Being Bad and Breaking Bad: Songs for the end of the Series

Breaking Bad is ending next week. It won an Emmy for Best Drama last night. My brother and I have both loved the show for a while and will be sad to see it go. This week I am taking the easy way out by listing songs that have to do with being bad (in the title or chorus) along with the hard task of trying to figure out what makes the show tick: Walter White is part Odysseus, part Faust, and part our father.

Michael Jackson wasn’t “Bad” back then. But things didn’t turn out great for him. Like the King of Pop, we all like to play at being bad.

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On the Radio: November Rain

So, recently my car, that blue 2008 Prius that makes me such a badass on the road, betrayed me. I live in a rather warm state and after only 141,000 miles, the air conditioning just gave up on the world and checked out. When I arrived at the dealership (angry because the local garage claimed that servicing an AC on a prius was beyond its capacities), I was skeptical when the service salesman said that AC units never go on Priuses (should it be Prii?). Guess what? The whole damn car had to be taken apart to fix. The repair bill was, well, sobering.

Cool enough for Larry David. And the chick in Weeds.

Cool enough for Larry David. And the chick on Weeds.

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Growing Up and Growing Old With Tom Brady, Part 2

In honor of the Patriots’ first game tomorrow, here’s the second part of my paean to Tom Brady, complete with songs, recrimination, and anxiety. What will a year with no tight ends and without Wes Welker bring?

(This post is an insane continuation of part 1…)

Tom Brady is now in his 14th year in the NFL. I worry about every change in his offensive line. I watch every scramble for a sign of weakness. When the Patriots lose, I wonder if this is the game that heralds the beginning of the end. I fret over him as I do not even for myself. And, I know I am not alone in this.

We are all young. For a time.

But when Tom Brady was young, there was magic in the air. It almost seemed like the sudden excellence of the Patriots raised the tenor of the entire region. The Red Sox were transformed and it even looked for a moment that we would have a president from Massachusetts in 2004. Of course, most of this was simple escapism—I had my head in the sand to avoid the terrible truth of two wars, a nation speeding off into some of its worst inequalities in its history and a graduate career that at times seemed stalled and going nowhere.

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Growing Up and Growing Old With Tom Brady, Part 2

(This post is an insane continuation of part 1…)

Tom Brady is now is his 13th year in the NFL. I worry about every change in his offensive line. I watch every scramble for a sign of weakness. When the Patriots lose, I wonder if this is the game that heralds the beginning of the end. I fret over him as I do not even for myself. And, I know I am not alone in this.

We are all young. For a time.

But when Tom Brady was young, there was magic in the air. It almost seemed like the sudden excellence of the Patriots raised the tenor of the entire region. The Red Sox were transformed and it even looked for a moment that we would have a president from Massachusetts in 2004. Of course, most of this was simple escapism—I had my head in the sand to avoid the terrible truth of two wars, a nation speeding off into some of its worst inequalities in its history and a graduate career that at times seemed stalled and going nowhere.

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Keening Karaoke

When I was in college, someone, probably my wife (then girlfriend) mentioned that it would be fun to go to some bar where they had karaoke. One of my roommates—a man who once claimed a ‘member’ the length of a Barbie doll’s height, a comparison whose origins still make me shudder—insistently corrected her pronunciation before anyone else could react. See, she, like most Americans, said something like “carry-okie”; he of the doll-sized penis said, no, it is “kara-o-kay”.

Later on, without the mattel-membered man, we celebrated a friend’s birthday at an empty bar that tried to drum up business on a Sunday night with a karaoke machine. The lasting memory of that night? My girlfriend (now wife) singing Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven”, a song which she still claims to this day she has never heard and a song that no mortal man or woman should sing to karaoke.

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