Breaking Backtime Season 1: Pillow Talk

It's the summer television hiatus. The Americans, Game Of Thrones, and Mad Men are done for the season. There is nothing to watch now except for the often frustrating New York Yankees. But there's a light at the end of the tunnel. Breaking Bad returns in 37 days and AMC is re-running every episode in order.

So it gives die-hard viewers a chance to re-live the situation from the beginning, and watch in amazement as the story and characters develop so drastically.

In the show's fifth-ever episode "Gray Matter," we realize why we love the show so much - it's the writing. There is a scene that is dramatic as (almost) any in the series, where an intervention is staged with five people in the White family living room.

There's no meth, no death, and the roles of Saul, Mike, and Gus haven't been introduced. It's one episode before Tuco and the unveiling of "Heisenberg." Walt even has hair. The scene is 11 minutes of talk only, and it starts with Skyler White clenching "the talking pillow."

The intervention is for Walt to undergo a debilitating and expensive chemotherapy treatment for his terminal lung cancer, which he is trying desperately to evade. Everyone takes their turn with the pillow and the words are raw and real. Skyler is indignant that Walt fight for his life for the sake of his family, and she gets into a shouting match with her sister, who insists that Walter has the right to make his own choice.

Walt sits quietly while those around him bicker, which is a metaphor for the whole process. Until he is forced to seize the pillow and speak for himself.

"These doctors, taking about surviving - one year, two years - like it's the only thing that matters. Well what good is it to just survive if I am too sick to work? To enjoy a meal? To make love? For what time I have left I want to live in my own house. I want to sleep in my own bed. I'm not going to choke down 30, 40 pills and lose my hair and lie around too tired to get up, so nauseated I can't even move my head..."

Walt made his stand and made his choice. I choose not to do it. At this point in Walt's mind he had left the meth business behind, having just pocketed a mere few thousand bucks with only a couple of bodies in his wake.

But the next morning he wakes up, hugs his wife and reconsiders. And if you know anything about Walt's character, even just 5 episodes in, he isn't going to take any handouts. He is going to make sure that he is responsible for his treatment and that his family is taken care of.

In the closing scene he appears back in Jesse Pinkman's driveway, "Wanna cook?" That's the moment that Walter White really breaks bad...for good.

"Gray Matter" originally aired February 24, 2008.

I Thought Lightning Never Strikes The Same Place Twice

Yet there I was exactly 20 weeks later, driving East on Anderson approx 9:50 AM on a rainy Tuesday morning on my way to Black Belt class.

Out of the blue, a young man not used to the treacherous one-ways of "city" driving made a left turn from the right land and sideswiped my front end.

Not only was this move incredibly puzzling on the surface, but he tried to make his left onto Price - which is a one-way the other way. It was just a whole crazy big bag of driving for dummies.

So the family roadster 2.0, not even four months old, got its front right bumper disengaged just days before an ambitious east coast road trip.

No persons were harmed in this mishap, and the damage to the vehicle is somewhere between minimal and moderate. But the timing sucks, and the circumstances are going to make me gunshy about driving a certain road at a certain time in certain conditions.

Backtime's Flip-Flop On Paula Deen

Disclaimer: I am uniquely disqualified to comment on this situation, but here it goes anyway.

My first disqualification is that despite living in Savannah for the better part of 6 years, I know almost nothing about Paula Deen.

My second disqualification is that despite living within walking distance of Ms. Deen's flagship dining establishment, I have never been there. Though I'm sure there's no distance I could walk far enough to burn off all the trans fat I would ingest there. (Please try the Sapphire Grill next door for an outstanding dinner experience)

So now that I've disclaimed my disqualifications, I'd like to dissect this national distraction dispassionately.

I was aghast when I originally read the transcript of Ms. Deen's deposition in the discrimination lawsuit against the Deen family. My original thought is that she deserved to have the hammer come down on her. She was incredibly out-of-touch, and it wasn't just about the use of the infamous "N word." She spoke with a romanticism about the uniquely southern history of masters and servants, which is far worse than any single red-flagged word.

But...how deeply should we punish ignorance?

When your name is your business, as is the case with Paula Deen, everything you do or say reflects on that name. In this case, her own words have done irreparable damage to her brand. She will forever be known for this fiasco. Isn't that punishment enough? Does every single one of her associations have to jump ship?

Ms. Deen is quite obviously mortified by these events. Her apology seems deep and sincere. It starkly contrasts the Rush Limbaugh/Sandra Fluke situation from a year ago when the sponsors ran, and Mr. Limbaugh countered with a non-apology apology.

Paula Deen deserves the opportunity to rebuild her brand and her image, an try to do business differently and put things right. Maybe she can use her name to bring further awareness to the issue and change her legacy for the better. Second chances are the American way.

Backtime Re-Air: Performance-Enhancing Drugs, An Evolutionary Quandary

Due to time constraints, we move behind in our coverage.

May 8, 2009

Isn’t enhancing performance a good thing?

These PEDs are so potent that they need to be outlawed in sports as to level the competitive playing field. They clearly create such an unfair advantage.

So why aren’t we testing the medicine in these drugs and providing them to our military? Or people with debilitating illnesses? There are so many good societal uses for PEDs beyond baseball. Look what it did for the cast of 300. If everyone was on HGH, we’d probably walk or bike more and drive less. Maybe we’d save the planet.

It’s really all part of the evolutionary process. If not for advances in drugs and medicine, all our ancestors would have succumbed to plague and we wouldn’t be here to debate this issue.

The reality is the human race constantly grows and evolves. We are bigger, stronger, faster, and have a longer life expectancy than we had the generation before, and the generation before that, etc.

These PEDs may actually be part of the natural order of things. Yet the perception is there are two types of Major League Baseball players: “Using” and “Clean.”

Think about the pressure to use. Money. Success. Your teammates. Don’t you want to enhance your performance? To help your career? Your family? Your team?

If you don’t take the PEDs, you still have your ethics. At least you got that going for you. Maybe the history books will recall how clean you were in your non-distinguished career.

And what measuring stick do we have to judge these guys?

Barry Bonds: Mountain of evidence.

Roger Clemens: Cover boy of Mitchell Report.

Mark McGwire: Non-denial.

A-Rod: Positive anonymous test. Outed by ruthless reporter.

Manny Ramirez: Positive test for banned substance.

Miguel Tejada: Lied to Congress.

Sammy Sosa: No positive test. No admission of guilt. Does anyone actually believe he’s clean? Does he go straight to Cooperstown?

Think about how many players we perceive to be “Clean” but have actually just been one step ahead of the tests. There’s no way to differentiate. Maybe the two categories should be “Using” and “Inconclusive.”

The whole era is tainted. If the red flags didn’t go up during the great McGwire/Sosa Home Run chase of 1998, they sure did when we saw Bobby Estalella.

So where do we go from here? I think the only fair thing to do is to remove the ban on steroids, HGH, and all PEDs.

Naturally, there has to be a comprehensive, mandatory education program that begins in High Schools, so that every athlete, every person, knows about the pros and cons of these substances. When you turn 18, you need to be able to make your own informed decisions about your own body.

Since the juicing would be above board, Major League Baseball (and all other sports) should still implement much more comprehensive testing. This way, teams know what players are taking what, and they can weigh the health risks before signing these guys to multi-year, multi-million dollar contracts.

And maybe we’ll settle into an era where PEDs become mainstream across baseball, America, and the globe, and they are regulated and safe.

Call it evolution.

New York Aces Come Up Short

A friend of mine who still clings to the New York Mets, insists that Matt Harvey is the best pitcher in New York. I have said since the middle of last season that the Yanks' Hiroki Kuroda is better (technically the #2 Yankees starter though has been consistently better than CC for close to a year now).

Well they both went out there on Wednesday, and neither held the torch with any kind of distinction.

Harvey pitched in a day game at home against Cincinnati and pitched well for the most part. But he was far from stellar, throwing 116 pitches in just 6.1 innings.

Harvey would have been on the hook for a 4-2 loss, but the Mets picked him up for a change, tying the game before ultimately falling in the late innings as they normally do. The result for Harvey was another no-decision, his 5th in the last 6 starts. So he remains 5-0 with a very strong 1.93 ERA.

Kuroda looked lost in the 1st inning in Baltimore, which isn't unusual for him. This season Kuroda's 1st inning ERA is 9.00 in 10 starts, with a 1.41 ERA from the 2nd inning on.

Last night he didn't make it past the second inning, a precaution after Manny Machado's liner ricocheted off his calf. Kuroda (6-3, 2.67) is expected to make his next start, which incidentally is next Tuesday at Citi Field against Matt Harvey.

My friend and I will learn a lot more about our dispute then. If the question is "who would you rather have on the mound in a big game?" the answer is immaterial, since Matt Harvey will never pitch in a big spot as long as he is a Met. But 5 days from now will be a good indicator of a lot of things.

The Mad Men Variety Hour

After the gang from SCDP/CGC got a visit from Dr. Feelgood, all trippy hell broke loose for a full June 1968 weekend.

Ken Cosgrove's "It's My Job!" tap dance became an internet sensation, as it should have. I was watching somewhat live and rewound 3 times to believe the television moment I thought I had just witnessed.

Not only did a shot in the ass have Ken's foot feeling all better after his misadventures with the GM suits, but he managed to turn it into a satirical, stage-worthy routine with the cane as a prop. And you had to feel the undertones of a minstrel show with the black secretary Dawn looking on in bewilderment.

But all kinds of things were happening as the office in the Time-Life building turned into Vaudeville. As Rick James once posited on Chappelle's Show, "Cocaine is a helluva drug." I don't know what was in that shot, but it was a helluva drug. It gave Don Draper visions of his very troubled childhood, it made Stan Rizzo a pick-up artist, and it brought the whole gang to Michael Ginsberg's maturity level.

While the episode was entertaining and thought-provoking, as a medicinal journey might advertise (advertising!), it seems like a cheap trick in a tired series.

The Sopranos, from which Mad Men boss Matthew Weiner evolved, was guilty of these types of episodes multiple times. Tony Soprano had hallucinations while in the throes of food poisoning, he had "the test dream," and tripped on acid with a Las Vegas hooker.

Other shows have done it too, and it seems like a ploy from the writers to be outrageous. Drug-enhanced visions have to be added to the criteria for Jumping The Shark.

Don Draper's character has become a little tedious with the flashbacks, the introspection, the women troubles. He will never find peace, not in the late 1960s. Not when his apartment's being robbed because of his carelessness, not when he's ignored his children for a married neighbor.

So where is the show going? What's the next TV writer hook to get us through the next episode? Stay tuned, I guess.

Surviving Your Daughter's Dance Recital

Conventional wisdom is that your daughter spent months getting ready for this, the least you can do is devote an hour (or maybe 90 minutes) of your time, to see the finished product.

Yes there are other things to be doing on a Savannah Saturday in May. But in this case, conventional wisdom is the correct course. And then if the stars are aligned, it can be pretty painless.

First, how do you get your son to sit still during the performance? Answer: not my problem. His Mom and Grandma were taking care of that. And while a portable DVD player and headphones wouldn't be the way I would've handled it, I was free of the burden of making that call.

I had printed out the show order from the dance website so I knew which numbers I had to really pay attention for. It also spared me the price of a program.

By the way, here's a new experiment: find out the proportion for dance recital girls ages 5-10 who's first name starts with the letter A...

Addison, Amelia, Amilie, Arianna, Allie, Abigail, Angelina, Ava, Amanda, Anna, Anna Kate, Avery, Alexandra, Ayden, Adeline (2), Alice, Ansley, Anastasia.

A is one letter in 26, yet girls whose name starts with A probably made up 25-30% of the dancers. Is it preordained? Do the moms think of their little ballerina when choosing a name? That their daughter will be listed first in their dance program? This is worth some follow up by the Freakonomics guys.

I mean it. My daughter's name starts with C, and she was listed 6th alphabetically in her group of 11.

Anyhow, I brought binoculars since a single ticket on the day of show has traditionally been pretty far back. But a family gave a single ticket back while I was waiting on line. So I got a free seat in row B.

So without paying for a ticket, a program, or parking (I parked at Tattnall & Harris - about a block from the Civic Center), the only expense I had was flowers. Got a solid discount on that too since the florist is next door.

And I was back in my car 90 minutes after I had parked, and one minute before it started raining. It was a sublime Saturday interlude and I was home in time for the Preakness.