I am watching The Fugitive – well, sort of watching it – so I will not forget to tune in to see the season finale of Breaking Bad. Der Bingle told me one of the promos showed someone being zipped up in a body bag; just now, another promo quoted a reviewer as saying the last few minutes left him doubled up in pain. So Breaking Bad seems to be about to break worse . . . and then I will have to wait until next season to find out what the writers are going to do now that a terminally ill cancer patient is the star of what some are calling “the best show on TV.”

Actually, I have had this really weird thought that perhaps some people with terminal cancer tuned in to watch last year when they thought it was going to be a self-contained, limited episode show. Now, look, Walt has been really, really successful in chemo – so successful he can have an operation to remove the cancer. Somehow this bothers me; it’s like the show didn’t keep its bargain. I feel guilty watching the second season, and I’ll feel guilty next year as I watch. But, wait, maybe a meteorite will fall on me and I won’t be here to watch myself. Auuuuugggggghhhh. What a thought. I guess, though, I wouldn’t have a valid complaint because the premise of the show never was about a meteorite victim stumbling through a few episodes and then kicking the bucket. And that metaphor is so screwed up I am not even going to play it back in my mind.