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somebodyisfromhere.com
The destination destination.
Editor's Note: Somebodyisfromhere.com has recently dedicated a lot of thought to the idea of creating a narrative for his site. He likes his
individual pieces, but he wanted to find a way to string together a series of articles for those who were new to the site or for those who wanted to
explore a bit more thoroughly. Sure, the search option in the top corner of the front page works. Sure, he also tries to link old stories with
comparable new ones. Atop the first page, he created sections like entertainment, photos, etc. It's all golden. Yet, Somebodyisfromhere.com is
inexhaustible and he wanted more. So he came up with the "In Between Cabs..." section. Somebodyisfromhere.com has been in his share of
cabs. He's been in Mercedes cabs in Europe. He's been in those charming British boxes. He's been in the old yellows. He's been in cabs in
foreign countries where it's fairly standard to have to write down the address or otherwise you'll end up somewhere disastrously far off. More than
anything else, he just has some pretty bleepin' weird cab stores and, most importantly, he recognizes traveling is what happens in between cabs.
individual pieces, but he wanted to find a way to string together a series of articles for those who were new to the site or for those who wanted to
explore a bit more thoroughly. Sure, the search option in the top corner of the front page works. Sure, he also tries to link old stories with
comparable new ones. Atop the first page, he created sections like entertainment, photos, etc. It's all golden. Yet, Somebodyisfromhere.com is
inexhaustible and he wanted more. So he came up with the "In Between Cabs..." section. Somebodyisfromhere.com has been in his share of
cabs. He's been in Mercedes cabs in Europe. He's been in those charming British boxes. He's been in the old yellows. He's been in cabs in
foreign countries where it's fairly standard to have to write down the address or otherwise you'll end up somewhere disastrously far off. More than
anything else, he just has some pretty bleepin' weird cab stores and, most importantly, he recognizes traveling is what happens in between cabs.
Chapter Five:
Making Friends.
Making Friends.
<<< As you walk into the casino wearing a tuxedo you feel a bit like Danny Ocean. Don't worry. It may sound pretentious, but
you're actually coming from a wedding. Sure, you had time to change after the event, but...ok, well, it might be a little
pretentious.
You're seated at your first table game. Blackjack. You want to buy in a little higher than normal because of the tux. You aren't
willing to lose that much, of course, but you want to show it. Surely enough, the table goes about as you had hoped. You lose a
little at first and then you win it back and you get as far away from that table as possible.
You do the same thing with roulette. All in all, you're pretty pleased with yourself. You've managed to not bankrupt yourself and
you look pretty snazzy doing it. That's when you realize it's not James Bond you look like. No, you look pretty much like a card
dealer.
So you bid farewell and hop into a cab to your brothers place a town away. The original beers at the reception and the later
ones don't help you talk to the ladies. Inside the cab, though, it enables you to work up the nerve to talk to a person, a male at
that, who is much older than you and whose first language isn't even English. Yep, this is your life.
You ask the cabbie where he is from.
He tells you Bangladesh at which point you say, "Oh, nice," but actually think something that's a mix between wait, that's still
around? and that exists? Neither of your observations however acknowledge that Bangladesh has the eighth largest population
in the world.
It's 3am, you're buzzed, and you're chatting with a driver. Your American ego needs a massage so you ask him how he likes it
here. He gushes and specifically gushes about Atlantic City which makes him particularly positive and makes you question his
standards a bit.
As you pull up to your brothers place, you pay him while saying, "Listen, this is fascinating but I don't want to get in the way of
your next fare."
He shrugs.
At this point you're committed to converse with the driver only you don't know where to begin. In fact, for some reason, you think
Bangladesh might have elephants, but that's not entirely useful. So you say what you'd say to any foreign person, "So, you
guys...you like soccer over there?"
you're actually coming from a wedding. Sure, you had time to change after the event, but...ok, well, it might be a little
pretentious.
You're seated at your first table game. Blackjack. You want to buy in a little higher than normal because of the tux. You aren't
willing to lose that much, of course, but you want to show it. Surely enough, the table goes about as you had hoped. You lose a
little at first and then you win it back and you get as far away from that table as possible.
You do the same thing with roulette. All in all, you're pretty pleased with yourself. You've managed to not bankrupt yourself and
you look pretty snazzy doing it. That's when you realize it's not James Bond you look like. No, you look pretty much like a card
dealer.
So you bid farewell and hop into a cab to your brothers place a town away. The original beers at the reception and the later
ones don't help you talk to the ladies. Inside the cab, though, it enables you to work up the nerve to talk to a person, a male at
that, who is much older than you and whose first language isn't even English. Yep, this is your life.
You ask the cabbie where he is from.
He tells you Bangladesh at which point you say, "Oh, nice," but actually think something that's a mix between wait, that's still
around? and that exists? Neither of your observations however acknowledge that Bangladesh has the eighth largest population
in the world.
It's 3am, you're buzzed, and you're chatting with a driver. Your American ego needs a massage so you ask him how he likes it
here. He gushes and specifically gushes about Atlantic City which makes him particularly positive and makes you question his
standards a bit.
As you pull up to your brothers place, you pay him while saying, "Listen, this is fascinating but I don't want to get in the way of
your next fare."
He shrugs.
At this point you're committed to converse with the driver only you don't know where to begin. In fact, for some reason, you think
Bangladesh might have elephants, but that's not entirely useful. So you say what you'd say to any foreign person, "So, you
guys...you like soccer over there?"
Chapter Five: 1: Tahoe, 2: Cape May, 3: Cruise, 4: Seattle.