To the Makers of CSI: Crime Scene Investigation

I, the undersigned, being of somewhat sound mind and body, less an extremely sore throat, would like to issue you this formal apology for my gross insults and downright slanderous words. 

You see, when the episode started tonight, you had us all riled up with those benighted, "Farewell, Grissom..." prompts that kept coming on and making me run to the bathroom so that I could blow my nose from emotion. I've been a long-time, dedicated fan of this series. I brought in my entire family into the CSI fandom. I've read CSI fanfiction, read the characters' bios on wikipedia, downloaded the "addicted to CSI" application on facebook to my profile, bought music from the show, ect.  Those people, as pitiful as it sounds, are like my family. In a twisted sort of way, I suppose, I have a relationship with them. And when you remove three main characters in two short seasons, it's a little...bewildering. You're not sure what's going on, and you don't know if you can bear any more loses. It's almost made me give up on the show, and that's saying something. So when I tell you that I was very perturbed over the news of Grissom's retirement from the LVPD crime lab, perhaps you'll get the gist of what I'm saying.

The show this evening was all right for the first fifty minutes, if a little unevenly balanced. They kept having these sweet sappy moments when different characters would tell Grissom what he's meant to them (causing my sister and I to perform the inevitable and very descriptive "awwww...."), which would be immediately followed by scenes of the kidnap victim that they're trying desperately to save from a sadistic serial killer who's intent on torturing and killing her. 

Can I just say, dear gentlemen of CBS and friends, that I loathe torture scenes? I saw the episode "Pirates of the Third Reich" and subsequently had nightmares for two straight weeks. They bother me on a very deep level. Like, I didn't even appreciate the eye gouging scene in Ian Holm's King Lear. Dr. Jenkins is giggling and pointing at it and I'm thinking, "Please God, don't let me vomit..." So, obviously, the torture scenes in tonight's episode went largely unappreciated for their artistic merit in this household. Whenever one would come on, I'd disappear into the kitchen while Shelby muted the TV and shouted a running commentary on what was happening. I just couldn't face it. There's just something about seeing people that are so twisted and wondering how they got that way, or if those same seeds of madness rest in everyone or if it's just random ... and if it is random, why are they like that and not me? It boggles the mind. But that's another story for another day.

As the episode progressed, I found myself becoming fond of Laurence Fishbourne's character, which I had absolutely no intention of doing, but which the producers, director, and Laurence made me do anyway. Drat them all. Why can't they just let me be mad in peace? But Dr. Langston was a genuine individual, a character with depth. He had a quiet spirit which I found very appealing, and there were lots of unanswered questions about his past. For instance, what was with that strange moment with his wedding ring? My guess is widower. 

But I digress yet again. 

The point is, I became reconciled with Grissom's leaving. Reconciled and happy are two separate things, though. There was still the unfinished story: his romance with Sara, which they'd spent seven seasons developing. I wanted a happy ending for GSR, and I was not going to be a happy camper if I didn't get it. Look, folks, I'm an English major. I'm well aware that happy endings are hardly ever realistic, probable, or even necessary for great literature. However, CSI is most certainly not great literature. I'd like my happy ending please, thanks very much, love, kisses, bye.

Therefore, the show has progressed. The sappy moments are over, Grissom is walking down a hallway. Shelby and I are getting anxious. I'm sitting on the edge of my seat, leaning on the stool. The screen goes to a white-out, as if it's about to go to the credits. Shelby screams and I proceed to question the validity of the parentage of every person that works on the show (*coughs* with one word... *coughs*). The next shot shows Grissom in Costa Rica which, as every dedicated fan knows, is Sara's last known location. I begin a mantra under my breath, something to the effect of, "Oh, please, oh, please, oh, God, please let him to go Sara...." Shelby isn't much better.

Grissom stops to admire a bug, adding irony to his earlier statement that "bugs are everywhere." Squish it under your shoe, Grissom, and go find the bloody woman, dang it!

I am now kneeling on the floor with my arms on the stool. The mantra is much louder, and Shelby has joined it with me.

Grissom breaks through the trees, and the camera makes a huge, massively irritating circle. Shelby and I are standing and screaming the Buddhist-esque mantra. The camera stops...and we see the back of a brunette woman.

I begin to scream unintelligibly. 

Grissom drops his backpacks. Sara turns, for it is indeed Sara, and a huge smile spreads across her face. She runs to him....he runs to her....I scream some more...and he lays a big, fat, wet one on her that I really didn't even see because I was so busy jumping up and down with Shelby.

Evan ran down the stairs to make sure we weren't being murdered (saying something as he came down to the effect of, "What in the name of Grissom's balls is going on down here?), then scurried back up to his room. He looked as if he thought our hysteria might be catching.

We didn't care.

Anyway, CSI people, I'm sorry for questioning your legal status at birth. I'm sorry for being irritated, and for screaming so loudly that I'm sure the neighbors thought a jet plane must have been going overhead. I think I need a cup of hot tea...

Thank you so, so, so, SO much for ending Grissom's run like that. It's what we, the fans, needed to have happen, especially after Warrick's death. And Conrad, the new undersherrif? Seriously? I mean, I like him better than I used to, but sheesh, he's such a little weasel....

Bring on Dr. Langston -- I'm interested to see where it goes!

Your loyal fan,

Katie

Hit Hard

So, apparently today was the day for hard hits of many different varieties. It all began with going to school...nothing exciting there, although I did enjoy the drive. I've discovered a new band, Vertical Horizon, and I really enjoyed listening to that, especially when I found a song that was absolutely perfect for a character I've been writing. For some reason, it really helps when I have music that defines a character. It helps me connect to them better, and is usually good for brain-storming. So that was nice. I came home, taught piano lessons, everything was fine. I got a new student, who was absolutely adorable. However, I decided to go with my mom to my old high school choir this evening to help her take pictures for the yearbook. It was fun to go back-my director waving happily and giving me a hug, getting to see some of my friends *waves at Rachel and Clarissa* and even getting to croak along with "Every Heart a Bethlehem." It's not Christmas until I've sung that. (I croaked because I have a cold, btw. Ahchoo!) I couldn't decide whether I felt really young or sooo old, though. I felt young just being back there again, like I'd never left. I felt really old, though, because of how young everyone else seemed. Still, it was an intriguing sensation, not totally unpleasant. Just interesting. Then, however, disaster struck. My beloved mother realized that her batteries were nearly dead. Rachel, bless her, had her camera on her but she'd left it back in the choir room. So I grabbed her hand and we started running like maniacs back to the choir room. We were laughing, having a grand time, when we were dumb and kept running down an incline. To say that we fell would be an understatement-I'm surprised there wasn't a crater where we landed. There were, however, skid marks. We both just lay there for a minute, stunned. Rachel had landed on her hip, and I'd hit my knee and head. Finally, we just started laughing at ourselves and then helped each other. Thankfully, that sort of thing has happened enough to me in my lifetime, i.e., I'm a klutz, so I try to make it funny. We managed to get the camera and take it back, and after much more drama which included having kids spelling their names for me because my brain wasn't functioning, we finally got the pictures made. Mom and I then left and picked up some dinner, and then we went back home to watch CSI. Tonight was important, you see. Tonight was Jorja Fox/Sara's last episode. Was I disappointed? Haha. Another understatement. I was FURIOUS! I would rather they had killed Sara off, rather than have her just leave like that. Grrr. And I missed Supernatural for that. Double grrr. In any case, I realize that this is all not really important in the grand scheme of things. I'll be happier by tomorrow, I promise. Goodnight!

Provoke Not A Dedicated CSI Fan to Wrath, For You Are Crunchy and Good With Ketchup

If you ever want to laugh so hard you're about to puke, recreate the events I'm about to describe to you. My family, having a rare family moment, was watching CSI together. Grissom had proposed to Sara, she had said yes, all was going well with our world....until....the dumb weather channel broke in when it was THREE FREAKING MINUTES away from being done. Needless to say, much angst, shouting, and cursing of all meteorologists went on, while my mother, the brave little retailer, burst into the action. Grabbing the telephone, she proceeded to have a reasonable facsimile of this conversation: "News Channel 3, how may we help you?" "Could you not wait three minutes until CSI was over to break in? Why did you do that? It wasn't necessary!" "Ma'am, calm down. There was a tornado warning for Mississippi." "Well, guess what-I don't live in Mississippi!" "It's not all about you, ma'am." "Well, I want to know when you're going to be replaying that episode! That was just rude!" "Good night." "Is it?" Both parties hang up. My mother rocks, end of story. At this very moment, she's e-mailing a furious diatribe to the forenamed station's e-mail address, and talking with her friends in a furious tone of voice. Ah. I needed a laugh. Blessings, and don't drink contaminated water! You'll end up like Grissom's carp!