In a family of overachievers, how do you top a West Point graduate, a neurologist, and a Ph.D. student? By driving a really big can of potted meat product.

"I mean, in the cool factor, how can anyone top me when I drive up in the Spammobile?" asks Brian Callerame, '00 BA Anthropology. When he landed the job driving the 28-foot rolling kitchen, Callerame knew he had arrived at the top of the food promotions field.

"I used to drive the Stagg Chilimobiles," says Callerame, who got into product promotions part time while attending UNLV. "That was awesome, but Spam is huge. In food promotion, there is nothing bigger. No other grocery product can evoke a reaction as powerful as Spam — even people who are vegetarians can appreciate its iconic nature — and getting the reaction is what food marketing is all about."

Callerame and wife Paula (who's completing her UNLV degree in social science studies through distance education) now travel the West serving up a half million mini Spamburgers at events like the Nellis Air Force Base air show each year.

In Hawaii, the Spammobile was front-page news and the line for the "spamples" was sometimes 50 people deep. "People always ask me why Spam is so popular in Hawaii," Callerame says. "I tell them, 'These people are living in paradise and they want the world's most perfect food.'"

But, he's quick to point out, Spam is an "international sensation." Since it was introduced in 1937, more than 6.5 million cans have been sold in 111 countries. The Spam fan club boasts well over a million paying members.

The Callerames travel for months at a time from state fairs and grocery store openings to air shows and community festivals. At every stop, Callerame says, people are compelled to share their experiences with those driving the "spamfessional."

Some tell tales of how Spam got them through lean times. "I grew up on it myself," Callerame says. "With six kids to raise, my mom served it often because it was so easy to prepare."

In Oklahoma, a Korean War veteran told of how he carried his rations in his shirt to keep them from freezing. A can of Spam over his heart deflected a bullet. "He told me that he and his buddies ate the Spam around a campfire that night with huge grins on their faces," Callerame says.

Callerame doesn't limit his enthusiastic promotional skills to Spam; he's also an ardent Rebel. "I don't carry many clothes, but along with my Spam gear I've got two UNLV sweatshirts, two caps, and a T-shirt," he says. "UNLV helped shape me — it helped me grow up. I feel like it's my duty to tell people about my experience."

That's not a message he envisioned himself carrying after his first couple of semesters here. After two semesters of subpar academic performance, Callerame was suspended. "Once that happened, I wised up," he says. "I attended community college and then came back to UNLV and came back strong. I so appreciate the second chance I got."

With a new drive to succeed, Callerame majored in cultural anthropology, which serves him well in his profession today. "Cultural anthropology deals with people in their native cultures," he says. "America isn't one single culture — I see that every day as I travel around the country. I'm immersed in our cultures every day."

While Callerame plans on getting a master's degree in cultural anthropology eventually, for now he's relishing the travel his job entails. He and Paula have logged more than 60,000 miles in the Spammobile since 2002 and have visited every state but North Dakota. It's a nomadic life that suits them well and satisfies their shared curiosity for new places.

"It's a spamtastic job," says Callerame with palpable sincerity. "We have no home — just each other and a P.O. box. It's a beautiful life. Plus, it's just a hoot when I park the Spammobile in one of my brothers' driveways. We've got doctors and lawyers and every kind of overachiever in my family, and they all want to talk about driving the Spammobile."