A Prayer for Breaking Bad. Kill Skyler. by Tommy C.

You know, Breaking Bad, it's kind of  like I’m Conan and you’re his Barbarian God Crom – I've never prayed to you, and you don’t mind because you wouldn’t like it anyway.

It's awkward for both of us, I'm sure. And why would you need prayers in the first place? You’re already kicking ass. Absolutely nobody's questioning that.

No, I come to you with full faith in your writing, and your actors. I know they won’t fail us, and humanity knows it, too. You’re the Greatest Show Ever, and your ending will make us all grab our faces and scream, and then run out into the street still screaming about how awesome it was.

I know that you won’t abuse yourself with normal Big Series Endings, that you’ll avoid the Newhart Ending, where Walt wakes up on the couch with the cast of Malcom in the Middle running around him banging pots and pans together. And I know you’ll avoid the LOST ending, where all the characters go and have pizza in a parallel universe and agree that the show was never about crime or meth or tightly-woven plotlines, but was instead about several hundred classic works of literature.

And I know that the characters won’t just go out to dinner someplace and then you turn the camera off.

No, I come to you with respect, Breaking Bad, like the dude came to the Godfather and yes, I have a favor, something I need from you that only you can provide. Something the whole world needs at this exact time in television history.

Something I beg of you, sir, as your humble and faithful follower.

I want you to kill Skyler, Breaking Bad.

I hate her so much that I frequently find myself screaming obscenities at her image on the screen. I have to rewind it a lot when she’s poking around for stuff to do. Please kill her.

Pretty, pretty please, Breaking Bad?

I mean, I don’t want to micromanage. I understand that you probably have to have Hank nearly get Walt but then get killed in a very tricky way by Walt, who then appears to get away but then Jesse shows up and shoots him, ironically using all the amoral cunning and criminal experience he gained teaming up with Walt in the first place. And I understand that at the end, Walt’s annoying son gets a stack of cash – sure.

But kill Skyler. And I mean like, kill her when she’s in the act of being an irritating moron, that would be the most satisfying thing, like she walks into some deadly trap Walt set up for say, Hank. Explodes or maybe gets her head cut off by some sheet metal, or she’s eaten alive by pigs or insects. You're a very original show - go nuts.

That’d be great. Hallowed be thy name. Don’t forget to kill Skyler. See you Sunday.

Tommy C. is a man of mystery who writes the acclaimed blog "The Curse of Future Tom". You can learn more about him and others on our contributors page. 

Shark Attack Obsession! by Johnny DiLoretto

I spend a lot of time thinking about sharks.

Let me rephrase. For a guy who lives in the middle of Ohio, doesn’t travel much, and never goes into the ocean, I spend a lot of time thinking about sharks.

Yes, it’s all because of Jaws, but, more than fear, Jaws inspired in me a lifelong fascination with sharks. Can’t get enough of ‘em. Love to learn about claspers and the ampullae of Lorenzini and all that.  Look those up and thank me later. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clasper http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ampullae_of_Lorenzini

Photos like this are hypnotizing. You know, you could be in there...

I should also clarify that in addition to thinking about sharks, I think a lot about being eaten by a shark. Now, the Washington Post just published an article about this and here are the latest numbers: “Last year, 80 unprovoked shark strikes took place worldwide: Seven resulted in deaths, including one in California. Fifty-three strikes took place in U.S. waters, nearly half of them off Florida.”

That’s more than enough to justify my anti-frolicking-in-the-surf stance. By the way, this is also a guy who loves to fish from the shore when we vacation in the Outer Banks. And while I’m safely fishing from the beach, I intently follow all the swimmers just waiting for one of them to do that horrible jerking thing right before they’re tugged under in a gush of froth and blood.  

I know I have a better chance of being felled by a wheat penny dropped from the Empire State Building than I do of being attacked by a shark, but I’m not interested in the numbers really. Shark attacks are inevitable. They are inevitable because people go into the ocean, and there are sharks in the ocean. If sharks were found in Crate and Barrel, people would be attacked while they were shopping for sofas and flatware.

So, a couple times a year I will see the inevitable news story about someone being bitten and/or killed by a shark. I then eagerly post the story on Facebook and Twitter with an added, and I’m paraphrasing, “I told you so.” Whenever I post these shark-attack stories, beach-lovers and saltwater-swimming enthusiasts everywhere comment to the effect that I’m an idiot; that these attacks are so rare I have nothing to worry about; that more people die in car accidents every year than they do by shark attacks, and so on and so forth.

But this is the reasoning of people who, if they were fictional, would end up dead first in a horror movie.

Yes, it's Photoshopped, but you get the idea. It could happen to you..

First of all, their argument doesn’t hold up. Let me see if I have this right: More people are killed by cars than sharks, so why aren’t I afraid of cars? That's their reasoning? Well, for one, a car won't fucking eat you. 

But I'm getting ahead of myself. OK, it’s unlikely, I get it, but why play that particular lottery? We play the good lottery, the big cash payout, change-your-life lottery, because despite the astronomical odds we just might win millions of dollars. But why play the bad, possibly decapitated, lose-your-life lottery? The odds are equally astronomical but if you win this one --- you get eaten by a shark. Congrats. You're a torso. 

That’s ridiculous. If you absolutely insist, by some misguided logic, on playing some variation of lethal lottery,  why not play the golf-club-in-a-thunderstorm lottery. At least you're in one piece when that one's over. 

This is the shark equivalent of having a rain cloud over you.

But, just for kicks, let’s examine this car-shark argument a bit closer. First of all, as I've mentioned, a car won’t eat you. It’s not like you’re walking down the street and suddenly a car swerves off the road, grabs you in its grill and starts thrashing back and forth, tearing off a huge piece of you before casually pulling back onto the road and driving away.

Furthermore, for this shark-car analogy to actually make any sense, we’d have to be driving sharks. And, well, now that’s just Crazy Talk.

This is not Photoshopped. This is really a man being eaten by a car. 

The bottom line is that because automobiles are manmade and because they're one of the most common things we see on a daily basis, they just don't inspire terror. We spend a lot more time in the presence of cars than sharks, so of course we're more likely to be killed by a car. In any event, I would rather die in a car accident than by shark attack. In other words, I’d rather die by blunt force trauma than by being crushed and torn apart in the gaping maw of a ruthless carnivore.

Here’s another, different way of looking at the problem. Why risk it because we may just have it coming... Humans kill more than 100 million sharks a year for no good reason, so maybe shark attacks, which are on the rise globally, are just the animals’ way of trying to even the score. I may be scared shitless of them, but I’m definitely on the sharks' side. I'm with them. Absolutely, I would attack someone if I was a shark too. With pleasure. I’d be like – “look at this guy - dicking around in my territory, swimming, splashing, flailing around like an idiot with his dopey limbs and tacky board shorts. What balls on this guy – killing 100 million of us every year for soup and he comes into my ocean? Screw this guy.” Then wham, I’d clamp down on his ribs.

Just a little food for thought. And, now, for your reading pleasure - a brief history of shark attacks.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/africaandindianocean/southafrica/6984067/Worlds-10-worst-shark-attacks.html

Johnny DiLoretto thinks a lot about sharks. You can read his top notch story about the  the movie JAWS by clicking here. Also check out our contributors page to learn more by  clicking here.

Double Manifest Destiny w/Cheese. America Dominates Competitive Eating.

Today at Nathan's Coney Island, American Joey Chesnut will attempt to become the first person on Earth to eat over 70 hot dogs in less than ten minutes. On this same day  over two centuries ago, the founding fathers assembled in Philadelphia with no air-conditioning, prepared to sign a document that would change the world. Collectively they felt a strange sensation deep in the pit of their stomachs. It wasn't anxiety or fear, it was hunger. A hunger for independence. Once achieved, It turned out that independence was merely a snack that wouldn't satisfy for long. Like a basket of deep fried pickles before two dozen buffalo wings, our country's appetite became even more ravenous after achieving independence. From the mountains to the praries we consumed everything in our path, ultimately fulfilling our Manifest Destiny. The United States of America stretched from sea to shining sea. There was nowhere else to go. So we turned inward and began expanding our waistlines instead of our borders.* Where there was once "Manifest Destiny" there was now, "Double Manifest Destiny w/Cheese".

We once aimed to be a shining city on the hill, with a thousand points of light yet somehow  got a shining Sam's Club on the corner selling a thousand packets of mayonnaise. Sure America may have lost a step on the world when it comes to health care and education, but when it comes to eating, our dominance is growing larger and larger. I don't believe I am being nationalistic to state that no country can jam their gob holes full of Hot Dogs, Apple Pie and tiny American flags like the good old U,S, and Mother F-n A.

This will be lived out in real time as Joey Chesnut makes his record breaking attempt on Democracy's holiest day. Similar to when pilot Chuck Yeagar became the first person to fly faster than the speed of sound, nobody is sure what kind of eruption exceeding the 70 hot dog mark will bring. A sonic boom? or worse...Where does that old demon live? 

Nobody knows what damage could be wrought, but that isn't Joey Chesnutt's problem. He's got a hundred problems and the hot dogs are only 70. Considering he is ranked #1 in eating, I'll assume the bitch ain't one either. That leaves 29 unaccounted problems, though reasonable minds could speculate on a few problems after ingesting so much pig, but I digress..   

Why isn't competitive eating more popular than the NHL or the Bachlorette? If you really think about it, there are entire networks with less compelling programing than a competitive eating channel would run. "Monday Night Weapons of Mass Digestion" would even give the NFL a run for its money.  Oh, don't bullshit me, you know you would flip over to check it out. Who wouldn't? We all eat. And just think how many possible champions are out there that never even considered the sport? Youth leagues would flourish! How do you know you can't eat the most glazed donuts in eight minutes? You have never tried. (49 glazed by Eric Booker, 2002)

It's amazing how many different categories/divisions there are in the MLE (Major League Eating). Some look fun: like eating 49 crab cakes, some look like torture: eating 7 sticks of butter and some look crazy. 17.7 pounds of Cow Brains by the legendary Kobayashi.

to see the complete list of reigning MLE event leaders click here. Oh, you have to see this. 

Power Eating as an Olympic Sport? At first blush this seems entirely plausible. It's something the whole world has in common and if wrestling can be eliminated, I'll just assume anything goes when it comes to event scheduling. However, upon further reflection it might be harder to implement than I first thought.

I would imagine in some countries, posting "tryouts for the eating team today", could spark riots eventually destabilizing whole sections of the sub Saharan region. This obviously, would make it hard to find coaches. And sponsors would be hesitant to invest the money necessary to build a successful Olympic eating program knowing they were just one military coup away from having to rebuild from the ground up. 

I'd love to keep writing about all this stuff, but it's the 4th of July and my grill is blazing. I've found that a bar- b -qued American Flag is the tastiest way to honor America. Just make sure it doesn't catch on fire or hit the ground before you serve it. I prefer sauce from Montgomery Inn. Mmmmmmmmnnnnn good.

Colin Gawel plays in Watershed and writes for Pencilstorm. For years he has been threatening to write about competitive eating. This is his half-ass attempt jammed in between parenting, running a coffee shop and not letting his wife know he is spending his time dicking around with stupid stories like this.   

 *and don't even get me started on the toothless immigration bill winding its way through congress. Unless we get tougher border control, all those delicious burritos and chimichangas will keep flooding illegally into our country making it virtually impossible for law abiding American citizens to resist and... taking mouths away from homegrown USA dishes like hamburgers and hot dogs. Those burritos aren't even paying taxes yet they still get eaten. I'm so hungry.

Birthday Blog 2013 - Ricki C.

It's my birthday today. I'm 61 years old. I worked a rock & roll show today, playing roadie for Colin Gawel & The Lonely Bones, my good friend Colin's side-project band when Watershed is not taking the stage. The appearance was at Comfest, a local Columbus hippie fete, that I have been attending since its inception in 1972. In some capacity - roadie, performer, stage manager, etc. - I have participated in Comfest since 1978 when I first helped Romantic Noise bassist Greg Glasgow onto the stage after a forklift driver ran over his foot at his warehouse temp job the day before the gig. (Ah, the glamorous rock & roll lifestyle.)

But that's not what this blog entry is about.

This blog entry is about my dad, traveling, hotels and growing old with rock & roll.

My dad was the greatest person I have ever known. He died of a heart attack at the age of 56 when I was 17 years old, April of my senior year of high school. I myself am on my second cardiac pacemaker and have so far outlived him by five years, but only with the bonus benefits of technology.

My father gave me my whole world. When I was 13 years old in 1965, dad started to get me into the rock & roll shows he worked as a ticket agent for Central Ticket Office, an early forerunner of what Ticket Master would become. It was my father's nighttime job after his main occupation at Columbia Gas of Ohio. My mom and dad both worked two jobs. They were children of The Great Depression and carried to their graves a legacy and a fear of not knowing where their next dollar was coming from.

Dad saw how interested I was in rock & roll and started bringing me along with him to shows at Veteran's Memorial or the Lausche Building on the Ohio State Fairgrounds. I was an incredibly shy, introverted child and I think the fact that I was willing to leave the shelter/womb of our house on the West Side to see a rock & roll show heartened my dad so much he'd have brought/driven/conveyed me anywhere, let alone the three or four miles it was from home to Vet's Memorial.

At first it was package shows like The Turtles with Neil Diamond and Every Mother's Son ("Come On Down To My Boat") opening; or Paul Revere & The Raiders with The Standells and Sam the Sham & The Pharoahs. But then, as The Sixties got into full swing I saw Bob Dylan's first electric tour with The Band (when they were still called The Crackers), The Doors, The Jimi Hendrix Experience, Janis Joplin & the Full-Tilt Boogie Band, Cream and, most crucially, The Who on November 1st, 1969. (sidenote: Not one of those shows sold out the 3000-seat Veteran's Memorial. Dad would bring me to the show, wait for the opening acts to start, then pull me a single unsold seat somewhere. Advance sales to The Who show in 1969 were so slow that dad pulled me FOUR SEATS; one each for my best friend and our dates, a date I would almost certainly never have had but for the grace of my dad and of the rock & roll.) (Tickets for that Who show, by the way, were $3.50.) 

Those shows, and rock & roll in general, quite literally gave me a reason for living. (see blog entry The Bathtub, January 13th, 2012.)

Dad gave me other stuff: he instilled in me a love of traveling. In 1962, when I was 10, a coupla years before The Beatles first appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show and Changed Everything, dad had started to take my older brother and I to Cleveland Browns football games. This was in the Browns' heyday, when fullback Jim Brown was a true star of the National Football League and the Super Bowl hadn't even been invented yet. We would stay at the Sheraton Gibson Hotel right off Fountain Square. The Sheraton Gibson, and hotels in general, became MAGICAL to me. You could LIE IN BED and watch television. You could TAKE SHOWERS. (Our bathroom at home sported a claw-foot bathtub only.) You could look out the 20th floor window and see all the lights of the city spread out under you. I felt like a king.  (sidenote: When Pete Townhend's first solo album, Who Came First, was released in 1972 with a track called "Sheraton Gibson" I was BEYOND THRILLED that I had once occupied the same building, the same square footage, as my Number One Rock Hero of that time.) 

I remember very clearly one night in 1965 on the way home from Vet's, when dad was explaining the concept of touring to me, that musicians had to be on the road all the time. I just looked at him wide-eyed and said, "You mean all these guys do is play guitars & drums in a different city every night and stay in hotels in between?" I was incredulous. I was dumbstruck. Dad couldn't have possibly realized what he had just done. He might just as well have stamped Unfit For A Normal Job Of Any Kind across my 13 year old forehead right at that very moment.

My dad never got to travel much; those trips to Cleveland, our family summer vacations to the likes of Cedar Point Amusement Park in Upper Sandusky, an annual autumn trip to South Bend, Indiana, to see a Notre Dame football game with his Columbia Gas buddies. One time when I was 12 he took my sister and I to Florida. It was my first time flying and I was so nervous I threw up on the plane. I was such a miserable little kid. Dad, I wish I could have been better for you.

When my father died I think I had a little nervous breakdown. I can't really remember much of anything from April or May of that year, but by June 1970 when I graduated from Bishop Ready High School I had decided two things: 1) I was never ever going to have a job where I had to wear a suit & tie to work; and 2) I was going to travel and describe to dad all the things I saw.

It's my birthday today. I'm 61 years old. I accomplished the first goal goal by working in warehouses most of my adult life and discovering that bluejeans and a black t-shirt will get you through most days quite nicely. On most of my vacations from work I traveled to see rock & roll bands; to Massachusetts, to Texas, to California, to a lotta points in between. 

I accomplished the second goal by becoming a rock & roll roadie in my 40's and crisscrossing the length & breadth of these United States (multiple times) with Watershed and Hamell On Trial.

Dad, you were with me every step of the way: every new sight out of every car, truck, bus, van & airplane window; every street of every city & town; every mile of every tour. This blog is for you. It's a happy birthday.  - Ricki C. / June 30th, 2013

This entry originally appeared on Ricki's own blogsite - Growing Old With Rock & Roll, www.rickic614.blogspot.com - if you'd like to read more.

Your Life Is Closer To Over: The Occasional Week In Review

I pop in here on occasion and weigh in on a variety of topics weighty, fluffy, and weird. And boy howdy (seriously old reference) do we have a lot of weighty shit going down. 

News

The U.S. Supreme Court ruled last week that the Defense Of Marriage Act was unconstitutional. As I understand it the ruling means that any parties in state recognized same sex marriages would finally enjoy the federal benefits and tax advantages of any other married couple. Chortle to yourself thinking of all the religious conservatives howling over someone paying less in taxes. Anyway Andrew WK put it far better than I:

If you don't believe in gay marriage, then don't marry a gay person. Otherwise, just keep partying and let everyone else keep partying too.

Andrew WK is an underrated voice of wisdom. 

Also the SCOTUS punted California's Prop 8 back to Sacramento killing it would seem that state's ban on same sex marriage. The San Jose Mercury News can explain. My takeaway is that the waters may still be a bit muddied. Wednesday certainly held two wins for equal rights, but it's a long road ahead. 

I found myself wishing the Supreme Court was in a better mood Wednesday and they would revisit the fire hose of legal excrement emanating from their robes Tuesday. I won't lie, I was hardly surprised at the 5-4 vote gutting a key provision of the historic Voting Rights Act of 1965. Nine states covered by section 4 of the VRA would no longer have to "pre clear" changes pertaining to voting with the Feds. Texas Republicans waited just long enough to spray Shout on their bar b que sauce stains before getting out the map and beginning anew the redrawing of congressional districts they were stopped from redrawing by.... wait for it.... The Voting Rights Act Of 1965. Ironically this legislation was originally signed in 1965 by a Texas Good 'Ol Boy named Lyndon Baines Johnson. Guess they showed that S.O.B. right! The SCOTUS ruled with a firm scold from Chief Justice Roberts that Congress really ought to take the hint and pass a new law that would.... oh hell I don't know. For what this is all really about I direct you to Greg Palast. He's fidora sporting, wine swilling muckraker who bothers to delve into such things. What he's unearthed the past decade and a half will make you sick. Do it anyway. Democracy is counting on you. 

I'm not going to comment much on the NSA case. (Hey NSA how's it going. I hope you enjoy reading this as I type it.) I said most of what I wanted to the last time around. I will add that this whole debate has taken a predictable turn. Edward Snowden is now the story and not the fact that your U.S. government, every second of every day, is violating the U.S. Constitution. But hey the fact that I haven't been blown up by a terrorists proves it's all for a good cause right? Anyway the media for the most part is doing an abysmal job covering the story. 

I'll also add this whistle blowing that passed mostly without comment. Is this guy nuts? Is he full of shit? How the hell would I know. I will add that J. Edgar Hoover kept his job for decades by carefully collecting dirt on those who would do him harm. It ain't as far off the reservation as you think. 

Closer to home Ohio Republicans buried a bunch of anti choice stink bombs into the Ohio budget this week. In Ohio we have the line item veto which means Governor Kasich can take a sharpie and remove this crap should he choose. His is a punishing choice however. Sign off and give Democrats a gift wrapped hot button issue or use the line item and be hung drawn and quartered by the loony right. Good luck with that. 

Update. Kasich signed the budget with the anti choice provisions preserved. He left the signing ceremony without taking any questions. Sooner or later he's going to have to answer. Perhaps it'll be in November of 2014. 

Meanwhile Dayton State Senator Nina Turner fired the first troll with SB 307 which would require men to go through all manner of humiliation for access to Viagra. You asked for it boys here it is.  

Sports

It didn't look good, but Sunday night the Blue Jackets and Sergei Bobrovsky agreed on a two year deal to keep the Vezina Trophy winner in Columbus and out of the Russian KHL. 

Meanwhile the Jackets drafted some guys. The brain trust seems to know what they're doing, and I am hardly an expert. I'm sure they're fine players. Can't wait for the new season! 

In Rio Brazil beat Spain 3-0 in the Confederations Cup Final Sunday. Two thoughts. 1. Spain looked sluggish, not only against Brazil, but also in the semi versus Italy.  2. Brazil's Neymar will be the talked about player next summer in the 2014 Cup. This kid is something else:

The finish is amazing, but the devil here is in the details. He made a smart cut back pass, made his run, realized he was offside, quickly corrected, and then blasted the ball into the back of the net near post. World class!

So Aaron Hernandez is fucked right. You already know all about it if you're interested. He's been charged with murder. He may be tied to two other killings a year ago. ESPN actually spent time this week pondering the Patriots' cap hit. That said if you have him in your keeper league you should probably cut him... Unless your fantasy players come from this league:

As a Buckeye fan you can't be shocked that the NCAA gave Oregon the  wink wink nudge nudge last week. It is true that if Chip Kelly ever wants to not make millions coaching in the NFL he'll have to beg for the right to do so. No one is saying this, but I'll say it. To understand Oregon's light treatment you need only look at their corporate benefactor. A recent Sports Illustrated piece on the botched Miami investigation will shed for you light on the impotence and absurdity of the NCAA. They must be destroyed and the sooner the better. Pay the players and pay them now. You are a business start acting like it.

And Finally Tonight

Rather than my usual weird story I direct you instead to remember 19 elite Arizona firefighters who lost their lives this weekend. We don't know yet exactly what happened, but suffice to say even in the best of conditions their jobs are extraordinary difficult. My thoughts and prayers to the families.