I found on the "Casting Call" section of your website numerous requests for people with different ailments or fears or exciting leisure activities. In scrolling down the list, two caught my eye immediately. Number one was the "True Life: I Am A Drag Racer." The reason, of course, is because I spend a good deal of my time behind the wheel, rocketing towards victory on an empty stretch of road. I've been doing this for around five years and with dedication and commitment, I have worked my way to the top of the local amateur and professional circuits. I've also begun looking into touring in the national and international arenas. But I think what you're most interested in are the illegal drag races, the ones that take place on public highways and streets. Well, despite my hard work and effort in the privatized side of the sport, I would be remiss if I didn't admit that I've also been a part of the "street scene" because, and it's sometimes unfortunate, some of the best racers alive today are riding on the streets. They get picked up from time to time by the police, their cars occasionally are left badly damaged, and yes, there have been serious injuries and deaths because of the carelessness and stupidity of some drivers. But it is all a part of this fascinating sport, every aspect. So I am available, if you need me, or would like to use my SG 66 Chevelle with its 550ci BBC engine, you'd be more than welcome to it.

In addition to this, there is also the aforementioned second request that caught my eye, which I'd like to briefly touch on; this one entitled "True Life: I Have A Phobia," which also applies to me. I have, and have had for years, an acute case of amaxophobia, a fear of cars. I am terrified of any and all types of automobiles, big or small. Whether they are just sitting still or are barreling down a road with full momentum, I turn into jelly when I see them, my body quivering so much that my movements have sometimes been likened to epileptic seizures. Because of this fear, and what I do with drag racing, I thought you could possibly work the two together. You could capture the absolute despair in my eyes as my crew of ten burly men has to force me into my Chevelle, me trying to fight them off, emitting blood-curdling screams and cries for help. Or maybe to place a camera in the car's cockpit, as I weep openly, bolted into the seat, sometimes screaming repeatedly, "I don't want to be here. I don't want to be here..." (this also goes along with another, though less solidified fear of mine, tachophobia, the fear of speed). Or, if anything, just capturing some footage of me in the parking lot of the stadiums where the races take place, with me dancing around the cars, scared out of my wits by the rows and rows of metallic behemoths and the distant roar of engines as the races begin. Sometimes my crew has to drug me with sedatives just to get me in through the front entry gates.

It is a quizzical world, mine. But one you might be interested in none the less.  

I'll be looking forward to your response,

Steve Delahoyde