Category: Uncategorized

Qapla!

I tell ya what… I’m gonna say this with love and respect to Potter fans everywhere, especially Katya. There’s a reason why the Potter universe will always be inferior to the Star Trek universe. The reason is simple, and it can be boiled down to one word. Klingons.

There are no Klingons in the world of Hogwarts. You have werewolves and headless ghosts and Death Eaters and giants and centaurs and Dementors and hippogriffs and elves and dragons and goblins and wizards and all that, but no Klingons anywhere.

I’ve been making my way through Deep Space Nine, and it’s not a coincidence that the show went from good to great when Worf came on board. Because in Worf’s first episode, the Klingons get pissed at the Federation and invade the station. And you know what… Even though they ultimately stand down, they put up one hell of a kick-ass fight. Gone is the nerd dialogue and overtures to peace. All you get is a bunch of roaring, grunting Klingons marauding their way through the station.

And then there’s that episode where Worf is a prisoner of the Dominion and takes out about 25 Jem’Hadar soldiers before they finally get the point. He’s like, “Let me rest for 30 seconds and sip my prune juice, then we’re back at it, bitches! It is a good day to die! Rahhhhhhhhhh!!!”

And as for the Borg, two words: “Assimilate this!”

You know what… I’m convinced that Hagrid was actually a Klingon who somehow got stuck on Earth because of some freak accident in the space-time continuum. Or maybe Q was playing a joke on the magical creatures of the Potter world by making Hagrid forget that he was Klingon. That’s why he was so weepy all the time. I know Klingons don’t have tear ducts, but whatever.

You know what would happen if a Dementor tried to kiss a Klingon? He would breathe on the Klingon, and said Klingon would become offended and deliver a death scream in the Dementor’s hooded face, and the Dementor would be chasing his own ass all the way back to Azkaban. No question. Depression!? Warriors don’t get depressed.

Lest you Potter fans feel picked on, I have to admit that I don’t even think Darth Vader could take a Klingon in a battle. Vader is probably my favorite movie villain of all time, but facts are facts. Vader would throw some Klingon on the ceiling with the force, and the Klingon would kick his way back down to the floor and laugh in Vader’s masked face. Then, Vader would draw his light saber and the Klingon would say something like, “What a pretty toy you’ve got there, but the Sith have no honor,” before he took his bat’leth and decapitated Vader.

How many women are reading this right now and laughing at me. Well, I return your laughter. You criticize me for thinking that Klingons are all that and a bowl of gagh, but how many of you actually think that 50 Shades of Grey is real? You gals need to go out and find yourselves a Klingon male. He’d be perfect for you. He dresses in leather, growls a lot, gives orders and engages in ultra-rough sex. I won’t out some of my female readers by name, but you know who you are and you know I’m right.

I can’t believe I’m going to admit this, but I don’t even think Walter ‘Heisenberg’ White could take out a Klingon. He’d try to talk his way out of a confrontation, and… You think Gus’s box cutter was messy? Ok, I admit it… I’m getting pretty far afield here.

I tell you this… I think Klingons exist right here on Earth. But God has his reasons why they can’t appear in their humanoid form. So, God is masquerading them as pit bulls. Think about it. Pit bulls are aggressive and could tear a human apart if given the chance, but really, they’re just misunderstood. They are actually very joyful creatures that just want to have fun. If you give them some raw meat and play with them, they’re all good. That’s exactly how Klingons are.

Now cats… They’re Romulans in disguise. Always sneaky and cunning and you never know when they’re gonna strike. They like to toy with their victims before they deliver the kill. I’d like to pursue this line further, but I need to clean Mags’ litterbox before the caffeine wears off.

By the way, if you disagree with my views, all I can say is, you’re a Patak!

Farewell, GOP

I am writing this with a heavy heart. I have been a proud Republican since 1993, when I registered to vote at age 18. I cast my first presidential vote in 2000, and was proud to cast a second vote for George W. Bush four years later. Backing John McCain was a tougher proposition, but I ultimately did it with the knowledge that the alternative of Barack Obama was far grimmer. It was much easier for me to support Mitt Romney in 2012. I felt (and still feel) that he was a man of impeccable character and a rare politician who lives by the virtues of which he speaks.

I attended my first Republican caucus in March of 2014. I met a lot of nice people and am proud to have known them. In April of 2016, I attended the Republican state convention in Colorado Springs. It was an experience I will always treasure.

When it came to the election of 2016, for the first time in my life, I did not vote for the Republican candidate. Donald Trump was a bridge too far for me. Though I respected the binary view many of my friends and family took when they justified their support by saying, “Hillary’s worse!” I could not share it. After Trump’s upset victory, I considered leaving the Republican Party, but thought I would give them four more years to see how they behaved.

The jury is in. As of this writing, Pearl Harbor Day of 2017, I am relinquishing my membership in the Grand Old Party.

When allegations began to surface against Roy Moore in Alabama’s special election, I was incredulous. Democrats are not above manufacturing charges to sink a candidate. But when I saw the weak-tea defense mounted by Moore, his wife and his surrogates, characterized by an innocuous story, dubious vagaries and half-truths, I came to believe his accusers. Any parent with a modicum of critical thinking skills would ground their kid for a week if he/she told lies of such a poor quality. The charges of, “fake news,” and “Media hit jobs,” against the Washington Post do not hold up. I am well aware of the leftward bias of the Post, but their investigative reporting on Moore’s past was exemplary.

I took heart when Mitch McConnell, Cory Gardner, Ted Cruz and a chorus of other Republican voices called for Moore to step down. I was not a bit surprised when President Trump floundered, then ultimately endorsed Moore. Sadly, I was past surprised when I learned that the Republican National Committee was sending funds to Moore’s campaign in Alabama. It is one thing to support a man who has openly bragged about sexually assaulting women on video tape because he is the president. I respect pragmatism. And it is one thing to pull back from a candidate credibly accused of assaulting under-aged girls and to say, “Let the people decide.” It is quite another to actively financially abet said candidate. Couple the RNC’s opportunistic course correction with the bare fact that the GOP has no legislative accomplishments to speak of since they assumed power in 2017, and the picture is clear.

Enough! I will no longer be a member of a political organization who appears to have surrendered its soul in the name of a win-at-all-cost mentality. History is replete with political figures and movements who have subscribed to this way of thinking and nearly all of them lead to totalitarianism and doom.

I have removed myself from the several GOP Email lists of which I was a member. I will not attend any GOP events, or make any donations to the RNC on the national, state or local level in any future election cycle. I will now judge a candidate specifically on his or her own merits without the influence of a larger political umbrella. When it comes time for me to renew my official ID card in Nebraska, I will register as a conservative, for I still believe in many principles that used to hold sway in the GOP. How tragic that I no longer view the party of Abraham Lincoln, Dwight Eisenhower and Ronald Reagan as the most effective or tenable apparatus to advance those ideals.

“There are many men of principle in both parties in America, but there is no party of principle.”
Alexis de Tocqueville

Adendum:

Roy Moore lost. Was it worth it?
12/13/17

The Whopper

I was kind of running on empty this morning due to the beer I drank last night… And then I ate a Whopper.

I’m not gonna lie. The Whopper is probably my favorite fast food burger out there. The Big Mac is vastly overrated. Who wants an extra slice of bread in there!? Wendy’s Baconator is pretty damn good, but it sits in your gut like a lead brick for three days after you surround it. I do enjoy the Super Sonic burger, but until self-driving cars become a reality, I don’t get there very much. Hardy’s (Carl’s Jr. on the left coast) and Jack in the Box were both forgettable when I had them.

So, that leaves us with the Whopper. I put it in my mouth and am treated to a veritable starburst of taste sensations. The chewy sesame seed bun, the smooth, warm melted cheese, the crunch of lettuce, tangy pickles and brisk onions, the sweet, juicy tomato, the flame-broiled meat patty, and finally… The cool chaser of ketchup and mayo.

Who needs Jesus Christ when you can have a Whopper? In fact, at my funeral, don’t worry about my Sunday best. Just place a Whopper under my head and send the coffin downward. Be happy in the knowledge that I am in that great big drive-through in the sky, ordering a Whopper to go while some big-boned beauty is offering to lick the ketchup off my chin. Instead of the blind man in the bleachers, think of the big blind daddy in the Porshe.

Of course, with my luck, my spirit will go the same direction as my coffin. I’ll be in hell, where I’m in an Uber driven by a guy named Ahmed, who clearly has better things to do with his time. If we’re lucky enough to find the Burger King, the speaker will have a short, the lady taking my order won’t speak English, the cook will be a stoner who fixes it on a stale bun and forgets the extra cheese and the mayo, and Ahmed will drive away before I can check the bag to make sure they remembered the fries, which are better at McDonald’s anyway but I wanted them.

DAMN IT!!! I’m getting in a bad mood again thinking about this scenario. But I just burped and tasted that Whopper again. I feel better. Aahhhhh!!!

Of Kings and Fried chicken

Social media is full of people who claim to be physically ill at the prospect of President Trump. I believe that the clinical term for this is, attention-seeking behavior. My sister-in-law will correct me if I’m wrong, I’m sure.

People! Seriously! If real world events are making you physically ill, turn off the friggin’ TV, log off the internet and go breathe some fresh air. Take a walk. Get a nice, long hug from a friend or loved one. Watch Big Bang Theory and make yourself laugh. Whatever. But don’t whine and hand-wring on social media hoping someone will say, “Oh, baby! Are you okay?”

President Trump wasn’t my desired outcome. Neither was President Obama…either time. I played my hand and I lost. I got over it. The day after election, 2012, I sulked in my girlfriend’s bed until 11. Then she kicked my ass into the shower and took me to lunch. By 2 PM, I was over my blue funk. Incidentally, Steuben’s has excellent fried chicken; at least they did four years ago.

I’m not saying elections don’t matter. I’m not saying we shouldn’t be concerned about events larger than ourselves. What I am saying is that we should not allow external events to dictate our own personal happiness and well-being.

And for those of you drama addicts out there, GET THE HELL OVER YOURSELVES!

One final thought. Trump is a president, not a king. If you want a distraction from the relentless inauguration coverage, go refresh yourselves on the Constitution. Learn why we have certain checks and balances in place that will not allow President Trump to do whatever he wants unchecked.

That is all. I’m gonna go distract myself now with a generous helping of BBQ ribs.ocial media

The Rocking Horse People Strike Back

I’m gonna say something that will offend many of you, but I don’t care.

The Beatles are vastly overrated!

Alexa was playing Beatles music at lunch and I casually mentioned that they are overrated. My crazy Wiccan coworker was incensed.

“Those are words that are never used in my house,” she boomed.

Look, I’m sorry if the truth hurts. The Beatles may have been a cultural phenomenon back in their day, but musically, they are mediocre at best.

Seriously. Their harmonies aren’t that tight. John can barely sing. Paul was a little better, but only a little. Ringo was a boring, unimaginative drummer. George was probably the best musician of them all, but I would categorize his guitar playing as only pretty good.

They were kind of in their element in the early years when they were making girls squeal with such bubble gum fare as, “Please Please Me.” I kind of feel their middle-era stuff like, “No Reply.” But when we get to the, “I am the Walrus,” stage, I can’t take any of it seriously. The only reason their legions of fans don’t recognize their music as drug-fueled self-parody is because most of them (though not all) were nibbling the bark off of trees right along with the Fab Four.

Now, I know what some of you are gonna say. “Ryan, how dare you criticize such a transformative period of enlightenment as the 60’s? Donald Trump is about to be our president! No comparison!”

People! Trump is a product of the ‘60’s. Spray that truth on the back of a stamp and lick it off.

I can also anticipate another argument. “Ryan, you’re a product of the ‘80’s, when Michael Jackson was king. Spray that one in your hair and light it on fire!”

Ok, fine! But putting the pedophilia stuff aside (which happened in the ‘90’s, by the way), Michael had real, honest-to-God talent. Just because he was as crazy as a crack house rat doesn’t mean he wasn’t musically gifted.

Not everything that came out of the ‘60’s was bad. Gim’me The Stones. Gim’me The Who. Gim’me The Doors. Gim’me Adam West as Batman and Sean Connery as James Bond! But don’t give me “Octopus’s Garden,” or I’ll force feed you a marshmallow pie.

I’ll throw you Beatles loyalists one concession. I do love the song, “Let it Be.” I much prefer the quiet, personal spirituality of Paul McCartney to the self-indulgent utopianism of John Lennon’s, “Imagine.” Plus, the piano is very moving.

The real purpose of this post is to see whether or not I can make my mellow pal Dan mad. I already got his hackles up when I slammed, “Alice’s Restaurant,” last Thanksgiving. If my clever plan works as it should, I will get to sleep in on Saturdays from now on.

Valse Triste

After nine years of patience, I finally saw No Country for Old Men last night.

This movie should’ve had everything for me; a crime thriller headlined by Tommy Lee Jones and Josh Brolin, a west Texas backdrop, a murderous psychopath, an old-fashioned sheriff, a briefcase full of money and a drug deal gone bad. A recipe for happiness for a guy like me.

Sadly, I was underwhelmed. I don’t get it. The critics love it. Fans love it. Rotten Tomatoes loves it. What’s wrong with me?

It wasn’t a bad movie. I just wasn’t blown away. I didn’t feel that emotional gut punch that I get from really great movies.

When I watched The Godfather, I understood the hype immediately, and that was long before we got to the climactic bloody baptism montage scene. Same goes for The Departed. How can you hate a movie in which the final line isn’t a line at all, but rather, the spit of a silenced gun blowing a guy’s face off while a rat crawls around? I was a bit cooler toward Goodfellas, but understand why it’s considered a great movie.

But No Country for Old Men was just meh for me. I understand the themes of destiny versus chance as symbolized by the fateful coin toss that serves as the killer’s trademark. But I found Chigurh to be underwhelming. Maybe it’s because I’ve been spoiled by other fictional villains such as Walter White, Tony Soprano and Lorne Malvo.

Malvo makes me think of Fargo, which is also haled as another crime classic by the Coen brothers. I didn’t care for that one either, though I love the TV series knock-off, which is a wonderful example of the student surpassing the teacher.

Maybe the Coen brothers are the problem, or rather, my problem is with the Coen brothers. Sometimes, the best director or writer in the world just can’t make that emotional connection. Steven Spielberg is that way. Whether it’s Indiana Jones or Jaws or even Saving Private Ryan, I just don’t feel that emotional hook that is required of good storytelling. Private Ryan is wonderful at simulating wartime combat, but as a story, it’s kind of thin.

Anyway, I’m done now. Except to say that I also saw Sicario this weekend. Now there’s a film that does indeed live up to the hype. The first 2/3 of it is a standard story about a naive FBI agent plunged into the dark world of the drug culture along our southern border, but the climax elevates everything that came before it.

I guess one out of two ain’t bad. I wonder if Chigurh would agree.

There is No Sulu. Only Zuul!

I have no plans to go see the Ghostbusters reboot. It’s not because I’m sexist. Melissa McCarthy doesn’t do it for me, but whatever.

The reason I’m not going is the same reason I have no intention of wasting time and money on the latest Star Trek installment. I don’t care that Sulu is gay. I mean… George Takei doesn’t like it, but what does his opinion matter, right?

I was talking with Joe and we were commenting on the fact that we never go to movies anymore. It’s not the cost that is prohibitive. I’ll pay $12 to see a good movie. It’s not the visual medium. Most major theaters have audio description for the blind now (and sometimes, it actually works.)

The reason is more basic. I officially have reboot/sequel burn-out. I firmly believe that Hollywood no longer has any originality when it comes to blockbuster entertainment.

Let’s take a look at the biggest movies from the Spring/Summer season of this year:

Superman vs. Batman: Dawn of Justice
Captain America: Civil War
The Jungle Book (this is the third film interpretation of the Rudyard Kipling novel)
Warcraft (based on a videogame)
Finding Dory (sequel)
X-Men: Apocalypse
Star Trek Beyond
The Legend of Tarzan
Ghostbusters
Suicide Squad (another comic book movie)
The Purge: Election Year (sequel)
Jason Bourne (sequel based on the Robert Ludlum novels)
Independence Day: Resurgence (sequel)

The only two original movies I can find that have done well at the box office this season are Zootopia, and The Secret Life of Pets; both animated movies geared for kids.

Now, let’s contrast this list with the top 10 grossing films from 1984; the year the original Ghostbusters was released:

1. Beverly Hills Cop
2. Ghostbusters
3. Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (sequel)
4. Gremlins
5. The Karate Kid
6. Police Academy
7. Footloose
8. Romancing the Stone
9. Star Trek III: The Search for Spock (sequel)
10. Splash

Let me clarify that those 10 films were from the entire year, not just the summer season. Only two sequels out of 10. Not one animated flick! Videogames were still B-grade entertainment. Honest to God… Can you imagine a movie based on Pac-Man?

In closing, let me say that the glut of sequels and reboots shows no sign of ebbing. Coming soon, we will be treated to remakes of Ben-Hur and The Magnificent Seven.

If there’s any justice, the ghosts of Yul Brynner and Charlton Heston will send a giant marshmallow man to Hollywood. There, he will take a giant, sugary crap all over that festering town, because ghosts love symbolism. And it won’t be no wimpy 50-foot marshmallow man. Since Hollywood has to do everything bigger and better, it will be a 500-foot version.

If it survives an attack on Hollywood, maybe Seth MacFarlane could talk it into stopping by Trump Tower for one final push. Wouldn’t it be great if that Staypuff stud could do what the GOP couldn’t and, dump Trump?

Witches Make the Best Fertilizer

A lot of people are shocked when they learn that I get up every morning at 5 AM and commute from Littleton to Boulder. I take two buses and one light rail to accomplish this. The round-trip time comes out to about 4 1/2 hours daily. What can I say… I get a lot of books read.

When I first took the job, I knew I would never give a single tax dollar to what we conservatives affectionately call, “The Peoples’ Republic of Boulder.” I have worked there almost 2 years now and I can tell you that the stereotypes are all true.

One example is blatantly obvious. Boulder recently banned the selling of ice cream at all municipal parks and swimming pools. They did it for, “health reasons.” This is the textbook definition of a nanny state. Don’t let Mom And Dad decide if their kids should eat an ice cream cone in the hot sun. Leave it up to the government.

If you use plastic over paper at any Boulder grocery store, you’re going to get taxed for it. The potheads can stink up the Pearl St. Mall with no consequence, but tobacco is a mortal sin.

Speaking of foul odors, my coworkers imposed a new recycling program at our workplace about a month ago. Now, we get to sort all of our trash into various containers, including a compost bin. The compost bin, which contains all organic items, sits right outside the control room where I work. It’s supposed to be put out once a week for pick-up, but no one ever does it.

Last week, the smell of rotting food wafted into the control room and down the hall. On Thursday, I finally snapped and moved the bin outside the back door. My coworker (the crazy Wiccan), threw a hissy fit because I left the bin outside her office window, thereby blocking her view. She didn’t care that the smell of rotting food was stinking up our office, as long as she got to enjoy the blessings of the sunshine from Mother Earth.

This is the environmentalist movement in a nutshell. 53 square miles surrounded by reality, indeed.

OK, so why don’t I just move to Louisville, Broomfield or even Westminster? After six months of working there, I realized I don’t want to leave Littleton because I love living here!

I would describe the political vibe here as libertarian; as long as you obey the law, we don’t care what you do. But more to the point, it feels like a community here.

I have within walking distance, a grocery store, my bank, a dental office, my doctor’s office, a UPS store, a post office, a vet clinic, a liquor store, an antique gallery, a park with a duck pond and much more.

I eat out a lot, and neighborhood restaurants include Mexican, Italian, Middle Eastern, Indian, Thai and American cuisine. Yes, there is a Starbucks nearby. Duh!

I live a block away from a major bus route and a light rail station is a 15-minute walk on a nice day. Even though I don’t really have any reason to go there anymore, I also like living near the Colorado Center For the Blind. I respect their basic mission of teaching blind people the skills of independence.

So, I will continue to grown and gripe as I turn off the 5 AM alarm and stumble to the shower. The job kind of sucks, but the paycheck is worth it if I can stay comfortable here in Littleton.

In the meantime, I will pass the hours in Boulder trying to figure out if Wiccans make better fertilizer since they are more earth-friendly.

Roll On, God’s Will

I’ve tried to hold my tongue on this because I haven’t read the book or seen the movie, but the plot is spoiled out there, so let me address some of the hysteria surrounding “Me Before You,” from the disabled community.

For those of you who are guilty of being, “Ablest,” and may not recognize the reference, here’s a friendly nudge. “Me Before You,” was a romance novel written by Jojo Moyes, which has now been adapted into a movie. The story takes place in merry old England and follows an active rich guy (Will) who is paralyzed in a motorcycle accident. A young girl (Louisa) who is a bit of a dim bulb takes a job as his caretaker. Long story short…Will encourages Louisa to become more educated and learn more about the world. She tries to convince him that he can still live a full life, even though he’s confined to a wheelchair. After six months, he admits that he’s had a better life than he has ever known, but flies off to Switzerland, where a doctor helps him drift off into the big sleep. But he leaves Louisa a nice nest egg so she can continue her education.

First, this is not an anti-disability movie. It is a pro-right to die movie, just as “Million Dollar Baby,” was. Where was the outrage over that? Could it be that Clint Eastwood just makes euthanasia look much more sexy? For all of you disabled leftists out there who support individual choice in the right to die arena, congratulations. You got what you wanted. How do you like it?

Sidebar: Get ready for the time (it isn’t too far away) when the abortion of disabled fetuses becomes much more common. Same concept… Other end of the spectrum. But it’s about personal choice so it’s all good, right?

Second, many so-called disabled activists are outraged because Hollywood depicts other minorities in a favorable light, while still looking down on the disabled. People, are you really surprised that we are at the bottom of the pecking order? The game of identity politics burst onto the scene in the 1960s. It was elevated to an art form in the 1990s. Why do you suppose the disabled haven’t gotten very far in the entertainment arena? Think hard. This is not a rhetorical question.

Third, many disabled bloggers (who often traffic in sanctimony) trumpet The notion that Jojo Moyes had no business writing this novel in the first place. One blogger says, “This wasn’t her story to tell.” This is a spurious argument that smacks of more than a little arrogant condescension. Larry McMurtry wasn’t alive in the 19th century. Does that mean he should’ve foregone the writing of Lonesome Dove? Dennis Lehane has written several novels dealing with racism. Should we burn his novels and lambaste his credibility because he’s white? Of course not! You can argue that Moyes’ novel was poorly researched or poorly written, but in a free society, you don’t get to decide who should and shouldn’t write what.

Finally, you know what Internet petitions are good for? Nothing! If I was really feeling generous, I could print one out with all 56,000 signatures, wipe my bum with it, crumple it into a filth-smeared wad and leave it in the compost bucket at work as a token for my greenie-weenie coworkers. One petition author whines, “Hollywood! Why do you want me dead?” Another calls this movie, “a disability snuff film.”

Folks, a snuff film is a movie in which someone is actually murdered for the purpose of exploitation. Nobody died in this movie. I know it’s common to employ hyperbole to garner attention, but for god’s sake, at least be accurate!

Ok, I’m done. Rant over. I’ve worked out all my stress, as well as other things while composing this on the toilet. Can somebody grab me that petition from Change.org out of the printing tray? I just ran out of toilet paper.

P.S.: As I stated at the beginning of this entry, I’ve not read the book or seen the movie. I have no intention of doing so. I have a lot of Hardy Boys books to get to before I’ll get around to reading a romance novel. I also don’t know anything about the writing abilities of Jojo Moyes. That said, irony often escapes the masses and subtlety is often drowned out by the megaphone of social media.

That said, some disabilities are involuntary and some are self-imposed. That is very likely the over-arching theme of the novel, if not the movie. Will chooses to allow his disability to rule his life and ultimately, his death, but he gives Luisa the wisdom and the tools to make a different choice for herself. Life is about choices, no?

I originally wrote this rant on Facebook. No one shared it; not even Evaney From Miami. I did get called, “A confrontational dick,” by Kevin; a guy who doesn’t even follow me. Thanks, Kev. Love your passion. You must be a Trump supporter.

Yeah…Trump. There’s a real handicap right there. Who am I to judge Will Traynor? If The Donald wins in November, maybe I’ll fly off to Switzerland for a consultation with Dignitas.

Praise Walt and Pass the Cobbler

We’re now two seasons into Better Call Saul, the prequel to AMC’s crime epic, Breaking Bad, which tells the back story of Walt and Jesse’s shyster lawyer, Saul Goodman. Here are a few thoughts:

If you’re looking for Breaking Bad 2.0, this ain’t it. The transformation of Jimmy McGill to Saul Goodman does parallel that of Walter White to Heisenberg, but the change is much more subtle. Whereas Walter was a meek chemistry teacher who became a murderous drug lord, the path that Jimmy treads to become Saul is much shorter and narrower. Jimmy was always a theatrical con man who merely changed his name and his clothes. The series reflects this.

There is more comedy in the prequel. The cliffhangers and dramatic gut-punch moments that hooked fans of the mother ship week after week just aren’t there for Saul. By the end of the second season of Breaking Bad, we’d had shootings, beatings, a strangling, poison gas, a plane crash, a blackmailing junkie choking on her own vomit, a mercury bomb in a drug lair, more shootings, more beatings, an exploding human head on a turtle, a junkie’s head crushed by an ATM, Hector ringing his bell in a wheelchair and bloody body parts in an acid bath.

On Saul, we’ve had a couple of shootings, a couple of beatings and…umm…that’s pretty much it. You guys can call me bloodthirsty if you want, but is it too much to ask that we get a little violence with our crime show? The more twisted, the better. He he!

Another flaw in the slaw is the fact that Bob Odenkirk doesn’t possess the leading man qualities that made Bryan Cranston such a force of nature. Odenkirk was pitch-perfect as a supporting player for Walt and Jesse; a comical figure who would often stir a healthy dose of levity into an otherwise dark mixture. Odenkirk’s limited range is high-lighted when he carries the emotional burden of the show.

He is at his best when he is running a scam, whether it is on a drunk in an alley, on Ken Wins at a swanky hotel bar, or on the psychopathic Tuco Salamanca. He owns the stage when he is creating a flashy commercial, scheming on how to put one over on his lawyer bosses, or skirting ethical guidelines in service of an elderly client.

The cracks in Odenkirk’s armor appear when he plays the more emotional scenes, particularly against his mentally ill brother, Chuck. Jimmy McGill exhibits a mixture of compassion, vengeance and sibling rivalry with his brother. Odenkirk is competent in the illustration of this emotional gambit, but he does not excel at it as did his meth-making predecessor.

Of course, many of us aren’t really watching as much for Saul as we are for the further adventures of Mike Ehrmantraut. Next to Walt and Hank, Mike was one of my favorite characters on Breaking Bad and I freely admitted that I cared much more about his origins than those of Saul Goodman. One of the things I was hoping for in the prequel was more screen time for Mike and little Kaylee.

But thus far, I’ve been somewhat disappointed. Mike was reduced to cameos in the first few installments. Things turned around with the telling of his arrival in Albuquerque in the flashback episode, “5-0.” This was, in my opinion, Breaking Bad quality work. It’s no coincidence that it was also one of the darkest episodes of a series that is otherwise much lighter in tone.

After “5-0,” Mike seems to have been reduced to a supporting role. I realize that the title of this series is not, Better Like Mike, but I don’t care. Jonathan Banks is amazing in this role and Mike is a more compelling character than Saul. I do have a preference of crime shows over comedies, so that may explain my bias. Still, I think the majority of Breaking Bad fans would agree with me on this point.

Maybe the producers of Better Call Saul just want to take it easy on ol’ Mike. As of this writing, Jonathan Banks is 69 years old.

What the hell am I talking about?! My parents are both 69 and they still kick ass and take names! Age is no excuse. We like Mike!!!

Going forward with season three, the writers are going to have to darken the tone of the series. Yes, Saul isn’t a blood-soaked crime epic, but it has a bit of a schizophrenic feel to it, as if it can’t decide if it wants to be a full comedy, a legal drama, or another Breaking Bad. Jimmy McGill isn’t yet the guy who urged Walt to send Jesse to Belize, but he needs to start taking more than baby steps to get to that point before he loses my interest completely.

Now, let’s discuss the 500-pound chicken in the room. We’ve seen quite a number of crossover characters from the original series, but no one but the most ardent BB fans care about Lawson the gun dealer, Stephanie the realtor or Fran the waitress. We’re watching so we can cheer with glee when Tuco breaks a couple of legs, when pre-stroke Hector walks into a bar and talks nice to Mike, and when his silent nephews (The Cousins) stalk little Kaylee from a rooftop.

That said, every fan in the world is going to scream loud enough to tweak Mike’s hearing aid when Gustavo Fring returns to their small screens. Frankly, the finale of season two was a big disappointment because it was all build-up with no real payoff. We know Mike’s not going to kill Hector, but all we get is a cryptic note on his windshield? C’mon! Gus needs to make his presence known in season three and it needs to happen sooner than later.

I’ve been critical in this writing and it belies my opinion that Better Call Saul is a good show. As usual, the supporting cast is stellar, especially Michael McKean as Jimmy’s brother, Chuck McGill, and Rhea Seehorn as Kim Wexler, Jimmy’s on-again, off-again romantic and legal partner.

Sidebar: Wouldn’t it be great if Kim could somehow be the one who defends Jesse if he ever got caught? It’s a nice thought, but I don’t think it will happen.

Yes, Better Call Saul is a good show. But that’s all it is…good. It’s not crazy good as was Breaking Bad. It’s not appointment television. I like the show, but I love eating all of Katy’s popcorn and annoying her while petting Tytus the cat.

Maybe there are people out there who think Saul surpasses Heisenberg. Fair enough. Entertainment is subjective. People think Donald Trump is worth voting for and I’m entitled to think those people are dead wrong. If you disagree with me and think my comparisons of Saul to Breaking Bad are spurious, ask yourself an honest question. Would you be watching Better Call Saul if it were a stand-alone show that had no connection to Breaking Bad? My answer is…uh uh. What’s yours?

Come on, now. Be honest.