THE MISADVENTURES OF AN ESOTERIC INVESTIGATOR

It has snowed almost every day that I've worked in the past two weeks.  The last decade or so has been pretty mild.  In 1998 it didn't snow until New Year's Eve.  Last year, we didn't get snow for Generic Solstice-Derivative Gift Exchange Ritual a.k.a. Christmas.  This has been a "traditional" Wisconsin winter - a lot of snow.  I don't think we got this much all of last year.  In general, I love it.  It's beautiful.

If my job wasn't driving, that would be great, but eight-plus hours of non-stop driving on icy, unplowed roads is a wee bit stressful.  I also have to drive the sedans, which are rear-wheel drive and thus fishtail all over the place.  Today, it was more like piloting a motorboat than driving.  Especially going up hills, which are a massive gamble, not knowing if you'll be going fast enough to get up the hill, or going too fast and hit someone, or slide into a car on the side of the road, or someone else doing all those things to me.  This is the easiest job in the world, but on bad-weather days, my nerves are shot by the end of the day.

On the bright side, people are usually so grateful that someone is willing to drive through this mess, that they tip me very well.  I got several compliments on my excellent driving and control during skids.  Go me.

(x-posted to jackstaxi)

P.S.  I've updated jackstaxi.

The sole purpose of this post is so I can use this new icon, which I made from a grainy camera-phone photo while I was sitting in the bus stop after work yesterday on the most feared and dreaded Friday the 13th.  Perhaps as I write, an alternate purpose will arise, that some gold may be found after sifting through the river sediment of my errant verbosity.

Or something like that.

I had a lot of nice conversations while driving my taxi today.  There was the old woman who I picked up at the hospital.  She'd had a heart attack on Tuesday and was finally going home.  She used to pick cotton in the south when she was a kid, then spent most of her life in the ghettos of Chicago, and now lives just outside Madison.  She said she loves to just sit outside and listen to the birds chirp because she could never do that in Chicago.  Besides it being unsafe to be outdoors, she said the only time she could hear birds was at three in the morning, in the tiny lull between post-bar time and when the early commuters started.  Otherwise, all day and all night, the only thing she could hear was sirens and gunshots, dogs barking and people arguing.  She loves how clean everything is here, that people have jobs and work here, that there aren't gangsters and junkies and prostitutes in every alley and street corner.  Rural Wisconsin must seem like Heaven or a dream comparatively.

Mostly we talked about the Bible and the End Times.  She seemed utterly ecstatic that my name was Jeremy, a Bible name.  I had mentioned how I'd heard that because of last week's cold snap, South Carolina had lost almost its entire peach crop and she started in on how God is punishing us, that there will be plagues and food shortages, the Four Horsemen, one of which is Pestilence.  I told her how these extreme temperatures and weather patterns were symptoms of global warming and she added, that it's man-made problems manifesting God's will and God is punishing us for our abuse, that the Earth is like a living being with a disease and the Horsemen of the Apocalypse are like antibodies come to cleanse away the problem, namely us.

When she got out of the taxi, she pointed at me with a big smile on her face and told me to keep my eyes open, keep watching for the signs.

My life as a cabbie has officially begun.  Maybe I should watch Taxi Driver.

My orientation began with a brief history of the company, which in turn lends a strange hidden history of Madison.

Apparently cabbie-speak doesn't evolve much or keep up with the times.  Bars, restaurants and hospitals are commonly referred to with names they haven't been for twenty years.  Or even names they were never called, like the street the cabbies call Ho Chi Mihn Trail because the city tried to rename it in the 70's but it never went through.  There is even a "Lost City", a neighborhood that was planned, a few streets laid down and a some houses built when the University annexed the whole surrounding area for its Arboretum.

My first trainer was an old retired man who'd never trained anyone before.  As I got in the taxi that morning, he said to me, "Now why in the hell you want to drive a taxi for?"  Before I could answer he said, "Whatever reason, it sure beats the hell out of work."    He was bleary-eyed, explaining that he'd been up late working as an election official.  Prior to his manifestation as a cab driver, he'd worked as a carpenter for dozens and dozens of years.  He told me crazy stories about being in Vietnam and smoking pot in the Emerald Triangle of Oregon and northern California, his friends making the best creole food in New Orleans, tales of his father, the tail-gunner who was a P.O.W. in World War II.  He drove like a maniac and swore like a sailor (even though he was a Marine.)

My second trainer was the polar-opposite in terms of temperament.  He was slow and relaxed, enjoyed driving the old ladies three blocks to their doctor appointments.  In a way, he reminded me of a goofy hybrid of the old man from Fraggle Rock and Nickelodeon's Mr. Wizard.  Apparently he is one of the three or four drivers who have Ph.D's, (and several more drivers who are working on theirs.)  His handwriting was indecipherable which led me to wonder if perhaps bad penmanship is the symptom of a doctorate, or perhaps a psychological disposition toward getting a doctorate, or perhaps universities should require penmanship or calligraphy courses in order to graduate.

The last trainer was the most professional so far, which I found odd since his side job is improv comedy.  He was in the Chad Vader series that have recently gotten much attention on teh interwebs.  In fact, in the plot line of Chad Vader, Chad (the less-famous brother of Darth Vader) has left the Empire Market and has gone on to cab driving.  So yes, dear readers, I work with Chad Vader.  Sort of.  We had some "It's a Small World After All" moments when we realized we both knew the guys from The Dead Alewives.  We talked about serendipitous girlfriends and the women-are-crazy/men-are-stupid paradigm and what it's like to grow old and hit those weird mile markers of age (I turn 30 this summer and he turned 40 last week.)

I have one more training shift before they let me out on my own, driving around Madison with my new iPod (a gift from Jacquelyn.)  No total weirdos yet, no drunks or pimps.  A girl from Los Angeles going to pick up a prescription, a lot of people going to the hospital.  I picked up an old black woman who moved in slow-motion at a psychiatric clinic and three Hispanic men at the bus station going to catch another bus down to Chicago.  They had so much luggage we could barely fit it in the cavernous trunk of the cab.  One complained to the other that he shouldn't have bought the whole mall for his wife and kids.  The other man brushed him off with a glowing smile, saying "Whatever, they're totally worth it."

Jacquelyn has had the flu which massive migraine.  Ethan is here this weekend as well.  I'm going to prepare dinner for them while they play Knights of the Old Republic II on the 360.  Later on I have to make a St. Patrick's Day-themed rave flyer called "Corned Beef and Cabbage."  There is also a blizzard on the way.  Do I even need to say, "My, how strange things are!"?

No, I didn't really think so.

I'm sitting in the downtown Madison Public Library, using a large and bouncy keyboard on a monitor with a resolution big enough for Helen Keller to read. I think I could read what I'm typing here from my house in Watertown.

For some reason I can't fathom, I've agreed to come into work on my day off, but only for a few hours. This means I'll be in Madison from this past Tuesday night until Monday morning. These excursions are getting longer and longer and I can only imagine where they'll lead.

Part of the reason I stayed in Madison is because my front tire decided that it should take after my father and most of my uncles and develop male-pattern balding, leaving hairs a.k.a. thick strands of tire, trailing behind my car. So off to the repair shop I go. If you're ever in the Madison area, go to Broadway Tire on Broadway in Monona. I just got 2 used tires, in quite good condition, installed, balanced, mounted and all that jazz, for $57.00. They're seriously the best EVAR! Seriously.

I'm fighting off a case of the sniffles and everyone seems to be sick right now. I got two parking tickets in two days and my best friend isn't talking to me for reasons I can't begin to fathom or at least, he won't tell me. One would think that this crap would bring me down, but nooooo, I feel great, an in a great mood, so bad luck be damned. Curse nor hex will have effect on me, for my mighty energy repels all attacks.

And with that silly metaphysical note, I will leave you, but first, I must shew you something. Now, is it my imagination, or is this McDonald's ad from the 70's a little on the politically-incorrect side? Maybe it's just me, but this seems sort of.. wrong...

DO YOUR DINNERTIMIN' AT McDONALD'S
When you're looking for a different place to have dinner, check out McDonald's. You don't have to get dressed up, there's no tipping and kids love it.

W-T-F?

Ah, consciousness! Welcome oh glorious light of being!

Or something like that.

I've just eaten a left-over sandwich which I had forgotten had jalapeños in it. Ah, hothothothothot! So, then comes the Leine's BerryWeiss. Oooh, that's much better. And now, I'm calm.

Now that school has started (for everyone except me, seemingly) and I am off vacation finally, times are tight. More so, time is tight.

I may not see Jacquelyn for a week or more. That is le suck. Things couldn't really be going much better with her. It's so odd; we seem to have fallen into the middle years of a long-term relationship. We somehow bypassed all that getting-to-know-you, walking-on-eggshell beginnings and moved right into that comfortable, almost domestically cohabitative stage. Yet, we've managed to keep a good hold on that hot, intense energy of a new relationship. Hmmm, odd indeed.

Work is busy and overtime is abundant. However, I was so tired last night that I left early. I was falling asleep and I'll be in less trouble for leaving before the end of my shift than I would be for sleeping during a call.

If gas prices keep up like this, I can't afford to keep commuting to Madison. Which would then require me to either A) move to Madison (which I can't afford) or B) get a job here (which I couldn't afford the pay-cut.) Damned if you do...

I've finished the hard edit of the Book, and now I need to free time to enter the changes into the digital copy. After that, it's publisher time. I'm about a third of the way done, so the submission date is rapidly approaching. Egad!

And to close, I'd like to officially apologize to those of you in the Anti-Snobby-Clothes-Brigade. I beg for your forgiveness. My name is Jeremy. [Audience in unison: Hi, Jeremy.] I bought a pair of Abercrombie & Fitch jeans. *sobs* And they fit great. God, I swear, I didn't know they were when I bought them! How can you ever forgive me??! This is almost as bad as when I bought that scarf from the GAP last year.

That was tongue-in-cheek, if you will. I'm long over my clothing prejudices. Cool, comfortable, cheap, and not in that particular order, are my sole requirements for fashion these days.