The Long Journey (Brooklyn to Montauk) Part II

Part of the rationale of this long ride was to get out of my head.  As of late, my mind has been contaminated in unexpected ways.  Riding is that opportunity to get out my mind and just not think for an extended period of time.  The repetitive action of pumping the pedals, pulling your legs back up then thrusting them down again becomes all that matters.  The repetition and knowledge of traveling distance is cleansing.  It is, if only momentarily, healing and being 60 miles away from home was lovely as well.  Montauk was getting closer and reaching the destination became all-consuming.  That was all there was to focus on.  

And that is where I left off a few days ago.  Patchogue was surprisingly cool.  It is a town I plan to revisit in the future and maybe get to know a little better. The time at this point was about five after three in the afternoon and needed to cover some major distance.  This was when the very important aspect of continuing moving without stopping became all important.  There was major distance to cover and it was getting late.  The idea of catching the sunset out there was becoming more and more fleeting and seemingly impossible.  That was okay at this point.  I paid for a hotel room out there, so refused to eat the $140 that cost.  I was going to get there, but stopping would have to become something I did very little of.  There were also friends who went out to surf in Montauk and I really wanted to see them there.  They were these secret motivators to ensure I completed the ride.  Nichole is a co-worker of mine and her husband, Justin, celebrated his birthday the day before.  Seeing them in such a different context would be amazing.  So, they deserve a major shout out for being silent enablers to keep me moving along the highway.

The air out on Long Island changed.  Even though there was a constant flow of cars to my left, the sea was to my right and although I could't really see all that much of it at this point, you still knew it was so close.  25 miles later, I reached the town of Quogue.  I hadn't been there in more than ten years. I recalled an inn I stayed in that was right on the water, but cannot remember the name of it for my life…..  It was beautiful and quite surreal.  My companion and I arrived there after work and quite late on a Friday night.  There was a note left for us explaining how to find our room.  There was also this gigantic hound dog, with humongous, floppy ears and massively overweight.  His eyes were bloodshot. He pretty much lived on a beer diet and I find that to be extremely depressing now, but back then I thought it was kind of romantic.  The owner placed a beer tap at the check-in desk and it was to be consumed on an honor system of paying something like two dollars a pint.  I'm pretty sure I was extremely dishonorable.

The next town was Hampton Bays and the road hugs the water and your lungs are filled with salt water air and it feels great.  Seeing towns with "Hampton" in their names became another major boost.  You just know you're getting closer, but just not close enough.  But, you know you're getting there and you're feeling invigorated even with a drastic headwind blowing against you.  Man, the wind on most of the ride was working hard against me.  At times it felt a bit defeating, like the earth itself was rooting against me.  Perhaps, that is just my self-defeating mind frame these days, but those crazy, asinine thoughts worked their way back into my mind.  The thoughts don't truly go away, but they are kept at bay for hours at a clip.  But, like flies to shit, they make their way back and need to be pushed out again.  Alas, the pedaling continues and you keep on going……….

Areas passed through:  Bellport, Brookhaven, Shirley, Mastic, Moriches, East Moriches, Westhampton, Quogue, East Quogue, Hampton Bays.

Heavy Rotation 10-24-13

Thus far, this week has been brutal. It has been one of those nosedives of a week where everything feels dreadfully sad and off.  There is also the realization that Daylight Savings Time begins next Sunday and I'm dreading the short, dark days.  The sunlight will be surely missed.  These two albums have been working for me through a week of literal and figurative nightmares.

Emancipated Hearts - Dean Wareham

It is great to hear a new Dean Wareham album without Britta as his singing partner.  She is on this EP, but she is just there as a background voice, not in the forefront and that is a blessing because these collections of songs sound like old Dean Wareham tunes.  The opening track, Love is Colder Than Death is kind of crushing, but beautiful in its simplicity.  It is a song about a failed relationship, yes, but it also feels like the season....dark skies, vices, unanswerable questions.  The great thing about Wareham is that he is at his best when he is a minimalist and this collection of songs feels pretty sparse at times, both lyrically and instrumentally.  That doesn't mean it is empty, far from it because it is the best thing he has released in years.  In all there are 5 new songs, a remix of the title track and two covers.  I hope he continues to record solo because he is a solid songwriter and musician on his own. One last thing, Jason Quever, as noted on the album artwork, is the producer.  He is from Papercuts and I think this pairing is a perfect one.  Possibly, Dean needed a pretty young kid to remind him where he should be returning to as a musician.

The video for Love is Colder Than Death can be found here: http://vimeo.com/75818830

The Modern Lovers - The Modern Lovers

There isn't much to write about this one that hasn't already been written.  It is a classic, but it keeps on returning musical gifts. At times, so sarcastic, while at others, utterly heartbreaking and full of longing, it just keeps on giving year after year, phase after phase. Hospital has been haunting me for days and can't stop listening to it.

Other Stuff:

IABF - Les Thugs
The Dirt of Luck - Helium
Hip Priest and Kamerads - The Fall
Nature Noir - Crystal Stilts
Diaper Island - Chad VanGaalen

The Long Journey (Brooklyn to Montauk) Part I

This entry begins with this image, taken last Friday night before the journey began.  The Empire Drive-In was located in Corona in a parking lot outside of The New York Hall of Science.  Getting there was a 10-mile ride and hairy as hell at times due to having to ride on Woodhaven Boulevard at night.  But, man this place was incredible.  A group of artists got a bunch of salvage yard cars and piled them on top of one another.  You had the option to sit in them or on top of the roof.  We chose the roof of a late 80s (?) maroon Ford Taurus.  It was a sort of bike night sponsored by Transportation Alternatives and the feature film was Breaking Away.  I totally forgot how amazing of a film it is.  It's funny, romantic and has some great bike porn in it.  The timing of seeing this gem was beyond one of strangeness.  It was literally showing the night before going out to the farthest point of Long Island.  It was a night of inspiration, to say the least.  There was a full, blood moon, the ride back was smooth and avoided any major roads, cemeteries zoomed past, quite a few of them actually, and then we got to enjoy a cold beer on Washington Avenue once back in Prospect Heights.

The morning came a lot quicker than I had anticipated.  I mean, bam!  There she is and I overslept a bit, which definitely turned out to be a good thing.  I really needed the energy later in the day.  But, I was pissed at myself in the morning.  Ended up waking up a hair before 7:30.  My original plan was to be on the road by 6:00, with an alarm set for 5:15.  One of the main objectives of the trip was to see the sunset in Montauk proper.  My hotel was purposely located on the harbor to make things easier.  Obviously, with an actual start time of 8:30, that wasn't going to happen.  After the initial feelings of self-loathing passed, I was able to have a bit of coffee, hop in the shower and get shit going.  Ended up leaving the apartment with a pack that weighed about 20-25 lbs.  That added weight was something I hadn't really thought about when planning.  I mean, I packed as lightly as possible, but it took some getting used to.  It was still pretty early for the city on a Saturday morning and the traffic on the initial avenues (Washington and Myrtle) were pretty light and breezy.  Then, out in Queens, Merrick Boulevard began.  Jesus Christ that was that fucking awful.  Zooming traffic, double parking, doors opening and jaywalking people galore.  It was awful as all hell for miles.  It was the segment of the trip where I thought my eminent death was a real and likely possibility.  Then you are in Nassau County and Merrick Blvd. turns into Merrick Road and thins out a bit.  Luckily, the cue sheet I was using got me off that road for a bit and onto wonderfully mellow, suburban streets.  You could take normal breaths again and all the bicycling risks subsided.  It was lovely.

The first stop was in the notoriously haunted village of Amityville.  This was an unplanned stop, but had to be made.  It also turned out to be about 34 miles of riding at that point and nearly three solid hours of pedaling.  The Amityville Horror is one of my favorite haunted house movies.  It is pretty bad, but in the Run-DMC good way.  I have been on the LIRR many times and my eyes always light up when we hit the Amityville station, yet I had never really stepped foot in the town.  Lucky for this horror movie obsessed boy, I was able to ride through all of Amityville.  It was a kind of dream come true.  It is important to note that the mileage at this point of the ride really means nothing to me.  It is a walk in the park and the adrenaline is pumping, just by being on Long Island and starting to feel a bit far from the city.  And, I'm finally in Amityville!  The ride continued and the next stop I made was in Babylon.  One of my best friend's wife is from here and have been to this town a number of times.  There was an autumn festival going on and my cue sheet was a mess, seemingly taking me all over the southern end of Long Island.  I asked some Babylonians (ha!) for directions to Montauk Highway and just made my way to it.  Montauk Highway becomes Main Street in many towns, so there was a Halloween parade in Sayville.  Tons of cute little kids in costume, fire trucks with all of their doors open, rides.  It was awesome and felt like I had gone back in time.  It is one of the first times I felt as if these near parts of Long Island could actually be beautiful!  Sayville was 55 miles in and my arrival time was 1:05.  

And here is the fact of the matter and where things become important.  This point is not even the fucking halfway point and that extra two hours of sleep begins to creep their minutes of importance through my body.  I have to admit I was feeling amped, but starting to feel some negative energy coming from parts of my body.  At that point, my neck muscles were starting to ache.  They weren't bitching and moaning, but they were starting to tell me they were getting a bit cranky.  My knees also began to start to feel a bit weird here.  It felt amazing when they popped.  I'm not exactly sure what is working when that happens, but man, it is heavenly!  This was also the point where the straight up concept of self-discipline kicked in.  There would be no more stopping for at least 90 minute or so intervals.  That became a weird mental trick as well, as checking the watch every three to five minutes was torturous.  And, right after setting that rule, I came to Patchogue and stopped.  I just needed electrolytes...big time and water.  So, got a Poland Spring and a Gatorade and felt amazing after consuming those.  That was 60 miles.  Still, just under the halfway point.

Areas ridden through:  Brooklyn, Queens, Valley Stream, Lynbrook, Rockville Center, Baldwin, Freeport, Merrick, Bellmore, Massapequa, Massapequa Park, Amityville, Copague, Lindenhurst, Babylon, Bay Shore, Islip, East Islip, Oakdale, West Sayville, Sayville, Patchogue.

Montauk Solo

Stuck on the concept of alone. It's odd as I'm addicted to biking and prepping to get my ass in gear for a solo ride to Montauk this weekend. I'm thinking if I do it solo, it'll be a quick trip. At the same time, I have no other option. Nary a soul I know wants to do that ride with me. And, to be honest, it is a long as hell ride. Yet, there is a reward: the ocean. Montauk is gorgeous and I think the actual ride out there could be one of those Gamechanger rides!  It's 126-140 miles or so and I'm hoping it'll be as flat as flat can be to maintain 16 mph throughout it. I'm imagining leaving at 6:00 and getting there by 4:00. The sun should still be up and there would be time to visually soak in the sea. Actually, I think I'd focus on all five senses:

The one I'd be most content with, obviously, would be sight. Seeing the ocean and stars, STARS, out in Montauk would be priceless. The stars there aren't Outer Banks stars, but they are close to that end of the earth shit as you can get outside of NYC.  Like Outer Banks beaches, they are wide, expansive and wavy

The scent of Coney Island or Rockaway Beach does not always equate a "good" smell.  There are exhaust fumes, sweaty people galore and the city to contend with.  Old Montauk Highway on the other hand will smell like the sea.  There is a scent that only exists when you are close to the ocean.  The salt itself and the dunes.......inhalation.  Mmmmmm, just like fresh-baked cookies.  Then, when there it is pure, unadulterated ocean.

The sense of taste is an odd one.  Sweat tastes like the sea in so many ways.  I'm kinda sure I'll be sweaty as all hell.  It is a long ride after all.  Yet, the ocean taste differs from sweat.  How?  I don't really know, but will get back to this in a later post and after I complete the journey.

Touch!  All I need to say is sand.  Sand between toes, stuck in your hair, in your bed sheets.  Even after you get home you find it everywhere.  It is annoying and a reminder at the same time.  The sand that returns back with you says summer.  Or, at least it reminds you of those long days when they don't exist anymore.  At this point, I"m making a personal check list to bring a small bottle of it back with me to remind me of what is ahead after these winter days.....

Finally, there is the sense of sound, of hearing.  The thing I am most excited for on this ride is to get the fuck out of the auditory realm of the city.  I envision getting out of NYC, then getting into Long Island where the passing cars will become wavelike on their own.  Then getting onto Old Montauk Highway and noticing the traffic to become less and less as I pedal.  I'm hoping that, at that point, I'll actually hear gulls and the rustle of a breeze through the grass.  Finally, after truly reaching Montauk, there will only be the sound of waves clapping the shore.  The waves and me.  Just hoping my thoughts, negative and brooding, do not overpower them.

What I Talk About When I Talk About Biking

I'm just about to finish Murakami's What I Talk About When I Talk About Running.  It's a book about running, yes, but also writing and self-discipline.  He always returns to the point that there are days when you don't feel like doing something but you have to do it because it must become routine or things (muscles, thoughts, etc.) will fall apart if you become lazy with something that ends up making you feel so good after you do it.

Since July 24, I have ridden 874 miles, without counting my daily commute to work or random errands to and from places.  The following passage comes from the first chapter and is one that has really resonated with me.  In the original text Murakami is writing about long-distance running.  I changed any word mentioning run or running with bike or biking and then it became a pretty amazing passage to describe thoughts and feelings that occur while riding for distance:

I'm often asked what I think about as I bike.  Usually the people who ask this have never biked long distances themselves.  I always ponder the question.  What exactly do I think about when I'm biking?  I don't have a clue.

On cold days I think a little about how cold it is.  And about the heat on hot days.  When I'm sad I think a little about sadness.  When I'm happy I think a little about happiness.  As I mentioned before, random memories come to me too......But really as I bike, I don't think much of anything worth mentioning.

I just bike.  I bike in a void.  Or maybe I should put it the other way; I bike in order to acquire a void.  But as you might expect, an occasional thought will slip into this void.  People's minds can't be a complete blank.  Human beings' emotions are not strong or consistent enough to maintain a vacuum.  What I mean is, the kinds of thoughts and ideas that invade my emotions as I bike remain subordinate to that void.  Lacking content, they are just random thoughts that gather around that central void.

The thoughts that occur to me while I'm biking are like clouds in the sky.  Clouds of all different sizes.  They come and they go, while the sky remains the same sky as always.  The clouds are mere guests in the sky that pass away and vanish, leaving behind the sky.  The sky both exists and doesn't exist.  It has substance and at the same time doesn't.  And we merely accept that vast expanse and and drink it in.  

Heavy Rotation 10-11-13

Man, way out of sync.  There is nothing new here this week, but there is one old gem I love more than most these days

Copenhagen-Galaxie 500

This is not even a Galaxie 500 album proper, yet it contains every G500 song I could think of at this point of time in my life.  It is a perfect now record.  It is a record for listening to on a Friday, when you feel dead on the inside, when you are asking yourself, why did I give a shit about anyone?  And, then it answers those questions.  It answers them as indirectly as anyone could ever possibly answer those shitty questions.  Yet, the album is also a live recording.  The Wareham solos, when he was young, make you feel solidity in a void of whirls and are priceless.  There are some tracks off their last LP, which sound great live.  Yet, it is the solid bookending of the set that leaves you in awe.  To begin with "Decomposing Trees" and end with a completely different and new rendition of "Don't Let our Youth Go to Waste"is beyond brilliant for a set.  There are very few things to ask for or demand after a set like that.

The Gravity of Gravity

Last night, I went to see Gravity, a film by Alfonso Cuarón .  He directed Children of Men, which is a movie I am proud to own and blew me away when I first saw it.  It felt like a master class in filmmaking because of what it accomplished in single takes and the story was so fresh, new and frightening.  But, nothing can really prepare you for Gravity.  It is an experience unlike any other one I have had in a movie theater.

A lot has been written about how long it took to make and the technology designed and implemented to finish it.  What Cuarón accomplished is nothing short of breathtaking.  The film begins with a single shot that lasts for maybe twenty minutes.  There are no cuts and its meandering pace sets the film up beautifully.  Even more, because the scene is so long and there is so much to take in visually, it immerses you in the space of space.  It feels like you are really there with these astronauts because you have the opportunity to take it in as if you were out there with them.  You can compare it to visiting a scenic expanse of land.  When you get there, you are in awe.  You breathe and look all around your surroundings and you have the time to do so. You want to interact with those surroundings, have it absorb you and become one with it.  The opening shots of Gravity accomplish that same feeling except it is a place very, very few of us will ever see.  We are privileged to be there for 90 intense minutes where 3D is not used as a gimmick.  It is used to allow you to feel what it might be like to spin, dive and drop out of control in space.

Gravity also manages to make you feel very, very scared.  It constantly teases you by showing Earth from so far away, yet you can't get back to it.  In this film, outer space itself is a horrifying place all on  its own.  You don't need aliens or black-clad enemies to accomplish a sense of dread and doom.  Just being alone in a place that is unforgiving and impossible to live in without technology is enough to give you nightmares if you really think about it.  There is a line, where Ryan, Sandra Bullock's character, tells Kowalski (Clooney) that the silence of space is her favorite part of it.  Yet, as she delivers that line, there really isn't all that much silence as Earth is constantly communicating with them via radio.  That silence, or void, doesn't become so ironic and damning until shit falls apart and that happens very quickly.  What Ryan thought she loved so much becomes terrifying and crippling.

The very concept of being alone is brought to new levels as well.  We have all been alone, obviously. But, being utterly alone in space, thousands and thousands of miles from this orb we live on, is profound.  There is no safe place you can go.  In our lives, we have people and places we can go to for comfort.  We can hug someone or cry on their shoulder.  We have oases to make us feel better about things.  In Gravity, that option doesn't exist.  Instead, there are only things that can physically hurt you or you are left to your own devices to mentally hurt yourself and give in to the concept of death.  The imagined "alone" in Gravity is one of the most terrifying aspects of it, yet it is something (thankfully) many of us will never feel.  Our fears of being alone, living alone and dying alone are exploited in such a visceral manner, you almost want to grab someone after the movie is over and say, "I am here!  And, so are you!  Let's make the most of this shit simply because we are not fucking alone."  That is something I have never felt after seeing a movie because there has never been a film like this one.

Cats, Pirates and Ponds, Pirates, Ponds and Cats, Ponds, Pirates, and Cats

Pirates

To begin, I must state how happy I am for my hometown Pittsburgh Pirates.  I never left you and followed you even through the worst of years.  I became a Yankee fan while out here, switched divisions and all.  My grandmother was pretty upset when I told her that after only living in the city for a year.  But, grams, I pleaded, possibly over Thanksgiving dinner, the 98' Yankees were an incredible team.  I lived with Carlos then and he was born and raised a Yankee fan and to watch games with him, to see young Mo on our TV that summer was priceless.  Amazing, actually.  See, my grandma would watch Pirates games in the evenings with a meal she had cooked for herself and sip one Iron City beer throughout nine innings.  It was beautiful and her devotion to that team was one never fleeting.  Every fucking night in the summer, there she was: IC Light/dinner/talking to the TV.  I'll never forget that about her and I know, good bless her soul that made it 94 years, that she would be so proud right now.  Yet, she'd be a realist and know that 9 innings of ball is a lot of ball and you can't get too excited about anything until they really win it all.  (Photo above is courtesy of Lee Mazzola and Harvey Hawkens Ehrbar)

Cats

Kumo and Apache are getting along pretty well.  Sadly, the only chance I get to take a picture is when they aren't.  The one above is a rarity.  Apache is 6 months old and 98 percent grey.  His nose, which I'm obsessed with, is totally grey.  He is named Apache in homage to Commanche, the best cat I have ever owned, pure black, and was a soul who could read into everything.  His primary motive in life was to provide comfort.  Kumo, my 9-year-old boy has been taking it pretty well.  He is meowing and following me around less.  He is cool with the little guy until he wants to play.  Then, Apache gets defensive and hisses, growls, etc.  Yet, he is growing and sitting at the window as I type staring at busy Washington Avenue, amazed by it all.  He is taking big kitty strides.  Kumo, on the other hand, needs to regress.

Ponds

Today's ride, a 54-miler, took me to Forest Park, Cunningham Park, Alley Pond Park and then out to Port Washington in Long Island.  It was a great ride at points.  The above photo is from Cunningham Park which connects to Alley Pond Park.  Gorgeous urban, tree-lined trails abounded in both, yet neither are that long.  My riding partner, Joe, told me that some of the oldest trees in NYC exist in these two parks.  All of those parks in the city are awesome to ride, especially if the weather was as shitty as today (so few pedestrians).  It began with a mist  and then a drizzle and then it was just......moist?  Took a smoke break (stupid, I know) about 12-14 miles in and got munched by mosquitos.  There were dozens of trails to veer off on, but we decided to stick to our plan.  Make it to Port Washington.  So, on we rode on Northern Boulevard, which is hairy as all hell, lots of fast-moving traffic, but hills to die for.  At least going down them were to die for.  Climbing them, not so much.  Then you are in Nassau County.  It happens quickly, actually and it is a time when you realize how fucking packed in we are in so little space.  Manhassett is next, which has an old art deco theater I wish I snapped a shot of, but then that would have required stopping and that would have sucked.  Finally, after dips and curves and some more hills you arrive in Port Washington.  It is a quaint, little town and we sat and talked about Sandy.  Had she ruined it?  We looked around at the grass and lack of water damage.  We assumed she hadn't.

And, so another weekend rolled by.  Other good stuff happened...got to see some really old, good friends uptown, got news an old friend got a new job doing what she would (really) love and is getting out of a shitty work environment, and I know I have to listen to more of The Fall.

Heavy Rotation 10-4-13

Earl Sweatshirt-Doris

The West Coast hip-hop movement has been filled with moments of brilliance, violence and straight up silliness.  Quasimoto was this guy back in the day who got kind of emotional at times.  Perhaps, Drake’s openness framed Earl Sweatshirt’s, yet it feels so much more raw, straightforward and honest.  Earl says, directly, “I’m depressed.”  What?  An MC letting his guard down that low is a pretty new thing to me.  Then, on the other hand there is a song about fucking freckles off a bitch’s face.  So, it is a mixed bag of maturity.  Yet, unlike Drake, who pours out his heart again and again, this kid is still protecting it.  He is only 21 or something and he should protect it.  Yet, this album has some of the best sounding beats I’ve heard in a while (since early Qausimoto/GZA?) and his delivery is priceless. 

Sonny and the Sunsets-Longtime Companion

This album came out in 2012 and he has a new one this year, which is also really good.  I’m spacing the title at this point, but it is really good and has a bit better production value than this one.  I looked up Sonny’s name beforehand, but I want to make you, dear readers look that up yourselves because it is fun to investigate things on your own.  Anyway, this amazing album came up as a recommendation on Spotify.  I listened to it and I thought, this is a divorce album.  It turns out it was.  Yet, what is brilliant about it is that it is as open as open can be.  He spares us from too many personal experiences, which could alienate a shitty episode from listeners.  You know that he and his wife had spilt up, yet he makes that break up as universal as possible.  You feel him, in ways, kind of letting go as he sings, yet you’re not sure if he wants to give her up completely.  His voice only says so much.

Other Stuff:

Galaxie 500- This is Our Music

Townes Van Zandt- Live at the Old Quarter

Bruce Springsteen- Nebraska

Pavement-Slanted & Enchanted

Drake- Nothing Was the Same

Neil Young-Zuma

Demisenberg

I cannot stop thinking about Walter White.  His downfall is epic.  No, his entire character arc is epic.  I can't recall a man I loved then hated, really hated, then felt some need for redemption for.  I mean, you watched this man create something for nothing.  You watched a man who had no clue what his short life may bring become a different person once they have some power.  Walt is what happens to lottery winners with the exception of working for your money.  But, it came so quickly, and that is the man's demise.

There are times you understand his lies, his cover ups, his desire to not really see what he had become.  And that is why, by the end of fit all, you want the best for Walt.  He pulled it off.  Those initial lacks of responsibility became realities by the end of the show.  There were these moments, and if you add them all up and make a sum of it, you realize so much of the death.....perhaps, all of the death in the show is all Walt's making.  Not his making per se, but his inability to take responsibility for his initial action of grabbing Jesse and making a cook.  I felt as if Walt had been in a sort of denial of everything until New Hampshire.  It hit home for him.  It sucks to be so alone when you haven't been for such a long, long time.  Yet, there is Walt, disconnected and paying someone to just spend time with him.  It is sad, and that is where you really re-connect with him as a character.  I think it is that moment when you forgive him.

Alas, the finale.  He does, somehow, and rather believably, make everything right.  And, at first, after watching the last episode, I thought he took the bullet for Jesse when he hit the remote.  Yet, he did take the bullet for Jesse by staying on top of him as he set of the barrage of gunfire.  The bullet would have hit him and by Walt lying on top of him, he saved Jesse.  Finally, Walt dies with a very Taxi Driver camera set up with the overhead views.  That is also another fitting ending to the show and a great homage to an amazing film.  The camera, like a hawk, spins slowly, so we see the cops.  Oddly enough, you have to ask is Walter White the Travis Bickle of 2013?  Were his actions, after all of its said and done, good for society?  A world without Gus is a better world in a way.  The morality of the show is one that will resonate for a long time.  Walter White is one of the best written and complex characters of our modern era.  He is our Ahab.  He will go down with so many mixed emotions; some good, lots bad.

His death is like reality.  It is conflicted and awful.  It is something you want to forget, yet never can.  Finally, it is a memory.  Those become clouded and odd as time passes.  Yet, you never forget the moment death happens. I will never forget Walt's bloody prints on the canister he last touched.  Nor will I forget his coldness when a child dies in the desert.  Yet, I will mourn his absence: the good, the bad and the ugly parts of it

Loves and Hates via haiku

Loves in haiku:

1. Bananas so ripe,

easiest to peel their skin 

And ingest goodness

2. Pittsburgh Pirates won

a meaningful game to go

to the World Series. 

3. Having a new cat

reminds me of my old cat,

color difference. 

Hates in haiku:

1. The essays pour in,

so many grammar errors. 

Teach another day 

2. Caring about things

that don't revolve around me 

are just way too much. 

3. The cat hides a lot,

Looking for him everywhere. 

Still he is hiding.