The 90s, part 2: 1992-93

    Recently (like YESTERDAY) I wrote a piece about the very early 90s as it related to me. Through that, I made a pretty startling...and cathartic...discovery: I had my first real bout of depression a lot sooner than I thought I had...and it didn't end at the end of that piece, it continued for a time after that. The nice thing is, having that realization relieved a certain weight from my inner core.

   Continuing on into the next two years, I see the continuing trend...and where there was a definite change.

1992

   This year got its true start once I returned to West Virginia University after Christmas break. I had pretty much said goodbye to my life in Pennsylvania during that time. Three weeks is hardly enough time to make that kind of closure but it was all I had...and apparently it was not enough. If I wasn't into my classes much in the fall semester, I was into them even less this time around. I do believe the main reason was that...quite frankly I did not want to be there.

   Going with my parents across the country to San Diego wasn't precisely a fun prospect, either, and the semster and room and board were already paid for, so I sucked it up. One thing I got out of the way was moving into a new dorm, hoping to get a bit more peace. My roommate Charles was a decent guy, it was the rest of the floor for the most part that jsut wanted to party all the time...that just wasn't me.

   I moved into a new building, into a room with a good guy named David Hannibal in mid January. It was truly a better environment. My classes were poetry/drama, a self paced psychology course, some nighttime SPanish course that I dropped fairly fast, and English 2 (aka English 101). I put forth due effort in all, and my grades were fairly acceptable considering my lack of full diligence. I knew San Diego was on the horizon, and it was an uncertain future. I continued to hang with my new friend Craig Caes and the guys on his floor. It helped to pass the time. We  as a group went to church on Sundays and generally ate meals together. My sort-of interest Julie was in one of my classes and I pursued, but alas she was involved so no go there.

   In early April I flew out to San Diego for Spring Break. It was quite different from what I expected...well, I was not sure what I expected exactly, but mountainous terrain wasn't what I had envisioned. Of course I thought of constant beaches, but that's generally what people consider when San Diego comes to mind, right? My parents had bought a house but it wasn't ready yet os they were in an apartment near San Diego State University. It was pretty much an "entertain Bryan and put on happy faces" week...in other words, quite sohrt of real life. We went out to eat a lot,  saw movies, saw a comedy show at the Improv, and drove around the entire San Diego area a lot. The weather was quite pleasant as well, mostly sunny the entire time  was there. It was sad to go at the end, but a sample is  just a sample. Coming back to WVU that Sunday was a definite reality check...cold and snowy!

   Another getaway from campus was during Easter weekend (in college, Easter and Spring break are not always the same period) when I went home with Craig to Canton. He had a pretty nice family, including a dad named Clyde who was a retired pastor. I distinctly remember him reading a Bible verse to us before Craig and I headed out to breakfast...my kind of guy! I also remember getting up early for sunrise service on Easter...same day, we headed home.

   The rest of the weeks were filled with an almost nightly littany of people pulling the fire alarm in the middle of the night then sneaking into hopefully unlocked doors to steal things fro other students. My room was a victim to that. Luckily my plane ticket to San Diego wasn't taken but Dave's books were and it was finals week!

   And then in mid May, the brief West Virginia period was done. I had shipped a lot of my things to San Diego ahead of my departure...at a lot of expense! I arrived in San Diego on a typical gray gloom day, just in time for Mother's Day weekend. A week later, my dad and I enjoyed the final Johnny Carson show together.

   With that began quite a long period of ennui. I didn't know anybody besides my parents and Aunt Terry and cousin Erica. I had no residency established yet so I slept in a lot and my mom and I went to the local mall often, just to pass the time. In mid summer, we both took extension courses at UCSD...me in screenwriting and my mom in paralegal. It was a good way to stay occupied for a time. We were also recruited by my aunt to work for Ticketmaster at the baseball fanfest at the convention center...a pretty easy $300. At the same convention center I also attended the famous ComiCon for a day...quite an experience! The same day we went to see George Carlin at Shelter Island.

   My sister Kristin had joined the Navy earlier in the year and during the summer was stationed at China Lake up in Ridgecrest. My dad and I drove her up there in the desert. Soon after, he and I took a trip to Pennsylvania, rented a truck, grabbed her things from her ex boyfriend Chaz's house (including a heavy ass pottery wheel and 50 pound hunk of clay), then drove down to North Carolina to get her car from her new fiancé Billy Bob. We then took a nice long transcontinental trek back to San Diego, seeing a lot of great county along the way,the best part being the Rockies.

   All of that, while fun, was also a lot of time-passing. I was getting sick of it, and thinking back on it, it really wasn't helping the depression much. One last lift of activity was meeting my aunt's fiancé Pekka Taipale, a very nice Finn,  and participating in their wedding...as an usher again. My parents had also gottne me a car, a 1987 Dodge Colt. Not long after getting it,the thing needed new brakes! Ah, used cars.

   Afterward, it was time for some job seeking. That was quite a low period morale-wise. The first job,so to speak, was learning the art of selling high-end vacuums. Two weeks of that taught me I was no salesman. I then delivered nifty nickel papers to homes for a few weeks, then went to work for  a new pre-Costco Price Club as one of the demonstraters. That lasted a few weeks but at least earned me some good money. I looked for a few other jobs but not much was panning out as the holidays approached. During this period we briefly met my sister's soon to be ex-fiancé Billy Bob as we met her new fiancé Mike at Terry's wedding. 

   Thanksgiving was spent at Terry and Pekka's apartment. There I got my cousin Erica to sell me her Nintendo. My folks weren't too fond of that but I at least had something to occupy my time since the job thing wasn't happening.

   My 20th birthday wasn't much to speak of. I was at a pretty low point...lonely and unemployed. My mom had finally found employment at the library of National University,but that wouldn't begin until January. In the meantime she took a position at Robinson's-May working the jewelry counter at the El Camino Plaza mall in Carlsbad.

   Christmas Eve was spent with Pekka's family and I was starting to feel a bit ill. Turns out I was coming down with pneumonia, a nice way to enjoy the holidays...not!

   So endeth 1992...the last year of complete hell...for a while at least!

1993

   Soon after the pneumonia left me, my folks got me into a weekend course of learning Spanish over the course of a few weeks...it was something! After that, plans for my sister's wedding in Ridgecrest were under way...and I was trying to stay OUT of the way. Nothing for me to do but tag along...as usual. Ridgecrest was quite cold and wintry in February. The wedding went well and all was good...until we got home. 

   We had boarded our aging dog Mac in town while we were in Ridgecrest, and had forgotten to pack his special diet food. Their food did not do him any favors and his system could not handle it. Just a few days after bringing him home, MacTavish Moore passed away. We had this beloved family member for only a little over 10 years. We buried him in our backyar dand created a nice wodden tombstone for him.

   In the meantime, we learned my sister was pregnant. Fast work! I distinctly recall a fight between my mom and dad about it...one of many to come.

   Soon after my Spanish course was done, I took a job putting together a dollar store in nearby Rancho Bernardo. That was some more decent pocket money. After all the putting together work and one actual day of working at the open store, they cut back to necessary personnel...of which I wasn't. Ah well, another brief job gone.

   And then...my year of residency in California was soon established! That meant...BACK TO SCHOOL!

   That meant something else as well...a three-year long depression was coming to an end at last! I enrolled in a full set of summer courses at Miramar College, part of the San Diego city college system. This was much more up my alley than West Virginia was! A daily commute of about 6 miles and back every day was easy. A summer semester is truly intense, even at a community college, but it was what my soul needed. I was getting out of the house, studying, working with others...and generally feeling pretty good about myself.

   In that semester I took an anthropology course, algebra (remember that D from WVU? It necessitated this back to the drawing board come-uppance!), ancient history, and some good ol tennis for physical activity. I was feeling GREAT AT LAST!!! That semester ended with me getting a solid 3.6 GPA, a shitload higher than my 2 point whatever at WVU! A shitty year doing a lot of nothing had given me motivation to succeed.

   With the bad feelings out of me, I decided on another change...letting my hair grow out in back. Mulelt time!

   During this time I began researching some colleges in the state, for community college goes only so far. On Labor  Day weekend, my folks and I traveled to three colleges: Sonoma State, Chico State, and as an afterthought, Fresno State on the way back. Sonoma State won me over immediately with its small town feel. I just knew it was the place for me, so work began to get me there. First I had more coursework to do.

   In the fall I took an English course, a U.S. history course, a speech class, another stupid algebra class, and probably another class I can't remember...or not. At any rate, I was keeping busy. My parents allotted me $20 a week for gas and whatever. One neat place I found was the Quik Wok not far form our house. I fell in love with their garlic chicken and began coming there regularly to have more of that lunch special!

   Now,there was a special present I wanted for Christmas and it really didn't matter if I got nothing else: a trip by myself to Pennsylvania. I really did not care if I received nothing else. 

   In November I traveled with Terry, Pekka, and Erica to my Grandma and Bob's house in the Phoenix area for Thanksgiving. That was a pretty nice trip, I got to see my grandma's sisters and nephew. While we were there my sister gave birth to Ian Michael Slater. He had a few difficulties at first but then pulled through nicely. After returning to San Diego, I went with my dad to Ridgecrest to pick my mom up. 

   Soon after, I celebrated my 21st birthday. Not exactly an ideal 21st of debauchery, but it was a helluva lot better than the previous one! I received my Moore family ring, a 3D map of California, and the radio drama of The Empire Strikes Back.

   Around Christmas, I was noticing more and more tension around the Moore household. My dad was getting moodier and moodier all the time, and sometimes picking fights with people, menaing me and/or my mom. I had elected to spend Christmas Eve with Terry, Pekka, and his family...a much calmer and merry environment. 

   The mullet was finally taking good form!

   A day after Christmas, I headed to Pennsylvania with a little pocket money for the trip. I came into the Reading Aiport and was met by my friend Tris and his teen brother Trevor. We ate at the airport restaurant then began a pretty fun week of getting together with old friends. New Year's Eve was the highlight. We hung at Rick Klingaman's house with several old Wilson faces. It was at this party that I was introduced to Denis Leary and the Jerky Boys...big comedy names of the 90s! It was great seeing Derek, Zach, Jeremy, and even the Kirkners. Even after Tris's mom returned form a trip we were still having a lot of fun. 

   Just being back in Pennsylvania was a great feeling. I had looked forward to it for so long that I didn't want it to end...due to a snowstorm I was granted an extra day. Alas, all good things must come to an end, even vacations. But that was ok...1994 was getting off to a great start!

   

The 90s, part 1: 1990-91

    Back in the summer, I did a review of one of the greatest decades I can remember: the 1980s! Actually I did the 70s as well, though my memories of that decade get fainter as times goes on, so the entries were not as detailed. 

   In short, the 80s were spectacular because that was quite a period of growth...I was growing, after all, physically and emotionally. I also met probably the greatest number of people in those years than any other, many of whom I maintain at least a social media connection with to this day.

   Now we come to the 90s, which were, to put it mildly, CHAOTIC! In terms of residences alone, the 80s contained 3, excluding a few nights hotel stay in November 1980 while waiting for our things to arrive at a rental house. In the 1990s, I was in 2 houses, 3 dorms, and 3 apartments...actually 4 apartments if counting the many nights I spent at my mom's place...but that comes later! For now it is time to close out the Pennsylvania period of my life with...1990 to 1991...actually I will toss in a short burst of 1992 as it fits the theme.

1990

   I was starting the second half (roughly) of 11th grade. Also I was getting more and more into the church I and my family had begin attending. I was enjoying the services led by the quite tall Reverend Bill Miller and his henchman, er...assistant pastor Tom Johnston.Tom actually ran a lot of the youth activities including the monthly snack n yaks (bulimic conventions they were not). The church had a lot of remaining Christmas holiday activities going even after we were back in school, including a 50s dance. 

   There was a girl I really liked at the time (quite a 1-sided situation) whom I got to dance with on that occasion and I think that got a few notions going in my head that I didn't really research before proceeding, absolute nerd that I was. Come Valentine's Day I proceeded to take advantage of the school carnation sales and send her a quite affectionate message she couldn't reciprocate...she let me down quite nicely, but I had built up a LOT in my head...kind of like betting a lot of money on an uncertain poker hand. As a result my heart felt quite busted and it really was all on me. I continued to like her for quite a while, though I didn't make as much of an ass of myself in future occasions both church and school...the key words being "as much". This is ME, after all!

   The rest of that school year was proving to be a downer for me both because of that situation and separate from it. My school work was not the best I could put out, especially in terms of a research paper in English class. My journalism teacher was really seeing my bad moods and referred me to some special counseling...the real problem was I needed to get my head out of my ass, straighten up and fly right. Eventually I got the grades back to a decent place and ended the year on a good note.

   On a separate note, my friend of 10 years, Jeremy Bitz, had been having headaches for quite some time and was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor. It was a shock to us all, I distinctly remember the church service where Reverend Miller told everyone and got choked up...actually it did not take much to get Reverend Miller choked up both negatively or positively. However, Jeremy and his family were a strong unit and one diagnosis wasn't going to get them down. He got a second opinion and that one indicated the tumor was benign and could be treated. By golly it was and after a successful surgery, he was good as new!

   In May I also got my braces off at last!

   One thing I was starting to do more was ride my bike on longer jaunts. No longer was it in just Whitfield and Drexelwood, I was riding up into Gring's Mill and on the path to Reber Bridge and then back, and finally Lower Heidelberg as summer dawned. On one particularly nice early summer morning, my buddy Derek and I took a ride up State Hill Road. That could be a dangerous road a ttimes, especially as Pennsylvania was not known for bike lanes on rural byways. One car came aroudn a bend pretty fast and he had to swerve pretty quick to avoid it...as a result his bike tire blew. We tried a few places to see if it would pump up but the tire was dead. We eventually camped outside some girl's garage (yes that one) waiting for Reverend Johnston to rescue us. While waiting, my friend and her mom came home and offered us lemonade as we told this funny tale....I told you I didn't make AS MUCH of a fool. Happily, that summer was filled with more bike rides to other places and I was getting in decent shape.

   In July, my grandma was getting remarried, so we traveled to Michigan once more. I was recruited to act as usher. My grandma had put us up at the near to her condo Red Roof Inn, though it was not the nicest of places. Soon, however, we were at my Grandma's where we met her finace Bob's son Dave. He seemed pretty cool but as time would go on (after this visit) we'd learn he was pretty shifty and dishonest. On this first occasion, though, he helped make arrangements to transfer to a nearby Marriott...a MUCH better place to stay. One other thing I remember about this visit was that it was the last time I saw many people, including family friend Gerry Matter. On the way back, we stopped at a college I was considering...Indiana University of Pennsylvania. It was ok, but not very exciting. Luckily I did not end up there.

   In August, I decided it was time to get myself some more money, so I took a job at the Ponderosa Steakhouse as a server. It was at this job that I discovered the joy of making tip money...a lot of it! I actually ended up working there all of senior year. Speaking of which...

   In September I began the final experience in the Wilson School District, my senior year. One great thing was not having to take another damn year of French, 4 were quite enough for me. Instead of  astraight out English class I took Mass Media with Mr Bob Weirich...a teacher whom my sister had not had a good experience but we got along fine. It was a class all about movies and TV and print and whatever other media was around.  I also took drama, physics with one of my favorite teachers Gary Williamson, as well as another year of journalism with Mark Wiz! There were alos a couple of social studies courses, one being US government with Grant Mahon. Plus trigonometry with Russell Rudy. He really tried to help me understand it all, but senior fever was upon me and my efforts were not quite as strong. I also became involved with TV studio activities, often helping to film the Wilson news weekly reports. I even co-anchored one night, but it wasn't the smoothest.

   Also around this time, Saddam Hussein had invaded Kuwait and aroused the anger of U.S. oil interests, so for the first time in years, gas was on the rise and Operation Desert Shield had begun. This was the hot news topic for months.

   With some of my tip money, I had bought a videotape of one of my favorite series Star Blazers I had seen an ad for in a magazine my friend Zach had lent me. That was a prize possession for a while.

   In November I finally obtained my driver's license using my dad's Volvo...hey, a car is a car. I was also signed up to go on a tirp with a bunch of people to London later in the year.

   Now, I had said my efforts in school were not as great, but efforts in general sucked. I can't really explain it, but I was getting a bit jerky with people, especially my closest friends. I haven;t really thought much about this period for a while, but I tend to think that I was going through one of my first depression periods, and a long-lasting one at that. One positive was with church and getting involved with choir. 

   With having my license, I was allowed to use my dad's car here and there to get to work and occasional church functions. For the most part they were fine...for the most part. Tehre was one function that involved getting somewhere on an icy morning and instead of being smart and just going home, I proceeded to try to get there...and ended up getitng into an icy spin and hitting a stone wall. This was my dad's prized Volvo so I wasn't about to tell the all-out truth. I admitted to hitting something, but instead of revealing the rural location I said it was a wall close to church. Needless to say, my head wasn't in the game. 

   My dad and I took a trip around my 18th birthday to West Virginia University to chekc it out as I had applied there. We foudn out I had been accepted...quite a nice present! Or so I thought at the time.

   For Christmas that year, I got a new set of luggage for the England trip...all for naught as it would turn out.

   I had mentioned I was getting jerky with several people. Well, one night celebrating my friend Derek's birthday, I was getting a little obnoxious and he gave me a nice shot to the gut. Now, for this guy to have that kind of reaction takes a LOT, so I was probably being pretty bad. Funny thing, years later we talked about that and he felt pretty bad. I told him I probably had it coming at the time, so no biggie.

1991

I think the best thing I can say about 1991 is that...it eventually ended. There were some nice moments here and there, but really it was not one of my banner years.

The first bummer to come was that the England trip had been canceled due to a possibility of terrorist activity due to the Iraq-Kuwait situation.

And then comes the famous fire hydrant incident. Possibly one of my parents' biggest miscalculations was that I was responsible enough to have a car of my own. That said, they were smart enough to get me a clunker...a 1980 Chevy Citation. With an AM only radio and a transmisison that shook whenever the car got up to 55...it was not precisely a chick magnet. The best thing I can say about it is that I got to hear Rush Limbaugh a lot...case closed!

Now, I do not remember the exact details, but I know I was driving with friends with me, breaking one of my dad's rules. Another likely broken rule was being distracted and I ended up hitting a hydrant ("fire plug" as we called them there). Now, a smart kid would have stoped to assess damage. That wasn't me. I just kept going, dropped my friends off, and went home to tell my parents...another damn lie, that it had happened in the school parking lot before I even got out of school! The cops showing up at our door that night pretty much tore that lie apart. The next morning, Jeremy's dad had also told my folks the truth about the wall that was hit with the Volvo in December.

In some ways, it was a relief to have it all laid out and let me take my lumps. For sure there was going to be a money payback system for the auto repairs as well as the (luckily light) fine for hit and run of public property. I knew my parents were angry and disappointed, and rightfully so. I had royally fucked up, but some pressure had been eased. I was allowed to keep about $10 of tip money a week and the rest went into the repayment plan.

The rest of the year in terms of school went ok. I was really just going through the motions at this juncture. The high point was the movie we were making for mass media (of which I still have a copy)

In May a lot of end-of-year activities were taking place, including a day trip to Great Adventure in New Jersey. I ended up hanging with Eric Wanner that whole day, a guy I hadn't spent much time with the entire 10 years I knew him. We had a pretty good time that day. I also graduated from confirmation class at church, that was a pretty good moment.

There was also senior prom. I asked my nice coworker Carla Vojtasek at Ponderosa if she would go with me and she accepted. We had a pretty good time. She had a boyfriend so there was no typical pressure to "put on the moves"...we went as friends and that was good for me then. 

Near graduation (like 2 days before), I had another little car fiasco, this time accidentally hitting another moving vehicle in a sort-of blind intersection. This time I had learned my lesson and fessed up immediately. My dad of course was furious and I thought it was going to be a bummer graduation day, but I think either my mom or grandma got his attitude more positive. Later he also found out about a ticket I had gotten (which I took care of myself). Sadly, I had accumulated some impressive (and not in a good way) points on my driving record and had to take a course to remove a few if I was to keep my license. I took it later and passed with no problem.

Following graduation, I was done with Ponderosa Steakhouse. I had developed a bad habit of eating the food and getting a lot of soda. I had started my school day many times with a can of Sunkist. My weight was starting to become a problem. Once again, I attribute that to depression.

I actually went right from that job to working where my dad worked. Well, I didn't work at the same company, I worked for the division that handled the outdoor maintenance, including weeding, watering, mowing, and all sorts of other tasks. The boss was a pretty tough but nice guy named Mark. I was nicknamed L.B. (Little Bryan) as there was another Bryan working there who was older. I didn't mind...it was a fun environment to work in. I got a lot of sun and good exercise that summer.

A few weeks into that job I finally got my car damage repayments finished, so my money was mine at last.

In July I went with my parents to orientation weekend at West Virginia. It was nice, but I had a growing fear of what was coming. I know I had been away to scout camp a few times, but this was quite different.

For the rest of the summer, I worked and occasionally hung with friends in the evenings for movies, dirves, or just hanging out somewhere. You know there are some movies where there are short scenes near the end that kind of wrap things up? That's pretty much how late July through mid August went. Many of us were going to different colleges, others going to senior year in high school, others going a different direction.

Then it came, the "move" to West Virginia University. I look back on that now and realize that if I had not being going through that depression, I would have had a much better time of it. There were a lot of good things about the place. I was in a nice dorm with a decent roommate. His name was Charles Crimmel, a West Virginia native from near Charleston. The dining hall was decent, there was a room where they showed movies and had comedians come in. A monorail took us form the dorms to downtown Morgantown where the majority of classes were. The student union had some good eateries along with a bowling alley, arcade, and a cheap second-run movie theater.

Really, I could have had a lot of fun.

Instead I got homesick and fast. I ended up watching a lot of TV...which earned me the nickname TV Man...I preferred LB, but that would have instigated more than I could handle. Classes were ok, though I ended up skipping my night math class a lot...which probably earned me that D at semester's end. English with Donald Mason was decent. There was also a poli sci class, journalism class, U.S. history class and some orientaiton to college pass/fail. 

My parents came about a month later for a visit, but at the end I was still homesick...though not as bad as before. I just kept to myself a lot. It was a huge university and I wasn't really in that league. The guys in the dorm regularly went out dirnking Thursday through Saturday night and came back loud and obnoxious. If I'd had a brain I would have joined them. I did go to a WVU Mountaineers game but didn't get a lot out of it. I mostly stayed in my dorm listening to music, going to see the cheap movies, seeing comedians on Thursday night, or hiding out in a nook of the Creative Arts building reading or studying.

I did find some friends, if fleeting ones, on another floor and ended up hanging with them the rest of the year, the main one being Craig Caes form Canton, Ohio. There was also a girl in a class that I liked named Julie...and it felt good to be interested in someone else for a change besides the girl in high school. Even if it was unsuccessful, it was a change and any positive change was a feel-good.

In November, I was getting ready to go home for Thanksgiving break, which was a week long. I had, after 2 tries, grown a pretty decent beard and was ready to "unleash" it upon old friends. My dad came to pick me up and we enjoyeda good ride home. We stopped at a Big Boy on the PA Turnpike for dinner where he told of the Moore family future...he was interviewing for a job in San Diego. His current workplace was low in morale and very low in keeping personnel.

That trip home was pretty good for my soul. I got to reconnect with Derek, Zach, Tris, Jeremy, and others. I also got to celebrate my 19th birthday at home. Derek got me a James Bond novel (of which I was reading a lot that fall). I distinctly remember my mom advising me to limit my car activity to keep my driving record copacetic that week.

There were only 3 weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks. I made the best of them as I could. My roommate Charles was decent but I hadn't connected well with the other guys on the floor. That was on me, they were actually a good group of guys just enjoying time away from home.

Coming home again in late December was good, but it was not exactly fun-filled. It was official: we were moving to San Diego. If I had known that was happening at all, I would not have gone to West Virginia, I would have just continued the outdoor maintenance job until we moved. 

As a result, I had to close the book on an old life, all while keeping the house clean for people coming to look at it to potentially buy. I stayed out of the house as much as possible, while meeting up with friends as much as possible. We also had the final Christmas Eve get-together with the Kirkners. We got rid of the Chevy Citation...it probably had grown in value with the tpae player my sister's then-boyfriend Chaz had given me for high school graduation, but I pity the fool who had to deal with the shakes it got at fairly mild speeds!

And then one fine Sunday morning in early January 1992 I set off for my seocnd and final semester at West Virginia.

I have not really reflected on this period of life for a while, aside from fire hydrant jokes at my expense (I love them now and hope to use them as a learning experience for Natalie). The depression angle had not been considered until later bouts with it were contended with, and evne then I didn't really piece it together until I began writing today....and that particular bout was not over.

The Wrath of Overblown Budget

     One of my favorite movies is Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan. It is arguably (meaning who really argues about this?) the BEST of the original crew films. A long-awaited Star Trek movie had been released 3 years before and was, to say the least, a TOTAL MESS! A not very engaging plot plus a lot of weird visual effects that only made one buy popcorn or use the shitter as opposed to being impressed. 

   The movie departs from its established roots in a few ways. For one thing, James Kirk and his arch enemy Khan share absolutely ZERO time on the same set, always talking through a video screen (Google Meet and Zoom essentially) or comlink to each other. Plus, there is an entirely new score that vaguely touches upon the old theme but is entirely different from the first film's (which was used for the Next Generation series). Kirk has been promoted to Admiral, no doubt thanks to his excellent speaking skills. All officers are dressed in maroon for some strange reason. And aside from an awesome yet suspenseful battle in an artistic nebula painting and light-enhanced warp speed shots, the film is pretty low on intense special effects! It relies on a solid plot using a villain from the TV show classic Spock/McCoy banter. 

   Now, here is the real kicker, and it leads to why the hell I am writing this, for it is not a typical Moore film review...I did not come out of a month writing hiatus just to write about a Shatner film! No, the point here is that we have an incredibly successful film on a money-making and quality front....on HALF the budget of the original film, which was a complete disaster!

   The problem with sci fi and fantasy around this period of film history was essentially a guy named George Lucas. He had literally turned the special effects divisions of studios into a creative maelstrom of artists who essentially got paid the national budget to create visual and sound effects not yet known to your average filmgoer. What helped was that he also had a good story to go along with those effects, just in case they didn't draw in enough people to pay $3 a seat.

   The effect of this man's vision led to...you know this already...WANNABES! The new influx of people from the island Wannawannawanna now wanted to be like Lucas and make extraordinary films with lots of special effects and high budgets. What they didn't do is listen to a future interview with the man himself who uttered the immortal words (cough). No, really, fans of his will listen to him cough and think it was a brilliant sequel or remake idea! Seriously, though, he said flat out that a special effect without a story is pretty fucking boring.

   The problem there is that he said it after his second Star Wars film, which ended up being a bigger hit than number 1 (or number 4 if you go by episode numbers!). The Wannabes decided Shatner had been doing too many guest spot and game show appearances for too long and that they would make a Star Trek film. I can imagine the pitch went like this in 1978:

Agent: So, how was your experience in "The Bastard"?

Shatner: I WASN'T a bastard....I WAS Paul REVERE!

Agent: Still haven't sene the doctor like I suggested, I take it? Oh well. I have a new gig.

Shatner: Fine. Which PYRAMID show?

Agent: No, no, it's Star Trek! They want to make a movie of it.

Shatner: Oh SHIT! Not AGAIN!

Agent: No no, this will be easy. They already got the rest of the crew back...they were all selling timeshare anyway, well except Nimoy, he loves his documentaries.

Shatner: I'm NOT doing KIRK...AGAIN!

Agent: That was a bit off your tempo, but no. This really won't require any acting...actually none of your work does anymore...but this movie will have maybe, MAYBE, thirty minutes of actual dialogue script and 100 minutes of weird visual shots. You can probably MacMurray your scenes.

Shatner: WHY in the WORLD would I AGREE to this?

Agent: Better. Well, you remember that cop show idea you had...this could open the door for that.

Shatner (holding his forehead): Sigh....SIGH....sigh....sigh....SIGH...Fine, I'LL do it.

Agent: The Shatner sigh...all righty then!

The first Star Trek is not the only victim of blown big budget special effects in movies. Hell, you can look at any of the Star Wars prequel trilogy films...too much CGI and too little story. Armageddon is another! Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull  takes a classic film series into the toilet with WAY too much in terms of effects, especially by the end! Ever see Cutthroat Island? A good idea turned shitty by an overzealous director who ended up bankrupting the production company!

So, lesson learned...but not by many. The art of good storytelling has largely gone to other countries while Hollywood continues to want to do bigger and better. But maybe.. just maybe...this pandemic can help scale it all back? All I can say to that is...

KHAAAAAAAN!!!!!!!!!

Suicide Dialogue

 

A woman named Clarice sits at the gravestone of Jez Franklin, a friend who died from self hanging recently. She is sad and weeping as she remembers her friend.

Clarice: Why? I Still don’t understand why, even six months later.

Jez appears behind her as she weeps in silence. He looks like he is pondering how to play a joke, but then thinks better of it and shrugs.

Jez: Has it been that long?

Clarice whips around and sees her friend. She is shocked and horrified.

Clarice: Jez! What-how-are you really here?

Jez: You can see me, right?

Clarice: Yes…but can I touch you?

Jez: Well, that would be a first.

Clarice reaches out, but cannot feel his mortal self.

Clarice(sadly): No, I guess you are a ghost.

Jez: Boo.

Clarice (turning angry): That is NOT funny!

Jez: Depends on your perspective! You’re the first person to visit my gravestone since I killed myself, so I think a little humor with my first visitor is rather…ceremonial.

Clarice: If you say so.

(silence for a long moment)

Jez: Well, if there’s nothing else, I’ll be shoving off for…wherever!

Clarice: Wait! Are you an angel?

Jez: I…don’t think so.

Clarice: Are you a demon from hell?

Jez(laughing): That’s what my brother Mark used to call me! So maybe yeah.

Clarice: That’s what they say at church, that if you kill yourself you go to hell!

Jez: I would say that’s a preconceived notion…completely bullshit.

Clarice: Then what are you?

Jez: I’m really not sure…I’m in what used to be called Limbo, I think….kind of a waiting place.

Clarice: What’s it like?

Jez(looking around): Like here, I guess, when the light of day hits me. Mostly it’s darkness.

Clarice: How often does light hit you?

Jez: Today’s the first. I think it’s because of you.

Clarice: Why do you say that?

Jez: Not sure, but as far as I can tell, you’re the first to visit my grave since I…left. Speaking of which, you were asking a cold lifeless slab of rock why I did leave.

Clarice: Yes.

Jez: How about asking me?

Clarice: I thought I was.

Jez: No, you were asking a gravestone. My dad’s didn’t answer me, either, when he left, so it stands to reason gravestone technology hasn’t advanced much except weather-proofing.

Clarice: So…why?

Jez: It seemed…the right thing to do.

Clarice (angry): That makes NO sense at all! Since when is hanging yourself right?

Jez: Well, I did ponder wrist-slashing…but since I am…WAS…scared of blood, that wouldn’t have worked. We had no guns in the house, so death by gunshot wasn’t likely. Yet, there was a LOT of rope in the garage…the lack of air and the neck-snapping were instantaneous and…painless.

Clarice: No no NO!! I’m not talking about your mode of transportation, I’m talking about ‘the right thing to do’! Suicide is NEVER the right answer!

Jez: But it was…for me.

Clarice: I refuse to believe that!

Jez: Why?

Clarice: Because you loved life so much.

Jez (guffawing): Loved life so much! You silly blind fool! How long had you known me?

Clarice: Since the third grade.

Jez (annoyed): Eight years. What exactly told you that I loved life so damn much?!

Clarice: Well…you were always joking, making others, including me, laugh…you were always riding your bike around…you just seemed like you had it together.

Jez: Yep, that was me, the clown on a bicycle. Where did you get the happiness angle?

Clarice: Well…it just looked that way to me.

Jez (nodding): It looked that way to a lot of people, I suppose. In fact, I looked so fucking happy that nobody really ever asked me how I was doing, more like what I was doing, if I could tell a joke, if they could borrow a pencil from me. I think everyone just assumed I had it all together.

Clarice: OK, so maybe you had a few problems, but-

Jez: A FEW problems! Holy fucking mackerel! You have NO idea about me! Were you at the funeral?

Clarice (looking down in guilt): No, I couldn’t handle it.

Jez: I know, I saw.

Clarice: You were there?

Jez: I was standing right next to that sanctimonious bishop, Father O’Keefe. Listening as he spoke of the horrible tragedy that was my death, the altogether-too-short life of Jezra Franklin, how if I could have gotten some help I might have overcome whatever had struck me! Was I able, I would have taken the noose to HIS damn neck! Would have done that so-called church a lot of good!

Clarice: What’s wrong with Father O’Keefe?

Jez (furious): That son of a bitch laid his hands on me so many times…laid them everywhere!  And not just on me! Oh no! That little shit had his way with so many of us…us boys…on those weekend retreats my mom made me go on!

Clarice: What?!

Jez: And it’s not like nobody knows…just that nobody talks. I could see them in the audience…all those other boys who were ‘counseled’ by him…all with a blank look on their faces. And all those other self-righteous jerks who go every Sunday, playing right into his hands…those fucking hands!

Clarice: No! No! This can’t…

Jez: Can’t what?

Clarice (shocked contemplation): He’s been there for years…nobody knew.

Jez: Oh, NOBODY knew! Right! Those boys know, and they, like me, decided to clam up and let it keep happening, because they’re ‘good Catholic boys’ who don’t want any trouble. (looking down) If that were my only trouble, I wouldn’t be here…wouldn’t not be here to better put it.

Clarice: Then…what else…I don’t know.

Jez: Nobody did. (shrugs) I could have handled it, or at least buried it better, if that had been it. (looks at his Dad’s gravestone nearby) You know, these graves aren’t as cold and lifeless as I made them out to be…they tell.

Clarice: Tell what?

Jez: Who came to visit. My stone says you’re number one…after the burial service, anyway. Now, my dad has just a few more than that. I account for at least two. My mom never did come. (thinking, then turns back to Clarice) You’ve never come to my house, have you?

Clarice: I was never invited.

Jez: Well, you didn’t miss much. In 5^th grade my dad died, cancer. I think after that was when the joking Jez emerged. Everyone probably thought it was puberty. You know, jokes coming with the hairy balls. Just my way of coping.

Clarice: His death hit you pretty hard?

Jez: No. He was a pretty vicious bastard. Hit ME pretty hard, but laid into my brother more than me, though. Loved his scotch and loved his stogies…and loved the brutal power it gave him over his family. For some reason he didn’t touch my mom, though. Like she was the holiest of all.

Clarice: Was she?

Jez: No. Just another blind congregation member, truly blind. I tried to tell her about O’Keefe but she and her new husband sent me to a therapist…a therapist set up by the damn church of all places. You can probably see where that went.

Clarice: Told you to talk to Father O’Keefe?

Jez (laughing): Oh no! He told me it was all my fault, that O’Keefe was a good man and I somehow made him do it…if I was telling the truth, though I think he knew I was asking for honest help. No, this guy told me to keep my mouth shut if I truly believed in God…you know, God loves the meek and silent the best!

Clarice: It’s strange, you say it like you should be angry…but you’re not.

Jez: That’s a perk of death, I guess. The emotions that got me to where I was seemed to have died when my neck snapped.

Clarice: Why didn’t you…ask anyone else for help?

Jez: Who? The school counselor? A teacher? The police? One thing I’ve noticed is that nobody really listens. Most people talk while pushing their screen, they don’t absorb anything that’s not typed out for them in electronic shorthand.

Clarice: What about me?

Jez: What about you?

Clarice: You could have talked to me.

Jez (tilting his head in thought): That’s interesting you say that. I don’t suppose you remember me asking you to any of the dances in 7^th grade? 8^th? I asked you to a movie once or twice, just as a friend. Any of this ring a bell?

Clarice: Well…yeah…but you know, there was always some guy I was going with.

Jez: And going somewhere with the class clown wouldn’t help your ‘image’ whatever that was.

Clarice: Now wait-

Jez (holding up a hand): Oh it’s ok. I’m not angry…I’m not anything really. But you coming here is peculiar for you. Why today?

Clarice (crying): I…missed you today!

Jez: After 6 months? It doesn’t matter, nothing does to me anymore. It’s a strange feeling to be free after dying.

Clarice(growing angry again): Did you think of anyone else when you killed yourself? When you wanted this freedom, did you consider ANYONE ELSE’S feelings?

Jez: Quite honestly…no. I had pain. The pain of being me. My mom and stepdad didn’t get it, my real dad certainly got nothing except scraped knuckles from his title bouts with us. The church turned a cold but knowing eye. The teachers, especially after 5^th grade, couldn’t have cared less, they just can’t wait until the bell rings to get ready for the next class to repeat it.

Clarice: Hey, Mrs Gerhart was cool, she liked all of us!

Jez (shrugging): Maybe. One good one among the apathetic crowd didn’t stand out for me. But…what led me to finally do it? Finally end my pain? Any idea?

Clarice: No, I don’t have any idea anymore about anything.

Jez: Oh please! Quit the pathetic self reflection. My death had nothing to do with you. It had nothing to do with our friends, it had nothing to do with ANYONE….except me. There was no last straw, it had just built up for years. I was done. Done with going through the motions. Done with giving out cheap laughs for an uncaring crowd, done with sitting in a church on Sunday with a family in their own ignorant world.

Clarice: Please stop this! I DID care!

Jez: Maybe you did. But there’s the problem…lots of people ‘care’…that’s an interesting and empty word: care. You want to listen and help…but you don’t know how. I can’t say whether I was giving out help signals or not, but nobody’s really tuned in to anyone anymore. (looks as if he hears something). I think I need to go now.

Clarice: Why?

Jez: I’m not sure. Something is calling me. To where I don’t know. Thanks for listening, Clarice. You know it’s funny, I was feeling some anger earlier, but it’s like the more I talk, the more it just let itself go. I think I AM free now. For the first time you really did hear me…and it’s also the last.

Clarice (smiling a little): I’m sorry for that. What’s calling? Don’t tell me a white light!

Jez: No, just…something…a new home is my guess. Be good.

(Jez walks off. Clarice stares after the direction he went, then smiles at his grave.)

Clarice: Thanks for clearing it up.

Mission Ain't Happenin!

 Once in a while I pop in a CD of a favorite comedian from my collection on my drive to work. Humor gets me going just as well as music.

One of my favorite comedians is clean-cut stammering Bob Newhart. He doesn't pump his routines full of FUCK and SHIT, in fact I don't think I've ever heard him utter anything except damn and hell. His style is so low key and often the premise is being part of one side of a real or phone conversation. That said, he makes me laugh. He also inspires me to think like him to make my own routine. I came up with one a few years ago called 'Santa's Agent'. Rehearing him this week, I have thought of another one.

A favorite classic show of mine is 'Mission Impossible.' In this show, Peter Graves always listens to a tape giving him and his team a tough mission involving intelligence, terrorism, subterfuge, and stuntwork. Now suppose that tape player were to malfunction and Graves as Mr Phelps had to call in for instructions. I think the conversation might go comething like this after he goes through all the red tape.

Hello, Mr Secretary? Oh! MS Secretary, my apologies. 

No, I wasn't insinuating anything by that, I just didn't know. 

No, I guess it doesn't really matter, all I know about you is I've just been listening to a tape all these years saying you'll disembowel me and my team if any of us get caught or killed.

Dis-em-bowel, right. I thought that was a bit violent as a consequence....oh! Dis-AVOW! Hahaha, yes, that IS a bit different. I've been thinking disembowel all these years.

Well, the reason I'm calling is that the damn tape player ate the tape...that's right, ATE the tape. 

You know, when you people get so cheap and buy an off brand player and tapes, this will tend to happen.

Yes, I do understand you have people to answer to for your budget, I just think a few extra bucks will give you better quality and I wouldn't have to call in like this.

No, Ms Secretary, I'm not calling to complain per se, I just want to know what the mission is.

You-you don't know...so you just disembowel-I mean DISAVOW us.

How did I find you? Well, the paychecks had an address and phone number. I'm not always the brightest guy in the world, but I can put 2 and 2 together.

You'll have to get a new set of checks? Fine. So, who can I talk to so we can perform this mission, whatever it is?

You-you can't tell me. Uh huh, so should I wait for another cheap tape?

You don't know, you just disavow us. I see. How-how long have you been working at this disavowing gig?

This is your second day? Oh, Bob retired. I didn't know that. Um...who's Bob? The previous secretary.

Well, since my team and I are disavowed we tend not to be invited to retirement parties.

No. You see, we didn't exactly fill out applications or come in for interviews.

No, we didn't go through an orientation on how to fill out our health benefit forms, either. 

No, we're not what you'd call standard employees, we're more like contractors that do special projects.

No, no, no, not like painters or cabinet makers. More like, well, oh, secret problem solvers.

You need your house painted. I see. Well, I think there are government employees who are avowable who can do that better than we can.

Well, I am a good organizer. One of our team, Paris, is a master of disguise and a magician. Willy is our strongman, Barney is our mechanical expert. Cinnamon is a model and actress.

Hahaha, yes it does sound a bit like a talent show, doesn't it? Ahhh, maybe I didn't phrase it right, though I wouldn't really know how to phrase it on the phone.

Yes, I do understand it's only your second day and there's a lot in the job description. 

There's a big fat trainig manual? Is there an index? There is, good. Look up IMF. 

There isn't? Is there something labeled impossible?

There is not...ok.

No, I doubt the table of contents will be of help.

Well, seeing we don't have a mission, what color did you have in mind?

Fletch and the Tiresome Book Reviewer

   I have been writing something or other for about 40 years, excluding crap that was assigned to me. In fact, I often feel like a hypocrite as a teacher when I assign a writing project, since I abhorred pretty much every assignment I was given as a student...of course, nobody ever assigned me to write a script, something I might have run away with creatively.

   In the late 1980s,  inspired by the mystery soap opera "The Edge of Night" , I proceeded to write some mystery novels. I was actually on and off with that genre for 20 something years, and even recently have been on and off with novel number 8 in the past year. The problem with me is that I am by self confession the least disciplined writer I know. There is no set time when I sit and try to crank out dialogue and description, dialogue being the most fun. ANother problem there is that I do not have a particularly good place to write. My computer has been in either the master bedroom or the family/living room in either apartment or house. There is a small window of opportunity in the morning to get thoughts down, though morning is generally not my most creative time. It is the afternoon (like now) or evening when the juices warm up and by then the earlier solitude is long gone.

   I was introduced to the concept of blogs in my master's program at Lesley (motto: "Any business office suite can be made into a college campus if you remove the cubicles"). The blog, unlike novel writing, can be written in anything between thirty minutes and two hours, depending on what needs to get down. In this format, I can much more easily sit down at any time of day and write whatever crap is infecting my brain. In my blog entries, I have written song lyrics, short stories, and, for which I am cursed by many, the infernal book review.

   Why book reviews? Well, quite simply, I enjoy reading, often REreading books, whether they are travelogues like my recent acquisition about the Lincoln Highway or a good old mystery novel. After I read, I need an outlet for my thoughts. You're welcome!

   I have previously written about  Fletch (1974), the novel that inspired the 1985 Chevy Chase vehicle. A sequel was made 4 years later based on no novel at all.Personally, I feel that Chevy Chase was too old to be playing an undercover reporter in his  late 20s/early 30s. Someone like Jameson Parker or Woody Harrelson would have been a better fit.

   The literary Fletch, full name Irwin Maurice Fletcher, is serious about many things: good reporting, art. He listens well and for the most part is successful at solving murders and mysteries...with one exception.

   In my opinion, the first 3 novels were the best of the 9 total: "Fletch", "Confess, Fletch", and "Fletch's Fortune.", though the others were quite enjoyable as well. Those 3 seemed to fit into a natual trilogy of sorts. Other later novels filled in some gaps as to what happened before the first novel, then a few after the events of the third and finally one focusing what happened immediately after the first. Gregory McDonald seemed to enjoy writing them out of sequence...almost like a literary "Pulp Fiction", though the novels within themselves are quite linear.

"Fletch's Fortune"

Cutting to soon after the the events of "Confess, Fletch", he is captured, in a way, by 2 supposed CIA agents in Italy, and blackmailed to attend a journalists convention in rural Virginia, with the threat of tax evasion charges if he does not cooperate. The goal is to record all of the goings-on in the individual bedrooms of the journalists. Before Fletch even arrives, the president of the journalists association, Walter March, has been found dead in his room. The weapon is a pair of scissors.

The rest of the book is laid out in a sort of timeline in accordance with the convention schedule of events and speakers, mixed in with Fletch's listening in on the various bedrooms he has bugged and mealtime discussions with fellow journalists.

The journalists themselves are a mixed bag of egos, many of them having dealt in one way or another with Walter March, Fletch included. Most prominent in the story are Crystal Faoni, a big beautiful woman who was fired by March for being pregnant but not married; Bob McConnell who once left a March newspaper to work on a presidential campaign, only to see March successfully backing the opponent and forcing Bob back to journalism with his tail between his legs and heavy in debt; Fredericka (Freddie) Arbuthnot, a beautiful magazine reporter Fletch suspects of spying on him (she isn't); Hy Litwack, a famous anchorman who is shallow on  air, only honest with his wife; Eleanor Earles, an older reporter who defends Walter March and has had an illegitimate son with him; Lewis Graham, an older reporter who quotes other  people and books extensively; and Rolly Wisham, an idealistic reporter who has deep-seated anger for March for destroying his father's newspaper career.

This book is a great showcase of Fletch watching and observing, and it seems as though he learned a lot from Flynn in the previous story in terms of the art of listening, for listening is what helps him solve March's murder, both to people in person and on the tape machine.

For my Fletch review, click here: https://bitethismapquest.blogspot.com/2014/04/ill-take-noveland-novel.html

For my Confess, Fletch review, click here: https://bitethismapquest.blogspot.com/2017/07/its-another-book-review-i-confess.html

The Lincoln Highway

   Recently, my wife gave me a book for Father's Day (beats a damn tie any day for me!). Usually the Father's Day book is the newest Rand McNally road atlas. I often get quizzical looks when I say what I got an atlas, like I was the newest alient ambassador from Saturn's 5th moon...morons, I am from the 8TH moon! Hey, I have my atlas, others have the complete episode list from "Friends" memorized...it is an open debate as to who is the more 'normal'.

   This year, though, Vickie did me one better. The book I received was all about the history, politics, and routing of the Lincoln Highway. What is the Lincoln Highway, you may be asking? (more likely you're asking when is the last time I had a CAT scan). Well, we must go back about 110 years, when automobiles were still in their infancy. How infantile? If you put it in terms of computer operating systems, today we are in Windows 10, but 110 years ago it was MS-DOS with no mouse!

   In that time, the concept of paved roads was also a novelty. Many still rode the train or a horse or a bicycle or just plain walked.  Yet, the car was catching on and there was a huge interest to construct a road, or at least connect a lot of different roads, often dirt, into a continuous highway stretching all across the nation. One of the nabobs in charge of all this was in favor of naming this loose path the Lincoln Highway in honor of the senior member of the Mod Squad.....no, I mean Abraham Lincoln of course, a much revered Prez in the early 20th century before the millenial weenie roast began.\

   The highway began in New York City, then into New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, Nebraska, Colorado, Wyoming, Utah, Nevada, and finally California. Some brave people dared to travel the entire length, including etiquette center square Emily Post! Now, people must consider that the MS DOS cars of the 1910s didn't go that fast...in fact what we consider slow, inthis case below 40 miles per hour, was actually fast in those days! On top of that, these hardy travelers spent a lot of time digging their  cars out of mud, waiting for the car to cool down after crossing railroad tracks (very rough back then) and other little mishaps. A trip across the nation could take over a month!

   With time, however, along with rough maps, painted concerete markers, and other public relations guides, the Lincoln Highway emerged as something really special. Towns rallied to have the highway go through their bailiwick  and if it didn't, they had a wily coyote put up misleading road signs telling them to come their way instead of staying on the Lincoln! No, just kidding about the coyote, but towns anxious for new tourist business went to great lengths to divert drivers.

   Another concept one can thank the Lincoln Highway for is motels! Back then, as motor roads were still new, there was nothing in the way of stopping over someplace for the night. At first, there were motor 'parks' cleared out...which meant you slept in the car or you camped out among the wildlife. Many of these camps were on public land, which meant they were often left trashed. Private businesses were set up where one paid a small fee, often around 50 cents, to stay in a newly built cabin. From there the motel concept grew.

   Other rough highways came about in this time, such as the Midland Trail, National Trail, Victory Highway, and others, all vying for a piece of the transcontinental voyage action.

   In 1925, the Federal Government established numbered highways to better organize the loose collection of named roads. While the Lincoln Highway was still intact, even improved in many areas as time went on, the numbered system confused drivers. Much of the Lincoln between Pennsylvania and Wyoming was on U.S. route 30. While that was all fine and good, the Lincoln's western terminus was in San Francisco, while highway 30 jogged north in western Wyoming, then cut across Idaho and Oregon to end in Astoria, Oregon. You can see how people assumed the Lincoln took them to Oregon as a result!

   The book I got the pleasure to read recounted in great detail exactly where the Lincoln was...and is! It can still be driven on a majority of its original routing, although freeways in many areas were built right on top of it, therefore lost forever as far as we know. The state by state guide told not only the original routing but also future generation reroutings, often far from the original! 

   In my current home of Nevada, the Lincoln follows much of U.S. 50, currently labeled as The Loneliest Highway between Ely and Fernley (almost 300 miles!). In my home state of Pennsylvania, U.S. 30 (before it was upgraded to freeway and bypassed many towns on the eastern half) carried the Lincoln through classic PA Dutch farmlands. Luckily, the old routing is quite driveable if you have the right guide. Between York and Irwin, U.S.30 stays true to the routing for the most part. When I lived in California, I drove on most of the Lincoln between Sacramento and Lake Tahoe, though some side streets in the Sacramento area carries the true road.

   Over time, the Lincoln would be superceded in fame by Route 66, another highway ruined by progress and freeways. Both roads have their place in history, though. This is where that wonderful DeLorean, or at the very least a 74 Pinto, could take me back through time to experience how it was, though I am pretty sure that even in the 1930s and 40s it wasn't all that rosy like I want to imagine things were.

Now if you don't mind, Ross is interested in Rachel...again!