Horatio Caine: Douche Bag or God's Gift to Crime Scenes?

I've been engaged in an eight-hour long debate regarding what I consider to be one of the worst characters on television. I'm starting to get into all of the CSI shows, but just looking at David Caruso makes my stomach churn and renders it nearly impossible to pay attention to the various CSI: Miami plot points. What is up with this guy? Could you imagine working with this guy, constantly having to deal with his raspy, gravelly voice delivering bad one-liners and those goddamn sunglasses? On go the glasses, off go the glasses so he can focus on some point far in the distance. On go the glasses to make a point; off go the glasses to drive it home.

Ugh. Is this how David Caruso is really like? And does the carpet match the drapes?

My co-worker and debate partner is a die-hard Horatio fan, finding his character compelling and the acting not at all forced and cliched. "Keep watching," my co-worker says, "And you'll grow to love him." I can't imagine this ever happening, unless it's the kind of resigned love that one feels towards a cyst or a boil.

I can't deal with Horatio's pompous, tough-guy attitude and the cooler-than-thou persona he attempts to project. I keep hoping his character will get hit by a train. Granted, I've only recently started watching the various CSI shows, so maybe I haven't given him his fair chance.

My friend tells me that Horatio has a love interest. Could you imagine doing the deed with this character? Would he wear the sunglasses during foreplay and then pointedly take them off upon penetration? Would he focus on the headboard behind you? And what bad one-liner would he monotonely deliver? "Looks like this case is about to come to its climax."

Horatio: Love him or lump him?

Kids do the darndest things.

And, my, don't they grow up so fast.

Why couldn't I have had this idea? This woman (I'm assuming in her mid twenties) is rereading all of the Baby-Sitters Club books and blogging about each one. It's brilliant, dammit.

The BSC is actually pretty hip these days, what with the graphic novel versions and all.

I actually want this for Christmas. No, scratch that, I'll wait until there's enough of them to come in a box set, like the original BSC's. On a side note, what about blogging about Sweet Valley High?Check out the mustache! No way that dude's in high school, unless he's the gym teacher.

I caught the last few minutes of a news story showing Bush pardoning a turkey, and I thought, "Are you freaking kidding me?" Then I did some internet research and found out that this pardoning a turkey thing has been a tradition since Truman was president. What? How come I didn't know this? I feel so dang anti-American.

My favorite quote in today's Trib article:

"In return, [PETA] offered Bush a feast of Tofu turkey, vegetarian stuffing and a vegan apple pie.
.....
The first family's menu for Thanksgiving includes free-range roasted turkey, cornbread dressing, zucchini gratin, whipped maple sweet potatoes, basil chive red potato mash and pumpkin pie."

It strikes me as a subtle "fuck off" to PETA, Bush's menu does. All commentary aside about either PETA or Bush, this is very funny.

Also, FYI, that man standing by the president has the last name of "Nutt."

I woke up in the middle of the night and smelled something really, really bad. Then I fell back asleep, and, this morning, the smell was gone. I accused Chris of creating the smell during our ten minutes of morning banter, but only half-heartedly. Truth was, with the smell gone, the problem was solved, and I didn't care. I like how so many of my problems tend to get solved while I'm sleeping. Or, while not necessarily solved, at least put on the back burner indefinitely. Like that mystery tooth ache I went to bed with last week, or that one time Chris loaded the dishwasher after I fell asleep.

Maybe I'm aiming too high. I could probably easily write a Chick-Lit book, the kind where an attractive, yet clumsy thirty-something woman manages to find love via a predictable series of mildly humorous events. There are several elements I must include: the mother she grows closer to, the sassy best friend from whom she learns a few things, a make-over, and two different guys. One guy is the guy she thinks she should go for while the other guy, of course, is the true hero, the guy that all of the readers know by the second chapter that the main character will end up marrying. There should be some major event. A wedding in the family, the losing or gaining of a job, a contest involving a trip to New York City. Weight loss or a broken leg. A perm gone bad. Keys locked in a car. And the second man, the true hero, he will never, ever do anything wrong. If we show that he, too, is human and not godly, then my book will not sell. Readers need a prince.

J: Do you want to watch "Pornucopia?"
C: Ew, no, it has Cheryl Hines in it.
J: But you're okay with the fact that Jeff Garlin is in it?
C: [awkward pause] No comment.

I love it when Comcast confuses the actors with one show with the actors from another show. It would be great if the cast from "Curb Your Enthusiasm" actually showed up in an episode of "Pornucopia." And, yes, I would also be interested in seeing the opposite.

• It's sad that Wal-Mart's 2006 stance on holiday's greetings made me think of Justin Timberlake. "They're bringing Christmas back! Yeah! Those Wal-Mart greeters don't know how to act!"

• Erasure's Nightbird album kicks serious ass. Well, I guess it's a contradiction in terms to use "Erasure" and "kicks ass" in the same sentence, but I really am enjoying it. Nightbird includes the synth pop we all fondly recall from years past, but it's strangely somber as well, and sad despite all of those bouncy background notes. What's-His-Face wrote this album after being diagnosed with AIDS, so of course he was probably in a strange place, but, anyhow, Here I Go Impossible Again has a permanent place in my iTunes mix. Chris did make the point that Here I Go Impossible Again sounds like a song title translated poorly from Japanese. That, of course, is why Chris has a permanent place in my.... what have you.

• If the minimum wage goes up by two bucks, then do all of the other salaries go up as well? Will my pay rate per year go up by four thousand dollars too? That would be sweet. As long as prices and taxes stay the same.

• I devoted three hours today to trying to remember what that canned, wobbly, reddish-purple stuff is that people serve at Thanksgiving. You know what I'm talking about. It's cranberry sauce. Three hours of pure brain power put to work. Who knows what else I might be able to remember if only I apply myself!
  

After much debate, I've decided (mostly) to move to beautiful Lakemoor, IL.

Where the hell is Lakemoor, you ask? Well, pull out a map of the Chicagoland suburbs. Look at the westernmost city on the map, and then place your finger two inches left. You've found it! Welcome to Lakemoor!

Seriously, it's near the chain-o-lakes, and it's about a half hour away from where I live and work now. Not too big of a distance. But, oh, what my money can buy in Lakemoor! I can get a brand new townhouse, three bedroom, two-car garage, big kitchen, even a basement- all for under $215,000. Which is seemingly unheard of!

It's funny. While a lot of my friends can't be close enough to the city, where all the action is, it seems I'm about to push the limits to see how far away I can get from it. I'm all about bang for my buck. Besides, Lakemoor's only a few minutes away from Lake Zurich. And Lake Zurich is quite happening. By "happening," I mean, "has a Trader Joe's."

It's not okay to repost, but I found this ad on Craigslist:

We are creating a new website on the following subjects,
Cheese
History of film
being a grandparent - advice
private detectives
Skiing
Student work
and seek an 'expert' who has written extensively on this subject.

What's up with this? First of all, this is extremely eclectic, and I can't imagine cheese, grandparents, and private detectives all somehow fitting into the same theme. Second of all, I'd like to subscribe to this website. Third of all, who's an expert on all of these subjects?

Oh, Craigslist. Time to check the "Missed Connections."

Troubling Times At The Mysterious Bald Spot

By Jook

I met a man with a mysterious bald spot. "Don't know where it came from," he laughed, and I checked my own head to make sure his affliction wasn't contagious.

The pertinent facts. He's had this bald spot for two solid months. It supposedly appeared out of nowhere. There is no stubble of newly grown hair on the bald spot, no evidence that this mystery spot will ever spout hair again. He has not been to a doctor. He has not been to a priest. The rest of his hair is luxuriously thick, much like the hair of a Barbie doll I once owned.

"Let's make a list of things that could possibly be wrong with you," I said. Then I rephrased this statement, as it's not proper etiquette to tell people what's "wrong" with them. "Let's make a list of reasons why you have this bald spot."

1. Disease. A strange disease that causes extremely localized hair loss.
2. Stress. A strange form of stress that causes extremely localized hair loss.
3. Continual subconscious application of a hair removal creme. Which is possibly the stupidest explanation, as it opens up several cans of worms.
4. The bald spot is indicative of where the aliens shaved this man's head and inserted the tracking chip. Electronic pulses in the tracking chip prevent hair from growing back. Which is possibly the best explanation. Also opens up several cans of worms.
5. Something to do with a curse, or mark of the devil.
6. All of the above.

"This list is a waste of time," I proclaimed. "I think you need to WebMD this mother." Then I noticed a strange glow in his eyes, which made me think of aliens (number 4) or the devil (number 5) and I made like Tom and cruised.

Mid-term elections on Tuesday. The number of political commercials on the tube is totally obscene. With all of these ads, and with all of these politicians all keyed up about getting elected, how much legislatin' do you really think is getting done these days? Oh, well, how much was really getting done before?

I wasn't going to vote, but then I found out that if I want to vote, my employer pretty much has to let me leave work to go do it. So, now I'm considering it. My vote is such a waste, though, because I can't tell one dude from another. Which one wants to raise minimum wage and which one wants to allow more assault weapons on the streets? Damned if I know. I wish one of those million of commercials would just tell it like it is. You know, really speak to me.

"Hey, Jackie, I know you're in the can right now, but just so you know, you should vote for Harry Harrysworth because he'll do something about this ridiculous war in Iraq. He'll put more money back into your paycheck, and, oh yeah, your future daughter's going to fall in love with his future son. You don't want your daughter dating the son of a LOSER, do you? Didn't think so. Don't forget to jiggle that toilet handle."

I've never voted. Aside from getting out of work for an hour, there doesn't seem to be a tangible incentive. Maybe if polling places served sandwiches. Then I'd be all over it. Unless all the sandwiches had ham in them, that is. I've never liked ham.

Chris was right. This site is stupid. But I do love that Vanna White popped up. If I had a dollar for every time I was mistaken for her...

I guess I'm just glad a monkey didn't pop up. Or a pile of poop or something.