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Apr. 6th, 2003 05:51 pmI am amazingly tired after a voice lesson, and a run and the effects of the clock change. Going to see Def Poetry Jam tonight, because Megan got free tickets through work.
Had one of those seriously bizarreo cab-rides that I seem to be a bit of a magnet for. Basically, I hopped into the cab and was asked what route I wanted to take to my destination. I remarked that whatever the driver thought was quickest as I was about to be late to a voice leson. He asked me if I were a singer, and I made a mistake of saying, "No, I'm an actress."
Actually, I have no way of knowing if that was the cause of what followed, but it seemed plausible at the time. Although, it could also have just been the price of two good hair days in a row, or even more likely, my incrdibly dumb luck.
At any rate, I slipped my headphones back on and as I'm bopping away to Lady Marmalade (yes, _that_ CD again -- it seems all I ever have in the discman is that or the Velvet Goldmine soundtrack or an album of Jacques Brel songs Marc Almond did). I realize the driver is speaking to me. I slip one ear of the headphones of and vaguely catch him asking me if I have a boyfriend.
I say yes, because life is simpler that way, and my peculiarities about labels for things tend to translate poorly outside of my life and my writing. The cab driver asks me if he's an actor too, and since no such boyfriend exists, I just say no, and figure that will be that. He asks me a couple of more innocuous questions, and then we're headed up the FDR. At which point, he starts telling me about women he's been involved with.
Normally, I'd tersely inform my driver that I'm not in the mood for conversation (note headphones), but I thought to myself, "hey, why not? This could be funny, or insightful or just one of those unique experiences of another human being."
The driver, with absolutely no prompting from me proceeds to tell me about all the wildest sex he's ever had, none of it particularly wild. All of the stories are punctuated by statements either absurd or offensive, and I'm sitting there feeling like I'm trapped in some alternate universe Taxicab Confessions.
"And I had a Spanish girl once," he was saying as we passed the UN. "They're hot. They got the nice behind and the nice boobs. I like the boobs. She had huge boobs, it was crazy!"
He then proceeds to tell me about the different positions he likes to have sex in and how he knows women don't like any of the things men like sexually. I try to disabuse him on this notion, and then he starts babbling about anal sex in a very Penthouse Letters sort of fashion.
Now, I'm trying not to start laughing uncontrollably at this point, as every single sentence he says is punctuated bu "crazy!" and I've got Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend blasting in one ear by now, and it all just seems particularly absurd.
By about 86th street, he's telling me about threesomes and the time he went for 9 hours straight. He tries to get me to talk about my sex life and I say, of all things, "Well, when you're in my business, you try not to be more public than you need to be," which was basically just the first incredibly dumb thing my brain could think up to hedge the question without proving to him that girls don't like sex. No, girls just don't like their locquacious taxicab drivers being verbal exhibitionists.
125th Street, and he's asking me if I've ever been with two guys and telling me how girls like that and how he did that once, but he didn't like it so much. And at the point he starts babbling about how he doesn't like to go down on women and just wants to lick their breasts instead, it finally occurs to me, that this is not interesting, funny, pleasant, or in fact anything other than profoundly annoying, at which point I say that I need to focus for my lesson, and put my headphones back on all the way.
He apologizes profusely for the "open conversation", and I say, "I don'treally care, but you're out of your mind if you think this sort of thing won't generally get you a very bad reaction."
And that was that. And I still can't figure it out. Was he so overwhelmed with the possibilities in the world that were clearly fairly new to him that he just had to share? In which case, I confess to being vaguely charmed by the notion, even if the conversation itself was both irritating and horrifying. Was he getting off on it? Was he trying to be a jerk?
I mean, what the hell?
Anyway, Voice, after being away from it for two weeks, _definitely_ counted as my one scary thing for today. Lots of issues came up for me about my speaking voices and messages I've always gotten about it. Really surprised me. I thought that, while not past it, it was a well contained sort of thing. Not so, not so.
Had one of those seriously bizarreo cab-rides that I seem to be a bit of a magnet for. Basically, I hopped into the cab and was asked what route I wanted to take to my destination. I remarked that whatever the driver thought was quickest as I was about to be late to a voice leson. He asked me if I were a singer, and I made a mistake of saying, "No, I'm an actress."
Actually, I have no way of knowing if that was the cause of what followed, but it seemed plausible at the time. Although, it could also have just been the price of two good hair days in a row, or even more likely, my incrdibly dumb luck.
At any rate, I slipped my headphones back on and as I'm bopping away to Lady Marmalade (yes, _that_ CD again -- it seems all I ever have in the discman is that or the Velvet Goldmine soundtrack or an album of Jacques Brel songs Marc Almond did). I realize the driver is speaking to me. I slip one ear of the headphones of and vaguely catch him asking me if I have a boyfriend.
I say yes, because life is simpler that way, and my peculiarities about labels for things tend to translate poorly outside of my life and my writing. The cab driver asks me if he's an actor too, and since no such boyfriend exists, I just say no, and figure that will be that. He asks me a couple of more innocuous questions, and then we're headed up the FDR. At which point, he starts telling me about women he's been involved with.
Normally, I'd tersely inform my driver that I'm not in the mood for conversation (note headphones), but I thought to myself, "hey, why not? This could be funny, or insightful or just one of those unique experiences of another human being."
The driver, with absolutely no prompting from me proceeds to tell me about all the wildest sex he's ever had, none of it particularly wild. All of the stories are punctuated by statements either absurd or offensive, and I'm sitting there feeling like I'm trapped in some alternate universe Taxicab Confessions.
"And I had a Spanish girl once," he was saying as we passed the UN. "They're hot. They got the nice behind and the nice boobs. I like the boobs. She had huge boobs, it was crazy!"
He then proceeds to tell me about the different positions he likes to have sex in and how he knows women don't like any of the things men like sexually. I try to disabuse him on this notion, and then he starts babbling about anal sex in a very Penthouse Letters sort of fashion.
Now, I'm trying not to start laughing uncontrollably at this point, as every single sentence he says is punctuated bu "crazy!" and I've got Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend blasting in one ear by now, and it all just seems particularly absurd.
By about 86th street, he's telling me about threesomes and the time he went for 9 hours straight. He tries to get me to talk about my sex life and I say, of all things, "Well, when you're in my business, you try not to be more public than you need to be," which was basically just the first incredibly dumb thing my brain could think up to hedge the question without proving to him that girls don't like sex. No, girls just don't like their locquacious taxicab drivers being verbal exhibitionists.
125th Street, and he's asking me if I've ever been with two guys and telling me how girls like that and how he did that once, but he didn't like it so much. And at the point he starts babbling about how he doesn't like to go down on women and just wants to lick their breasts instead, it finally occurs to me, that this is not interesting, funny, pleasant, or in fact anything other than profoundly annoying, at which point I say that I need to focus for my lesson, and put my headphones back on all the way.
He apologizes profusely for the "open conversation", and I say, "I don'treally care, but you're out of your mind if you think this sort of thing won't generally get you a very bad reaction."
And that was that. And I still can't figure it out. Was he so overwhelmed with the possibilities in the world that were clearly fairly new to him that he just had to share? In which case, I confess to being vaguely charmed by the notion, even if the conversation itself was both irritating and horrifying. Was he getting off on it? Was he trying to be a jerk?
I mean, what the hell?
Anyway, Voice, after being away from it for two weeks, _definitely_ counted as my one scary thing for today. Lots of issues came up for me about my speaking voices and messages I've always gotten about it. Really surprised me. I thought that, while not past it, it was a well contained sort of thing. Not so, not so.
