As the joke goes, I jumped out of a perfectly good airplane the other day. I did this for the thrill, strapped to a complete stranger who was in turn attached to a parachute. I did this with the full intention (and hope) of surviving the ordeal, not only intact, but happier -- and maybe even a little wiser -- than before.

Tandem skydiving is nothing new. I broke no new records, I paved no new ground. But surely my experience must be similar to that felt by many people -- this was a life-changing event. Not in any grand way, but in a subtle, yet significant, variation. The newbie who hands the credit card to the person behind the counter is not quite the same as they are once their feet are back on terra firma.

I have always wanted to try skydiving. It was the third item on a to-do list I had come up with as a young teen -- snowskiing (check), scuba diving (check), and skydiving (blank). When Doug, a close friend from college, decided to spend his weekdays teaching high school math and his weekends as a professional skydiver, it certainly heightened my interest. And yes, we did try to schedule a jump during my recent East Coast visit, but mother nature decided that thunderstorms were in order that weekend instead.

Fast forward a few months and I was back in sunny L.A.. I'll skip the weather situations we had here, the interested parties who backed out, the false starts... all that matters was November 10. Five us in a car -- Meredith and Laura were coming along for moral support, while Mike (not me, a DIFFERENT Mike), Cynthia and myself were ready to personally test out the laws of Gravity.

There's a magical moment of separation on the airplane ride up, a divide that clearly differentiates the theoretical "I'm going to jump out of a plane" with the reality of "Holy fuck, I'm actually going to jump out of a plane!" When this moment hit, I turned to Cynthia (sitting directly across from me in the airplane) and we touched fists. I then invoked the time-honored mantra of Saturday Morning Justice League cartoons: "WonderTwin powers, activate! Turn me into... a dumbass about to jump out of an airplane!"

About half of the people around us laughed. The other half glared at me. Cynthia then tried to undo the spell: "WonderTwin powers, deactivate!"

Hmmm. Nothing happened.

"Nope, didn't work," she said. "You're still a dumbass about to jump out of an airplane."

Notice in this picture that my knuckles are NOT white, I am gripping the save-my-ass bar LOOSELY, and I am perfectly content to jump out of the flying metal womb. Luckily the urine stains are not visible from this angle.

Mere moments after jumping out of the plane at 13,000 feet. I was the last one out, so the pilot then pushed the plane into a nosedive.

And the nosedive begins. Follow the angle of the tether. That's straight UP.

Another nosedive shot. We're still in the lead.

Still in early freefall....

As we stabilize, the jumpmaster taps me on the shoulder, a signal to open my arms into the traditional out and bent position.

Why look at the camera when I can stare at the ground rushing towards us instead?

Oh, fine. I'll smile at the camera. 120 MPH freefall facelift, anyone? And yes, that is what smiles look like when your head is out the window of a car travelling at near light-speed.

More freefall.

The obligatory thumbs-up and grin.

A nice scenery shot. And we don't call it smog, we prefer to think of it as aerial seasoning. Actually, I think that's mostly cloud cover and fog, and yes it did rain earlier that morning.

More scenery, and a nice shot of the mist-covered mountains and Lake Elsinore below.

Checking my altimiter (strapped to left wrist). Time to open the chute at 5,500 feet.

Almost there....

And liftoff. At this point, the photographer kept falling at 120 MPH while we slowed to a near-stop, so no more pictures, and the landing photo kind of sucked. But I will have the video ready for viewing soon, and I'll add some video stills then.

© 2000, Michael Yanovich. www.mentalsnot.com