The Great (?) Brad-sby

"I did it for me. I liked it. I was good at it. And…I was…really…I was alive."

For the entire run of Breaking Bad, Walter White had repeated the same mantra- whatever I'm doing, I'm doing for my family. It was a lie with which he could protect himself. A rationalization that, even when he had eighty million dollars, enough to support dozens of families for years, that he could restate to whoever would listen.Yet finally, last night, when Walter was able to admit that no, in fact, he did it for himself in an attempt to regain his significance in a world that for reasons that were both his fault and the fault of circumstance had completely stripped him of it, that he could finally die.

Was "Felina", a anagram for "Finale", the best Breaking Bad episode ever? Probably not. That honor could belong to any number of episodes, from the bottle episodes "Fly" or "Four Days Out" to most recently the climactic "Ozymandias", which was certainly the high point of the season (and as Vince Gilligan has said, the entire series). But "Felina" was perhaps one of the best series finales in television history. It didn't have any major surprises, aside from the first act where Walter goes to the Schwartzes to blackmail them into setting up a "trust" for Junior while Tweedledum and Tweedledumber sat in the bushes brandishing laser pointers. Most of the major plot points had been correctly guessed by all of the corners of the internet weeks ago- from the ricin being used to poison Lydia to Chekov's M-60 being used against the Neo-Nazis (who, for the record, we never did actually see doing any Neo-Nazi activities).

But that didn't matter, because the execution was so well done and the payoffs so visceral and satisfying that you could forgive the fact that it was a tad formulaic. Even the Deus Ex Machina device of having the keys fall from the sun visor like they were dropped from heaven seemed to fit Walt's destiny to exact vengeance and go out on his own terms. And of course, there were the special Breaking Bad twists sprinkled throughout. Another show might have had Walt march Rambo style into the confines of the Neo-Nazi camp, guns blazing, shouting quippy one liners while mowing down skinhead after skinhead. But instead Walt used science (car batteries and key fobs bitch!) to settle the matter at hand.

And perhaps best of all, the most well plotted show of the past decade got the most well plotted ending of the past decade. There wasn't a sudden cut to black "Did I just sit on my remote?" ending like the Sopranos or a church scene with everyone high-fiving each other like Lost (both finales which, for the record, I really enjoyed) Everything was neatly wrapped up, but not in a way that felt hackneyed or out of character. Walt didn't have a reconciliation with Junior, because really, that wouldn't have made sense, and he's left to gaze at the boy who once had set up a website in his name but now is more than happy to be called Flynn to further disassociate from his meth kingpin father. Walt took a bullet for Jesse, shielding him from the errant bullets ricocheting around the room. But there was no hugging it out (bitch!) between the two culinary artists of meth. Instead Jesse did what he probably should have done in the first place- walked away from a man whose quest for a nest egg for his family quickly turned into a placation of his own ego. The ghost of Hank haunted Walt as he walked through the site of his 50th birthday party, but it wasn't hit-you-over-the-head obvious like it could have been. I'll admit that Walt's "New Meth Formula- Now With Less Meth!" plan seemed a little rushed- but maybe the poor dude had been locked up in a cabin in the middle of nowhere for so long that his lying skills were a bit rusty. But the climax it led to, and the visceral excitement of seeing a room full of enslaving Neo Nazis torn to bits more than made up for it (including a wonderfully darkly comic moment with a massage chair that keeps right on kneading and vibrating after the chaos has subsided). After saying goodbye, for lack of better words, to his protege/ son Jesse, Walt walks over to be with his true love- chemistry, as the police arrive, as Walt slumps to the ground in a moment of catharsis.

Walt dies not a repentant man, but a man at peace with the choices that he has made, most of which were awful. But the most frightening part is that frustration with life, the desire to have more and to take what we firmly believe is ours, exists within each and every one of us, whether or not we'd like to admit it to be the case. And that it only takes the right amount of circumstance and a random occurrence of events, not unlike a chemical reaction, to make each and every one of us break bad…

There's a line in "Granite State" where the vacuum cleaner repairman (played with a measure of restraint and world-weariness by Robert Forester, best known to most audiences as the guy who worked with and tried to woo Pam Grier in Quentin Tarantino's Jackie Brown) tells Walter White that perhaps he could look on his two acres and solitude as something of a blessing. As soon as he mentions the words, we see Walter White's face start to stir. This isn't a vacation. This isn't lying low. This is prison. In fact, one could argue that it's very likely a form of hell for Walter, the irony being that in the mountains of New Hampshire that hell has literally frozen over. Walter is tripped both physically and mentally, and now gets to replay the plethora of poor decisions he made to end up in the Live Free or Die state. That is, when he's not watching one of his two copies of Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium (perhaps one of them is region locked, or something).

If last week's "Ozymandias" was a horror splatter film, this served as more of a psychological thriller- a man pushed to the edge by isolation, with nothing but thoughts of how he's wronged his family to torture him. Suffering from cabin fever Walt is held prisoner by his own fear of the unknown- that great icy uncertainty beyond his front gate. When he finally does manage to break free, he heads to the bar to make a call to his son (the cracking voice that Cranston uses when talking to Junior and telling him how good it is to hear the sound of his own voice is heartbreaking) only to hear Junior wish him nothing but death. Life over, Walt settles down for a glass of Dimple Pinch (which I imagine is going to get at least a bit of a bump from the show, although Gilligan has professed to enjoying Whistle Pig) until he gets the catharsis he needs- an interview by Charlie Rose with the founders of Grey Matter that spurs Walt to action- the only thing worse than taking his money would be to take his pride and sense of accomplishment.

But for as daunting a metaphorical prison as Walter faces, it's nothing compared to the literal prison that Jesse faces. Clutching a picture of Andrea and Brock, Jesse is rewarded with ice cream for a job well done (I think he picks "Americone Dream", the flavor that Stephen Colbert created with the two brothers from Vermont). After a heartbreaking scene of escape from Jesse, we witness one of the most heartbreaking scenes in Breaking Bad. Jane's overdose was certainly tragic (Jesse's claim of "I loved her more than anything" as he sobs in the meth house is still one of my favorite scenes ever), but you could make the argument that she brought it on herself. And while Andrea had certainly started off as a meth abuser, she is the definition of an innocent victim- a person who just happened to fall for the wrong boy in the recovery clinic. Death would certainly be preferable to the hell that Jesse's now living in, and I hold out hope that he'll be able to exact some sort of righteous vengeance on those who have wronged him.

If there's any firm theme that exists in the Breaking Bad universe, it's that actions have repercussions, and there's no such thing as getting out clean. From the moment that Walt approached Jesse in the driveway and decided to start cooking meth, he sewed his own seeds for destruction. Walter has no one left to lean on (even the vacuum repairman can't be bothered to stay for an extra hour after receiving ten thousand dollars). The realization hits him hard, and he knows what he needs to do. No more reliance on others. He made the mess. It's time to clean it up, and end the madness.

Other thoughts:

Maybe he could get away with it…

After all, Skyler seemed to buy the fact that Bogdon was making him stay late in order to change the computer system at the car wash (although if he really wanted to buy himself some time, he could probably say that Bogdon needed help waxing his eyebrows, something that would certainly take Walter all night).  He brought up the fact that maybe this weekend they could go for a drive, get out of town, and get away from the pain and suffering caused by the cancer ravaging his body that only he knew about.  Maybe this could all work out- get in, make some money, and then leave it to his family.  He'd die on his terms, without charity to make him feel even more emasculated than he had already become.

But that was before Krazy-8.  Before Tuco Salamanca.  Before Gus Fring, Uncle Jack, and a myriad of other external forces that would convince him that making meth is, in fact, a dangerous business.  But not nearly as dangerous as a man who feels maligned his entire life and therefore has something to prove.

There stood Walter on the site of his first cook, with nothing around to show for it other than a hall of bullets and a trail of blood from his brother in law, a fitting tribute to the Shelly poem after which the episode was named.  Gomez was long gone, a death that occurred off screen but was rendered no less significant.  Hank struggled to maneuver towards another gun, a repeat of his last minute heroics that saved his life while the Cousins opened fire on him in a parking lot, but luck ran out, and there would be no reprieve this time for Captain Ahab.  While Walt pleaded Hank's case, offering money in exchange for the life of the man who had spent more than a year trying to hunt him down, Jack would have none of it.  And rather than beg and plead for this life, like his brother in law would have done, Hank proclaimed one final expletive, and late fate do the rest, leaving Walt to fall to his knees, ground shattering beneath him.

And that was just the first act.

The rest of the episode seemed to be just as nail biting.  It's bizarre to watch a show wondering how it could possibly get worse, and then being genuinely surprised when it does, and quickly.  It was an exercise in nauseation- from Jesse being hooked up slave style to the ceiling and forced to cook meth while staring at a picture of Andrea and Brock, to Walt, Skyler, and Junior rolling around on the floor knife being pulled between them.  In fact, there were parts of "Ozymandias" that felt distinctly like a horror film- there was screaming, baby-napping, and a fairly decent amount of blood shed from Gomey, Hank, and Walt's left hand.  No where is this more evident then when Walt stands before a cowering Junior and Skyler proclaiming that the madness must stop because they're a family, before realizing that he's the cause of all of the horror before bolting into the night with Holly.

The next scene is simultaneously thrilling and heartbreaking.  What beings as an out of character turn for Walt quickly becomes the master of lies spinning yet another yarn.  Anna Gunn does a brilliant job in reaching the revelation that her husband still in fact wants to protect the family by putting all of the blame onto himself.  Yet there's also probably kernels of truth there when Walt callously calls his wife a bitch, and proclaims that she never appreciated what he did for the family.  In the end though, Walt comments that he "still has things to do", one of which could possibly be atoning for his sins, and he climbs into the red minivan, setting off for parts unknown.  Or possibly New Hampshire, if that license plate from twelve episodes ago is any indication

I've seen a lot of commentary online saying that this was the greatest episode of Breaking Bad ever, commentary that includes the creator of Breaking Bad Vince Gilligan.  I must say I'm inclined to agree, and not just because the sheer amount of loose ends that were wrapped up in this episode.  It's because of the tension coupled with the emotion and seeming admission from Walt that he's the cause of all of his family's woes by simply picking up and leaving.  I honestly don't know what's coming next, but that wouldn't be the first time I've had that thought about this show (I wondered the same thing after they killed über- villain Gus Fring).  All I know is that it involves a big ass machine gun and a vial full of ricin.  I'll leave it in Gilligan's capable hands...

I usually have the episode running again in the background when I'm writing recaps, just to pull different lines and write them down at the bottom here, as well as refreshing me on particular elements I may have missed the first time around.  This time though it's taking me forever to write this up, as I'm spending entirely more time watching than I am writing.

Todd legitimately frightens me now (I loved the out of focus shot of him in the background changing into his yellow lab gear before cooking).  I wouldn't be the least bit surprised to learn that he's going about making Jesse as his meth slave entirely independent of his Neo-Nazi uncle, more than likely to impress that neurotic mess Lydia.  I can only hope that one of the bullets in Walt's M-40 (nay, several) has Todd's name on it.

It looks like the evil gene skips a generation, as Junior saving his mother's life and calling the police on his father may be the single most heroic thing done in the entire series.

Look!  It's Walt's pants from the first cook!  

On the Breaking Bad podcast director Rian Johnson (who also directed Looper) and writer Moira Wally-Beckett revealed that they painstakingly researched patterns on the chess board where the king was thiiiis close to being captured during the fire house scene to draw parallels to Walter's predicament.  It's another detail that few (including myself) probably never would have noticed had it not been pointed out.

"Jesus, what's will all the greed here?  It's unattractive."

"I watched Jane die.  I was there.  And I watched her die.  I watched her overdose and choke to death.  I could have saved her.  But I didn't." Just when Walt gets points for trying to save Hank's life, he's right back in the negative column again.

In his journey from Mr. Chips to Scarface, Walter White has committed a surprisingly little amount of murders with his own hands.  There was Crazy-8 at the beginning of the series, but that could probably easily be rationalized by the realization that he's crafted a makeshift knife out of the remnants of the yellow plate on which Walter served him a sandwich (crusts cut off!).  And there were the two drug dealers that were hit by Walter's car as he saved Jesse's life, but again that done in defense of Jesse's life, so extinction of life rationalized away.  The only real murder that Walter committed without any provocation was Mike, when he insulted Walter's ego and pride.  Hell hath no fury like a man with a wounded ego.  Instead Walt has functioned as a puppet master.  He moves the strings but lets the marionettes do his dirty work, from Jesse killing Gale to old man Tito manically dinging a bell to ensure Gus's demise.

Thus it was fitting that during perhaps the biggest gun battle in Breaking Bad's history (and now we know where that money went we we only saw Lydia's point of view a few episodes ago) that Walter was stuck in Hank's SUV while hell rained down in the form of glass shards on Walter's body.  The men are all here because of him, and yet he sits insulated and protected from all of the madness.  Or perhaps "trapped" is more apropos- as Heisenberg yields to Walter White as he frantically pounds the window to first warn Hank and then plead with Uncle Jack not to escalate things further.

But boy, does that confrontation take a long time to brew.  Other shows might have pushed it sooner, but that tension simmers for what seems like days before it comes to a boil, from Walter hiding behind the rock to him slowly walking out to submit to an almost gleeful Hank, who calls his wife to confirm that the worst is indeed, all over (because apparently he missed the whole "One Day From Retirement" lesson in the police academy).  We'd love for that to be it- for Ahab to finally catch that White Whale.  But we know better.  The Whale has friends with swastika tattoos that have itchy trigger fingers.  I admit that the cut away seemed a little tonally different than what Breaking Bad normally does and left for a jarring ending (though not as jarring as Tony Soprano eating onion rings to strains of "Don't Stop Believin'" followed by a series ending cut to black), and we'll have to wait until next week to see if stopping a battle right in the middle pays off.

But the battle begins, and any victory's bound to be a pyrrhic one.  If one's things for certain, it's that there's a lot of bullets flying around Walter and Jesse's ceremonial first cook site.  And one of them's bound to hit something…

Other observations:

Any hope of reconciliation between Walt and Jessie dropped the moment when Jesse called his former mentor "Walt".  Drop "bitch" all you want, but when you use his first name?  It's over.

As evil as Walter has become, I think that Todd might be infinitely more terrifying.  At least Walter might, at some point, be able to show a modicum of remorse for some of the things he's done.  But from killing Drew Sharp without a second's hesitation to fondly fingering Lydia's coffee cup after it was stained with lipstick or smirking and quickly shaking his head when asked about Jesse's level of badass-ness, Todd seems just terrible.  I still give him massive points for his ringtone though, if for no other reason than it makes me think of this.

I love the stalwartness of Gomey.  Even when his partner is after his man, he says that he'll follow the letter of the law.  Steve Michael-Quezada said that he's the only character on the show to not "break bad".  Which means he's probably a goner...

Where does one go to buy brains?  And how much per pound?

Did Kuby take off, scared of what Walter might do?  What is he, a fag?

"Mom!  You forgot to say it!" 

"You burned it?  Like a cake?"

Sometimes a bald guy is just a bald guy.

It’s a lesson that Jesse doesn’t learn, as he doesn’t survey the scene long enough to ascertain that the intimidating looking man really doesn’t have any interest in the shenanigans between Walt the meth kingpin of Albuquerque and his apprentice/ semi-adopted son Jesse.  He’s far more interested in looking menacing for a brief period of time before relenting and taking his daughter into his arms.  But you can’t blame Jesse for being too careful.  After all, it’s well documented that there’s a strong correlation on Breaking Bad between the amount of hair one has and the amount of sheer wickedness they possess.  Of course there’s the conversation as to how that factors into the flash-forwards that we’ve seen where Walt seemingly had a full head of hair and a big bushy beard, but leave it to Vince Gilligan to subvert his own genre conventions.

Regardless of the mixup that happens, it’s clear that with his phone call Jesse seems to have thrown down the gauntlet.  Jesse makes references to wanting to hurt Mr. White where “he really lives”, which we can only believe involves hurting his family.  It’s conceivable that Walt may go after Skyler, even though she kindly shared some homemade scab-less green beans with him that she purchased at Albertsons.  After all, she wants Walter to drop all of the euphemistic language and just deal with the problem at hand.  But would he really hurt Walter Jr.?  And leave young Holly an orphan?  We know that if Jesse has one weak spot, it’s children.

But regardless, Jesse teams up reluctantly with Hank.  There are echoes here of Jesse continues to search for parental guidance and a paternal figure here- from being buckled up by Hank on the ride home to sleeping off a high in the Schrader household.  Jesse certainly seems wiser now (jaded?) from being hurt so many times by Walter.  But Hank doesn’t seem to know, which might be one of the episode’s weak points.

I’ve read one critic’s review that this was a clunker of a Breaking Bad episode.  I’ll admit that there’s probably not any way that it would make my top ten list of favorite episodes.  The team up of Jesse and Hank seems a little too easy for me.  And what’s more distressing to me is the fact that Hank seems to be reverting to his Popeye Doyle methods of doing anything to get his man, even willing to sacrifice Jesse for his own ends.  To Hank, Jesse is nothing more than a “junkie murderer dribbling all over his bathroom floor.” that can easily take a bullet if it means that a greater evil is quelled.  But hasn’t Hank learned anything from the revelation that his mild mannered brother is a high-quality meth chemist and distributor?  Appearances are often deceiving, and it’s a bit frustrating to see a character as dynamic as Hank sink into a archetype from an earlier season.  Even the somewhat racist/sexist banter between Hank and Gomez seems like something from out of an earlier season.

But this is an important breather episode before the final month of shows.  It gives us a chance to reexamine motivations and see just what paths have lead us here.  We see that Skyler seems to be projecting the same ruthless tendencies as her husband.  We see that Marie is racked with hate towards who her sister and brother-in-law have become, and is willing to let an addict detox in her house if it means Hank can put a stop to it.  And Junior embraces his father by the hotel pool, as a reminder of why Walt set upon this path of ruin in the first place, although it’s probably too late for any sort of redemption.

So in short, it’s table setting for the last batch.  There’s no punches, no explosions, and the biggest possible spark is stopped by Hank before it even starts.  But table setting on Breaking Bad is still better than table setting on any other show.  The tension is still ratcheted up to an almost unbearable point twice in less than fifty minutes.  And Saul still gets the chance to wax metaphors in his Lincoln.

So the table seems to be set.  And whether there’s a bald man or a coiffed waiter serving the main course, it’s bound to get messy.

Other observations

• Jesse and Marie finally get a scene together!  Granted, it’s not much of a scene, and some of it takes place while actor Betsy Brandt is off screen inquiring about his coffee preferences.  But still!  Maybe Jesse and Junior can meet next.  Preferably in a showdown over a stack of pancakes.

• Speaking of which, if that hotel has a breakfast buffet, then Junior must be in heaven.

• “Walt’s a bastard.  The secret’s out.”  That line seemed a little forced, like Dean Norris was trying too hard to be “quippy police guy”.

• Is this the first therapy session we’ve seen on the show- aside from the counseling that Walt had before entering into surgery?  It reminded me of Janice Soprano and her hippie therapist on The Sopranos.  Dave needs a full beard to be trustworthy- it’s either full Freud or nothing dude.

• Buckle up Jesse!  The life you save…

• Whenever Walter White flails his limbs about in an effort to create a lie, like he did when talking about the malfunctioning pump, I can’t help but laugh. 

• “Let’s say that he’s not in the mood for a nuanced discussion about the virtues of child poisoning…”  Regardless of Walt’s misgivings, I’d gladly buy a book of verses written by the Poet Laureate Saul Goodman.

• Walter White- the introspective pool guy.

"Walt is probably the first main character in a show that I've watched that I really want to die."

A coworker spoke these words at lunch today, and she wan't alone.  Walter is far from the first television characters that many have had misgivings about- Tony Soprano immediately comes to mind as someone who the audience had trouble rooting for (a fact that Chase seemed to relish as he kept putting Tony in one morally ambiguous situation after another to dare the audience to keep liking him).  Even Vince Gilligan has admitted that he can no longer really root for Walt.  When the show's creator seems to have lost faith in you, your days are numbered.

Last week though there seemed to be flashes of that weakness and vulnerability that endeared us to Walt in the beginning, as he lay on the cold bathroom floor, swaddled in blankets, insides ravaged by cancer, pleading for Skyler to turn him in so long as she kept the money he'd worked so hard for.  We saw the scared Walter White that was introduced to us in season one, the Walter who simply wanted to do right by his family before he shuffled off this mortal coil.  When he set up the video recorder and started to tape a confession, I wondered for a moment- is this it?  Does he confess his sins and then leave town growing a beard and hair- perhaps trying to have his cake and eat it too?

The answer turns out to be a resounding no.  After being interrupted by the brother of that annoying Chotchkie's waiter from Office Space, Walter slides a DVD across a table to Hank.  As Hank pops it in and lets the confession play, we see that Walt is two steps ahead of Hank and Marie, having concocted a wild, but entirely believable based on the evidence, story where Hank is played as the big bad, the man pulling Walter's strings.  "I always thought that Hank was a very moral man," Walter opines, perversely mirroring the opinion that Hank once had about his brother in law.  As Hank and Marie sit and watch in stunned silence, they know Walt has their number.  The confirmation of medical bills paid by ll gotten gains only "puts the final nail in the coffin".

As for Jesse, Walt knows that he can't use threats, so he reverts to his other ace card- disingenuous affection!  After Walt suggests that Jesse can simply "hit the reset button" on his life, Jesse snaps asking Walt to "just for once, stop working me" before breaking down into tears in Walter's arms.  There's a part of Walter that still undoubtedly feels affection for Jesse and wants the best for him (after all, in season four Walt mistakenly called Junior "Jesse" after being beat senseless by him), but that seems to be gone here.

Which leads us to the final scenes of Jesse realizing that his ricin cigarette was, in fact, lifted by Huell who, despite his heft, seems surprisingly nimble of fingers.  The revelation happens so quickly it feels almost forced in a show that is known for it's deliberate plotting and attention to detail, but it leads to a Saul ass whoopin' (poor Saul- perhaps he needs to call the vacuum repairman and arrange a trip to Alaska before things get worse) and then marches with a gas can into the Walt household ready to torch Junior's beloved breakfast table and everything around it.

If Walt really wants to hit that reset button, it seems like fire just may do the trick.

Speaking of the Sopranos, Breaking Bad almost seems to be taking a similar tactic that show so often employed of having the "main story" happen in the background with little glimpses into the Todd and his wacky racist uncles starting their own meth empire.  That M60 machine gun may become more relevant in weeks to come.

The ricin cigarette notwithstanding, I still am amazed by the deliberate nature of everything that the writers put into an episode, so much so that I find more every time I go back and watch- such as the tarantula in the desert being reminiscent of the one that Drew Sharp had on his fateful arachnid collecting trip by the railroad tracks.

Object POV alert!  The gas can and the White's living room floor being covered by said gasoline.

As Chris Hardwick put it on Talking Bad, Walter seems to be great at lying to everyone except his wife.  "Well, I'm just going to go and check the soda machine because it's not latching correctly!  Don't mind me and my ice gun!"

Speaking of which, I'm not a gun aficionado, but wouldn't a revolver that's been frozen be woefully ineffective?  Maybe that's an upcoming plot point.

Between this week and the scabby green beans scene from earlier in season five, Breaking Bad is becoming the go to show for awkward dinner conversations!

I really hope they got that guacamole after Walt and Skyler left.  I mean- they make it right there at the table.

In this "Third Golden Age" of television that we seem to be enjoying, shows seemingly fall into two categories.  The first are shows that are densely plotted.  There is a myriad of characters, settings, and conflicts, and characters always seem to be on the move.  Game of Thrones is one example of this.  It's a show that's so densely plotted that it's hard at times to keep track of who is heading where and for what purpose.  The only real constant seems to be Hodor, whose motivation for all things is, of course, "Hodor".

The second are dramas that center around characters and their interactions with one another, focusing much more on internal conflict rather than external problems.  Mad Men is a great example of this.  I never really understood why Weiner placed such an emphasis on preventing spoilers from leaking out for upcoming episodes, as really there' s not a lot of shocking moments that happen on Mad Men as compared to other shows.  There's the occasional firm closing or when Don separated from Betty (which strangely enough happened over the span of two episodes in season three), but generally there's a much bigger focus on the interactions between characters.  Take "The Suitcase"- the best episode of Mad Men (and one of the best episodes of television in the last five years) which focuses strictly on two characters- Don and Peggy, their contrasting motivations, and the depth of feeling they both have for one another.  And all of that happens over one drunken night where the most action packed event is Duck attempting to defecate on Don's carpet.

So what category does Breaking Bad fall into?  It's a tricky question, and one that Donna Bowman from the AV Club posed when writing an article about the "right" way to watch Breaking Bad.  This is a show that's rife with explosions, gunfire, and drug lords scheming against one another for their piece of the pie, so naturally you'd be inclined to watch it as a pulpy comic book where each page is more thrilling than the last.  And yet last night the biggest gunfight occurred off screen, and both we and Lydia could only use our imaginations to fill in the gaps.  We see exactly one gun raised, and even then the camera cuts away from any sort of violence.

Perhaps some of this is due to budget reasons.  After all, I'd imagine that a full blown gunfight between meth dealers and a group of Aryans led by Todd's uncle with squibs, stuntmen, and explosions would be expensive and time consuming.  But it's also the mark of a lesser show.  Something like The Walking Dead might rely on gore and action to thrill the viewer, but the Breaking Bad writers know that the true tension lies in an extended dialogue between family members who are left slack jawed at the realization that the person in front of them has been misrepresenting themselves for years.  They know that characterization is the foundation for good drama.  The build up between Skyler and Marie is so wrought with emotion and so tense that the slap is almost a cathartic release for her and us both.  The conversation between Skyler and Hank is almost as disconcerting, and Anna Gunn is able to pull off the desperation and tension in both conversations even while keeping her lines to a minimum.  The scene where Skyler almost hyperventilates while Marie talks at her, as opposed to her, is brutal, topped only a moment after when the two fight over Holly.

There's a palpable sense of dread that hangs over the whole episode, particularly when the Schraders leave the house.  The stage is set.  Sides have been chosen.  And it seems that Jesse may be the fulcrum that determines which way the wheel of fate will turn.

Notes:

Speaking of Jesse, Aaron Paul does wonderful things with such little screen time here.  That shot of him on the merry-go-round is particularly effective in demonstrating what kind of guilt ridden madness Jesse seems to have locked himself into.

The lottery ticket is an apt symbol.  When people are blessed with unexpected riches it can sometimes bring out the worst aspects of their personality and reveal who they truly are.  Replaced "blessed with unexpected riches" with "cursed with cancer" and you essentially have the story of Walter White.

The shootout scene is definitely setting up events in the future, but it seems oddly placed in this character focused episode.

That being said, for a psychopath who shoots children, Todd is surprisingly chivalrous when it comes to escorting women across a field of dead meth dealers.

"Maybe your best move is to stay quiet."  A great callback to last week, which begs the question- might this be where Skyler finally breaks bad?

"It's dimly lit."  I really wish I could have used this when I was a kid when my mother asked me why my room was so messy.

Back when I was living back in Santa Barbara, I was driving back form lunch in my car to the office where I was working.  Not wanting to be late, or perhaps not wanting to traverse the many one way streets that ran through downtown, I decided to turn left where only a right hand turn was permitted.  It was innocent enough, but as I started to turn I nearly ran down a bicyclist.  It was a poor decision on my part, and luckily the situation didn't escalate into something more severe than a cyclist hurling four letter words in my general direction.  But it got me thinking- what if I had hit that man on the bicycle?  What if I had, horror of all horrors, killed him?  I'd be sent off to prison, as I was most certainly in the wrong.

That's a fear that many of us probably have- that split second decision or action that causes us to be incarcerated, our most basic freedoms and comforts taken away and replaced with a feeling of uncertainty and dread and whatever is around the corner, whether that's a particularly violent inmate or a bad case of the runs from undercooked prison food.  That's what happens to Piper Chapman, the protagonist of Orange is the New Black, one of Netflix's newest original series, and its best so far.  Piper finds herself serving a fifteen month sentence for a drug smuggling charge that occurred ten years ago (the statute of limitations for such a crime is twelve years, she laments to the prison guard).  It's that severe change that makes Piper question who she really is.

What works:

An excellent (and essentially all female cast)-  It's hard for me to recall the last time I saw a cast that was essentially all female on television (or the computer, as I guess Netflix isn't technically television per say).  Thus the women here get the chance to be heroines, when typically they're portrayed as damsels or a device to move the plot forward in a mostly male story (is it any wonder that Betty Draper, Skyler White, and Lori Grimes are amongst the most hated characters on television series that place them trying to do the right thing amongst flawed male anti-heroes?).  Here women get the chance to be layered and dynamic characters.  Which leads me to...

Rich and evolving characters-  It would be very easy to fill this show with archetypes: the Chola girls who speak only in Spanish to ostracize themselves from the rest of the group, the tough and sassy black characters, or lesbians who want nothing more than to get it on with fellow female inmates.  And there's some of that- mainly because this is a world that ninety percent of the population isn't familiar with.  But creator Jenji Kohan quickly rises above that, giving each of the characters depth and feeling.  Perhaps my favorite character is Suzanne, who's known as "Crazy Eyes" to the rest of the inmates because of her mental instability.  At first she's infatuated with Piper, wanting to make her a "prison wife".  It's played for comedy, but when the affection isn't returned, Crazy Eyes develops as a character.  There's one scene where she talks about her experiences in the psych word, and innocently asks Piper why the other inmates call her "Crazy Eyes".  It's a heartbreaking moment, mainly because you get the idea that she already knows and wonders why the others can't just view her as a person as opposed to a joke.  Other characters such as Kate Mulgrew's Red have similar depth.  Even Sam Healy, the guard who seems to firmly be on Piper's side at the beginning of the season, takes a turn and is another antagonist by the end of the thirteenth episode.

It's funny- Some of the funniest shows are shows that are labeled as "dramas"- if for no other reason that laughs serve to break the tension of something like Walter White's pure evilness.  But Orange is more of a dramedy.  Prison is a serious business, and the show tackles things like death and drug addiction.  But it also doesn't take itself too seriously, making several jokes throughout the season's run.  There's one particular dialogue between two African American characters- Poussey and Tastyee, imagine what a conversation would be like between two upper class white women that is one of the funniest things I've seen all year.  I'd watch an entire show that concentrated on just them.

Yoga Jones is Patty Mayonnaise-  Seriously, look it up.  Mind=blown.

What doesn't work

Pennsatucky-  I think Pennsatucky is an interesting character, and I love the revelation that the Christian Right steps up to support her because they believe her attack on the abortion clinic is a crime of conscience rather than a crime of passion (she's insulted because the nurse makes a snide comment about her getting so many abortions, so naturally she takes a shotgun into the clinic).  But in the world where the other characters aren't just black and white, she seems designed simply so that Piper will have an enemy, and is pretty one- note throughout the season.  And by the end of the season, Piper is already so embroiled in conflict with her lesbian lover Alex (played wonderfully by That 70's Show's Laura Prepon) and her fiancé Larry (played by Jason Biggs) that she doesn't need anyone else there to add to it.  Still, it was satisfying to see her get her face smashed in at the culmination of the last episode.

Larry-  I like Jason Biggs, and I think he does a great job in the series, but his material just doesn't work quite as well.  I understand it from a narrative standpoint- looking at the prison walls for all thirteen episodes would be pretty soul sucking.  And his scenes did serve to show what the "outside world" thinks of prison.  But they just generally slow down the story.  Hopefully he can be utilized a little better in the next season.

It's been said that the only real constant to life is change.

Take a look at the person you were five years ago.  Hell, take a look at the person you were a mere year ago, and chances are that you'll find something completely different.  Perhaps it was the way you dressed.  Perhaps it was the way you interacted with friends and coworkers.  Maybe you were single and now you're married.  Perhaps you've been blessed with the pitter patter of little feet and an abundance of diapers in your cabinets.  It's easy to see that in a relationship as well, and becomes abundantly clear when you break up.  Who is this person that I've been dating, and how are they so fundamentally different than the person I fell in love with?  It's even harder to notice those changes within ourselves, unless we really sit back and reflect on the choices we've made and the situations we've encountered over the past few years that have lead us to this point.

Which is why I can imagine that seeing an inscription in a book while having a bowel movement revealing that your bother-in-law is, in fact, the methamphetamine king of the American Southwest, that it might be a particularly tough pill to swallow. Thus the panic attacks, the second combing through of evidence, and the four and a half seasons of tension that manifested itself through Hank's fist during last night's Breaking Bad.

As a rule, television is adverse to change.  After all, television is in the business of making money.  And if a character changes too quickly or severely, the series ends.  It's only within the past few years (in a era that many reviewers have called "The Third Golden Age of Television") that writers and show runners have been able to structure meaningful stories with complex characters that change over a period of time.  But even then, characters rarely make a severe change to the degree of Walter White.  Tony Soprano may have had depth, but he was always a sociopathic mobster who didn't fully grasp the difference between right and wrong- something that Dr. Melfi, his therapist, informed him of before she dropped him as a client in the penultimate episode.  Don Draper briefly experimented with change- becoming a married and faithful man during season four of Mad Men, but backslid during this last season into his old philandering ways tinged with existential dread.  The shot of Don at the end of season standing in an old neighborhood with his children indicates that there may be hope yet for the advertising executive, but it'll be the last season for us to see a changed Draper.

Not so with Walter White.  Creator Vince Gilligan has oft repeated his desire to take a character and change him from "Mr. Chips to Scarface".  Nowhere is this demonstrated more clearly than in the montage of Hank's searching through old case files to try to link Walter to the crimes over the past year and a half (putting a spin on the traditional montage that Breaking Bad has done so well).  It's there where Hank sees the change that all of us have been witness to over the past fifty four episodes, and we truly get a feeling for just how awful Walter has become.

Of course, change can sometimes be cyclical as well.  Cancer, the impetuous for Walt's decent into a life of crime, has once again reared its ugly head, something many guessed was the case when a beard and well coiffed Walt showed up in the season five premiere as he was coughing and taking pills in a Denny's bathroom.  But what will this round of cancer do to Walt?  Change him back?  Make him repent for his many sins?  Judging by the vial of risin in his dilapidated home and the machine gun in his car, that's probably not the case.  But what is Hank to do?  Capture his brother-in-law that has operated under his nose for more than a year, thus making himself to look like the worst law enforcement agent in history?  And that's not including the fax that the majority of his hospital bills were paid with blood money, something that could conceivably make him an accessory (although that's probably pushing the bounds of the legal system somewhat).  Walt seems to be the winner here, if for no other reason than Hank seems flabbergasted at this newest revelation, stating that "I don't even know who you are…"

When he snaps out of his funk though, I doubt very much he'll be treading lightly.  Look forward to the battle of the bald men.

Welcome to my recaps of Breaking Bad- tilted "Breaking Brad".  In fact, "Breaking Brad" was a very close second to the title of this blog "The Great Bradsby", but I decided to go with the literary angle.  Plus, "Breaking Brad" makes it sound like I'm mentally damaged, which, while most likely true, isn't necessarily the image I'd like to project.  I'm hoping to try and do one of these every Monday or Tuesday for the next eight weeks, depending on how my schedule allows.

The re-emergence of cancer is definitely an interesting plot point.  Where as first it served as a plot device for change in telling Walter that he'd been too cautious in life, it now seems to be saying that he's gone too far with his recklessness, and thus is finishing him off.  That's perhaps reading into it too much, as some might argue that cancer is nothing more than a random occurrence, but I have to think that Gilligan has placed this all into a moral context, as he's done so far with the show.

Awesome of the writers to give us this showdown so early in the season (or half season).  There are other shows who'd probably stretch it out, but Gilligan and team are confident enough in their writing to go for broke.  I'd be worried, but after what they did following the death of Gus, I know they can put a story together.

I loved the cold open of skateboarders in the White's pool.  It reminded me of Dogtown and Z-Boys, a fantastic documentary about the birth of modern skateboarding in Venice Beach in the 1970's.  Only with more pot instead of meth.

There's that Chekov's Risin Vial again.  I feel like the machine gun would probably be easier, albeit messier.

Poor Jesse.  All that money and no way to spend it without feeling like a terrible person.  If redemption isn't in the cards for Walter (and I don't think it is), let's hope Jesse can find a moment of peace and meaning.

I realize it's probably a practical thing (because dropping plastic grocery bags wouldn't be nearly as dramatic), but seriously, who still get's paper bags, unless you shop at Trader Joe's?

Further proof that Bryan Cranston is television's finest actor- the little bit of menace he puts on the words "tread lightly" in his stare down with Hank.

Some years ago, I was out on a date with a girl that I knew from work.  She had sent a text asking if I'd go see Transformers: Dark Side of the Moon.  At first I hesitated at the mention of Transformers, as I really had no desire to enable Michael Bay in his non-stop mission to cinematically ruin everything that was amazing about my childhood.  But, seeing as how said girl was a petite blonde with a beautiful smile, I immediately relented and said that yes, I'd be quite interested in going.

The movie started and there was the typical overcomplicated plot that tries to lend some gravitas to a movie that's essentially just about buildings being smashed for an hour and a half.  Something about the moon, and Decepticons, and…whatever.  Buzz Aldrin was there, I think.

And then I fell asleep.

As I regained consciousness at the conclusion of the movie my date turned to me in amazement.  "I can't believe you slept through that!" she gasped, referring not the twisting and turning plot, but to the fact that the constant metal on metal scraping for two hours was quite loud, and would be difficult for someone to sleep through.  Trying to save face, I said a line that I thought was somewhat clever at the time- "To me, robots fighting is very soothing"

We didn't go out again.

Which is fine, I suppose.  Each person has their own tastes when it comes to the movies, and I didn't really have any desire to go see another movie with transformers punching each other again.

Because what I really meant to say was- "Robots fighting- who gives a shit?"

I encountered this again with The Wolverine, which I saw this past weekend.  I generally don't get excited by comic book movies anymore- it seems like the majority of them are style over substance, and are concerned far more with cramming as much CGI effects as possible into a two hour time frame.  From what I've heard about The Man of Steel the final sequence of Superman and Zod fighting in Metropolis is so concerned with wanton destruction of the skyscrapers that it loses all emotional impact.

But Wolverine is different.  He's a character that I've loved ever since I began watching the X-Men television show when I was a child.  He's a short but wily little bastard of a character who was one of the first anti-heroes to emerge after the Vietnam War in comic books- a character who was less concerned with spouting rhetoric about "Truth, Justice, and the American Way" and instead concentrated on going berserker all over the asses of anyone who got in his way- and then not apologizing for it later.

And the first two-thirds of the movie portrays that and also makes you empathize with the character as he loses his super regenerative powers.  Logan falls in love, is tormented over the loss of Jean Grey, and struggles to come to terms with his own mortality.

And then there are robots punching.

Not just robots.  Samurai robots.  With glowing swords.  And adamantum exoskeletons.

Granted, inside of the robot is a character from the beginning of the film who i using the robot to gain immortality.  But I was already out.  When metal clashes metal, it seems like the stakes are lowered.  I I stop caring, because that sense of jeopardy is removed.

I've been watching The Sopranos recently, because I've never seen it, and feel like I owe it to myself to watch the granddaddy of all of the "male anti-hero" shows that are now flooding the cable airwaves.  There are dozens of things to love about the Sopranos- the music that's so seamlessly integrated into the situations, the one liners from Paulie Walnuts that reveal his ignorance about most things, and the acting chops of the principal players.

But one of my favorite things about the show are the fights.  Not the various wackings of different mob characters (although those are pretty amazing too).  I'm talking about the brutal mano-a-mano showdowns between members of the families.  They're absolutely brutal- from the Ralphie and Tony showdown over a dead horse in season four to Adriana's strangulation by Christopher in the penultimate episode of season five, it's visceral and wrought with emotion.

And that's because it's earned.  Television is a writer's medium, where characters development wins out over elaborate set pieces and special effects.  Part of that is practical- a television series just doesn't have the budget that a blockbuster movie has.  But that's what makes the fights even more memorable- that buildup and release of conflict like a volcano.  Those fights feel earned.  We care.  And it's not just the Sopranos that has done this- look at Walter and Jesse's brawl in Breaking Bad or even Lane's somewhat silly fight with Pete Campbell.  Granted I'm comparing apples and bowling balls when looking at a period piece about advertising and a movie about mutants in Japan, but still, I'd love to see a movie where I care and am invested in all of the characters who are punching each other on the screen.

I'm back from DC, which thankfully blessed us with temperate weather as opposed to the swampy morass that can cause ink-blot like patters of sweat to materialize on one's t-shirt from simply walking around and sightseeing.  It was in DC that I got a reminder email from Tumblr (cupcake gif and all!) that it had been a year since beginning the blog "The Great Bradsby", a clever pun for a movie I still have yet to see (although I'm working on it).

My feelings as first were that of guilt.  When I started the blog my intent was to publish a blog every other day- a pace I kept up for about nine months of the blog's existence.  That's pretty decent, considering that I had plenty of other tasks to accomplish.  Regardless, it still felt like something of a failure on my part, but perhaps I'm being a bit too hard on myself.  It's still more writing than I've managed to do in the past few years.  Progress, I suppose.

It was then that I turned to the purpose for writing.  When I set out to write this blog one year ago, the purpose was vague.  Mainly, it was an outlet for word vomit.  I had a tremendous amount on my mind, and uncertainty about what was to come for me both career-wise and life-wise.  I had subjected myself to Facebook and its never ending onslaught of wedding and baby pictures and felt stunted.  Was there something wrong with me that I wasn't getting married and living the fabulous life that so many of my contemporaries seemed to have found?  Most of all, was I happy?

It was later that I'd learn that I was comparing my behind the scenes with other's highlight reels.  Certainly I'd forgotten all of the stress that can accompany a marriage, and all of the shit (both literal and figurative) that can accompany a small infant.  Not everyone is living the rock star life all of the time, even if Instagram filters might cause us to believe that every picture that is taken is instantly nostalgic, and in the case of food pictures, delicious.

But was I happy?  At that point I wasn't.  I believe that's changed.  I smile more now than then.  I don't radiate pure joy, but it's better.  Again, progress.

But I don't confuse happiness for being content.  And there's a good chance I may never be content.

Which is fine.

If I was content I would have never ran a marathon in the past year.  I would have never taken classes toward a Master's degree.  I would have never begun the process of writing a book with a friend of mine.  I would have never moved to a new area with few friends around.

I hope to become settled at some point.  But I pray I never, ever, become content.

Because to me, the idea of being content with one's life is akin to being apathetic.  As I've seen over the past year, there's much to do and be done. I don't intend to stop working towards being a more well-rounded and actualized purpose.

Back before the days of Michael Scott created a horribly inappropriate office, or the Dunphy family created havoc around Los Angeles, or Leslie Knope ran for office in a little town no one had heard of called Pawnee, Indiana, there was one mockumentary to rule them all.

It was Arrested Development.

And it was glorious.

Technically, it wasn't the first of it's kind.  Ricky Gervais's original UK version of the office superseded it by a few years.  And even before then Christopher Guest had given us This Is Spinal Tap and Waiting for Guffman as pinnacles of the genre.  But still, here was a show that used the documentary format to it's benefit.  It was a post-modern masterpiece with call backs and call forwards, and even got its narrator Ron Howard in on the action.  It warranted careful viewing and re-viewing to see all of the layers of comedy that creator Mitch Hurwitz had assembled, such as Buster Bluth sitting in a giant hand chair episodes before he'd lose his own hand to a "loose seal", which sounds a lot like Lucille, the name of his overbearing mother (it's a stretch, but hey, even the best writers can lean on a pun or two).

I was lucky enough to meet a few people in college who shared my predilection for the show.  We marveled at why more people weren't aware of this masterpiece, and infuriated with Fox that they would sweep it so far under the rug, even airing it opposite the opening ceremonies of the 2006 Olympic Games as the ultimate middle finger to fans who had stuck with it through numerous cancellation notices.  Had it been on another network like NBC, perhaps it would have fared better, especially were it to run in the current NBC climate.  But it was immensely satisfying to see more people discover the show, and it became the ultimate mark of comedy coolness.  If you didn't know about Arrested Development, you were no friend of mine (inversely, if you loved Arrested Devleopment and were female, you were instantly more attractive).

Every once in awhile a rumor would percolate to the top of the AV Club or Gawker websites that an Arrested Development reunion was brewing.  David Cross had seen a script but not heard if everyone was on board, or Mitch Hurwitz would be taking a meeting at Showtime but with no results.  Sadly though, nothing ever materialized until about 2012, when it was reported that Netflix, of all companies, had picked up the rights to a fourth season, and was to begin filming.  More Arrested Development!  How could this be bad news!  The trailer was just released Sunday on YouTube!

And I'm a bit worried.

Which is disheartening, because no one wants to see a resurgence of Arrested Development more than me.  Shows that follow that documentary format and rely on quick cuts and jokes that came fast and furious like the aforementioned series owe Arrested Development a debt of gratitude.  But I'm not filled with the same sense of glee that others on Facebook and Twitter seem to be displaying with comments like "OMG BUSTER MAKES FUNNY NOISES!"

Granted, it's hard to gleam the overall tone of an entire season of television from a minute and a half trailer.  But my main worry is that the jokes seem too obvious.  Maybe that's a trailer trying to hook it's audience in and remind them that, yes, the things they loved about Arrested Development are back in full force.  But there's almost too much self referential winking.  Take this final scene from the trailer:

Car rental clerk:  Now with this car, you might get some stares.

Michael Bluth:  Oh, I'm used to a car with some stairs.

Get it?  Because the clerk means "stares" as in "curious looks from those on the street" whereas Michael means "a car with physical stairs designed to assist passengers who are disembarking from a private chartered plane".  And in case you didn't catch that, there's a cut to scene of stair car plowing through plastic reindeer for good measure.  It's a wonder Jason Bateman doesn't wink directly at the camera.

That's probably more corporate influence than anything else.  It's the same reason why the promos for the next episode of Mad Men are easily the worst on television, with scenes that don't tell you anything about what's happening next week ("Pete Campbell answers the phone!").  Matthew Weiner the creator would rather have nothing, and this is the compromise that he's made with AMC.  And I'm hoping the Arrested Development situation is the same- trying to go broad to get as many people on board as possible before the show starts (and ends, what with all the episodes being broadcast at once).

But this points to a bigger problem that I have- banking on nostalgia and hoping that it's enough to draw people in.  It reminds me of going to see The Kingdom of the Crystal Skull and feeling let down when it failed to deliver, partly because of bizarre alien subplots but mostly because of Shia Labeouf's stupid leather jacket.  When expectations reach such a fever pitch, it's almost assured that the actual product on the screen will fail to match them.  There are few things that can carefully balance fan expectation and logistical execution to make a great final product, and I worry that the original impact of Arrested Development, which was almost perfect, will be watered down by a subpar sequel.  After all, can anyone ever look at Star Wars the same way again since Darth Vader went and did this?

Needless to say, I hope I'm wrong about this, and I'll probably be firmly glued to my television watching all of the fourth season en masse.  I'm just hoping my excitement won't cause me to prematurely shoot my wad, leaving me with something of a mess on my hands.

Today I stumbled upon a video of a high school student confronting a teacher about the quality of education in his high school classroom.  With the advent of cell phones, it's hardly the first one that I've seen.  Even with most schools having a fairly strict no cell phone policy, every few weeks another video of an agitated teacher or belligerent student seems to pop up on YouTube for all to see.  And then, inevitably, the judgement starts to pour in the form of comments and accusations that teachers don't know how to do their jobs, and the wonderful "Those who can't do, teach" adage rears its ugly head.

I'll say this for the young man in the video- I applaud his restraint.  He certainly seems angry at the teacher in question.  But no where in the video does he launch into ad hominem attacks or erupt into a profanity laced tirade (the most caustic word he uses here is "bitching").  So I'm more apt to believe that he has an actual point here, and that he's legitimately concerned about his education and the the fact that he's being inundated with packets of busy work actually learning information that will help him in his future career.  It's indignation for sure, but it's righteous indignation, and I applaud someone taking ownership of his education.

That being said, it's videos like this that cause a knee jerk reaction amongst those watching- particularly those who are looking to add more fuel to the "teachers are worthless" bonfire.  There's already huge misconceptions about what it is that we do and who we are- that we choose this career because it's easy, or that simply anyone can be a teacher and step in front of class hoping to fill young minds with knowledge and skills to succeed.  We don't know the full context behind this video- if the student in question had a pattern of being disruptive or if there were other circumstances behind his outburst in class- and it's foolish to assume that we do.  Yet there are some who will, and will rush to judgement and call this individual another "bad teacher" who is representative of the profession as a whole.

I know several friends and family who got into teaching because of a desire to make a difference and spread their love of their subject with others.  I would pretend that I always wanted to be a teacher.  It was a number of different circumstances that led me to where I am today, but I've discovered a passion for it and have tried to refine my pedagogy and my methods to reach students and make a difference.  My fellow teachers have tired to do the same.  There's certainly "that teacher" who does nothing more than sit behind a desk and browses the internet while students furiously write down vocabulary words for their next test.  But for each one of those there are even more teachers who are doing their best to put together innovative lessons that try to get students away from simply recalling information and asking "why" things happen, thus creating learners who are more equipped to change with an ever changing world.

Coachella, that marvelously hot and sweaty hodgepodge of a music festival, is over!  I made it back, a bit more tan, and a lot more light in the wallet.  And now, a few observations:

I’m aware that Coachella has been around for fourteen years in one form or another.  The last time I went was in 2004- the first year that the festival sold out, so they’ve had some time to refine and reinvent.  That being said, I’m still in awe of the scope of the entire thing, but even more impressively how everything managed to work logistically with few problems, more or less.  There were lines to get into car camping and they probably could have done with some awnings over the porta-potties, especially when the sun is beaming down on them around noon and it becomes something akin to a Burmese jungle.  But I can’t recall waiting over twenty minutes for anything, save for getting there early to see a band, and even then most of them played on time, or close to it.  Kudos Goldenvoice.

Perhaps it was the recent tragedies in Boston, but out of everyone there I enjoyed the Dropkick Murphys the most.  It was inspiring to see so much Boston garb throughout the crowd, and just to feel a lot of positive energy moving through the crowd at once.  At one point a minuscule Asian man collapsed onto the ground, and no fewer than a dozen people lept up to alert security to get him proper medical care.

The Violent Femmes were great to see, if for no other reason for a pure nostalgia factor.  Musically they’re still pretty tight, if not a bit slower tempo wise.  They played the entirety of their 1983 self titled debut, which was a fantastic idea.  Less fantastic was playing it in order, as they probably could have spaced out the faster songs throughout the set.

I was impressed by Major Lazer.  I haven’t really delved much into EDM (which in and of itself seems like something of a catch all), but out of all of the dance acts I saw they were certainly the most charismatic and engaging.  Knife Party was great, but you wouldn’t even know there were DJs up above the crowd.  I’m the guy who likes his frontmen with personality and character- whether that’s sexual frustration like Gordon Gano or manic energy like Karen O.  So I was happy to see Diplo put himself into a giant inflatable ball Flaming Lips style and roll out over the crowd.

There absolutely needs to be more choices in terms of beer at Coachella.  Luckily we were able to bring a lot of beer in camping with us, so we were spared by having to drink nine dollar Heinekens all weekend long.  I understand that they probably paid a good amount for sponsorship of the event, but even one or two craft beers would suffice.  At least there was a chilled tent in which to drink the subpar beer in.  It was as if the higher ups had a meeting and confirmed that the only way anyone was willing to buy their crappy beer was if they not only chilled the liquid, but the entire room surrounding it.

Is there anyone, anywhere, at any time whoever takes video of a performance at a concert and watches it later?  I’m not talking a few seconds here and there, because in fairness, I had to capture the moment when the beat drops in “Harlem Shake”.  I’m talking recording an entire song, or an entire set.  And I even saw one person recording with an iPad.  How does that conversation go ten years from now?

FATHER 

Gather around family!  It's time to watch the poor quality cell phone video that I shot at Coachella ten years ago!

SON

But dad!  I'd rather go do anything else!

FATHER

YOU WILL SIT HERE AND WATCH YOUR FATHER'S FOOTAGE OF VAMPIRE WEEKEND FROM 100 YARDS AWAY AND IT WILL BE MAGICAL AND WONDERFUL AND BRING US CLOSER TOGETHER AS A FAMILY AND REMIND ME OF A TIME WHEN I WASN'T BURDENED WITH FOUR MOUTHS TO FEED, THUS DAMNING ME TO A SOUL CRUSHING JOB THAT CAUSES ME DEPRESSION AND A DEEP AND FOREBODING SENSE OF ENNUI!

SON

(Weeps softly)

I feel like that’s really the only way it could go, right?

100 degree heat and people drinking themselves to various states of inebriation is probably not the best environment for a small child.  But that didn’t stop the people next to us from bringing their young ones.  I’m all for family outings, but perhaps it’s best to leave them at home.  In fairness, the couple next to us was very cool and even offered use of their van to charge my cell phone because they had an extra adapter.  But I was even more puzzled after I learned that they had come the week before.  The festival didn’t really change all that much, and I’m guessing that eight hundred dollars for tickets could have probably been better spent elsewhere.  But who am I to judge?

Who in their right mind decides that in the middle of a desert with intense heat and nothing with which to deposit your waste in but a portable toilet that concession stands selling Indian food is a good idea?  Fire that person, immediately.

And last and perhaps most importantly, Teagan and Sara are the most adorable Canadian lesbians ever, and I want to adopt them and take them home with me.  Someone please find a way to make this happen.

The term “hipster” is one that recently seems to have been introduced to the lexicon. I’d wager that five years ago, no one had even heard of the term. Now it’s become commonplace. When 30 Rock’s Liz Lemon is told by her friend Jenna Maroney that a trendy Manhattan bar has the name Canal St. Because it was “probably a factory or something”, she’s quick to blurt out “Hipster nonsense! I’m out.”

And really, that’s what the term hipster seems to be- a term of derision, more than a term of celebration. I hardly know anyone who would self identify as a “hipster” because of the perceived negative connotations the word conjures. In fact, I’d think that more people would be apt to identify at “Belibers” than call themselves a hipster.[1]

I could probably go on about what a hipster is and what a hipster isn’t. But I won’t. Because there are those who have done that far more accurately and in a more entertaining fashion than I ever could. And PBS’s Idea Channel, a series of videos on YouTube, perhaps does it better than most in recent memory.[2]

One of the chief points of the video is that different subgroups are defined by something called “cultural capital” a term by sociologist Pierre Bourdieu that refers to the non-financial assets that one acquires that promote social mobility in one’s subgroup. For punk rock kids this might be studs and piercings. For country music aficionados it might be belt buckles and cowboy hats. I’m aware that cowboy hats cost money, but the point is that it’s more about the “stuff” that a particular group has.

So what is cultural capital for hipsters? Im not entirely sure, as is no one else, really. Because with hipsters, it’s a potpourri of different elements. There are mustaches. And flannel. And Wayfarers. And cat t-shirts. Essentially, like host Mike Rugnetta says, hipsters just “cherry pick the stuff they like”.

And that’s perhaps where my main grievance stems from. Like? I realize that liking something is a subjective concept, and what I like isn’t what my neighbor would like, even if we’re listening to the same piece of music or watching the same movie in the same room at the same time. But hipsters seem to walk around with such an ironic sense of detachment that it’ hard to tell what they really like, and I’d imagine the line is even becoming blurry to them. And really, some things, like PBR, are really just objectively terrible.[3] Maybe it’s just some sort of elaborate, performance art piece designed to elicit a reaction from those around them, like this Portlandia sketch.

But then again, it’s hard to say that I”m not a bit hipster as well. I like the Arcade Fire. I own a pair of Ray-Bans. And, sigh, I’ve been thinking about getting speakers to hook up to my mother’s old record player so I can play more vinyl. Some of those things are legitimate passions- such as wanting to play Jim Croce records because it reminds me of my dad. But (and I’m man enough to admit this), some of it is pure hipster nonsense on my end. I buy shirts thinking of how they’ll be perceived by others. I visit Pitchfork to look for new bands so I can be the “first” to know about them. I even, God help me, am probably going to take cans of PBR to Coachella this weekend (although in a practical sense, this could be because they don’t allow glass in the venus, but that’s probably just an excuse).

And speaking of Coachella, isn’t that the ultimate hipster fest? A hodgepodge of musical tastes and acts- with the Violent Femmes performing next to Skrillex which are adjacent to Lou Reed who is a stone’s throw away from the Stone Roses (see what I did there)? But in fairness, I like all of those performers, and am looking forward to seeing them at Coachella. And even some of the more hipster-y things- like a ferris wheel and a giant mechanical T-Rex who eats recyclables, sound pretty amazing.

So what to do? Embrace my inner hipster? Or swiftly turn away from such nonsense? Maybe I’ll just out-hipster the hipsters and acquire those bits of culture that I find interesting and disregard the rest, thus becoming some sort of super hipster pastiche that collapses under it’s own ironic weight? This weekend is as good a time as any to figure it out.

But that’s mainly because fans of Justin Bieber are thirteen, and thirteen year olds rarely have what could be considered sound judgement. ↩

It really is a great channel, with a number of interesting questions posed about all sorts of cultural ideas. But really, when did we as a people get so busy that every word that everyone says on the internet has to be delivered at breakneck speed? ↩

When my alarm clock went off this morning, it was a jolt. I had been off for two weeks, and my body was acclimating to the change in schedule. But when I rolled into school, and saw that a fellow teacher was out, I perked up. Not because she wasn’t there. But because of where she had gone.

She was in Boston.

Running the marathon.

For those who are unaware, the Boston Marathon is one of the ultimate accomplishments in running achievement. There are those who will train for their whole lives to simply be able to run in the Boston Marathon, because unlike most marathons, you need to qualify to compete. And qualifying is a difficult business. I can run a marathon. But can I run a marathon fast and avoid injury? That’s a different challenge altogether.[1] There are books dedicated to qualifying for Boston. There are those who tattoo their “BQ” or “Boston Qualifier” on their bodies. For runners, it’s a big deal.

So naturally I was curious about how my co-worker did. She’s an absolute beast of a runner, and gets upset when she runs a half marathon in a little over an hour and a half. So during fourth period, as some of my other students were wondering how she did, I looked up her time online via the Boston Marathon website.

Three hours and fifteen minutes.

To me, that’s pretty astounding, considering that I pushed hard to break four hours. I was happy that one of our own had not only run a tough race, but run it well. I immediately sent out an email of congratulations.

And then, a few hours later, I saw the CNN banner flash on my phone.

The more I read, the more disheartened I became. The grimness in me took over as I watched video and saw pictures of the injured in the streets of Boston. I worried for my co-worker (who luckily, ran so fast that she avoided the bomb blast) and my friends who have recently taken up residence in Boston, all of whom were okay and quickly took to social media outlets to let everyone know as such.[2] I wondered at the mind that would set up a bomb specifically designed to detonate at the four hour mark, when the majority of runners would be crossing the finish line, so that they could injure and kill as many people as possible. And then I realized that trying to understand such a mind is a pointless endeavor, because there’s probably not rationale there to begin with.

But mostly there was just a pervasive sense of sadness.

I’m sad for participants of the marathon who worked so hard, for so long, to get to the point where they need to be. Being a person who’s trained for just a fraction of that time, I understand how much of your body, heart, and soul go into running a marathon. And to have that stripped away by someone or something so callous and unfeeling breaks my heart.

I perhaps feel more sad for those spectators who were watching the marathon. Second only to the Red Sox, the marathon is Boston’s sport. Children get the day off because it’s Patriot Day, and many go down to cheer on the participants. That’s not even to mention the fact that there are those like my co-worker’s husband who travel across the country and across the world to be that extra spark to propel their loved ones over the finish line. There’s no way I would have been able to finish without the support of my mother and my friends who came out to watch me race, to say nothing of the thousands of volunteers handing out water, or the police forces sectioning off the streets so a bunch of people who consider running 26.2 miles a “fun” activity could race in safety. To see that the first bomb went off not on the course but in the crowd sends chills down my spine.

But, as in any tragedy, what makes me beyond hopeful is the outpouring of support and love that resonate through Boston and just about every social network you’ll find. It’s a sense of hope and comfort that we sadly don’t see enough up except in tragedy, and with things like Newton and Aurora we’ve been seeing more of it lately. But there’s no doubt that combing through the Facebook status updates, tweets, and Tumblr blogs that objectively as a people we hurt. And we care. And we feel. Comedian Patton Oswalt said it well when he made the observation that “You watch the videos of the carnage and there are people running TOWARDS the destruction to help out”.

There are several reasons why I started running. But I keep running because of it’s unique ability, unlike anything else that I’ve experienced, to make me feel. I don’t run to get away from my problems. I run into them, and I push back the blistered feet and bloody toenails because I know that past that hurt, there’s the sense of feeling more alive that I ever felt possible. So I’ll keep Boston and all its runners in my heart tonight. And hopefully past the tears and the anger we can find some solace and relief.

For me at age 29, the qualifying time is 3:05. So obviously, that’s not happening any time soon. ↩