Back in Philadelphia, a dirty little alt-monthly pointed toward the future with dazzling four-color covers and eventually morphed into a dirty little alt-biweekly. And as we boldy went, publisher Bruce Schimmel foretold the rise of "mind-boggling" technology like cordless telephones and phone-ready home computers. He also predicted the "communicating computer" would lead to elimination of classrooms altogether.

CP's arts coverage was cutting-edge, too, thanks to the addition of critic Robin Rice and a litany of goings-on worthy of a solid write-up: Dance crews like South Philly Flex and Newpulse did the worm at "breaker dancing" competitions at Filly's Saloon. Hal Prince directed Play Memory at the Annenberg. Terry Gross' Fresh Air was hitting the big time and King of Prussia bad boy rocker Alan Mann got a video on MTV. Not that everything was upbeat: "If you love your mother, don't see A Christmas Story," read the subhead to a vicious critique by Tom Hinckley, who called the holiday classic a "gross-out" flick. (He especially didn't go for the part where li'l Randy makes piggy noises with mashed potatoes on his face.)

And, in a July cover story, CP took note of the Moonies (a term now disavowed as offensive by members of the cult) who'd taken to hanging out near Urban Outfitters. Steve Purcell attempted to infiltrate the group to determine whether Sun Myung Moon's Unification Movement was "as evil as it's rumored to be." He didn't get far, though; his training ended when he told Guru Mahara Ji he'd refuse to jump off a mountain if ordered to. "You are not ready to receive the Knowledge," screamed the guru, whose body is probably crumpled up at the bottom of some valley as you're reading this. City Paper, meanwhile, lives on.

Next Week: 1984! A lot like 1983! Baby steps!