These guys are from Brooklyn. They’re 12 years old:
That’s what Jimi was talking about. A mini documentary:
Malcolm Brickhouse. Remember that name.
More great street clips on YouTube here.
Back in about 2008, I canceled my cable television account and never looked back. No regrets. This has resulted in me watching next to no television, with the exception of, say, Ancient Aliens. Or Ghost Adventures. On an iPad. But that’s about it. Zero. Totally off the grid when it comes to the hot shows of recent years. Sopranos, no. The Wire, no. Lost, no. Mad Men, Walking Dead, Downton Abbey, nope, none of it. Hell, I don’t even know the difference between Six Feet Under and Arrested Development. All I know is that one of ’em has Jason Bateman.
That said…
A week ago I thought it’d be a decent idea to curl up with the iPad and and sort of graze over the entire landscape of what I’ve been missing, watching the pilot of each of the big ones. With no commitments. Just sort of take a peek at everything and see what the fuss was all about. So I fired up Netflix Instant, and started with the first season of Breaking Bad. Always heard great things about that show, and several people have recommended it to me, declaring that it’d be up my alley as a writer.
At maybe 4:47AM that night, I watched the final episode of Season 1. Whole season, one sitting. Haven’t pulled a stunt like that since the DVD of the first season of 24.
I was obviously a fan of the show by the end of that night. And I can remember exactly what it was that hooked me: the scene in Pinkman’s basement when Walt realized there was a missing shard from the broken plate. Aha! Smart show. I also loved the thematic stuff that each episode had. Almost too good. Came across as heavy-handed at times. But the setups and payoffs kept me on my toes. Really fun to watch.
Suddenly committed to the Breaking Bad experience and invested in Walter White’s journey, I moved forward with Season 2. It got predictably soapy at times, as did Season 3, but Walt’s core desire kept me hanging on. I also understand that this series will have a definite end, making for a contained six-season tale, so, you know, count me in. I love good story endings.
I just wrapped Season 4, and have been discussing it with fellow fans who’ve gone before me. The discussion begins with a question I have about the ending, and ultimately a problem I have with the logic. So, for the record, and for further discussion, here goes.
***SPOILER WARNING!!! DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN’T FINISHED SEASON 4!!!***
In the final episode of Season 4, it’s revealed that Walt poisoned young Brock with the Lily of the Valley plant. Talk about a bombshell! Walt’s downward spiral is accelerating, and as Season 4 ends, he has irreversibly crossed a major line in his journey from Timid Good Guy to Bona fide Badass Motherfucker. Walt has officially broken bad, and we’re all shuddering. What kind of man would poison a 10-year-old kid? Or, more accurately, how could our beloved Walt be such a man?
But my question is this:
Why would Walt think that Jesse would think that Gus would poison Brock?
I realize you probably feel like you need a protractor and some scratch paper to fully comprehend that question, but follow me closely. Here it is again:
Why would Walt think that Jesse would think that Gus would poison Brock?
In my discussion with fellow BB fans, the consensus is that, in not so many words, “Walt’s turned into a bad guy; he’s crossed the line, and his ego is overshadowing his original intentions, and he’s becoming evil, and…”
Yada yada yada. I get all that. Somebody’s even put together a video attempting to explain the final episode. And while I’m totally on board with the result of the Lily reveal, I have a serious problem with its setup. The logic doesn’t work, from what I remember watching.
Again:
Why would Walt think that Jesse would think that Gus would poison Brock?
Recall that in the last couple episodes of Season 4, things are coming to a head, and Walt’s priority is KILLING GUS. Remember? Walt believes Gus has put a hit on Hank, and subsequently the rest of his family. So Walt has been trying to persuade Jesse get close to Gus and poison him with the ricin-tainted cigarette. When Walt learns that Jesse’s refused to go through with the deed, he finds himself at the end of his rope, resorting to explosives. (Which ultimately work, I should add.)
But let’s back up.
Walt’s pissed off at Jesse for not having the balls to kill Gus. Walt pleads with Jesse, reminding him that Gus has already killed the kid on the bike, and has slit throats of people with boxcutters. Walt reminds Jesse that Gus is a monster, and that they are ultimately going to DIE if they don’t kill him first. Him or us, in the spirit of any good western.
Still with me? Good. Now:
This is where we can deduce that Walt resorted to poisoning young Brock. I think Walt’s logic is supposed to be that if he poisons Brock, he can use some smoke and mirrors to manipulate Jesse into thinking that Gus poisoned Brock. And if Jesse believes Gus poisoned Brock, then Jesse would finally be convinced that Gus is a monster, and Jesse would therefore turn his allegiance back to Walt.
↑ Right?
Not so much, in my opinion. This logic has major holes.
First, if Jesse hasn’t seen enough to realize Gus is a monster capable of killing him, then Walt should realize that a poisoned Brock isn’t gonna change that. Remember, Gus has already got the blood of another kid on his hands, and Jesse knows it. Yet Jesse isn’t doing anything. So why on Earth would a poisoned Brock make a difference? (SIDENOTE: This problem is amplified by what I consider a grossly undeveloped relationship between Jesse and Brock. That whole relationship makes no sense, and is not consistent with the Jesse character. Think about it. He’s, what, been mourning Jane for two months and now is hooking up with some random rehabbing single mom and her kid? Where’d these bloated priorities come from? I mean, the dude’s sponsoring four-day meth benders in his house, disregarding everything, completely reckless, yet somehow he feels like a surrogate father to this Brock kid. How so? ANOTHER SIDENOTE: This problem could’ve been minimized if the Brock character had a primal connection to Jesse, justifying Jesse’s emotional attachment. Perhaps the Brock character should’ve been transferred to Jesse’s little brother. Or maybe Brock’s an illegitimate son Jesse didn’t realize he had. In any case, the contrived nature of Brock’s attachment to Jesse is a failure in authenticity.)
Second, I don’t recall seeing that Gus had a problem with Brock. Hell, did Gus even know about him? I don’t think so. Once the kid was poisoned at the hospital, Gus met with Jesse in the chapel, discussing the status of the current batch. When Jesse said he had to stay with the kid, there was no indication that Gus knew which kid he was talking about. (SIDENOTE: This problem could’ve perhaps been remedied if we’d seen Gus getting angry about Jesse’s connection to the boy, and how it was affecting business. Perhaps Gus should’ve witnessed Jesse taking the kid to the arcade or something, with the current batch of crystal getting ruined as a result. Then have Walt learn of Gus’ animosity. Set it up. Show don’t tell.)
So once again:
Why would Walt think that Jesse would think that Gus would poison Brock?
I still can’t answer that question myself. Which brings me to another question:
Why did Walt believe Jesse was the only way for Gus to be killed?
Come on, Walt. You’re a resourceful dude. You’ve also got Saul in your corner. Money isn’t much of an object. So why not just go old-school and have Gus assassinated? How hard can it be? You know where Gus lives. You know where he works. You have access to his car. I know it’s a long shot, but maybe it’s time to cook up some homemade explosives in the microwave and set up a booby trap. Oh, wait…
The Citizen Hearing on Disclosure (April 29 – May 3, 2013) took place with the hope and intention of calling for change on current governmental disclosure policy to the public. It appears that government withheld information from the public that would have enabled mankind to move forward and prosper. =read more=
“Sometimes people hold a core belief that is very strong. When they are presented with evidence that works against that belief, the new evidence cannot be accepted. It would create a feeling that is extremely uncomfortable, called cognitive dissonance. And because it is so important to protect the core belief, they will rationalize, ignore, and even deny, anything that doesn’t fit in with the core belief.” — Frantz Fanon
Published on Jun 7, 2013
When a group from The Philadelphia Orchestra found itself delayed on the tarmac for three hours waiting for their flight from Beijing to Macao as part of the 2013 Residency & Fortieth Anniversary Tour of China, a quartet of musicians decided to provide a “pop up” performance for the passengers.
Juliette Kang, violin
Daniel Han, violin
Che-Hung Chen, viola
Yumi Kendall, cello
Gwendolyn
by Jace Daniel (b. 1969)
Three knocks broke the silence. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.
The suburban family said nothing, sitting around the dining table, somber, avoiding eye contact. The father, Bob, 45. The mother, Audra, 40. The brother, Christopher, 18. And Gwendolyn, 14.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. Again.
Bob got up and went to the front door. In the entry hall, a photograph of Gwendolyn sat on a credenza between two lit candles.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK —
Bob opened the door as a taxi cab pulled from the curb and drove away.
Standing on the porch was Tyler, a man in is thirties, dressed in black attire and sunglasses. In one hand he held a bouquet of flowers, in the other he carried a bag of cookies. He entered the house, greeting Bob with condolences.
“Cousin,” Tyler said, handing the bouquet to Bob. They hugged. “I’m so sorry. Anne wishes she could be here, but she had to stay back with the kids. She made these…”
Audra stood from the table and went to the entry hall. Tyler turned his attention to her, delivering a hug and kiss on each cheek. He handed her the bag of cookies.
“Mmmm,” Audra said, suspiciously chipper. “Anne’s peanut butter cookies. Gwendolyn’s favorite. Have a seat, Tyler. Can I get you something to drink? Something to eat?”
“Water’s fine.” Tyler took a seat at the dining table between Christopher and Gwendolyn. “I had a bite on the plane. Thanks.”
The tension in the house was quiet and heavy. Tyler looked at Christopher. “Captain Chris! Still playing ball these days? Look at you. What are you weighing it at now? About one seventy-five? One eighty?”
Christopher nodded, hands folded in front of him, staring straight ahead. Bob sat back down at the head of the table. Gwendolyn hung her head in silence.
Audra returned to the table with a plate of cookies and a glass of water. She spoke with the kind of predictable small talk that comes from anybody trying to ignore an elephant in a room. “How is Anne, Tyler? And the twins? They must be getting big now.”
“Six last march,” Tyler said, obligingly taking a cookie and the glass of water. “My little Pisces girls. They’re just like their mother. I’m surrounded!”
Tyler cracked a laugh to lighten up the room. Christopher chuckled.
“What time is the service?” Tyler asked, in all seriousness.
“Four thirty,” Bob said. “We have an hour.”
Tyler took off his sunglasses, speaking with a rehearsed tactfulness. “We are so incredibly sorry, you guys. Phil and Jake weren’t able to get away today, so I’m representing everybody down south. They send all their love. We’re all in disbelief.”
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK —
Three persistent knocks pounded on the front door. Gwendolyn got up from her chair. Nobody else seemed to notice.
“We just don’t understand it,” Tyler said. “Too young.”
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK —
Gwendolyn walked to the entry hall. The candles flickered as she passed her photo. She stopped and stared at the door.
“What on Earth could have pushed her to do the ultimate?” Tyler continued. “Were there signs?”
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK —
Tyler gasped, reactively turning to Bob.
Bob said nothing.
“Do you… do you smell that?” Tyler’s eyes were wide. He looked at Audra, then Christopher. He stood from his chair. “What’s that smell?”
“It’s Gwendolyn,” Audra said.
Tyler arched his eyebrows, thrown off-guard by such a notion. Disbelief. He turned his nose to the ceiling as if to try to identify an intrusive aroma hanging in the air.
“It smells like flowers…” Tyler went to the bouquet and stuck his face deep into its arrangement, inhaling a deep breath through his nose. Dissatisfied, he shook his head. “Nope, not the flowers… more like a perfume or something…”
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK —
Gwendolyn stood at the credenza, staring at the front door.
Tyler walked into the adjacent living room, inhaling through his nose, trying to pinpoint the source of the smell. He went to the photo of Gwendolyn between the two candles on the credenza. Leaning over, he placed his nose directly above each candle and inhaled. Nothing.
“Not the candles either. Hmmm…”
Beside himself, Tyler turned to the family in the dining room, at a loss for words. “Don’t you guys smell that? Bob? Chris? Smell that? It’s sweet. Just, like, everywhere. Strong as hell. There’s no epicenter…”
Bob and Christopher said nothing.
“It’s Gwendolyn,” Audra repeated. “She’s here.”
“Gwendolyn?” Tyler smiled. He shrugged, taking his seat back at the dining table. “Of course she is.”
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK —
Gwendolyn opened the front door. Rip Greamer, lanky and ageless, stood on the porch holding an electronic device in one hand and a cup of black coffee in the other.
“Come in,” Gwendolyn said.
Greamer entered the house. Gwendolyn closed the door and led him to the living room. They took a seat on couch.
“I’d like to ask you a few questions,” Greamer said, pushing the buttons of his device with demon-like proficiency. “Is that okay with you, Gwendolyn?”
Gwendolyn nodded.
Greamer read from his device. “I’m told you weren’t even fifteen years old yet. Awfully early to make an exit, don’t you think?”
Gwendolyn explained. Her face stoic, but pained. “Nobody helped me. I had no friends.”
“And that’s why you haven’t left on your own?” Greamer asked.
In the dining room, Tyler grabbed another cookie and shifted in his chair, still spooked by Audra’s comment. He cut right to the chase. “Anne told me Gwennie had been having… problems… for a couple months. She didn’t know the details. What exactly was going on, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“She was disturbed,” said Bob.
“Ever since she was a little girl,” said Audra.
Christopher said nothing. Staring at the cookies.
In the living room, Greamer studied Gwendolyn’s sad eyes. “No friends? Surely, a pretty girl like you had friends. Perhaps even a handsome boyfriend. No?”
Gwendolyn shook her head. “I wasn’t allowed to see boys. My parents said I couldn’t date until I was sixteen.”
Greamer nodded, sipping his coffee.
Tyler grabbed another cookie. “Why would a girl do such a thing? Jesus, she was fourteen. What could push her to do the ultimate?”
“Gwendolyn was an introvert,” Bob said. “She’d been dabbling in the occult a bit. She had a Ouija board.”
“Lots of kids have Ouija boards,” Tyler said, unconvinced. “I had one in the fourth grade…”
Greamer crossed his legs, sitting back in the couch. “You must have been a lonely person to do this to yourself. You must have believed there was no hope.”
Gwendolyn sobbed. Nodded.
Tyler took a long gulp of water. “Where’d she get the gun?”
“Bob had it in the closet,” Audra said.
“Was it loaded?” Tyler asked.
“I’ve kept it loaded ever since the burglary two years ago,” Bob said. “To protect my family.”
Greamer read from his device. “How about girlfriends? A teacher, maybe? A coach? There was nobody for you to talk to?”
Gwendolyn shook her head. “I couldn’t tell anybody.”
Greamer looked over at the family sitting at the dining table. He pointed to Audra.
“How about your mother?” Greamer asked. “Were you able to tell her?”
Gwendolyn shook her head. Tears began to flow. “The problem got bigger. But my mom wouldn’t do anything.”
“It was after school, right?” Tyler asked. “And Gwennie was home alone?”
Bob nodded. “She had gotten my gun out of the closet. She called Audra at the office and said that she was going to do it.”
“Shit,” Tyler said softly. “Then what happened?”
Audra said nothing.
“Audra called me,” Bob said. “I left work immediately, but it was a forty-five minute drive from the north side with traffic…”
“And your father?” Greamer pointed to Bob. “Were you close to your dad?”
Gwendolyn shook her head. No.
“Christopher got home first,” Bob said. “It was Chris who found her.”
Christopher said nothing.
“My god,” Tyler said, putting his hand on Christopher’s back. The husky boy stared at the cookies, straight-faced. “My god, Chris, that must have been horrible…”
“And how about your brother?” Greamer asked, pointing to Christopher.
Gwendolyn shook her head. No.
“…finding your own sister shot,” Tyler continued. “What a nightmare, bud. You doing okay?”
Greamer looked at his device. “It says here that you shot yourself in the abdomen. Most suicide victims who use firearms shoot themselves in the head. Do you know why that is, Gwendolyn?”
Gwendolyn shook her head, sobbing.
“To kill the terrible master,” Greamer said. “To kill their mind. The truth is, most suicide victims are dead long before they even pull the trigger.”
Gwendolyn stood up and screamed. Tyler turned toward the living room, reacting. Spooked.
“What was that?” Tyler said, hairs standing on the back of his neck. “Did you hear that? Came from over there.”
Bob said nothing. Christopher said nothing.
“Gwendolyn’s here,” Audra said.
Gwendolyn stood in the middle of the living room. Greamer sat on the couch. “What is it, Gwendolyn?”
“I didn’t shoot myself to die,” Gwendolyn said.
Greamer pushed the buttons of his device. “Then why did you shoot yourself, sweetheart?”
Gwendolyn paused. She paced in the middle of the living room, hanging her head.
Greamer repeated the question.”If you didn’t want to die, then why did you shoot yourself, Gwendolyn?”
“I shot myself because….” Gwendolyn sobbed. “…because…”
“Because why, honey?” Greamer put his device down and inched toward the edge of the couch, watching the poor girl struggle to find the words. They finally came.
“I shot myself because I didn’t want to be pregnant anymore.”
This is the Chladni plate experiment. It uses a tone generator, a wave driver (speaker), and a metal plate attached to the speaker. Sand is first added to the plate, then a tone is played. Certain frequencies vibrate the metal plate in such a way that it creates areas where there is no vibration. The sand “falls” into those areas, creating beautiful geometric patterns. As the frequency increases in pitch, the patterns become more complex.
(via Laughing Squid)
