led Zeppelin today," the Young '70s Girl spoke up from the backseat. "I think 'When the Levee Breaks' is my favorite Zeppelin tune. I just love that song."

Her date and I immediately chimed in with our favorite Zeppelin tunes. I copped to "Over the Hills and Far Away." I think Velvet Shirt Kid said he was partial to "Dancing Days." As the three of us played our favorite Zeppelin tunes in our head, Young '70s Girl broke the silence.

"I have chills right now just thinking about it," she confessed.

Something about Austin and music seems to bring out a lot of those "I have chills right now" moments.


It wouldn't be Halloween without at least 1 encounter with Superman, whose flying powers were apparently on the blink this night. Superman and his buddies — Lara "I Don't Want To Show My Face" Croft and Rafael "I Lost My Tennis Racket Earlier Tonight" Nadel — jumped in my cab at south Congress and Riverside long after last call.

Which led to an interesting only-on-Halloween moment seconds later as we rolled up Riverside Drive towards the highway.

"Hey," I called back to my passengers, "is that Andre Agassi?"

I pointed across the street to a tennis racket-wielding party dude in skin tight tennis duds and a retro Agassi wig, back when Andre rocked the spiked mullet 'do.

"Yo!" I yelled across the street. "Andre! I got Rafael Nadal in the car and he says he could kick your ass!"

Superman and his gang cracked up in the back. Meanwhile, Mullet Agassi was crossing the street, headed our way, oblivious to exactly what I was saying. I soon realize he's thinking I'm offering him a ride in my cab.

"Hey, Andre," I said as he crossed the median, "Rafael Nadal is in here and he'd love to let you share a cab. And for me, personally, it would be an honor to have 2 tennis greats in my cab at the same time. Where you going?"

"South 1st and Oltorf."

"Can't do it," I told him. "I'm taking these guys to the east side."

And with that, I gunned it. Eastbound and down.

"Sorry, Andre!" I yelled out into the night. "I tried! Happy Halloween!"

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COMING SOON: the 3rd and final installment of "halloweekend." Y'all come back now, y'hear.

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halloweekend

SATURDAY NIGHT HAD ALL THE MAKINGS OF AN EXCRUCIATING evening. From the worst downtown gridlock I've yet to see in Austin thanks to Halloween AND the conclusion of the first UT night game of the football season, to the sweet smell of vomit hanging in the air.

But the optimist in me was thinking — "Hot damn, it's Halloween!"

I'm a big fan of Halloween. Not for all the ghosts and goblin business. I'm a fan of the costumes and the candy. I'm a chronic people watcher as it is. But you put an entire city in costume and I can't help but be mesmerized.

And when that city is Austin? Please. The city that embraces the "Keep Austin Weird" mantra was bound to have a top-notch Halloween scene.

That's what Carl and his lady friends had heard, anyway.

Carl is the smiling serial killer in the above photo, surrounded by the zombie family he whacked. This is their first Halloween in America. Carl and his mates are all from Sweden, a country that doesn't celebrate Halloween like us crazy Americans. Carl and his 3 friends are all here on student visas. (Carl is taking classes for his MBA at UT's acclaimed business school.) These 4 friendly foreigners have been regular Bobcab customers since the summertime, when they eagerly explored the 6th Street scene on a semi-regular basis.

By the end of the year they'll all be back home in Sweden. Sucks for me.

Our many trips to assorted bars, restaurants, house parties and dinners with Swedish dignitaries have given me the opportunity to discuss Abba and Swedish politics with Swedes in the know. You haven't lived until you've debated the failure of capitalism and the merits of socialism with a Swedish serial killer — which is how I kicked off my Halloween weekend Saturday night.

"You guys think you'll ever come back here?" I asked the two girls scheduled to leave by the end of the month.

"Oh, yeah."

"We love Austin."

"Of course you do," I add, not the first time I'd heard that one. "Everybody loves Austin."

The voices were coming from the back. In the rearview mirror I only saw zombie eyes illuminated by passing headlights.

"We're gonna go home and get jobs..."

"...and work to save enough money to come back to Austin."

Y'all hurry back.

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I told Carl and his clan of my plan soon after they got into my cab.

"You guys are under no obligation to agree to this, but I'm asking everyone who gets in my taxi this weekend wearing a costume if they'd mind posing for a picture."

Luckily, most people were more than happy to participate. I didn't ask everybody. A few times I either forgot or wasn't feeling the vibe. But here are some of the good people who happily climbed in and out of my cab this weekend and agreed to a quick photo op:


Sure, that's clearly Cruella DeVille and 4 of her 101 dalmations. But the quartet of spotted creatures were traveling sans Cruella when they jumped in my cab at the corner of 6th and Guadalupe.

So of course I thought they were a pack of mad cows.

"Yeah, we've been getting that all night," the UT law student told me. "People think we're the Chic-fil-A cows."

No word on where the hell cross-dressing Cruella was. Oil Can Harry's?


Not sure what the girl on the left is supposed to be. Any guesses? But the girl on the left is clearly — or so she told me — a Q-tip. She was also one of the few ladies in town to avoid the urge to add the sexy/slutty twist to her costume by showing lots of skin.

Kudos to you Q-tip Girl!


I love the glares Alex and his friends are getting from the girls — or is that a guy/girl couple? — on the right. (Click on the photo to see what I'm talking about.) Are they trying to figure out what Alex's costume was?

Yeah, me, too.

"We tried to shave my head into a mullet," explained Alex, another one of my west campus regulars from way back. "But it didn't work out so well."

"Dude, your hair's not long enough for a mullet," I pointed out. "Now I could grow a mullet. And don't think at some point in my life I didn't."

"Yeah, well I can't. So..."

"So now what's your costume?"

"Now I'm just going as an idiot."


I picked these fine ladies up on Red River. They'd been unsuccessfully trying to get a cab for a good long time and were resigned to walking back to their hotel when I pulled a u-turn in front of Mohawk to get them.

So they were mighty grateful when I showed up. That's one of the fringe benefits of driving a taxi — making people instantly happy. And the longer they've been waiting for a cab, the happier they are.

That's Rainbow Bright on the left. She and her friend drove out for Halloween, I think from Houston. Or was it San Antonio? Or Dallas? All I know is, Austin is a place where folks from all over Texas show up for Halloween.

And Rainbow Bright's friend?

"You ever watch that game show 'Change of Heart?'" she asked when I inquired about her "costume."

"Yeah, I think so."

"It was only on for a couple seasons," she explained. "But I loved it. So I decided to go as a contestant from 'Change of Heart.' What do you think?"

What do I think? I think an orange top, matching orange pumps and a color xerox do not a costume make.

But who am I to judge? I was wearing a bowling shirt with an embroidered "Bob" on the pocket in a half-hearted attempt at transforming into The Dude from The Big Lebowski.

The Dude abides.



Yes, that's a heaven and hell sandwich — with a Karate Kid filling. I might need to call on the panty-less angel and her posse to be my eyewitnesses in court if a little incident which occurred that night gets twisted into a lie.

Minutes before this photo was snapped I was involved in an "accident." At least, that's what my superiors at the cab company are calling it. Seems ridiculous to call it that when I was parked and the car that hit me traveled about 5 feet before it barreled into my 2 driver's side doors.

Things were crazy busy at the time. It was around 9:30 and I had multiple customers waiting on me. Plus the guy who ran into me was in a BIG hurry. So I wrote down all his info — driver's license, insurance details, etc. — and continued on with my night.

What I didn't do was call the police. Nor did I get on the radio and let the cab company know what happened. I figured I'd take care of everything come Monday.

But Monday the guy who deals with this sort of thing at the cab company was shaking his head.

"How many jobs you had?" he said, looking at me like I was the biggest idiot in Texas. "That's the kinda thing you get fired for around here."

I let him know I'd already spoken with the guy's insurance company. It's an open-and-shut case. The evidence is indisputable. And I've got witnesses — a buxom angel, an almond-eyed devil and the Karate Kid...who, upon closer inspection, might not be much help.

As of today, I still have a job. We'll keep you posted.

More Halloween pics and recollections tomorrow...

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