I totaled the EVO last night.

Its three in the morning and I can't sleep. I'm traumatized and feel nauseous. I think writing about it will help.

Last night at about 9 PM after having dinner with the Prof., I decided to drive up Sharp Park Road for a spirited jaunt in the EVO. We were half way up the hill and approaching a 4th gear 90 degree left-hander. I took the entrance at a comfortable speed. The following will be a millisecond by millisecond blow by blow.

Entry was smooth.

At mid-corner, the back end started coming out slowly. I expected this and maintained my velocity and throttle angle.

Then very rapidly the back end swung out in a way I've never experienced before.

".......what's happening?......."

I didn't lift for sure and applied opposite lock in the direction of the skid.

The car snapped in the opposite direction, toward the center median. I couldn't catch it quickly enough.

"......This can't be happening......."

Then the car snapped in the other direction again. By this time, I was careening toward the guard rail and all steering input were futile attempts. I was no longer in any control of the car.

".......I'm in an EVO dammit, this can't be happening!!......"

The car impacted the guard rail at 50 miles per hour. We bounced off of it and pin-balled back onto the road and slowly ground to a halt after 50 feet.

I was stunned. Was I dreaming? The whole thing seemed so surreal. Did what happened really just happen? The Prof. immediately asked me if I was okay. I said yes and asked him the same. I turned off the car, turned on my hazards, unbuckled my belt and then it hit me:

".....Oh My God. My car is destroyed......"

Soon after my 911 call, a Police cruiser showed up and took charge of the situation. I had no idea what to do and he walked me through the entire process. He was supportive and non-plus about it all. But most importantly, he made sure we understood that we can be comforted by the fact that we were alive...and without a single scratch.

A flat bed tow truck came by and we towed my wreck back to his shop parking lot where other crashed vehicles await insurance review. The owner took one look under the car with his flashlight and said that there was frame damage. He opened both front doors and the panels weren't flush. All this meant that the car is a total loss.

The Prof. has been unbelievably kind and supportive throughout it all. He gave me a ride back to his house where I made the call to my insurance company. Afterward, he drove me to my parents house. I'm taking advantage of their being on vacation and took the liberty of borrowing my Mother's car to get home.

I gave my wife a huge hug when I arrived. My mind has been swimming with thoughts and I'm feeling alot of different emotions.

Firstly, I feel horrendously guilty and apologetic toward the Prof. I risked his frickin LIFE this evening. We drove up the hill in his van afterwards to examine the site of the crash. Apparently if I had missed the guardrail by a mere FIVE FEET we would have careened into a tree and/or down the cliff at 50 MPH. We're lucky to be alive.

We talked about alternate dimensions shortly after that and it occurred to us that in some parallel universe somewhere, we had missed that guardrail and the Prof. and/or I were killed. Both of our wives would receive calls from the Police that we were dead. I couldn't live with myself if I had killed the Prof. while on a stupid joyride.

Secondly, I feel utterly guilty for having put my wife through such a fright. She could have lost her husband and in this regard I am truly ashamed of myself.

Then, of course, there's my CAR. My beloved EVO. Its destroyed beyond repair. I was going to spend the weekend buffing out a small scratch on the trunk. I can't believe I've wrecked her. She'll never drive again.

Lastly, I'm traumatized. You see, I haven't lost control of a car in 20 years, and I've never been in a serious car accident EVER. I've had powerful sports cars my entire life, have a good half-MILLION miles of driving under my belt, and been to the race-track a dozen times. I PRIDE myself in my driving, and more so pride myself to near arrogance in the way I believe I know my limits. On the race-track, I've never spun and, more-so, have never even been in an awkward situation, let alone a crash. Simply put, I felt I was a darn safe driver with alot of high-performance driving experience.

Furthermore, this is one of my favorite stretches of road. I've driven it a thousand times over the course of nearly two decades. I regularly drive it up and down nearly every week. I know every inch of it.

And this is what scares me the most: I took that turn slowly (relatively speaking). I regularly enter that turn 10 mph quicker. ThePerfectLine takes that turn 15 mph quicker. And on a race-track, I would nonchalantly enter a similar turn at much much higher velocity with the added complexity of deep braking and a down-shift before executing the turn. I went in slow and, in my estimation, well under the limit....and I WAS WRONG.

I was utterly wrong. I lost control where I believed I couldn't lose control. And in this regard, I feel not only totally humiliated but totally unsure of everything I know about driving. Even driving home in my Mother's Corolla made me uneasy.

Last week I signed up for an Aug 30th track day at Thunderhill. A buddy of mine is willing to lend he his Miata for the day. It was a nice gesture but it makes my stomach turn with idea of hitting the track. If I was told right now that I could never go to the race track ever again, I'd be okay with that. If I was told right now that I'd have to live with driving a Prius, I'd be okay with that. I am so unsure of my driving that I think I'd enjoy and feel safer driving my Mother's Corolla for a while.

Part of me wants to go right back out there and learn what I did wrong. Get another brand new EVO, build it up exactly like my wrecked EVO, go out to a deserted Alameda airfield, recreate that turn in cones, and drive it ten thousand times to, not only, desensitize me, but also to figure out how the fuck I spun when I thought there was no way I could. At this time, I don't think I can feel comfortable ever driving in any other way other than like a Grandma if I weren't able to put myself through this.

Its nearly five in the morning now and I should try to get some rest.

I feel better after writing this. When you see me next or call me after hearing the news of the crash, I'll probably end up referring you to this blog entry.

All things considered, I feel blessed and lucky for both the Prof. and I having survived the crash without any injuries whatsoever. Furthermore, despite the destruction of my car, my insurance company will send me a check for its current Blue Book Value which (I've just checked) far exceeds what I even paid for the vehicle NEW!! I've walked away physically and financially unscathed with an invaluable life lesson learned and just a bit of a bruised ego to show for it all. So I suppose I shouldn't complain.

At some point in the near future, I'll have to decide what car to buy next. I can't believe I'm actually considering buying an Insight Hybrid!! Perhaps my days of high-performance driving are over. I'm not worried...knowing me, I'll find another all consuming hobby to take its place in no time.

Film Review: Martyrs by Pascual Laugier

The Prof. had me watch this film last night and I'm still reeling. He should have warned me about the content, but that would have only piqued my curiosity. Mind you, I love the Horror Film Genre, but this film pushes into new uncharted territory.

I am angry at the director for having made this film....he's what I'd call a "Directorial Terrorist". I most certainly will never forget this film in the same way I will never forget seeing my first dead body, or when I that knife fell off the kitchen counter onto my foot when I was three, or when I went in for my circumcision at the age of four (as Filipino's do for some ghastly sadistic reason), or when I was attacked and bitten by a dog at eight. And in this most perverted way, I give Laugier grudging Kudos as a film maker.

You see, when it comes to most Film, I am more than willing to hand the Director the keys to my unconscious mind. I allow myself to go where they intend me to go, to see what they ask me to see, to feel what they allow me to feel. And in this respect, constant exposure (by virtue of my career) combined with my own strangely demented psychology has inured me to even the most horrific or tragic or desperately sad content. Rarely does a director grab these keys, enter into my intrapsyche, and trash my mind to a degree that I can't clean up afterwards. And in those very rare cases where the director empathically assaults my sensibilities, he/she has been at least kind enough to clean up a bit afterwards.

In Martyrs, this is not the case. This Bastard of a Director grab my keys, then kicks the door down, detonates a bomb, and then walks right out the door leaving me with what amounts to as a dust-broom to clean up afterwards....that was the nature of the End of this movie for me. ZERO resolution.

The Prof. helped me try to find closure but he himself was struggling to glean redemption from the most subtle and meager tid-bits.

I appreciate the Prof. making me watch this film and I would recommend this film to my Goober friends. But anyone, particularly women, with any trauma or abuse history (specifically childhood abuse history) would be wise to stay away.

The unflinching camera and approach to the inhumanity and cruelty lacking any editorial or moral judgement borders on the unethical and steps clearly into indecency with it's porno-gore depictions. No soundtrack, no turning away, no escape, no more boundaries.

There was a point in the film where for the first time in my life I actually didn't want to continue watching. With 30 minutes left before it's end, I told the Prof. that I was angry with the Director and felt he had made his point and that the remaining 30 minutes of assured graphic torture was completely and utterly unnecessary to further the plot. He reassured me of some sort of redemption but it never came....at least for me.

I'd like you guys to see this movie so that we can commiserate as if after some shared trauma. Watch it as it was intended; in French with subtitles, with ZERO distractions.

If by chance you find yourself cheering or laughing with giddiness at certain points of this film, I sincerely question your sanity. This movie was meant to offend and if you're not, there is something wrong with your soul.