Tag Archives: taxi

It’s March, people

Dear Taxi TV and NBC Sports:

It’s March, the most wonderful time of the year. The month that means one sport and one sport only — basketball.

So how come your featured sports headlines list everything but?


(And yes, I scrolled down. It wasn’t there either.)

The conference tourneys are underway. NCAA Selection Sunday is this week. Can’t you feel it??!

Get with the program, guys.

Traffic stop

File this under News of the Weird:

stop wait goAs I was walking Rory toward the park, I saw a car stalled in one of the lanes on Central Park West. A taxi cab was behind it, and a police car after that. As we approached, the police officers were opening the car doors.

Everyone in the car was fast asleep. The driver was slumped over the wheel. The passenger in the back was laid out flat.

The officer poked them both with his nightstick. It took awhile to wake them up, but eventually they both roused.

A million scenarios from TV and movies went through my mind. Did someone hijack their car and knock them out? Were they overcome by fumes? Were they victims of alien abduction? But it’s probably like a friend of mine said…

They just passed out drunk at the light.


Those aren’t pillows!

Planes-Trains-and-AutomobilesA taxi.

An airplane.

Another taxi.

The subway.

A train.

Yet another taxi.

That’s how I traveled from Boston this morning…made a brief stop home in New York City mid-day…and arrived in Philadelphia early this evening.

I can’t help but think —

Steve Martin and John Candy would be proud.

Taxi talk

Cause or effect?

Do I tend to get chatty cab drivers…or make cab drivers more chatty?

Regardless, my conversation with George — who drove me to the train station today in Paoli, Pennsylvania — now puts me at two degrees of separation from Beyonce herself.

Put a ring on that.

George’s nephew is one of Beyonce’s dancers..and is currently featured on Abby’s Ultimate Dance Competition. Abby is the Abby Lee of Dance Moms fame. I’ve seen one episode of Ultimate, but of course didn’t realize I was gazing upon George’s nephew.

George himself is a DJ: he says the entire family is musical. And everyone is mighty proud of their boy for his work with Beyonce…as they should be.

Regardless of the reason, I’m glad George got chatty with me.  What a fun story!

Deutsch Taxifahrer, Teil zwei

As you may recall, last night’s German taxi driver was a conspiracy theorist.

And tonight’s?

He put his hands over his ears when I said hello.

Now, I know I don’t speak German, but seriously — does the very sound of an American voice offend?

I think it scared this guy.

He quickly walked back to his cab and said, “I’m old man. No English.” To which I brilliantly responded,


That was our entire conversation…until we arrived at the hotel, where he pointed to the meter, and said “Marriott.”

I considered putting my hands over my ears, but I’m pretty sure the humor wouldn’t translate.

Pixelated, man

My German taxi driver shared an interesting theory today.

He has stopped watching TV because there are subliminal messages between the pixels that hypnotize you.

His concerns were based on the work of a Russian scientist (so you know it’s true).

The conversation took me back to my advertising classes in college.  Of course, back then we were discussing subliminal imagery — ways to get people to buy without realizing they had been manipulated — so his theory isn’t that far afield.

He also posits that the longer you sit there, the more hypnotized you become and the more open to the message.

I’ll give him the hypnotized part…but could the producers of some of these really dumb reality shows be smart enough to embed messaging that would, say, overturn the government?

(Come to think of it, it would explain the Tea Party….)

People — step away from your flat screens!

Smelly cab

Remember the Seinfeld episode where Elaine gets in the cab that reeks of killer B.O.?

The smell stuck to her clothes — was even in her mouth — long after she got out of the taxi.

I can do her one better.

After being out of town all week — four cities in four days, two missed flights, and more airplane boxed meals than I care to remember — I excitedly jumped in the cab to get home to my dog.  And what was there to greet me?


I say farts (plural) because it wasn’t just one that faded away as I sat there.  No, the odor was constant and cloying and seemed to invade every pore of my skin.

Elaine, if you’re out there in your imaginary world, I’m pretty sure farts trump B.O. — I win!

Which means I lose.  Oh yes, I lose BIG TIME.