About a month ago I was introduced to and fell in love with "Breaking Bad" (only about five years after the rest of the world, right?). Alas, it was one of those exciting affairs that burns bright and hot as a comet then burns out just as fast: after five episodes my infatuation had totally cooled and I was ready to move on.
But in the early days (all two of them. That's how long it took me to watch the five episodes), what really fired up the pleasure center in my brain was watching the hero - or, anti-hero, I guess- meek, dull, kicked-around-by-life, middle-aged high school chemistry teacher Walter White (Walter White? A name that sounds like and was perhaps meant as a metaphore for the blandness of Water and White Bread?) , to see him bust on out and metamophose into a hard-core, meth-making Bad Boy as well as someone who could now settle the hash of bullies and even man up to his domineering wife. But to me this show's defining moment came when Walter White's former slacker student and future drug partner, upon hearing of Walter's wish to get into the meth business, asks how he's supposed to believe that "...some straight like you...all of a sudden he's just gonna break bad?" This was the moment of epiphany, the "ah-ha" moment that not only explained the meaning of the show's name and served as its thesis statement, but gave us a new phrase to add to the lexicography: break bad (brak bad) v.i. To suddenly inexplicably engage in naughty behavior when one has spent one's whole life being nice. Just giving us the word to define that phenomenon, to verbalize it, gives "Breaking Bad" social worth beyond any entertainment value the show might have offered in its time. We knew that nice people sometimes broke bad, but at the same time we didn't know because we didn't have the vocabulary to express what it was they were doing. Or maybe what we ourselves were doing. Like the time I was in the doctor's office reading a really engrossing article in one of the magazines in the waiting room but didn't have time to finish it so I just swiped the magazine. Upon learning what I'd done my hubby Tom was pretty shocked. He asked why I didn't just ask the receptionist permission to take the magazine. To which I replied that you don't ask permission for something you're not supposed to do. If you're gonna do it, you just do it! Which is what I did. I broke bad. Now, none of us (I mean, I hope none of us) would want to see anyone seriously or permanently err, but isn't it kind of, well, fun to see a thoroughly proper, straight-laced-type say or do something naughtily out of character once in a while? And when we see something like that happen isn't it also kind of a relief to know that we're not the only imperfect ones on the planet? And, now, thanks to "Breaking Bad", we can talk about it. PS: I'm thinking that from now on I'll be blogging Monday through Friday and taking off Saturday and Sunday. So I'll be back Monday, when the subject will be Breaking Good. Everyone have a wonderful weekend. 8)
1 Comment
I'm calling it Salieri Syndrome. It occurs in people who are called in their brains and hearts to careers in which it's not enough to be good or even excellent at what one does; in order to be successful at these jobs a person must be one among many hundreds, thousands, or even millions.
Athletes. Rock musicians. Concert musicians. Composers. Artists. Writers. Actors. Dancers. And so on. Llewyn Davis suffered from Salieri Syndrome. So did Antonio Salieri. Alas, so do I. That's why I know about it. We Salieri Syndrome sufferers work hard at the jobs we've chosen. We're told we're good, people love what we do. Just not enough to pay us very much for it. We may keep at it for years, decades, even, before accepting that we're not going to make a living at what we're doing. And we're never going to shine. No best-seller, no rock hit, no Broadway play, no starring movie role, no Carnegie Hall date, no NBA contract, no exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art. So we find something else to do to earn our bread. Out there there are doctors, accountants, computer programmers, teachers, nurses, you name it, who've dealt with Salieri Syndrome and who now work at careers which, though they may be gratifying, don't define them. Ironically, some of us eventually discover we have a real ability, an ability we wish we had for our perceived vocation, for something else. Something maybe we should have recognized in ourselves in the first place. Salieri and I ended up being decent piano teachers. I'm not sure what Llewyn David would have ended up being good at if he'd existed. Well, he had issues. Any one else kicking around out there with Salieri Syndrome? A few nights ago I saw the movie "Inside Llewyn Davis". I thought it was a so-so movie but I found its point rather thought- provoking, even though I only got the point when it was explained to me later, after I'd already seen the movie. Anyway, the point, as I now understand it - and if you haven't yet seen "Inside Llewyn Davis " and are planning to, this might be a bit of a spoiler; on the other hand, knowing in advance what the film is supposed to be about might make it make more sense- is that it's the story of a gifted folk musician from the early 1960's (based loosely on the folk musician Dave Van Ronk) who was destined to oblivion in the music world because, good as he was , there was talent in that time and place that soared far above his own. This same story was differently and much better told, I thought, in the 1984 film "Amadeus". This was the story told from the point of view of Antonio Salieri, a successful 18th Century composer who nonetheless lacked the musical gift bestowed on his rival Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. And so Mozart's works lived on after him while Salieri's were forgotten in his own lifetime. According to the movie Salieri ended up in an insane asylum still burning with envy of Mozart. And yet here's another story: The was a 16-year-old German boy whose dream was to study music with the great composer Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. He was quiet, shy, and had few friends, but inside he yearned and burned to be taught by Mozart. Though the boy's family was not well-off, they raised the money to send him alone to Vienna, Austria, for an audition with Mozart. Now Mozart had no interest in teaching this boy, but the boy's mother's cousin was a friend of Mozart's friend Emanuel Schikaneder's mother's cousin's sister-in-law's...well, you get the idea. So Mozart agreed to audition the boy as a favor to his friend. When the boy arrived at Mozart's house Schikaneder was there as well. What the two men saw was a big, awkward, clumsy, pimply-faced teenager who could only seem to answer questions in a mumble. Anyway, Mozart led the kid to his piano and gave him a piece of music to sight read. The boy played the piece badly. While he slugged through it Mozart had to suppress his laughter because he had the impression of a bear trying to play the piano. When the boy finished Mozart thanked him but told him that he was sorry, he wasn't taking any students just then. Red-faced and on the verge of tears, the boy headed slowly for the door. But then boy turned back to Mozart and somehow found the courage to say, "I want to learn to be a composer. Please let me play you something I've written myself." Mozart, who was basically a nice guy, shrugged and said, "Eh, sure." (Or an 18th Century German translation of "Eh, sure.") So the boy went back to the piano and began playing pieces that he'd composed. It was like nothing Mozart had heard before. It was different. It was wonderful. When the boy had finished playing Mozart turned to his friend and said, "Mark that young man; he will make a name in the world." So Mozart agreed to take the boy on as a composition student but before their first lesson the boy received an emergency message that his mother was very ill, maybe dying, and the boy needed to return home at once. So the boy left for home before having his first lesson with Mozart. It was several months before he was able to return to Vienna and by that time Mozart was dead. So the boy ended up studying music composition under another teacher, Antonio Salieri. The boy's name was Ludwig von Beethoven. PS: This story is true, but it's like gospel truth: there are several versions of it. This is one of those versions.
Today we have a guest blogger, my wonderful sister Romaine, telling us the true story of "Icabod Cranedeer". So here it is, told by Romaine: I like shiny pretty things so needless to say I am a big fan of Christmas decorations and Christmas lighting. Every year I put up lights around the front of my house. This includes a Christmas sleigh with reindeer and a Christmas doggie. The Christmas doggie is by far my favorite of all the decorations. He is about the height and width of my own dog Luka – who is an 80 pound Rottweiler, Doberman and Husky mix. The Christmas doggie is smartly dressed in Santa attire with a red Santa hat and cape. He is made out of light-weight metal and covered in brown glittery metallic material. He lights up from the inside. Every time I see him it puts a big smile on my face because he is so goofy-looking and kind of reminds me of my own sweet boy Luka. This year the Christmas doggie was violated in a most un-holly manner. On the Sunday morning before Christmas I opened my door to a most upsetting sight. The decapitated head of the Christmas doggie was sitting on my front steps staring at me. It was a scene right out of “The Godfather”. His body was nowhere to be found. I was appalled by the sight and really angry that someone would violate my home and my poor little holiday pooch. Below is a picture of the dreaded sight that I awoke to that Sunday morning. The picture is kind of blurry – but I was so upset when I took the shot that I didn’t even notice. I called the police to report the crime. The woman police officer that I spoke to was very kind and spent a good long time on the phone sympathizing with me about how horrible this was. She was also a big fan of Christmas lights and fully sympathetic to my upset. We discussed ways that I could deter would-be Christmas dog assassins in the future. She told me about this motion-sensitive device that you can hook up to a hose that will spray water when it detects movement. I was thinking that I could plant the device in my front yard and find a way to hook it up to a can of red paint so that it would spray out paint instead of water -thus marking the would be vandals with garish red paint. But then it occurred to me that this could lead to a rash of red-spotted birds, raccoons and squirrels in my neighborhood who would be innocent victims of my plan to foil the despoilers. The next day as I was walking Luka around the neighborhood I saw the body of my Christmas doggie sitting on the front lawn on my neighbor’s house which is on the corner adjacent to my house. I ran up to their door to find out how my dog’s body ended up on their front lawn. I thought maybe they were also the victims of a Christmas prank. It turns out they found the headless body stuffed into their re-cycling bin and decided to add it to their front lawn Christmas display. Only in Portland would a vandal be righteous enough to dispose of the evidence of their crime in the appropriate re-cycle bin. Perhaps this was an act of eco-terrorism performed by one of those anti-Christmas light people that protest the use of energy for holiday lights. My neighbors thought this was a headless body of a reindeer decoration. In the spirit of Tim Burton they added the headless body to their Christmas display and named it “Ichabod Cranedeer”.
Once I got Ichabod back I replaced his head and brought him inside. I considered leaving him outside again and wrapping barbwire around his neck, but decided that would really up the ante for the next time the vandals decided to raid my property. You might be wondering what kind of a neighborhood I live in where this type of vandalism occurs. I live in one of the most sought after neighborhoods in Portland. It’s urban, close to downtown, walking distance to a fancy grocery store, numerous restaurants, many shops, bars, and coffee houses, a beautiful park and a library. As you can image, there is a lot of foot traffic in my neighborhood and my house happens to be listed in the “Walking Tours of Portland” guide because it’s one of the few older homes with a garage. I love living in this neighborhood – but I also feel exposed. There have been instances of vandalism and car break-ins on my block. Even our gardens aren’t safe. In the spring our front yard flowers get picked and in the summer our fruit trees are raided. My neighbor has a front-facing persimmon tree that was full of fruit. She came home one day to find every piece taken from the tree. I’ve been pan-handled while gardening. My neighbor once found a passed-out drunk sleeping it off in her backyard. I once had to call the police because I found a passed-out man on my neighbor’s front lawn. The joys of city living. You might wonder why we all stay. I think each and every one of us does love living in the city. Besides the vandalism, pan-handling and occasional drunken body to deal with it’s a gem of a neighborhood and we like living here. Guess it all just goes with the territory. As I gaze at my hot dog wrapped in a romaine lettuce leaf instead of a bun (and piled high with garlic-stuffed olives, avocados, shredded carrots, shredded parmesean cheese, grilled mushrooms, caulifower bits and Hellman's Dijonnaise. Actually, it's a superb conglomeration and the lettuce leaf holds it all together much better than a mere bun) I'm contemplating two people: Francois Hollande, a leader of the Western world and Monica Lewinsky, who almost brought down the leader of the Western world.
French president Francois Hollande is in the news these days for having been caught sneaking away from the Elysee Palace (the French version of the White House) on a motorcycle to carry on an affair with a French actress, with whom he's been cheating on his current girlfriend, known in France as the First Girlfriend, with whom he used to cheat on his girlfriend before her, the girlfriend who was the mother of his four children. A couple of years ago Hollande's baby mama and the First Girlfriend, two beautiful women, got into big public cat fight over the guy. (Fortunately for him, the French don't much care how their leaders spend their spare time). Mr. Hollande is 59 years old, balding, and described in a New York Times article as "stout." Polite-speak for "chubby". And then remember Monica Lewinsky? With whom Bill Clinton had the affair (Or whatever it was they had) that led to his impeachment? So here we have Bill Clinton, most charismatic, powerful man on the planet. Was the woman over whom he jeopardized his marriage, his career, and by extension the well-being of his country some slender little sylph model ? No, she was Monica Lewinsky, who had, you know, a little meat on her bones. Anyway, my point here isn't really about weight. It's about attraction, which we tend to think is linked to how much we weigh. But it isn't. For most people, the two aren't linked at all. Years ago I read an article in Newsweek, I think it was on body image, but in any case the article concluded that what really attracts one person to another isn't physical appearance. People are attracted to people who are comfortable in their own skin. This I believe. Or, as I've always said and continue to say to my children (ask them ,they'll tell you): "What are you paying for? The candy bar or the wrapper?" 1. When my daughter Theresa was in sixth grade she wrote a short story as an English assignment.
Her story was about a new invention call Flavor Spray. Flavor Spray came in a can in many flavors such as steak, cheese, pizza, french fry, glazed doughnut, cake, ice cream, chocolate, etc...pretty much any food flavor in existence. Flavor Spray had zero calories, but when sprayed on a lettuce leaf it made the lettuce take on the taste and texture of whatever food the flavor of the spray was. Flavor Spray became a huge hit, everybody bought it, and the company that produced it made billions. But then people began starving to death because they were eating only lettuce leaves sprayed with Flavor Spray. So Flavor Spray had to be banned by the government. The End. 2. I once wrote a play about a time in the future when disease had been wiped out. People only got sick in order to lose weight. If you wanted to lose weight you'd go to the hospital where you'd be given a shot of germs to make you too sick to eat much. You could choose from the Pneumonia Diet or the Flu Diet, or if you were in a hurry, the Stomach Bug Diet. You'd stay sick in the hospital until you'd lost all the weight you wanted to lose, then you'd be given a shot of Enhanced T-Cells to make you better fast. Nobody tried to lose weight anymore by just trying to eat less; that kind o f medically unsupervised diet was considered ineffective and potentially harmful to one's health. But then rumors and reports were starting to surface that in some cases the Enhanced T-Cell shots were no longer working. People weren't getting better and not only that, others were catching their flus and pneumonias. Fear was starting to grow among the population. And that's far as I got in my play. I guess I should finish it. 3.“... I realized that I have spent so many years being on a diet that the idea that you might actually need calories to survive has been completely wiped out of my consciousness. Have reached point where believe nutritional idea is to eat nothing at all, and that the only reason people eat is because they are so greedy they cannot stop themselves from breaking out and ruining their diets.” -Helen Fielding, Bridget Jones's Diary - Sorry for yesterday's digression. Life has a way of throwing you off- topic. So then, back to the dessert recipe: The 18.5-Calorie Caramel Mini-Rice Cake Petit-Four was invented by myself. (As far as I know. As was the Ham & Cheddar Romaine Lettuce Sandwich. As far as I know). Thus my sister Romaine (whom I didn't purposely name the sandwich after, but there it is) suggested that I re-name this confection the 18.5-Calorie Mini-Rice Cake Patti-Four. So here it is: The 18.5-Calorie Caramel Mini-Rice Cake Patti-Four : Here's the recipe: 1 caramel mini-rice cake (7.5 calories). 1/2 tablespoon (or 1 1/2 teaspoons) lite Greek yogurt. I used Yoplait black cherry 100 Calorie Greek . (4 calories). 1 teaspoon whipped topping. (4 calories). 1/2 strawberry. (3 calories) You can use different fruits. So go ahead and have a Patti-Four. Have two. Heck, go ahead and have five of 'em - you're still under 100 calories! 8)
Epilogue: Now my sister Romaine and I each have a delicious, low-cal, gluten-free food item named after us. That's all. 8) I know I promised a petit-four recipe for today, but this has got to be blowing the collective American mind! Okay, be honest - whatever your political persuasion, who among us doesn't have a soft spot for Chris Christie?
Or I should say, at least in my case, who didn't used to have a soft spot for him? Because, even if Christie himself had nothing to do with closing those traffic lanes, it's still all about him. Because tell me who your friends are and I'll tell you who you are. And those the people involved in closing the Fort Lee, New Jersey traffic lanes - Bridget Anne Kelly, David Wildstein, Bill Baroni and the others - were more than just Christie's aides and supporters; they were his close friends. They were, according to Christie himself, like family to him. It's really hard to believe that none of the people involved in this act of political revenge wouldn't have let Christie know what they did. What's the point of doing a friend a solid if you don't let the friend know about it? And where's the career benefit of pleasing your boss if you don't let the boss know? But what really resonates with me about all this, what hits me hard right in the - you know that spot next to the point of your elbow that if it's hit makes you jump through your skin and howl? I think that spot is called your crazy bone - anyway, what hits me (metaphorically speaking) right in the crazy bone is that the people who did this had absolutley no regard for the children who were affected by the contrived traffic jam. There were busloads of children on their way to their first day of school stuck on their bus for hours. Can you imagine the little ones, the kindergarteners, the first graders? Were they scared? Crying? Wetting their pants- you know how little kids are - for goodness sake? And what about the poor school bus drivers? But here's the absolutley beneath-contempt worst part: When one of the parties involved sent an email to Port Authority official David Wildstein regretting that children had to be involved, Wildstein joked back that those were children of people who supported Christie's opponent. "Is it wrong that I am smiling?" Wildstein wrote in regard to making those children suffer. Because, after all, how much worse can you hurt a person than by hurting their children? And I say yes, Mr. Wildstein, it was wrong! As wrong as can be! Really, how could they? After reading my January 7 blog my son Tommy felt inspired to try a ham& cheddar romaine lettuce "sandwich". One sandwich led to several more, and he gave the invention such rave reviews that I thought maybe I'd share the recipe in more detail: HAM AND CHEDDAR ROMAINE LETTUCE "SANDWICH": Two leaves of romaine lettuce Ham slices Sharp cheddar slices Ham and cheddar romaine lettuce sandwich! Garnish with "chips" and Hellmann's Dijonnaise! Enjoy! PS: I guess you could use other fillings besides or in addition to ham & cheddar, like turkey, swiss, tomatoes, more lettuce, onions, olives, avocadoes, spinach, sprouts, whatever - make a real romaine lettuce grinder! I mean, if a fast-food joint can put a sandwich between fried chicken filets (known as a Double-Down), why can't we put one between lettuce leaves, right?!
PPS: Just a heads-up: tomorrow's blog will be a recipe for a really good fancy dessert alternative: an 18.5-calorie caramel mini-rice cake petit-four. "What a piece of work is man, how noble in reason,
how infinite in faculty, in thought and movement how express and admirable. In action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god; The beauty of the world, the paragon of animals." When William Shakespeare wrote the above he was marveling over the level of human achievement of his day, just as we as we marvel still over our own achievements. But, as the first week of January, 2014 has once again reminded us, no matter what genuises we humans are with our amazing intelligence and ability to advance our existence, in the end Nature rules over us. Microbes rule. The smartest, richest, most powerful person on the planet can be flattened by a virus or bacterium. And however grand our plans, we're all at the mercy of a hurricane, tornado, earthquake, or drought. Or a polar vortex, like the one half our country was in the grip of for a few days previous. If this blog is right now being read by some future archivist searching for historical data, let me tell you, Mr. or Ms. Archivist: In the Midwestern United States on January 6 and January 7, 2014, it was dang cold! Here, for your research, is some pertinent information contiguose to the January, 2014 American Polar Vortex: 1. My daughter Claire, who lives in Chicago where the snow was several feet deep and the wind-chill got down to -45 degrees Fahrenheit, said that while walking to the bus stop to work her tears froze so that it felt crunchy to blink her eyes. 2. Claire, an ICU nurse, said that the Neural ICU floor at her hospital was filled to overflowing: the sudden severe drop in atmosphereic pressure of the polar vortex caused a rash of burst aneurysms and strokes. 3. The temperature on Earth was colder than the temperature on Mars, whose temperature is an enviable -31 degrees. 4. People have been trying this trick of flinging a pot of boiling water into the freezing air so that the boiling water turns to powdered snow upon hitting the air. I tried it. It works. It's neat. 5. On January 6 it was windchill -33 in Columbus, Ohio. People's doors were frozen shut. (I know this because I'm a piano teacher who makes house calls. I couldn't believe folks were making me wait out in the freezing cold night air...but it was because they couldn't get their doors opened!) 6. Dress in as many layers as you own, the cold still seeped in; it felt like it was seeping under your skin into your bones. 7. The weather is all anybody can talk about. 8. Today is Wednesday, January 8, and now that it's warmed up to 12 degrees Fahrenheit it feels right down warm! 9. Three days from now it's supposed to be in the 40's, so go figure. We'll probably all get sick from the bacteria and viruses springing back to life. 10. Just a thought: Nature will always rule, but maybe we could get the microbes under control if we all stopped abusing the antibiotics, as they say we are currently doing. And maybe the wild weather events would calm down if we tried doing something about global warming, which they say is negatively influencing our atmosphere. 11. Well, future historical archivists, how did we 21st Century geniuses do? |
"Tropical Depression"
by Patti Liszkay Buy it on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BTPN7NYY "Equal And Opposite Reactions"
by Patti Liszkay Buy it on Amazon: http://amzn.to/2xvcgRa or from The Book Loft of German Village, Columbus, Ohio Or check it out at the Columbus Metropolitan Library
Archives
April 2024
I am a traveler just visiting this planet and reporting various and sundry observations,
hopefully of interest to my fellow travelers. Categories |