A View From a Booth

Writing and voiceover acting complement each other beautifully. As an audiobook narrator, I get to read many different types of work, from children's books, to nonfiction histories, to adult novels. I'm not the first person to say it, of course, but reading is vitally important to better writing. 

Likewise, as a writer—particularly a writer of fiction—it's imperative to listen to the way people talk to be able to create effective dialogue. As such, I have a habit of eavesdropping on conversations to try to capture people's rhythm, style, accents, and speech patterns—and also to get ideas for juicy things for my characters to say.

Like this, overheard in the bodega across the street from my house:

So, she wakes my ass up yesterday morning and says to get downtown with my makeup kit, and I think, ok, cool, she's finally got me a real fashion job this time, you know what I’m saying? So, I go to the address the bitch gave me, and it’s a got-damn MORTUARY! They wanted me to work on a corpse, you know what I’m saying? And I said 'No damn way! I thought you wanted me to make up SOMEbody, not a DEAD body!'

I haven't used it yet, but it sure is delicious, not only as a funny story, but for its rhythm and choice of words.

Perhaps my favorite place to eavesdrop is at my local Greek diner, where there is a constant stream of conversation in the booths around me. As the place gets more and more crowded, people get louder and louder, so it's impossible not to overhear their private conversations even if you wanted to. Like this exchange between a couple of teenagers who attend the nearby high school:

GIRL A: You running for Prom Queen?
GIRL B: I don’t know. I don’t want to run and then not win. That would ruin prom night.
GIRL A: You find out beforehand whether you won or not.
GIRL B: Oh, well, maybe I’ll run then.
GIRL A: Don’t bother. ’Cause I’m running and I’m gonna win.

I love the Greek diner for it's other charms as well. Even though they have terrible coffee and no free Wi-Fi like the local hipster hangouts, I like it because everyone is related here—father, mother, aunts, children, nephews, nieces, cousins—it’s definitely My Big Fat Greek Diner.

I like it here because they squabble with each other sometimes, as families do, getting all testy and bitchy in their gorgeous language, which I do not understand, of course. I like it because they work hard, are down to earth, kind and genuine and sweet, and treat my wife, daughter, and me as part of their extended family (although I haven’t yet been bitched at in Greek). And I like it here because they have the California Omelet, which is pretty dang yummy.

I have been known to spend all morning working at the diner, usually in the back booth where there is a power outlet. They bring me too many cups of their terrible coffee and let me take my time before ordering. They allow me to spend all day there if I want to, and make me feel comfortable and nurtured and not lonely, like I can sometimes be in my solitary man-cave of an office at home.

I also like it because they have a cheap boom box wrapped in plastic sitting atop a Pepsi brand glass door fridge, its radio loudly and stubbornly tuned to WCBS-FM, NY’s Greatest Hits! One day, after hours of working and listening, I suddenly realized that I knew every song they played.

Every. Single. One.

Admittedly, as a kind of classic rock station, almost all the music is from the 60s, 70s, and 80s, the sweet spot of my musical listening years, growing up along the beach road, SR A1A, in my hometown in Florida. That gives the music a cozy and familiar feeling, but I have to admit that after a while it begins to grate on these middle-aged ears.

So, when it gets to be too much, I pop in my noise cancelling ear buds and listen instead to Ali Farka Touré (a great Malian singer and guitarist whose music is the historical ancestor to American blues). Or to Benga, a popular Kenyan style of story song (I have a thing for African music). Or, mostly, to jazz, my work music of choice.

This morning, however, I decided to stick with WCBS and whatever their playlist had in store. Within the very first half hour, they played two Steve Miller Band songs: “Abracadabra” and “Take The Money And Run.” Now, I love Steve Miller, always have, and mine is not the first flag planted on this subject, but I was struck anew by what a crappy lyricist he is. Who cares, when you’re listening to those great, catchy melodies, right? Still, it seems that for Steve Miller no rhyme is too far to slant. 

Abra-abra-cadabra
I want to reach out and grab ya

Yikes. That’s bad, but not as bad as this from “Take The Money And Run”:

Billy Mack is a detective down in Texas
You know he knows just exactly what the facts is

Not sure which is worse, the rhyme or the grammar. I suppose you could justify the latter with the argument that Billy Mack is a Texan and that’s how some hick detective from a small town would talk. I begrudgingly accept that explanation. But it still doesn’t excuse the rhyme. Just awful.

And then, of course, there’s “The Joker.” Though there aren’t any nasty rhyme violations, Stevie boy does give us: 

Some people call me the space cowboy.
Yeah! Some call me the gangster of love.
Some people call me Maurice,
’Cause I speak of the pompatus of love.

The word pompatus has had quite a few people scratching their heads over the years. Sounds to me like one of Bill Cosby’s old nonsense words: “I’m gonna get me some raggetts and some rolls and some greasimessin’ with the pompatus!” Turns out, though, that pompatus is an actual Latin word meaning “done with pomp or splendor.” Not sure Steve is using it correctly, but at least it’s a word. And kudos for the classical reference!

I suppose Steve Miller’s lyrics are not the point. Even though the bad ones stand out to me, it’s the fun, party rhythms and relaxed, easy guitars that make us happy when we hear his songs. I feel like I could, in fact, “Fly Like an Eagle” when I listen to the soaring synthesizer in that tune. And I get a contact high from the perfect harmonies in “Jet Airliner.” 

Speaking of highs, “The Joker” has a great line:

I’m a joker, I’m a smoker, I’m a midnight toker

Indeed, the song's reputation for being a kind of dope-smoking anthem caused Spin magazine to name “The Joker” as the most commercially successful pot song of all time. Awesome, dude!

Oops, hang on, they just started playing Stevie Wonder and Paul McCartney singing “Ebony and Ivory.” Love them, too. But the song? Time to pop in the headphones. 

Duke Ellington, here I come!