Tag Archives: breaking bad

Walter Works

Just think about it. If Walter White had had access to Obamacare, the whole “Breaking Bad” thing could have been avoided.

Not that I would have wanted that–his loss was certainly our gain. But, having watched the last episode of the final season on the day open enrollment began, I couldn’t help but ponder the irony. From what I hear, his coverage would have been quite reasonable under the new plan.

The other Walter in my life–our new cat–feels much the same way. He lay next to me for the whole episode, totally engrossed, and told me afterwards that, in his opinion, none of that bloodshed was either seemly or necessary. Decent medical care from the outset, along with good nutrition and proper rest, could have handled the problem.

“So much killing, for why?” he added.

Such pacifism makes no sense coming from him. He’s been fighting my asshole dog all week. Tooth and nail–and that’s not a figure of speech. Mina makes nothing easy, much less the arrival of a new adolescent cat in the home. She’s been on Walter like white on rice, causing cortisol levels in the house to shoot up to record highs. For the first few days I was sure she’d try to kill him. At which point I would reciprocate.

I needn’t have worried.

For Walter has fought back valiantly. Oh, sure, he’s small. But he’s tough, too. Mina has so many scratches on her nose that I’ve taken to calling her Scarface. Try explaining that reference to your three-year-old.

Anyway. It’s getting better. She’s still stalking, but from a few feet away now.

As for Walter, he mostly lays around. I guess that’s what cats do. I expected more fireworks, more backflips, more nuttiness. But he’s six months old. Perhaps by that age cats have gravitas. This one does. Either that or he’s sick. Cancer. Shit. Maybe that adoption place knew they were passing off a dud. And his accompanying medical bills. Assholes. How the fuck will we pay? I lose sleep.

But he doesn’t.

Neither does MJ. She’s thrilled. When Walter’s not draped like a fur throw over the sofa it’s because he’s being carried by her, usually in an incalculably uncomfortable position. She totes him everywhere, calling him “Ah-WOLL-y.” She pushes him in her rocking chair. She covers him in cheap jewelry. She fold his ears backwards.

She tried to sleep with him, but he bit her. No matter. She is smitten. It is worth it for that.

It is worth it for someone to watch the last episode of Breaking Bad with. It is worth the bloodshed. It is worth the expense.

As long as nobody dies. Or gets cancer.

Because there ain’t no Obamacare for pets.



Sitting. Duck!

Wanna live longer? Get rid of your cable.

Or stop watching TV. That’s what the New York Times implies, anyway. In an article in today’s Well section we’re told that the dangers of sitting are significantly greater than we thought, and that watching television — while slumped catatonically on the couch — is downright lethal.

…the findings were sobering: Every single hour of television watched after the age of 25 reduces the viewer’s life expectancy by 21.8 minutes.

Holy shit. By that measurement I should be dead, well, just about now. Wait for it…


Viewed from this perspective, shows like “The Wire” and “Breaking Bad” ought not be lauded, but rather castigated for their life-threatening qualities. Even so-so shows (like “The Good Wife,” the current object of my one-hour-a-night television habit), are to be regarded with suspicion. And reality programming — the self-proclaimed crack cocaine of television — should be feared like the black plague. (It already is, by me, at least.)

But it’s not the content that’s the problem in this case. It’s the way we take it in. Sitting is just, apparently, dreadful for us. So, instead of giving up my TV micro-habit, I am going to take it on the road. Or at least to the utility room. I think I can fit my computer on the end of the ironing table. Then I can kill two birds with one stone.

Or iron one shirt.

And buy myself another 21.8 minutes.