Love the Beast: Pure Awe

Eric Bana's personal documentary/film, Love the Beast is a spectacular argument why cars represent much more than means of transportation. Bana's car a Ford Falcon XB means the world to him. He has had it since the age of 15, and has worked on it with friends for years. It meant a fireplace to his friends, it was a way to socialize, to make friends, to hang out, a discussion point, a place to keep away from drugs and alcohol, and to fuel a passion to last a lifetime. Bana has paired up with Dr. Phil, Jeremy Clarkson, and Jay Leno to help console Bana's love affair with his Falcon. Bana appears at times confused as to how he should act about his crash when speaking to the luminaries.

The film is a great example why cars have souls. They make mistakes, and behave differently than other car names, and thus, they can form bonds.

The film has an uncanny ability to provoke unintentional smiling, sympathy, and outbursts of emotion. Bana participates with his friend, Tony, in the Targa of Tasmania. Tony serves as Eric's navigator, and both, despite being rather amateurish, do quite well. Bana had participated in the Targa years earlier, and had famously claimed he would come every year henceforth. Suffice to say, Bana did not live up to this promise, yet was going to make the 2009 Targa Tasmania his last with his newly rebuilt Falcon. It was his dream to do this with his dream car.

Bana is making great progress through the Targa, but along the line, unfortunately collides with a tree. After the traumatic event, Bana says "This is not what I had in mind", as he stands, without a scratch on him, in absolute shock as to what just took place.

Bana is at a crossroads as to whether or not he should repair what was once his dream car. As he returns to the place that initially race-prepped the Falcon, he notes that he feels even worse examining the damage than he did when the crash happened.

There is rather implicit disclosure to end the film, with white text on a black background that reads, "Bana plans to rebuild his Beast".

The film overall was highly enjoyable, and had done stunning job showing audience members the bond between a man and a machine. The beginning, in fact was perhaps the most enjoyable where Bana accurately details the feeling of track driving, as scenes of him and his racing yellow Porsche 911 scream through apexes. Bana truly understands what it means to be a driver, as his natural skill is evident even through his heel-toeing technique as was involved in the Targa.

I highly recommend Love the Beast as an absolute mad car fanatic.

Racing Dreams: Play with My Heartstrings

Racing Dreams emphasizes three young karting drivers who strive to become national karting champions. The film emphasizes Josh Hobson (12), Annabeth Barnes (11), and Brandon Warren (13) for which Warren is placed in the senior devision, and the other two are in the junior division. Racing Dreams covertly conveys feelings that can only be attempted to be explained through words. For example, when Annabeth is sitting in her new stock car, anticipating to start it up for the first time, or when Brandon dresses in a military uniform, I couldn't help but feel pity for what an extraordinary driver Brandon could have become, yet unfortunately grew up with an alcoholic father and was underprivileged as a result, and there is nothing he can do about it.

Racing Dreams is an unbelievable film-style documentary of the lives of karting drivers and how much commitment it takes in order to be one. Annabeth claimed she found little time to 'be one of the other girls' because of racing, yet she said it was wholly worth the time away from friends in order to pursue driving as a potential profession down the line.

Josh Hobson was a known quantity; he won nearly every race, and was calm, cool, and likely has the best opportunity out of the other two drivers to make it in NASCAR later on. He was also the most forward-thinking, the most precocious, and appeared the best bet among sponsors.

Annabeth Barnes was also precocious, wasn't the absolute best driver yet finished fifth consistently, and for better or for worse, received recognition for being the only girl karting.

Finally, Brandon Warren was the most rebellious of the three thanks in no small part to his absent father, although due to his grandparents, with whom he lives he has a strong foundation. Brandon had ambitions to 'join the Marine Corps in order to whoop his father'. Towards the end of the film, it is revealed that due to financial issues, Brandon can no longer pursue competitive driving, but is pursuing his high school's ROTC program. On his sleeve, it said "U.S. Army", despite what he had said earlier.

Racing Dreams is a mixed bag, it alternates heartstring to heartstring as rapidly as the karts would pass one another. It is certainly an emotion-filled film despite the average movie-watchers' perceptions of racing à la Taladega Nights.

In Transit

For my entire life it seems, I have been in transit. From my transfer to a different school in fourth grade to my transfer to another school in sophomore year of high school. I seem to get bored rather easily. Currently, I am studying at Marquette University and while I have had a brilliant time meeting many new people, I find myself again, rather bored.

I can't tell if it's that I desire to be elsewhere, and that Milwaukee is too similar to my home in Illinois. Nor am I sure if it is in fact that I am not adequately challenged by my courses this semester. Or even if the student body, being the drinking school, and me being the antithesis of a drinker has a culture of providing 'buffer time' in which students may have sufficient time to alleviate any alcohol from their systems. Or is it even the constant image of a well-worn, mossy Ivy-League school building somewhere in Massachusetts in the back of my mind and that my sister will likely attend that school, and I may never even see such a thing. Is it envy? After all, I seem to have followed my sister, despite me being older, to a College Prep school in the city. Do I simply need to make a greater splash in the community in order to not feel so detached? Right now, I feel rather a part of the community, and maybe I need to give the school more time. Is it the cityscape Milwaukee provides that is again, too similar to my high school Chicago backdrop? Or am I overly adventurous, should there be such a thing? Do I like to be the different person, "the transfer". Do I like to meet people with difficulty? Do I like to not be ahead as I feel now? Do I feel uncomfortable when I feel "ahead" of the curve? Do I truly want to transfer again?! My intent with going to Marquette was that I was going to attend this, and no other school for four years! Should I rough it (because the social atmosphere is unrivaled) and take more challenging classes, maybe graduate early through summer classes, and take grad school at one of those historic, charming, and mossy Boston universities? Should I truly abandon my newfound friends so early by taking summer courses?

What should I do? I know for now, I will challenge to finish my assignments with yet more quality, contribute to the school newspaper, study abroad in Germany this summer, and maybe for another semester sometime down the line, join a fraternity, and achieve a higher GPA than was ever possible for me at high school what with all the commuting, sports, and excessive homework assignments.

The Beloit Mindset List

Beloit College makes an annual list that takes into account all of the events surrounding incoming college freshmen births. The conductors are virtually oblivious to the current goings on and new interests in our lives today (which would be helpful because they are very central in shaping our decisions).

Take a look for yourself.

http://www.beloit.edu/mindset/2015/

If you are my age, you may either agree with the two gentlemen, or be offended as I am for the sheer number of assumptions made regarding my generation. Then again, nearly anything said about my generation, I may very well take offense no matter how accurate or jarringly true. Many times I arrogantly fight the truth so as to avoid embarrassment and unscrupulousness at all costs.

The State of Books and Faces

Facebook for me has perhaps the most uncanny draw for me to return over nearly any other website. Begrudgingly, I came back to the social media site after a long hiatus during the Lenten season to, yet again, share my opinions and goings-on of my life via comments, photos, "likes", and most of all, status updates. There may be nothing else on all of the internet more self-indulgent or inviting of such behavior as those darn statuses.

The love-hate relationship between statuses and me begins whenever I see a "friend" of mine receiving "likes" or comments in which the jealousy flame is lit. Then I will perform a miserably sub-par attempt at garnering virtual popularity, and as if the beginning of this sentence wasn't obvious enough to indicate my fate, I fail every time. I think this stems from (1.) my reputation as someone relatively few people truly know, or (2.) most likely me trying too hard to be funny, charismatic, or poignant in my own way. No matter what though, my statuses fall flat. No one comments on them, or likes them. No one even gives a pity like for my broken ego all thanks to this service.

And at the same time, I question why it is that I care so deeply about what people think of me, or even what it is that forces me to interpret their actions, or lack thereof in a disparaging light. I think it's because I treat it like it's a game. And it's certainly one I cannot possibly succeed at.

Twittery Behavior

The internet and all of its interworkings, as cliché as that is to say, promotes shorter and shorter attention spans than ever before. Deceivingly, it seems for better that the internet encourages a thirst for knowledge, but for many, such information is often quickly forgotten minutes after research. This is due to the seeming infallible accessibility and reliability users take for granted whenever surfing the internet.

Users exemplify their "thirst" in their keeping of constant tabs on the every whereabouts and actions of their friends via Facebook, their favorite celebrities via Twitter, and news via Yahoo, AOL, NewYorkTimes, CNN, or any given trustworthy online publication.

Along with promoting a thirst for knowledge, the internet unfortunately also promotes the disposability of knowledge, and thus, the compelling, riveting life stories published in novels. An entire sector of the internet's users' brains is shut off due to disuse. True intelligence, rather than dexterity is becoming less common, nigh less fashionable. It is becoming mockable to explain oneself or his or her actions with any degree of wit. I believe this reality is intertwined with society's long-standing obsession with all forms of hedonism or pleasure, and thus, satisfaction with the state of things constantly being "good enough" over intently pursuing the betterment of circumstances. Look at the economy. Many liken it to a "pit", or a "ditch". Both connote an inescapable state; a desperation. When in actuality, a little optimism, hope, and effort go a long way, and can render such "pits" or "ditches" a thing of the past.

Apologies for the abstractness and perhaps overwroughtness of my writing, I concede them.

A Raving Good Time!

After much deliberation, my long-anticipated high school graduation party has been completed. Today, (or, well yesterday at this point) marks the date I had planned for the party a week and half in advance. And it happened to fall on a Wednesday, as opposed to a Friday or Saturday for the simple fact that I wake up early on Saturdays for work, so Fridays are out of the question, and all the rooms for every Saturday in seemingly all of summer is booked. After checking to see the availability of the rooms week by week via text messages to my parents during the slog of work proved fruitless for weekend dates, I decided it to be advantageous for a weekday party.

So it was settled. The DJ was prepared for that Wednesday, as was I. Immediately after discovering the confirmed date, I did my damnedest to get the word out through Facebook, which proved somewhat troublesome with people's snide comments on the event wall and unreliable promises whether they would come or not. Also, with the party placed inconveniently when people have work the next day, are tired from their day of work, or are out of town due to summer break, I lost a number of potential party guests.

With that in mind, time passed, and anticipation grew, as did the Facebook wall comments and the number of guests claiming they'd go. Drug and alcohol-related jokes were thrown around on the wall carelessly, as if their parents or future employers had no idea what "a" Facebook is. There were questions asking if ecstasy would be served, if people should bring their syringes, etc. The joking got old, and my event description got serious to the point where I gave ample warning to the consumption or bringing of alcohol into the party, and cited that if such instances should occur, my family's business would get sued in the midst of the already grim financial situation we find ourselves.

To be continued...

Notes on a Scandal (2006) Film Review

One of the most compelling films I've seen in a good long while is Notes on a Scandal. Starring Cate Blanchett, Judi Dench and Andrew Simpson, Notes involves good friends, Blanchett and Dench in a miserable downward spiral of trust issues, gossip, and frequent spurts of anger. As Blanchett, a new art teacher at Saint George's, reveals her intimate affair with 15-year-old Simpson, Dench becomes increasingly intrigued by how similar the two women are, despite their age disparity.

Dench's character actually reminded me of myself in that she was rather reserved with her true thoughts, and such thoughts were in no way lacking in their critical and descriptive qualities to the nearest ioda. Her story telling is in the form of a diary, just as mine usually is, albeit much more private given that it is featured on this public blog. But those sentiments are rife with unbridled impressions, untempered by the minds of others, and when brought outside the the original author's mind, they may be perceived ridiculous.

Notes on a Scandal is a highly enjoyable film that deserves your absolute attention for its entire hour and a half span. It brilliantly executes each scenario, making you think, 'oh dear, how much worse could this situation possibly get?!' Yet, inevitably, at every undulation of Notes' skillfully crafted plot, the condition of our characters' lives only worsen.

Wealth: A Subjective Term

Since the month of July, I have been tasked with balancing two part-time jobs, hobbies, family time, and any me time I could get a hold of. By then, I got a second job, one at Bill Jacobs Land Rover of Hinsdale. As a porter who is the essential backbone to any car dealership, I work with a bunch of Mexicans. And I have no reason to have anything against this, or any other ethnic group for that matter. But this group of guys in particular stick next to me as if they were a swarm of moths to an incandescent light as I regale the tales of my family's "endless" (or so they think) wealth. And this disturbs me.

I think nothing of the prospect of my father owning multiple hotels and a restaurant, as I never have. This simply has been my upbringing. But to some, it is a fairy tale from which enormous jealously stems. I say that my house has four central air-conditioning units, my parents both drive Mercedes, and I drive a BMW, they all "ooh" and "ah" at my decadent lifestyle. I do my best to proclaim that numerous other people have a great deal of more wealth than my own family, and that my "luxuries" mean nothing in this day and age with people's home theater systems, swimming pools, basketball and tennis courts, fountains effacing their driveways and what have you.

I have attempted rather meekly for them to sympathize with me. I reason that I have never received an allowance, that I do chores for little to no money in return, that my house is not in fact equipped with a home theater system or any of the other aforementioned marks of wealth. I have never sought a cushy job from my father's business, and instead have desired to be independent so as to not have to get involved in the troublesome family (feud of a) company and want to be paid fairly apart from my family, and to get a sense of the real world. No such sympathy has been returned despite my earnest efforts of understanding their own modest living and financial conditions.

I am intensely tired of having to talk of my family's "extravagant" living conditions. We have no [especially] fancy or fast cars, no wonderfully expensive utilities around our house, and for that matter, haven't even finished paying off our house.

I cannot count the number of times I have been asked how much money my father makes, nor the number of times I have shook my head and ignored the question. My family is just like any other family, we have financial responsibilities, enormous taxes to pay, education to fund, and currently are in an even more sizable amount of debt to take care of and thus, don't have great loads of money for leisure to spend.

The Car Show Premiere: Off To a Good Start!

The Car Show goes to show that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. I say this as the US version of Top Gear has already been tried, and by the looks if it, isn't coming back (I argue this is for better because of the hosts' lack of chemistry and humor that is expected with anything with "Top Gear" in the title).

Yet what separates The Car Show from a cheap Top Gear knock-off is the variety and uniqueness of the show's segments. There was a game show, a segment about the 24 Hours of Lemons in Reno, Nevada, an interview with Jimmie Johnson, a segment called "0-60" in which the hosts have 60 seconds to talk about the given car or issue, a ride in a Rolls-Royce Ghost at Pebble Beach, and a race between an aircraft and a Porsche 911 GT3 RS. Never for the duration of the show was there a moment of dead air while in-studio, convincing me of the hosts' awkwardness as was the case for Top Gear USA on multiple occasions.

The Car Show is a perfect argument for why there is no need for an American version of Top Gear. Rather than being an unfunny carbon copy of the impossible to recreate recipe that is the UK version of Top Gear, The Car Show is genuinely funny in its own right and I believe will have far more longevity than a show with an Italian guy, a southerner and a drifter all trying to be funny, and all failing miserably at the same time.

Albeit Dan Neil is the tastemaker, gentlemanly type à la, Richard Hammond, Adam Carolla is the spearhead of the show, and is the funniest as Jeremy Clarkson, only Carolla's much less as appropriate with his sense of humor as Man Show enthusiasts can attest. And unlike any of Top Gear's regional offshoots in Russia, Australia, or the USA, The Car Show features four hosts, creating a strange middle ground for any James May comparisons. The most oddball of the four hosts is easily John Salley. Firstly, given that he was a professional basketball player, he seems to in few ways warrant the title of 'most credible automobile commentators in the nation' as Carolla introduced his co-hosts. Sure, he may admire the way cars sound and look, but he was very ill-advised for whenever he made a criticism. He may own a Lamborghini, Porsche, Ferrari, or what have you, but those were not earned for his professional driving prowess, or his auto journalism for that matter. His only real involvement in cars is casual ownership and admiration. But if that's what it takes to be a show host, why not make me one? I actually know what a differential does, what a coilover consists of, my first word was "car", I digress.

The Car Show is in many ways the same as Top Gear as it features in-car reviews of cars with astronomical pricetags that are useful for little more than entertainment, although they're entertaining nonetheless.

My only complaint is the cinematography. Top
Gear USA, while having frankly boring presenters, had some of the most impressive shots of cars I have ever seen before, including the the original Top
Gear, with its postmodern camera filters. On it's own though, the car shots are professional and don't make you notice there's any room for improvement.

Ultimately, it's a good thing Carolla never hopped aboard the Top Gear USA train, and instead made a show of his own to allow himself more free reign to create something that stands apart from the rest of the new generation of YouTube and commercial-based Top Gear copycats. And it's going to be Carolla to have the last laugh, not Foust.