Why I’m Still Furiously in Love, 15 Years Later

When The Fast and the Furious opened almost fifteen years ago — back in the summer of 2001 — I was sort of aimlessly drifting through life.

New York was kicking my ass and I was still reeling from the untimely death of my grandmother.

Depression had set in and I was angry and bitter that as a 28-year-old girl with a lot of soul and talent — I was being regulated to the task of helping rich white women on the Upper East Side — find the perfect wares to pack for summer in the Hamptons.

By the way — I ended up fulfilling my lifelong dream of crashing the burrow of all burrows and it’s all a sham!

The Hamptons from Bridge to East is a collectively dull mass of the privileged encased in lobster shorts and polo shirts.

The summer of 2001 was shaping up to be just like the summer of 2000.


Excerpt for the fact that I was sleeping with a hot guy who redefined the art of the “Big-O” in ways that still beckon me to mouth “Gio” whenever I try to replicate his maneuver.

Then The Fast and the Furious decadently skidded into view. I wasn’t impressed. It was so obviously a movie for Petrolheads who were begging for their need for speed to be validated.

Cars were not my vice because living in a city that never sleeps meant you could get drunk and doze off as your cab driver does the all the work.

But when you’re dating someone of the opposite sex — cars, girls and life in the fast lane is a combination that can’t be sidelined. And I sure as heck didn’t want him seeing it with anyone else.

So, I did us both a favor and relented.

I was madly in love. You readily give in when the promise of an awesome late night romp is the end result.

It turned out to be an epic viewing that altered the scope of my reality as it pertains to hot guys in hot cars racing to impress hotter girls.

First off, the casting agent gets all the props for instituting what can be regarded as the blueprint of what it takes to get a movie lit up and burning for the ages.


The collection of eye candy was beyond words. I totally spaced when the poster for the film was strewn all over the city.

Vin Diesel! The hot ass space convict from Pitch Black! How didn’t I peep that?

And then my girl Michelle Rodriguez who gave me pause as I internalized her mad skills in Girlfight.

All I knew about Jordana Brewster was that she was kicking it with Mark Wahlberg and I hated her for it.

And finally the reason why I am still able to come every time without fail.

Paul Walker. The blond and blue-eyed surfer who was so irresistibly profound because despite obviously being a white dude — he had the swag that automatically made him legit.

He was the my kind of white guy. Not the bland Nantucket type or the holier than thou version — but the Caucasian who overthrows his looks to chill with the crowd.

This film had me mesmerized and more than adequately aroused from start to finish.

As my guy had his arms around me — I was vividly imagining that I was at the star-studded premiere as the paramour of any of those racers — preferably the blond one or the one with the voice that summons heat.

I also visualized the probability of being part of the cast. How dreamy it would be to call this sophisticated gang — family.

The cool as shit misfits who traumatize the streets of Los Angeles until the cops fuck up their game.

That’s just it.

The Fast and the Furious was ahead of its time and it was also the bearer of all the things that we are now trying to embarrassingly replicate.

When the characters were built and erected — it was an organic tendency towards a culture that was already thriving.

We look at it now and think — how genius it was to create a story around muscle cars and a white cop — who is comfortable and qualified enough to infiltrate a group of diverse street thugs on the hunt for the next big hit.

Back then — the plot didn’t seem so revolutionary — but more than a decade later it does.

That’s because nothing has matched what The Fast and the Furious delivered with causal dopeness and astute adherence to the fundamentals of all-encompassing filmmaking.

If you build it — they will come.

The film that started it all is now a global phenomenon and a well oiled franchise that won’t quit until the engines are forced to disobey the order to…

Rev Up.

The death of Paul Walker who played the role of Brian O’Connor was a devastating blow and even more intolerable when you consider that he died in a fiery car crash.

So direly cliche.

But the show must go on.

And the announcement that for the 15th anniversary — the original masterpiece will once again have the honor of gracing movie screens across the country is both exhilarating and bittersweet.

So much has happened since I escorted my then boyfriend to see the film that ended up being a life changer.

I wish we had stayed together. I am a lot older and more disillusioned than ever.

My orgasms aren’t as frequent. And now I know that nothing lasts forever.

Even gorgeous blond cops who are one of the good guys — yearning for the pleasure of driving fast against the law of confinement.

Rebel Without a Cause was the mandate for a generation and The Fast and the Furious serves the exact same purpose for me.

It wasn’t on par with Schindler’s List or any of the other classics that are orchestrated for the glory of recognition.

It was a depiction of life in its most basic and unfiltered state. The need to survive and beat the odds with your crew of loyalists who promise to ride or die — even when the stakes are too high.

That’s mad love right there. And I am furiously digging it

15 years later…

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