Since I was five years old, one of the greatest pleasures of my life has been to sit at the kitchen table almost every night before bed and have a bowl of cereal while reading. Because of the short time it takes to eat, some awkward dexterity requirements, and collateral damage from milk droplets, I found that it was not conducive to reading books in this manner (though I have certainly done so). I found that suitable reading material was similar in requirement to that perused while meeting another of our natural appointments. The “easily digestible” metaphor seems to lend itself almost too easily to resist, so there it is. Therefore, for the first ten years of this cereal-time experience, my reading material was exclusively the back of the cereal box itself and Marvel comic books.

However, at some point while I was an early teenager, probably through the influence of James Bond movies, I began to become interested in cars. So, my cereal-time reading material changed to car magazines and has largely remained so ever since. Simple arithmetic will show that I cannot possibly afford to keep a new car magazine propped-up in front of me every single night, even if there were that many available each month. This means that I read and re-read lots and lots of back-issues. Out of this familiarity with my back catalog has emerged a favorite issue. The November 1987 issue of Car and Driver magazine stands out as having featured an uncanny number of my all-time favorite cars all in a single regular issue.

I purchased this issue at the Sembach, AFB BX in West Germany, where I was stationed at the time. Despite the “Special Import Issue” title, it is a 160-page regular monthly issue, not a true special issue, like the “Road & Track Exotic Cars” series published around the same time.

Almost every page is special to me, causing sparks from cool car content and twinges of ordinary 80′s nostalgia. There, I haven’t even reached the contents page and I have come across a Pirelli ad featuring an UrM5, one of my all-time favorite cars. The Letters page features an almost full-page letter (all three columns) from a gentleman protesting a feature on Bernd Rosemeyer. The letter was written on behalf of Herr Rosemeyer’s widow and contains very interesting information about the famous Auto Union driver.

“The world has become a better place, thanks to the likes of the Audi Quattro Sport, the Ferrari GTO and F40, and the Porsche 959.”

The FYI section has some nice spy shots of the “King of the Hill” Corvette (the rare, Lotus-tuned ZR-1) and the restyled Lotus Esprit, another of my all-time favorites. “No word on whether the revised car can be driven underwater,” says C&D. There is also a preview of the Alfa Romeo 164, a car that I have always found handsome. The most interesting item to me though, is an article about Dr. Ferdinand Piëch planning to build an Audi hypercar. “The plan is to build a four-door sports-luxury automobile that will be to normal sedans as the Porsche 959 is to everyday sports cars. It will probably be powered by a twin-turbo version of the 32-valve, 3.6 liter V-8 that Audi is planning for it’s all-new 300 model, due in 1989.”

The first feature is a full five-page preview of the Ferrari F40. Despite only being a preview, the article is as detailed as a road test and features beautiful and detailed full-color photography of the supercar. “Wrap your reverie in artistic coachwork. Paint it red and let it blur.” Indeed. This feature alone is worth the magazine’s price of admission. But there is more to come. Oh so much more.

Next up we have a full road test of the E30 M3, another of my all-time favorite cars. All the full-page color money went to the F40, so with two exceptions, the M3 review suffers from bland b&w photography. Otherwise the review is well done and the editors fall all over themselves in praise of this car. “The M3 leaps through the corners like a cat, its feisty engine spinning and spitting until you snatch another gear or the rev limiter grabs it by the tail.” 80′s values are really apparent here as much of the article is devoted to exorcising the “yuppie” attachment to this BMW in particular. And, as with most other reviews in the magazine, a column-inch is devoted to the drag coefficient of the vehicle: 0.33 Cd, which as we find out later, is unimpressive by Audi and Honda standards.

The next article is a full review of the Toyota Celica All-Trac Turbo. While I can’t say that this is one of my favorite cars, I will say that this is a car that has always interested me. And why not? It is a 190 hp, turbocharged, four-wheel drive coupe. It’s also a Toyota. Could this be the answer to many of our dreams? Could this be…a dependable UrQuattro? C&D thinks so, calling it “a better Audi Turbo Quattro for fewer bucks.” Ouch. Still, my interest in this car, bolstered by this good review was enough for me to shop around for one once. Unfortunately, I found out that they (like older Audis) are rare in my area and they had held their value more than I had hoped (or could afford at the time). These days, I think they would make the good basis for an inexpensive AWD rallycross car.

Next we have the first real miss of the issue. A review of the Mitsubishi Galant Σ (Sigma). First of all, any car name that has me having to go to my character map utility in order to properly type the name, can’t possible reflect a well thought-out car. Is that a ONE-spoke steering wheel? The review claims that this is a decent car, but it suffers from the same cockpit techno-excess as the Isuzu Impulse and 300ZX Turbo Anniversary Edition. This is painful 80′s nostalgia.

Still less than halfway through the issue, we have a two-page “Driving Impression” review of the new Audi 80/90. “Although the Sahara is hardly an ideal environment for assessing a car’s capabilities, we did manage to learn a few things about the new Audis. They can run at redline all day long in temperatures of up to 127 degrees Fahrenheit without overheating.” Drag coefficient: 0.29 Cd for the 80, 0.30 Cd for the 90.

This is followed by a three-page, full-color “Driving Impression” review of the Honda CRX Si. Great car. Drag coefficient: 0.29 Cd for the HF, 0.30 Cd for the Si.

Only just now wading through the middle of the magazine and we have another two-page “Driving Impression” review, this time of the BMW 750iL. “Under its hood, however, lies a magnificent 5.0 liter V-12 – the first twelve-cylinder engine in a German production car since the demise of the Maybach Zeppelin in 1939.” This review is followed by three single-page impressions for the Mazda 929, the Toyota Corolla, and the beautiful, if unexciting, Mercedes-Benz 300CE.

The issue contains a “Charting the Changes” section, where all current import vehicles are listed with the changes for the model year. What is most noteworthy are all of the companies no longer importing to the US (or no longer in existence): Panther, Sterling, TVR, Citroen, Peugeot, Renault, Bitter, Merkur, Alfa Romeo, Bertone…and Yugo, among others.

Next is a feature article about vintage California Cadillacs…like I ever read this article knowing what follows.

How can they have held off until page 116? The sunglasses and sheepskin seat cover ads are just a few pages away. Can the full road test of the Porsche 959 really be buried behind a prancing horse and other such distractions (fine distractions, though they were)? Apparently so. But the shock of its position within the magazine is soon replaced by the shock of how much content is really in this magazine. It is the gift that keeps on giving.

“With rocket-sled acceleration and the highest top end we’ve ever measured, the 959 stands alone at the pinnacle of production-car performance.”

“If that sounds like hyperbole, how does a 0-to-60-mph time of 3.6 seconds strike you? The drill was to switch the 959′s programmable four-wheel-drive system into its locked setting, engage low gear, wind the engine to 7000 rpm, and drop the clutch. The result was a cloud of rubber dust from the four spinning Bridgestone RE71 gumballs, and a car that disappeared as if shot from a cannon.”

Whew. This is good 80′s nostalgia. Decades later and the 959 could still hold its own against the modern supercar. Having a full road test of probably my favorite car ever at a time when otherwise finding this information meant a trip to the library microfiche reader is truly priceless.

Let’s see here, a couple of short takes to finish things off. Here is one of the Shelby CSX and as a bonus, the Volkswagen Jetta GLI 16V. Less than two years after I bought this magazine, I would own the smaller version of that car – the Golf GTI 16V. Okay, here we go into the ad zone. C&D paraphernalia, radar detectors, an ad starring a girl in leg-warmers, the dubiously-named “Muf-Loc” (which is a locking cover for your tailpipe that supposedly keeps thieves from starting your car), an ad for Shokan that looks like it was made with an early dot-matrix printer, sunglasses, seat covers and…oh…my…God.

No way. No WAY! Just when I am tiring of the ads, just when I’m deciding not to turn to Patrick Bedard’s commentary on the last page, just when I’m about to lock this issue into a safety deposit box…I come across the “Sport” section. There, beginning with a stunning full-color photo, is a seven page article about Walter Röhrl’s record setting run to the top of Pikes Peak in the Audi S1!

The article was even written by Larry Griffin, who wrote one of the greatest articles I have ever read about the Audi quattro rally car. His writing for this article was almost equally as clever, “When they pounce up the heights, they annihilate the quiet. The fastest Open Rally cars are demonically, hideously fast. More than ever you regard performance as a relative thing. If Einstein could see Vatanen and Röhrl apply the sciences of turbocharging and aerodynamics and four-wheel drive, he would clap like a kid and rewrite his theory of relativity to allow for such pluperfect aberrations.”

Griffin’s interview with Röhrl also turns up some items of interest for the technoweenies, “Last year, Unser demonstrated the thrilling effect of a toggle switch on the dash. Audi remains reluctant to discuss the particulars, but Walter confirms that, as rumored, the switch kicks in a jet of compressed air that keeps the turbo singing even when the throttle is closed.” Walter goes on to amputate Bobby Unser’s previous record (also set in an S1) by eight seconds.

By the end of the article, I’m spent. This issue of Car and Driver is for sale for one meellion dollars (or you can probably find it sans milk spots on eBay for $5). It comes with my highest recommendation and with the hope that Car and Driver can rebuild itself and reclaim its former glory.

jimmy

Happy Halloween! As a way of celebrating (lame excuse), I have decided to review one of my favorite breakfast cereals from my childhood – Franken Berry. I say from my childhood because like many middle-aged people, I have long graduated from colorful, sugary kid cereals to sober, unsweetened mixtures of granola, whole grains, and tree bark. I had a brief dalliance with sweet cereals not specifically marketed to kids (Honey Nut Cheerios, Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and Frosted Mini-Wheats come to mind), but I knew I wasn’t fooling anyone and so continued my grim march into hostile fields of fiber until I now find myself at the end of the line, eating a cereal that could only be for medicinal purposes – Grape Nuts. Next stop Colon Blow.

But, we of Generation X were born into a better time – the golden age of kid cereals. Kid cereals owned the cereal aisle. There were seemingly hundreds of cereals for kids and only Corn Flakes or Cheerios for the grown-ups. That’s it. It was also an honest time when the cereal manufacturers could just describe their product as it really was – brightly colored, 100% pure crack cocaine sugar. And when Sugar Bear couldn’t push enough of his Sugar Crisp cereal, he changed the name to Super Sugar Crisp. General Mills’ Monster Cereal commercials had Franken Berry (Franken Berry’s monster?) and Count Chocula arguing over who had the “world’s super sugar cereal.” We went wild! And by wild, I mean we got ADHD.

Now Super Sugar Crisp has become Super Golden Crisp, Sugar Corn Pops has become just Corn Pops, the Franken Berry box is covered with nutritional information (more on this later), and kid cereals fight for shelf space against a staggering variety of organic, sugar-free, gluten-free, heart-healthy, go-lean cereals. Of course, the ubiquitous prize in every box has all but disappeared.

Speaking of disappearing, Franken Berry is so rare that it is often thought to be discontinued, but it is still available in a few limited markets, directly from General Mills and of course, from Amazon. Wal-Mart and Target carry Franken Berry during the Halloween season and that was how I stumbled upon a box recently and decided to revisit my old friend.

The Box

The box has gone through some changes, since the cereal’s introduction in 1971. The changes have been mostly subtle with the front of the box usually featuring the goofy-looking Franken Berry’s monster eating or preparing to eat some cereal. However, in the mid-90′s, the monster got a terrible makeover. His skin was no longer pink, his metal eye sockets became flesh colored, and the box showed him levitating the cereal’s marshmallows using electricity or magic. The monster lost his goofy charm and instead, looked like he was high on his own supply.

The current box is better and goes back to a more lovable, cartoonish character, although the predominant color of the box is purple and there is no picture of the cereal. If you didn’t know any better, you might think you are going to get blackberry cereal.

The Cereal

The cereal itself has undergone some changes over the years, too. The cereal is a strawberry flavor, frosted grain cereal with strawberry flavor marshmallows. Originally, the cereal had a generic wagon wheel shape (shared with other cereals), the marshmallow bits were really tiny, and everything was strawberry pink. Early on, there was an emergency reformulation using a different red dye, after it was discovered that the original dye did not break-down in the body and resulted in what medical literature refers to as “Franken Berry Stool.” Use your imagination. This was so horrible and startling to parents that it ended-up in one of Stephen King’s books.

In the 80′s, the cereal became ghost shaped and thankfully, the marshmallows got bigger, but they did not get their own scary shape. In the 90′s, the marshmallows finally got scary shapes (ghosts, bats, etc.), but they also got new colors. New colors?

Part of the excellence of this cereal was its pure visual commitment to its strawberry flavor. The cereal was strawberry pink, the marshmallows were strawberry pink, and when you were done, the milk was strawberry pink. Now there are colored marshmallows, which is just lazy and derivative of Lucky Charms, even if the taste has been unaffected.

Nutrition

Wait, why would I even bother to talk about nutrition in this review? For starters, part of this review is comparing and contrasting what I used to eat, with what I currently eat. Secondly, it’s hard to avoid, since the box is covered with nutritional information. So, I did a quick comparison chart and…hello…what’s this?

Okay, I’m not a nutritionist, so I will let those facts stand on their own. However, there is a fact that the numbers don’t show. I can eat a bowl of Grape-Nuts and feel full. But Franken Berry is very light (it’s a puffed grain cereal), so I kept reaching for the box again and again in order to eat enough to feel full. That Franken Berry serving size isn’t likely to be realistic for me. Your mileage may vary.

The Experience

I have already mentioned some of my initial impressions – I don’t remember the cereal being such a vibrant, deep red color and of course, I was disappointment with the colored marshmallows. I conducted a separate, blind taste test and determined that marshmallows of different colors still tasted the same. The consistency of the marshmallows was firm, rather like that of tiny, foam packing peanuts, instead of the soft, spongy texture of full-sized marshmallows. In my experience, this is the case with all marshmallows found in breakfast cereals and I do not fault this standard.

As I mentioned before, mouth-feel is light, but this is definitely a cereal that will tear-up your palate. Another surprise was that the sweetness of the cereal did not shock me. I wasn’t sure that I would be able to even get through a single bowl. Not only do I not have quite the sweet tooth that many people have, but I actually went on a sugar fast earlier this year. For whatever reason, the sweetness wasn’t a problem and I have…er, gone through three boxes of Franken Berry while doing research for this review. (God, I hope Dee isn’t reading this.)

As for the taste, there is no complexity whatsoever. It is pure, artificial Strawberry flavor all the way through and honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way. A sick part of me wonders if I could construct a grown-up version of Franken Berry using one of those healthy cereals coupled with fresh strawberries and homemade marshmallows, but what would be the point? I complained earlier that there were no more prizes at the bottom of the box, but if you eat Franken Berry, there is a prize in the bottom of the bowl. Would an organic version of Franken Berry have such a prize? Could you look down after having eaten your fill and see that there was still half a bowl of rich, pink, strawberry milk left to drink? To me, even this prize alone was worth waiting for. See you next year, Franken Berry.

jimmy

I have never thought this was a particularly good write-up, but it is simply a direct transcription of my diary, except for minor editing (grammar, clarity), or where there have been gross omissions, such as our foray into Tijuana and our encounter with a tornado. Yes, somehow I forgot the tornado. Maybe Charles can help me remember more details about the trip.

Road Trip: Monterrey, California, August 7-15, 1991

San Antonio, TX – Ft. Stockton, TX

My friend Charles Braden, who was living in Houston at the time, met me at the entrance of the San Antonio International Airport sometime around 11pm on Wednesday, August 7, 1991. He was riding his Honda VFR700 Interceptor. I had just ridden down from Austin on my smaller ’84 Honda VF500F Interceptor. We met in San Antonio to catch I-10 West, which would take us all the way to California and our friends Rob and Michelle, who were living in Monterrey. Despite already being tired from an ordinary day, the excitement of finally setting out on our long-planned trip kept us riding until 5am, when we finally had to stop just outside of Ft. Stockton for some sleep.

Our first campsite located just outside of Ft. Stockton. The night we stopped was beautiful. It was so dark that the Milky Way could easily be seen and the light from our flashlights made visible beams into the distance. We were so tired that the rocky ground didn’t bother us at all. We probably could have done without a tent and even sleeping bags. However, the Sheriff that told us we were on private property the next morning DID bother us, so we left.

West Texas – The Tornado

August in Texas is no picnic. It was easily 100 F degrees in the shade every day that we rode. Unfortunately, we weren’t in the shade. We were also sitting behind running engines all day, with our feet resting just above burning hot exhausts. It was hot, get it?

Anyway, somewhere deep in West Texas, we found some relief in the occasional flash rainstorm. These storms would literally appear out of nowhere, unload on us, and then they were gone. One storm that we were coming upon looked particularly ominous. The sky above us was bright sunny and clear, but in the very near distance, perhaps just a couple of miles ahead (less than two minutes), we could see a sky as black as night. We could also see the WALL of water pouring from the sky. It was one of the strangest things I had ever seen. In a split second, I went from hot and dry, to riding through the water wall and into cold gusting winds blasting us with sand. Visibility went to very bad, but we pressed on. Just ahead, we could see an overpass. We pulled in underneath and found a couple of other cyclists. We thought it would blow over quickly, so we just sat on the bikes.

In an instant the wind and rain picked up to an incredible level. Then the hail started. It was deafening. I had just a moment to make a last nervous joke to Charles and I yelled to him at the top of my lungs, “We’re all going to die!” A split second after that it turned worse and I realized it was no joking matter. We could hear the freight train sound and we were bent over our bikes (like so many of our top speed tests) clutching onto the bikes for dear life. For a second, there was a reprieve and we ran up to the uppermost corner of the underpass. We could see big parts of trees and other debris flying through the underpass. A minute later it was gone. We never actually saw the funnel, but it was there. We spent some time collecting ourselves and after some delay, got back on the road.

Tucson, AZ and the Jacket Incident

We stayed in Tucson that night in the worst fleabag motel we could find – The Dreamland Motel (the Vista Del Sol was full), for $18. The next morning, we had breakfast at the best diner I have ever been to. Talk about a slice of America, I thought “Mel” (Vic Tayback, R.I.P.) was going to walk out of the kitchen at any time. I made the above notes while eating the “Hungry Jack” breakfast.

So there we were, somewhere in Arizona, minding our own business and going 120 mph. I was drafting Charles, trying to raise my top speed record, which stood at 124 mph (set the previous day). All of a sudden, my beautiful new Harley-Davidson jacket, which was strapped onto my seat, was sucked behind my bike where it was then picked up by the rear wheel and pulled into the bike. It looked like this:

This put me into a skid. A fast one. I somehow managed to keep from dropping the bike, pulled over, and leapt from the bike thinking it might be on fire (burning rubber and leather creates a lot of smoke). Imagine my surprise at seeing the culprit. The end results weren’t so bad: a nice adrenaline rush, a seriously worn tire, and an ordinary jacket transformed into a battered, melted and torn Mad Max™ jacket! Cool!

Jimmy’s Top Tip: Don’t try this at home.

The skid mark begins where Charles is standing – 495 feet!

San Diego, CA – Tijuana, Mexico

In trying to maintain the $18 nightly room rate we had found on the Interstate, we ended up in the seediest part of San Diego. It was so bad, that when we were checking into the hotel, the clerk slid a form to me from under his caged window. “What’s this?” I asked. “It says that you aren’t a hooker and nobody you bring to your room is a hooker,” he said. Classy.

Since we were already wading in the cesspool, we figured why not just dive all the way in and we headed for Tijuana. We parked and walked across the border. Back in Laredo, I was used to being able to just walk across the border and plop myself down at the Cadillac Bar without too much trouble, but in Tijuana you actually have to take a cab into town. We got downtown and started looking around. This place made Laredo look like Tuscany. It was filthy nasty. It didn’t help that it was practically abandoned. We went into a two-story discothèque and we were literally the only customers. We were too tired to look very hard for the right place to be, so we just parked it and ordered a drink. Charles ordered some kind of popper and the funny thing was the bartender came out to our table and played it up as if the place was packed. He yanked Charles’ head back poured some shots in his mouth, grabbed his head and shook it up while another bartender stood by and cheered him on. I’m sitting there looking around an empty room and thinking what the hell is this guy doing?

Los Angeles, CA

Los Angeles. La-La Land. Whatever. We didn’t even bother seeing the city. It would take at least a week to begin to see all there is, so we decided to see one small part. While stuck in traffic, we asked this guy where they had filmed the race scenes in the movie “Against All Odds.” Without missing a beat, he gave us precise directions and even helped us find the right road to turn on (it wasn’t far off), so we spent the next four hours racing through the canyons on Mulholland Drive. It was great fun!

Monterrey, CA – Rob and Michelle

We finally arrived in Monterrey and rode up to Rob and Michelle’s apartment. It was finally time for the big surprise. I knocked on the door and Rob answered. He was completely and totally…unsurprised. It seems that my overly-concerned grandmother called ahead, asked for me, and then rang off when they said I wasn’t there. They put two and two together and Rob went out for some beer so we would have something to drink when we got in.

Anyway, we spent some time catching up and then we went out for a nice dinner in Carmel. We stopped by Clint Eastwood’s restaurant on the off chance he would be there, but no such luck. So we went back to Rob and Michelle’s place and stayed up late drinking. The next morning, we realized that we hadn’t taken any photos from the previous night, so Michelle and I “fake partied” for the camera.

Later that morning we headed back south to LA, where we would turn west and finally head home.

Los Angeles, CA – Charles’ Bad Day

As usual, we were traveling at a high rate of speed when Charles passed a CHP truck. The trooper pulled him over and told him that if he had noticed him and slowed down, he wouldn’t have done anything. But Charles somehow didn’t notice that the truck was black and white, had lights in the window, and oh yeah, had “STATE TROOPER” written across the back. Duh. Anyway, the trooper was very nice and we were soon on our way. Considering all we had done up until now, the fact that this was the first ticket of the trip was fairly miraculous.

We rode well for most of the day. Around dusk, we skirted LA and as we moved away from town, we encountered a lot of traffic. So, we started doing something that is common out here. It’s called “white lining.” Motorcycles ride between cars in heavy traffic or in traffic jams. Most of the cars are respectful of the practice.

Anyway, Charles and I were moving through traffic at our usual speeds of about 100 mph when we almost passed another CHP patrol car on the side of the road. Charles, who was a little in front of me, hit his brakes, locked his front wheel and went down hard. For a split second, I thought I might hit him, but I managed to avoid him and pull over quickly. As I got off the bike and ran back to Charles, I remember being completely calm. Then I saw Charles walking around, though he was favoring his hand was obviously in excruciating pain. But, I knew he must be alright.

A very nice young couple pulled over and helped. The guy helped me pick up the bike and roll it off the road, while his pregnant wife helped Charles take his helmet off and wrap his hands. These people were very kind. They even told the cops that we weren’t speeding. The bike’s magnesium crankcase cover broke and spilled all of the oil. Other than that, it appears that the turn signal and fairing are the only other things damaged. The bike was towed to the wrecker company and tomorrow morning, they will take it to the local Honda dealer.

Tonight, Chas and I are staying at a truck stop motel. We will learn tomorrow what’s going to happen as far as getting Charles home. It all depends on whether they can fix his bike quickly or not. I can’t believe Charles topped my jacket incident on this trip.

Self-portrait on the night of Charles’ accident:

God, I look young and tired. The next day I got on my bike and rode 26 hours straight to get back home. Seriously, I’m not sure that I was sane back then.

jimmy

I was off today, so I have spent quite a lot of time cleaning out my office. I thought it might be fun and/or frightening to share some of the random things that I have found.

My packet from NASDA

Sometime around 1998, I stumbled upon a poetry contest that was sponsored by the National Space Development Agency of Japan (NASDA), which used to be one of Japan’s national aerospace agencies. I can’t remember the details of the contest. I think the poem was to be read in space or something. Anyway, I like space and stuff, so I entered the contest. It was pretty easy, because all the contestants had to do was complete a poem that was already started and we only had to write two lines of seven syllables each. Here is my poem (my lines are italicized):

Turn space somersaults
as many as you like
That is weightlessness
My spirit alone at last
My body unencumbered

I think I should have written your instead of my. Anyway, I didn’t win, but NASDA sent me a packet with a photo of the astronaut who was going to read the poem and a bunch of other stuff that I don’t understand because it is all in Japanese. One page is clearly the finalists and their entries, but it is also in Japanese, so I can’t make fun of the winners. There is only one English entry on that sheet, but my poem is way better than his. I’m not bitter, though.

My first time on the Internet

This is even better. My team is going to get a huge kick out of this. I haven’t said anything about this, but I actually have a new role at church and I no longer handle the sound reinforcement or any other production technology for that matter. However, my very last act as Production Ministries Leader was to work with a consultant to plan and budget for the installation of acoustic treatment in our main event center. Well, I found some printouts (yes, dot-matrix printouts) of my very first sessions on the Internets, which I had access to when I worked for AT&T after separating from the Air Force. It was May of 1988 and I was hanging-out in rec.audio learning about…acoustic treatment. The company referenced above is still in business. They didn’t have a website because, you know, the web hadn’t been invented yet.

My ticket to stardom? Not exactly.

This is my pay stub from when I was an extra on The Underneath – possibly the only Steven Soderberg movie that did not find any commercial success whatsoever. It also looks like I only made about $50. So, I wasn’t discovered on the set, I didn’t get a SAG card, and I didn’t make much money – why keep the pay stub? I’ll tell you. This pay stub proves that I was in the movie (although I’m guessing it would take a forensic scientist examining the film frame by frame to find me). Anyway, I was in the movie with Elisabeth Shue, who would later star in Hollow Man…with Kevin Bacon. And that dear friends gives her a Bacon Number of 1 and me a coveted Bacon Number of 2. Yes!

Don’t know what I’m talking about? Look here.

Okay, I’m doing more blogging than cleaning, so I’m going to quit now. I still have to write my movie review, I have to work this weekend, and I have to start getting ready for my road trip with Charles next week. More on that later.

jimmy