THROMBOCYTE COLLECTION

Although this picture is of a blood bank elsewhere, we thought you'd like to know... that the PLATELETS you donated on December 3, 2010 were sent to the following hospital(s):

New York University Hospitals Center	New York	New York
Kings County Hospital Center	Brooklyn	New York

On behalf of the cancer patient, accident victim or other person with a blood clotting problem whom you may have helped, THANK YOU.

AND PLEASE CONSIDER COMING OUT TO THE BROOKLYN BLOOD CENTER WITH YOUR FRIEND GIL ONE OF THESE DAYS.

TOGETHER YOU CAN TURN IT INTO SOMETHING FUN. PERHAPS A ROUND ROBIN READING OF A BOOK YOU BOTH LIKE. EVEN JUST KICKING IT WITH THE LOVELY EMPLOYEES THERE MAKES IT WORTHWHILE.

Or you can just lay there and pretend you've been hospitalized. 100 or so minutes later you can get up and leave as if nothing happened. That's called elevating your consciousness through forced, self-imposed appreciation for the simple things in life. Like health.

Expanding Horizons

After making nearly 700 dollars over the span of the last 3 shifts, sleep deprivation caught up with me this morning. It was almost 6 am when I woke up. That's major lateness in my world. I called up the dispatcher, apologized, and said I'd be there shortly. He told me not to worry about it. All the cabs had already gone out anyhow. He had even had to send some guys home.

I'm always the first driver to show up and wait for the first available cab back from the night shift. Sometimes as early as 1 am. I'm also the first one back from the day shift in the afternoon, which enables the early bird night drivers to get out quicker too. It's called "staggering the shifts" and it's what New Yorkers have always desired wishfully. So it took my 36 hours of urban driving to make 7 benjamins. And I had my own life in between. That doesn't add up to all that much sleep.

A driver must call his dispatcher before the shift begins, to warn he won't be leasing a cab today, thereby releasing the reservation, so the cab can be used by another driver. I had slept right through that task, so I was at risk of being placed on the "no show" list, a.k.a. the management's "shit list." These are driver whom the garage has deemed untrustworthy and apathetic. Luckily I have a very sound relationship with my dispatcher, who protects me from the management's wrath.

My mother and I took a long stroll through our neighborhood today. It was nice to be out and about with her on such a perfect autumn day, and not cooped up in a yellow chunk of fiberglass. We stopped by at the Metropolitan Pool and Fitness Center, where I renewed my recreational membership card, and got her one too. Since she's 56 years old, hers was only $10 for the entire year.

My father will be turning 55 on January 1st, so then he'll get the same discount. The place has a swimming pool, cardiovascular workout room, weight room, lockers, and showers. Other branches have even more amenities, like all kinds of free yoga and tai chi classes. I'm proud of the prospect that my mother might be exercising more regularly. Not to mention myself.

Spread of Early 09 Journal Cover

This book is about one individual's quest to become better than yesterday, by taking every brutal karmic blow as a hidden blessing and coming to terms with the idea that serving humanity is the only worthwhile pursuit.

The cover contains a list of my self-imposed, some somewhat frivolous, identities: taxi driver, anthropologist, vexillologist, geographer, cartographer, manual laborer, ethnomusicologist, bicyclist, alchemistic barterer, scrounger, scavenger, scalp-shearing barber, space consolidator, trilingual interpreter, collage journalist, perpetual optimist, quasi-kabbalistic altruist, scatological squatter, pseudo-percussionist, aspiring acordeonista, wide-eyed pilgrim, cumbiamberito, eco-urban tour guide, dormant pedagogue, voluntary communalist, pied piper of urgency, punk at heart, skanking leo, megaphonic martyr, athlete, etc.

ELECTRO AUTOSTOP

Back in 2005, my friend Elizabeth Dwoskin was interning for the Utne magazine. She published an article about hitchhikers who share their travels on the internet. I was one of the people she interviewed for the story.

Hercules Relapse

Although I haven't worked for a moving company since I started driving a cab, I do offer friends and family my assistance. A few weeks ago, on my day off from hacking, I helped a couple of friends move their belongings from Forest Hills to Bushwick. I subcontracted my old high school friend Adam Willson to assist us with the move. I drove the rental truck since I have experience driving for Hercules Movers. I need more exercise in my life since I sit and drive all day every day, so carrying boxes on and off of the truck was my pleasure. Plus, they fed us breakfast, served us endless coffee, and even paid us a handsome compensation. All this while hanging out with an old friend I hadn't seen for a while. Efficient space consolidation and utilization inside the truck was always my favorite aspect of the job. I kind of miss it sometimes.

Europa on Shoestrings

.....is where we found the cheapest airfare to Europe this summer. We were originally going to stay in Iceland for a few days, before becoming continental, but concerns over post-volcanic particulate matter affecting the island's air quality changed our minds since Jenine is asthmatic.

ITINERARY OF TENTATIVE TENACITY:

7/25 at half past 9 pm: Jenine and I fly out of Boston aboard Iceland Air.

26th at half past 6 am: We land in Reykjavik for an hour layover.

1 pm: Arrive at Charles de Gaulle in Paris.

Regional rapid transit to La Vesinet (suburb where Vera lives).

Acclimate and meet Vera's beautiful family.

7/27 thru 8/1: Explore all of Paris and celebrate Jenine's 31st birthday.

My top points of interest in the city of lights: Belleville, Latin Quarter, and the 10th Arrondissement.

8/2 (my birthday): We hitch down through France toward Barcelona.

Depending on the rides we get: stops are possible in Marseille and Gerona.

Barcelona becomes our headquarters for the week, with a possible excursion to Madrid.

We have no current contacts in the Catalonian capital, so please help us out if you can.

I'm not worried about it because there are over 5000 couchsurf members out there.

8/9 at 8 pm: Our flight to Germany, with an 8 hour overnight layover in Stuttgart.

8/10 at 8 am: Arrive in Berlin. Settle into my friend Jeffrey's spare room and explore that city on borrowed bicycles. Visit friends Aaron and Corinna in town.

8/13: Hitch to Hamburg and visit a friend of Jenine's.

8/15: Arrive at the home of my Dutch relatives outside of Utrecht.

8/16 thru 20: Jenine attends Fab 6 Graduation and Conference.

Meanwhile, I explore Amsterdam mostly on my own that week.

8/21 thru 25: Jenine and I do the Netherlands and Belgium together.

She flies home from Schiphol airport and I remain in Europe for another month.

8/26: My solo hypersonic auto-stop journey thru 11 extra countries begins.

8/27: Explore central and east London on foot and a tight shoestring.

8/28: Thumb my way east to Prague.

8/29: Explore the Czech capital. Catch overnight train to Krakow (Poland).

8/30: Explore my maternal grandfather's hometown.

8/31: Meander through Slovakia to visit friends in Vienna (if they're in town).

9/1: Make my way to Budapest and spend the night there.

9/2: Enter Romania. Either travel to the northern hometown(s) of my paternal grandparents....

9/3: or head to Bucharest via Transylvania.

9/4: Explore the Romanian capital thoroughly.

9/5: Catch a bus to Bulgaria. 9/6: Explore Sofia.

9/7: Catch a bus to Turkey. 9/8-9: Explore Istanbul.

9/10: Catch a bus to Greece. 9/11: Explore Thessaloniki.

9/12: Catch a bus to Athens. 9/13-14: Explore the Greek capital.

9/15: Hitch to the Adriatic coast (Igoumenitsa).

9/16 : Ferry across to Brindisi (Italy).

9/17: Thumb it to Napoli. 9/18: Explore Napoli.

9/19: Hitch to Roma. 9/20-22: Explore the Italian capital.

9/23: Fly Aer Lingus to NYC via Dublin.

I can shorten and/or elongate these flexible dates (and route) based on my experience as it unfolds. I know this schedule seems too rushed, but it's my first time ever to Europe and for me it's mostly a geographical marathon to put together the ethno-cartographic puzzle pieces of my anthropologic mind. Future trips will be more concentrated on specific regions and cities. Not so spread out and hurried. IF YOU KNOW ANYONE I SHOULD STAY WITH OR MEET ALONG THIS EXTENSIVE ROUTE, OR ANY POINTS OF INTEREST I SHOULD VISIT, PLEASE LET ME KNOW. I APPRECIATE YOUR INPUT.

IMMEDIATE RELATIVES

#1. My sister has returned from a 10 day pilgrimage to Canaan.

#2. My father and I often jog to McCarren Park and we do play ball.

#3. He has become prolific with his vibrant works of art.

The two aforementioned are two of my dearest people.

They help stabilize the otherwise chaotic atmosphere

under the ceiling we currently share in northwestern Brooklyn.

BECOMING ONE WITH ALL

As Abraham Maslow (and more recently Adam Willson) suggested,

let's focus on that uppermost violet section of the humanist hierarchy.

Actualization of one's full potential, peak experiences, spontaneity, creative problem-solving,

lack of prejudice, acceptance of facts, playfulness, meaningfulness, purpose, authenticity, community,

autonomy, openness, morale, accuracy, fulfillment .... even transcendence.

The pinnacle actually has nothing to do with the self.

It has to do with helping others become self-actualized.

An endless, paradoxical cycle of light and lovingkindness.

Becoming one with all people and all things. I can't wait!

(It ain't hocus-pocus. It's inside your mind)

THE CITY I WAS BORN IN

I only lived there for the very first month of my life,

yet for some reason it contains a large chunk of my heart,

tucked away inside an Andean valley of everlasting springtime,

on the northernmost reaches of the world's longest continental mountain range.

A short bus ride away from the axis of world-renowned coffee cultivation.

Just 60 miles east of the Pacific and 80 miles south of the Caribbean.

Colombia's 2nd metropolis and the world's 91st urban agglomeration.

An historical hub of oxen and mule path networks for cocoa farms.

Now the industrial capital of Colombia and orchid capital of the world.

Home of South America's first kidney transplant.

Affability and diligence are the qualities of its people.

Oh, and did I mention that it is Fernando Botero's home town?

He's the self-proclaimed "most Colombian of Colombian artists."

Famous for situational portraiture of proportionally exaggerated figures.

Did you guess which city yet?

Yellow Author Fever

1. LIFELONG SCIENTIST AND UNIVERSITY PROF DRIVES A CAB AND BLOGS.

2. FIFTEEN YEAR VET OF MONTREAL'S TAXI FORCE IS A SERIOUS AUTHOR TOO.

Where's your book, Gil? That's what some of my relatives and friends ask me. Well, I don't feel like I have enough book-worthy material typed out yet. Volumes of it are certainly written, sketched, and drawn out on my extensive collection of artsy journals, which I've maintained since my mid-teens.

Obviously, only the last three years contain taxicab accounts, while the rest are from hitch-hiking around North America, attending college, and short stints in a smorgasbord of jobs. The thing is that it's just as important to me to publish text and illustration on taxi life as it is to do so for the three other most important themes of my life: budget travel, sustainable living, and altruistic spirituality.

I'm trying to find a way to sew these all together into a quilt that might eventually produce that book, or at least a solid, unwavering sense of personal happiness to carry with me wherever I go. All I really want is to maximize the meaningfulness of as many lives as possible, starting of course with my own. I want to have lofty goals (like a book), but only if they truly serve a deeper purpose than just massaging my own ego. That is perhaps where my hesitation lies, if not feelings of inexperience and unreadiness. Or maybe it's those feelings that are the true ego.

My life has enough direction on its plate right now. I'm saving up madly in preparation for my lightly-packed and open-ended adventure to Europe and the Mediterranean, which is set to begin in late July and carry on for about two months. Upon returning to New York in mid to late September, I will make the official, long-awaited move out of 'the nest'. Ideally, I want to find a communal loft space somewhere nearby in Brooklyn that I can share with like minds, to keep my rent low, while residing in one of the little make-shift rooms. Even more ideal would be to find a set-up like that in Jackson Heights, my favorite neighborhood, due to its diversity. I don't know what comes after that, but it's bound to be exciting.

Pictures From Earlier This Month

MOTHERS' DAY PARTY AT OUR APARTMENT IN WILLIAMSBURG.

CLOCKWISE FROM THE BOTTOM RIGHT: Rosita (cabbie's mom), Paul (cabbie's roommate), Gil (the cabbie), Jenine (friend), Emilie (cabbie's surrogate sister), Alan (Emilie's BF), Slava (cabbie's brother-in-non-law), Lizette (cabbie's sister), Jennifer (sister's friend and taxi blog fan), Yoram (cabbie's father), Gui (cabbie's surrogate brother)

AN ABANDONED STOOP ON FOURTH AVE IN BOERUM HILL

I WALK PAST IT ON MY WAY TO THE G TRAIN AFTER EVERY SHIFT

DAMAGE DONE BY RECENT FLOODING IN PROVIDENCE, RI.

THAT'S WHERE JENINE LIVES SO WE TAKE TURNS VISITING EACH OTHER.

VIEW OF THE BROOKLYN CLOCKTOWER FROM BERGEN STREET.

THE WALL AND THE TREE GIVE IT AN ALMOST JERUSALEM FEEL.

BALLOONS TIED TO A GARBAGE TRUCK IN CHELSEA

HENCE: THE UNSEEN SANITATION WORKERS ARE POTENTIAL FRIENDS OF MINE

JENINE: UNA MUJER MUY FINA.

ES JUDIA FILIPINA Y TIENE MUCHO ADRENALINA!

A SMALL TRIUMPH

Emilie Gossiaux and I accomplished the impossible task of transporting a very oddly shaped sculpture she made, from Cooper Union to Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

It fit perfectly around the roof cone of my cab. It could not have been done without her sense of certainty and trust. Emilie has been one of my sister's closest friends since high school (in Florida). They're pictured above. Lizette Avineri (on the right) has been studying fashion design

at Parsons for three years and Emilie (left) has been at Cooper Union for Fine Arts (same amount of time). I consider them both my little sisters.

Vernal Communique of Gilespie Avunique

Image Source: http://www.flickr.com/photos/alphadesigner/3192055736/
Greetings on this late March in 2010. My sincerest desire is that this note finds you well on your path towards happiness. I'm writing to climb back unto the face of the planet. Doing fine for the most part. Still driving taxicabs in New York. Still trying to save enough money to travel across the ocean. This summer, if the light force of the creator wills it, I'll be exploring Europe for the first time. My itinerary is contingent on the slowly unfolding plans of my sister and those of my partner. It looks as though this trip might be split into three parts. Traveling with sis, alone, and with partner. Perhaps a couple weeks of each, between June and August.

The extent of geographical coverage also depends on my savings between now and then. The big ones on my list include Amsterdam, Paris, London, Barcelona, Casablanca, Rome, Berlin, Athens, Bucharest, Istanbul, and Tel Aviv. I know that's a lot of ground to cover, but my time isn't constrained, and my budget isn't fanciful. My cargo will be light as possible. A change of clothes. A toothbrush. A journal. A map or two. No more.

This past winter I spent large swaths of time hiding from the cold by paying old friends a long overdue visit in Florida and helping my father demolish my aunt's floor in Houston (2nd visit to TX in a month). I made new bonds with cousins and saw high-school buddies from lifetimes ago. The only person I didn't get to see, but really wanted to, is Waffle, a great inspiration of mine (and countless others). I had been promising to come down for weeks, and when I finally mustered up the gumption, he had taken off for Haiti, to help build shelters.

HERE IS THE PICTURE ALBUM OF MY SOUTHERN EXCURSIONS AND SOME NORTHERN ONES TOO.

Since I got back to NYC, I've been working 5 days a week, as a self-employed operator of yellow cruise missiles. Been leasing them out of my old old garage, the first one from nearly 4 years ago (in downtown Brooklyn). I've been through some drama with a burglar in the cab and all sorts of other scenarios, all of them blessings, whether hidden or outright.

Lastly, I leave you with a list of movies I've seen recently, that I really think you ought to watch.....

SIN NOMBRE, FOR MY FATHER, TSOTSI, UP, HURT LOCKER, and AVATAR.

Clocks Forward, Proletariats Backward

At 4:15 this morning I ambled out of my Brooklyn cavern and walked west 4 blocks. On the last stretch of sidewalk from which one can safely hail a cab and have it turn left unto the BQ Expressway ramp (ain't paying for no red lights), I snatched a passing cab that sniffed my subtle intentions. A 22 year veteran from Peshawar rolled down his window. Confidently, I declared "Do you wanna go downtown Brooklyn?" His response was enthusiastic (therefore competent) enough for me to hop in.

Until recently I worked out of a garage that was 10 minutes away by bicycle, 20 minutes via subway/walking (only 3 trains an hour) or 5 minutes by cab. Their available shifts dwindled down over time to only Sundays. Since I'm saving for summer travels in Europe, I need more workdays. So I switched back to the very first (of three) garage I leased cabs from when I first got my hack license (2006). They now require a 5 day schedule, with Tuesdays and Wednesdays off. I'd rather rest on the Sabbath, but I'll take what I can get.

This garage is 25 minutes away via bicycle or subway/walking. It's 10 minutes by cab. An $11 fare. $15 with the tip cause I don't have the heart to give a good cabdriver any less than that. I avoid the bad ones (if at all possible) by sniffing them out before I get in. I only take a cab to work if it's raining, too cold, or I overslept. I must be frugal since I only average about $190 a shift, depending on how many breaks I choose to take (zero for 200+) and luck of the passenger turnover rate.

At 4:44 am I was assigned to taxicab 7L62 by my favorite dispatcher (of 10 I've met), the magnificent Bobo (of Haiti), who always carries the sincerest smile. Today's shift would entail 134 miles of urban meanderings and two fares to Newark Liberty International (within two hours). Oddly coincidental, since I normally only get one fare to that airport every couple of months.

The shift also entailed brief, but peak moments of nail biting, like the puddle on MacDougal Street that turned out to be a crater lake of a pothole, as I dashed through it, sending a 10 ft. splash at pedestrians on the sidewalk. NYU students, on a Sunday stroll, shrilled at the top of their lungs, as I faded into the horizon with my giggling Korean passenger.

At one point I was cruising down Fifth Avenue (in the sixties) when I spotted a sheepish hand flail about and drop, just before disappearing behind a stopped MTA bus. My peripheral vision had sensed a gang of tall, lost Europeans huddling around a map. I was on the opposite side of the street and had to instantly drop my speed from 34 to 4, in order to pull into the first available fire hydrant. I put it in park and ran across. There they were, four lovely Norwegians attempting to figure out where to have breakfast. They were stunned (and grateful) that a cabdriver would go so far as to fetch them by foot, to initiate what would become the best cab ride of their visit. They explained that after breakfast they planned to walk around Greenwich Village.

Their question was, "are there any good traditional American food in that neighborhood?" First word that came to mind was diner, a term they weren't familiar with, but I knew that's what they wanted. Off hand, I could only think of the ones along the eastern and western flanks of 23rd Street. Not the Village. I called up my main man Mikey (who also drives a cab) and he unveiled a brilliant idea: the Waverly Restaurant (on Sixth Avenue)! They fell in love with the place before they even stepped inside. I was given $15 for a $10.50 fare and my helpfulness. The tips are in the pudding. I owe you one, Mikey.

The last two fares of the day were off-duty negotiations. At 3:45 PM I was coming down Ninth en route to the Manhattan Bridge for the shift change in Brooklyn. My garage is strict. I must be back by 4:30 PM. No if or buts. I follow TLC regulations by having my doors locked, off-duty lights on, and window cracked, which allows me to gently negotiate destinations with would-be street hailers (without being accused of refusal). I make a left unto 23rd (in order to cross town without hitting Holland Tunnel traffic) and stop in front of an elder lady who is hailing me. "Where are you going?," I ask through the crack.

"The Morgan library museum (Madison and 36th)," she says achingly while standing with imbalance. I immediately unlock the doors and motion her to enter. First thing she says, as we're on our way, is "I don't think you're supposed to do that (in an authoritarian tone). " She is referring to the fact that I asked for her destination before letting her in. But there is a (humanitarian) loophole in that law, which I've copy/pasted below in blue (off the TLC website). The loophole exists simply for the purpose of not leaving everyone in Manhattan stranded, between roughly 3:30 and 5:00 PM, without a single cab around available.

I couldn't believe she was actually going to pull this on me. Before I even saw her, I was already facing the challenge of completing task A thru H within the next 45 minutes:

A. Maneuver through five Manhattan neighborhoods,

B. a long bridge with rush hour traffic,

C. and two Brooklyn neighborhoods.

D. Fill up at the gas station,

E. fill out my trip sheet,

F. gather my belongings,

G. run the cab through the basic daily mechanic inspection,

H. park it, and have the night dispatcher punch out my trip sheet.

But out of compassion for her, and an idealistic overconfidence in my capabilities, I had decided to let her in and go 13 uptown blocks out of my way, because I knew she'd have difficulty finding a cab at that hour. Besides, I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I drove past and ignored a stranded elderly person. And besides that, the refusal law (although existing for several little reasons) is mainly about curbing widespread racial profiling, which makes catching cabs a difficult feat for blacks. It was Danny Glover's complaint, filed in 1999, which brought this law to the surface of everyone's mind. The result, as I've witnessed and experienced it, has not been a reduction in racism among cabbies (which remains nearly the same), but a pandemic of white pedestrians using their misconstrued understanding of this law to lash out in anger against cabbies and unwarrantedly claim victimhood when finding themselves stranded during the shift switch.

If taken to court by a complainant, you must be able to prove that it was indeed the end of your 12 hour shift, which is effortlessly easy. The TLC itself has the proof. It's on their GPS data, which records every detail (of when and where) while a cabdriver is logged on to the system (including how many consecutive hours they've worked).

The very last fare I did pro bono for a nice man who was only going down Third Avenue from E12 to Houston (in my direct path), and I had already turned off the meter. He threw 3 dollars at me anyway.

Upon returning the cab, I learned that Napoleon (the night dispatcher) is from Leogane, the town (18 miles west of the Haitian capital) where the epicenter of the quake was located. With glazed-over eyes, a forced smile, and his New York lingo in a Kreyol accent, he said, "fogedaboudit, don't even ask what happened." As you know, the day dispatcher (Bobo) is also Haitian, but from which part of the half island nation? I don't know yet.

§2-50 Refusals

(a) A driver shall not seek to ascertain the destination of a passenger before such passenger is seated in the taxicab.

(b) A driver shall not refuse by words, gestures or any other means, without justifiable grounds set forth in §2-50(e) herein, to take any passenger to any destination within the City of New York, the counties of Westchester or Nassau or Newark Airport. This includes a person with a disability and any service animal accompanying such person.

(c) A driver shall not require a person with a disability to be accompanied by an attendant. However, where a person with a disability is accompanied by an attendant, a taxicab driver shall not impose or attempt to impose any additional charge for transporting the attendant.

(d) A driver shall not refuse to transport a passenger's luggage, wheelchair, crutches, other mobility aid or other property.

(e) Justifiable grounds for the conduct otherwise prohibited by sections 2-50(a), 2-50(b), 2-50(c) and 2-50(d) shall be the following:

(1) another passenger is already seated in the taxicab;

(2) a hail from another person has already been acknowledged by the driver, and that other person is being picked up or is about to be picked up. Provided, however, that a driver shall not acknowledge the hail of a prospective passenger over the hail of another prospective passenger with an intent to avoid transporting the passenger whose hail was not acknowledged;

(3) the passenger is carrying, or is in possession of any article, package, case or container, other than a wheelchair or other mobility aid, which the driver may reasonably believe will cause damage to the interior of the taxicab, impair its efficient operation, or cause it to become stained or foul smelling;

(4) the driver is ending his or her work shift, has already illuminated the “Off Duty” sign, locked both rear doors, and has transmitted the relevant information to an electronic database for entry on the electronic trip record or, until a taxicab is required to be equipped with the taxicab technology system as defined in section 2-01 of this chapter, and thereafter whenever the taxicab technology system is inoperable for not more than forty-eight (48) hours following the filing of an incident report with the authorized taxicab technology service provider as set forth in section 2-26 of this chapter, indicated on the written trip record that he or she is off duty and proceeding to his or her garage or home;

§2-53 Accepting Passengers While Off-Duty

(a) A driver who has illuminated the "Off Duty" light may not solicit nor accept a passenger unless that driver is returning the taxicab to his or her garage or home and has transmitted the relevant information to an electronic database for entry on the electronic trip record or made a written trip record entry "Returning to garage (or home)" and the passenger's destination is directly en route thereto; when the last passenger is discharged, the driver shall lock the doors and return to his garage or home.

§2-54 Solicitation of Passengers

(a) A driver shall solicit a passenger only from the driver's seat and only with the words "taxi" or "cab" or "taxicab."

SCRUMPTIOUS SNIPPETS FROM 1/25/10

It was the one year anniversary of my beloved Jenine and I. I spent the later part of the day caged inside 4H55, earning what would become a near personal record-breaking net profit of $272 for 13 hours of navigation on a Monday night in this nefarious metroplex.... all while wishing I was with her, whether in her state or mine. Ocean or Empire. Many say long distance relationships only last if they are the real deal. This one has proven true, through and through. Here are the high and low-lights from that lonesome taxi shift of 37 fares (that became less melancholic when Fela Kuti filled the radio with his perfect soundtrack to taxi driving at night. If you're not familiar with his music, what a pity).

16:00: a scruffy duo of Dutch men in show biz enter the cab near the Fashion Institute of Technology en route to West 4^th. Each is on his own cellular call, but both dialogues center around some film shoot in Cape Town. All in English. No trace of Afrikaans. I get nine for a $7.40 fare. That's a 22% tip.

Down the block enters a woman who reminds me of my step grandmother (a psychologist in L.A.). En route to Chelsea I guess (out loud) she's an NYU professor, based on where I picked her up and her demeanor. I'm correct! She teaches law, and although a bit jaded, holds a pleasant chat with her inquisitive cabdriver. I get eight for a $6.30 fare. That's a 27% tip.

17:00: Scoop up a fare from Soho to La Guardia. Lady in a suit who came here on a business day-trip from Chicago is home bound. Her fingers are crossed because apparently it's snowing heavily there. I get thirty for a $22.90 fare. That's a 31% tip! My wait at the airport is brief and I'm soon city-bound again with yet another pleasant lady in a suit, who also flew in from Chicago (for a corporate meeting tomorrow). She had been stuck at O'hare International for several hours (due to weather) and she is ready to call it a night at the Roosevelt Hotel in Midtown, but we end up in an unexpected traffic jam on the QMT tunnel approach.

I felt bad because I told her this was the quickest way there during the evening rush, since most of the congestion is often outbound along this route at that hour. 1010 WINS finally clarifies the situation. There are emergency roving pothole repairs in progress near the toll booths. She tells me not to stress out about it. I get forty for a $35.37 fare (far more expensive than it should be). Precisely why she gave me a 13% tip. Far more expensive than it should have been. I wonder about the fate of the other lady's flight (and Chi-town cab ride home?). Delays abound about the land.

18:00: A retired Finnish double date on vacation (and staying at the Roosevelt) step in as soon as she steps out. They're heading to a hockey game at Mad Square tonight. They're fond of the Rangers because talented Finnish players have historically lined their ranks. We got into other histories too. Like that of Finland itself. Ruled by Sweden, then Russia, and finally independent. I mentioned a movie on my favorite films list about a 3-way language barrier that didn't stop two enemy soldiers and an indigenous Laplander from becoming friends. It's called Kukushka and they had indeed seen it (and agreed it's superb). I really like it when someone from the actual country a film is set in approves of that film. Gives me the right to keep advertising it. Got thirteen for an $11.60 fare. That's a 12% tip.

20:00: A couple hours later I was back in the Penn Station vicinity. I was hailed by two women who had taken the day off from work to take Amtrak up to Albany, to join a large demonstration against contamination of water caused by the extraction of natural gas, which the governor recently gave the green light for in several sensitive sections of upstate NY. Both ladies wore professional attire. One was Taiwanese. The other was Filipina. I dropped them each off in their respective neighborhoods of Chelsea and Greenwich Village. Got twelve for a $10.40 fare. That's a 16% tip.

21:00: Barely noteworthy, but definitely the blockheaded simpleton of the night. He was a schmuck in a suit, slightly younger than I am, with a sense of entitlement more inflated than a hot air balloon. I only had my own window down when he got in, and it wasn't like the interior of the cab was cold. The first thing he said was "roll up the windows." Not a please or a thank you in sight, and with condescension in his tone and persona. "Is that good?," I asked, upon leaving only a crack open for my own sanity. "I guess," he replied, with the audacity of a 5 year old. The rest of the ride was silent. Got ten for a $9.10 fare from Hell's K to No Ho. That's a 10% tip. Like I said, not much of a story, but it infuriated me. I have anger in my genes and too much pride on my zodiac sign.

But it didn't take me long to cool off because of the grace and humor with which my next passengers treated me. They were an older couple who commute down from the Mohegan Sun resort once a week to teach Casino Business at NYU. They were heading up to Grand Central so I instantly guessed that they had parked their car in New Haven and jumped on the MTA North. Damn I'm good at guessing geographical technicalities. That's the second time in one shift I transported NYU professors and played a guessing game with them. Got eleven for an $8.20 fare. That's a 34% tip!

02:30: a young, native New York couple get a ride from a bar on Bedford to their Ridgewood apartment. She's Guyanese, and by the way he treats her, he's a prick (who claims to love farting because of the fuzzy feeling he gets down below.) "That's because your prostate is right next to your ass," I remark, in a smart aleck tone. All the while I'm pondering how she should just get a strap-on and help him achieve more of that anal pleasure he was talking about, instead of putting up with his perpetual verbal abuse. He did tip me better than anyone else that night, and I am frankly appreciative of that. His intoxication allowed him to be more sensitive toward how effortful and efficient I was at my job. Got twenty six for a $13.90 fare. That's an 87% tip!

LIFE PARTNER

There she is standing outside my cab, as if a random Union Square passerby. But she is no stranger to me. That graceful lady wearing colorful quilt-like fabric, holding a pink down, and sporting the colossal, ever-evolving glass bead necklace she made, is my significant and beloved other, Jenine Bressner. Soon it will be a year since we met.

I don't know if I ever told you, but it was this blog that facilitated our union. First I saw the charming face and words of what appeared to be a down-to-Earth, multi-ethnic Jew on a friend's wall on Facebook. My entire life I had been waiting patiently to find a soulmate of a special blend of unexpected genes. I sent her a blunt message, inquiring on her ethnic soup. I am well aware this comes off as rude, creepy, and xenophobic.... but I do it with everyone, knowing true to my heart that it comes from a place of admiration and innocent fascination with the overlapping of cultures, customs, and creeds. Her response was curt and more or less impersonal.

I knew then I had one last chance to break the ice and that I had better make it good. I couldn't pester her with too many words. I decided to simply send her a link to my blog. After all, its contents are a raw expression of who I strive to be: a voice of euphoric empathy for the world's wonders found in its people and their demographic spectrum. I had absolutely no expectations, and to my surprise, she did indeed pick up on this vibe. By the way, she is of Eastern European and Filipina backgrounds. And I have Hispanic, Romanian, and Polish roots. You can call us "Ashkephardic". But that is not what this post is about.

It's my opportunity to thank Jenine for helping me fine tune my desire to pursue the crafts of writing and photojournalism, and to proliferate public awareness of its existence. It is also my chance to share with you a few of the methods she utilizes to create new things and inspire humanity towards a more self-actualized sense of empowerment. Above is a picture of what were the blank backsides of her business cards, which she fed into a laser cutter to engrave my name, email, and blog address unto. Originally I had hand written the info unto a thick stash of her cards, one by one, and passed them out in my cab as a form of double sided advertising for us both.

Jenine was recently chosen to participate in the worldwide Fab Academy. She's been learning to operate various machinery to produce almost anything one's imagination can take on. She has come up with some marvelous results. Formulating ideas and following through with delicate, time-consuming precision on computers.

You can see pictures and read the details on her blog, along with everything else she's made over the years with an endless inventory of tools and materials. The list is as replete with ingenuity as a cluster of colleges. Berkeley or Beantown, minus pretense and ulterior motives. It's as diverse as the Queens neighborhood of Elmhurst and its nationalities, only more integrated. It is as well-informed as the walking Wikipedia that Jenine herself is, only more accurate than a lot of what's been put on the web. It's as meticulously and anomalously crafted as Mohandas himself must have been by the environment that shaped his gumption.

Jenine lives in Providence and adds daily to its already distinct flavor of artistry, via flame worked glass, intricate embroideries for practical uses, unconventional sculpting, stitching, soldering, milling, forging, serging, vinyl cuttings, air brushing, homemade lip balm, hand bound books, immaculate pen drawings, wall prints, textile earrings, ruffle beards, dolls, pom poms, fabric anemones, recycled shoes, museum quality jewelry, heat set metallic textures, continuously refined D.I.Y. clothing and culinary contraptions, efficient scavenging of discarded items that become effective studio components, and all this is just the beginning.

Now let me tell you how she's used her skills to encourage my endeavors. Above you can see the vinyl cut stickers she produced, which I placed on my lap top, but could eventually scatter about the city on bumpers and stop signs. My blog address in yellow impact stencil font, since I regard taxi driving to be a (nonviolent) military discipline of sorts. My name in an blue arabesque font, since I've an affinity to the Middle East.

Jenine sets aside time to proofread, edit, and revise most every new article I type. Her suggestions are priceless. When visiting me in New York, she offers to sit in the front seat of the taxicab so I don't miss a shift. She mingles with my fares, resulting in larger tips. The rides seem to take half the time to accomplish, which brings smiles from both the backseat and from behind the wheel.

Sometimes we'll park the cab for a gastronomical pit stop and she always has a list of eateries she's been researching, where independent shop owners strive to make it a genuine experience. We also explore museums and other cultural attractions together. She never fails to leave my mind saturated with her acute attention to particularities among all the art and D.I.Y. experiments around us. This in turn enables my fluidity of envisioning my own potential, both artistically and practically, and of course the marriage of each. That precise fusion is to me what"JB Fireworks" is all about. As she herself puts it, "There are no boundaries in my life".

Above is a picture at Kenny's place, inside Essex Market. He is to her an example of what she values most: independent thought and skilled craft (which you can see in both his book and thedocumentary about him). He is however a bonafide jerk, which is only valuable if applied in moderation and interspersed with kindness. He's a cook. He should know that recipe. Even the most NEW YORK of New Yorkers know that.

I make myself available every time she needs help transporting her art to an exhibition and I'm humbled that she trusts me enough to hold down her booth while she walks around as a living showcase and self-marketer. Much like my overhead (shift lease and gas total), she has to pay the promoter a flat rate for a table and then work her way toward breaking into the black. I can very much relate to this. However, the economy has rocked the sale of craft work much worse than it has the taxi driving industry in NYC, which manages to stay afloat due to it being seen as more of a necessary service. In most other cities, though, the state of hackneying is in just as bad a rut. The picture above is of Jenine setting up her booth at the most recent Bizarre Bazaar in Boston.

As she wrote in her blog most recently, she plans to slowly veer away from the under-appreciated labor of amassing stock and traveling to display it around the country. I too seek to move on from my own dead-end form of self employment, not toward the other extreme (wage and schedule slavery), but rather in the direction of realizing all my bigger potentials in the world. Together we will support and uplift one another into ever-higher levels of both financial and spiritual contentment.