Snow, Dancing, Beer, a Cab

Two nights ago it snowed like mad in NYC. Which, for me, means one thing -- snowball fights and snow angles. So that's two things -- who's counting?

The evening started with sparkling wine and making crafty Christmas tree ornaments with some of my key people. Around midnight we set out for a park, snow flying everywhere, about 8 inches of blowing white powder covering the ground. Visibility was low. We were crossing a street, when a cab crawled by. His passenger window was open.

"Hi!" I said, smiling as he wind whipped snowflakes into my eyes.

"Hi!" he said back, smiling.

"You and your cabbies," my friend and bandmate -- hey, we've had 3 practice sessions, doubters! -- Tara joked.

Then we continued to the park, made snow angles, snow devils (snow angels face first), started two snowball fights with unsuspecting -- yet very willing -- groups, planned to recruit more snowballers in a Greenpoint bar, and ultimately succeeded in having a lot to drink and dancing until 4 a.m.

An incredible success of a snowy night.

The Happy Cabbie, again and again

My friend Michael called me last night – he was reading Taxi Confidential in bed, which is the biggest compliment ever! – to tell me that he had personally ridden in the Happy Cabbie’s taxi twice. That’s two times for you people who have problems counting.

Also, thanks to pervasive Facebook status updates, he saw that another of his friends had snagged a ride with the Happy Cabbie last week.

No idea what I’m talking about? Read the book! (Specifically the Red Light District story.) Here’s a hint – the Happy Cabbie strings his cab with lights, digs good music, and genuinely wants everyone to be happy. Basically, he spreads good cheer with a shovel.

Michael first met him four years ago. In Michael’s own words:

“I was in the front seat, three were in the backseat, we were wasted. It was like a disco. A crazy disco. I don’t know if the music was great because we were wasted, but it was great Indian techno. Every couple of blocks [the cabbie] would turn it down and say, “I’m the happy cabbie!” He’d give us bits of advice about life. The windows were down, and we were just jamming, flying up Fifth Ave.”

Then two years later in Chelsea, Michael got into the Happy Cabbie’s cab again. And once again, he was in the front seat, three guys were in the backseat. And and the cabbie looked at each other – “it felt like seeing a long lost friend after 10 years,” Michael said – there was a moment of stillness, and then recognition.

“It’s the Happy Cabbie,” Michael exclaimed.

“It’s you!” the Happy Cabbie said at the same time.

(Above is a photo of Michael, looking hot.)

The Greatest Taxi Filming You in the Backseat

There's an NYC cabbie out there who films his passengers while he drives.

Creepy? Maybe. But he's making a movie, so it's a bit less creepy, right?

This information came to me from astute passenger, Ryan, who was in this guy's cab. (He believes he signed a waiver saying the could use the footage, but there was alcohol involved, and details got a bit fuzzy.)

In payment for appearing in the films, he gives his passengers drawings like the one above -- thanks Ryan! -- in lieu of cash.

Oh, and he calls himself "The Greatest Taxi." So the ego's intact.

Puking in Cabs may be Verboten! (in Chicago)

Vomiting in a Chicago cab may just get a lot pricier – to the tune of $50.

That’s right – whether you’re drunk, bulimic, or just plain sick, if Chicago’s cabbies have their way, ralphing in their taxis will cost you an extra $50.

I can’t say I blame them. I mean, first, cabbies actually have to clean up your puke. And what if they don’t have plastic gloves and bleach in their trunk? Plus, the time needed to thoroughly clean their cabs is time they’re earning zero dollars. Add to this the fact that the rest of their customers aren’t likely going to enjoy the ode-to-vomit stench in the car, depressing tips.

When I was interviewing people for The Book, I can’t count how many times people laughingly told me their “I was wasted and puked in a cab” story. FYI – not cool. (I once almost heaved in a cab when I had food poisoning, and I tell you, I’ve never seen a cabbie more motivated to get me speedily home.)

Up until now, puking in cabs has been a free privilege. But it looks like in Chicago, you may just have to pay to play. Or puke. Whatever.

(PS aren't you glad I didn't subject you to a pic of real vomit?)

Locked doors, 911 and a lugie

I got this email from a friend this morning:

"Had a driver just Friday who locked me, Asa & Melissa in the limo because I wanted to be dropped off first & he wanted extra money than agreed upon. We had to call 911 to get him to let us out & he spat on Melissa. Shoo! Scary!"

Can't wait to get more details and let you guys know what really went down...

Taxicab Confessions victim

I was at a birthday party at the W Hotel - I know, swanky! - and I met a woman who only the day before was filmed for the TV show Taxicab Confessions.

It’ll be a great show. How do I know this? Because the woman has basically zero recollection of what she or her boyfriend dished about. But she does remember that 1) she was plowed, 2) he was loaded, and 3) they really enjoyed their dinner (read: liquor) at STK.

Not that any of this kept her from signing the release waver. Just one more reason why I love people with little inhibition.

What she did notice: her cabbie drove really slowly. So people, if you’re in a cab abiding by traffic laws, be on the look-out. They may be taping. You could be next.