Boob Tube Obsessions
November 30, 2006
Would it really be worth living in a world without television? – Krusty the Klown
Last week I discovered that Hollywood hates me. Look, I've never been shy or apologetic about my love for television. I believe that in moderate doses dependent on a balance between cable and network TV, it can be enlightening, inspiring and at the very least—but now more so in the hours between 2 and 5 a.m.—amusing.
But I've given up. Called it quits. Thrown in the towel on Thursdays, when I had specifically set aside time for my favorite primetime series, CSI: Crime Scene Investigation.
I'm talking about the original, the one in Las Vegas with Grissom and Sara Sidle and the ex-stripper and that hot guy from the Janet Jackson videos, who are all forensic scientists scraping mucus off hotel shower curtains, measuring bullet trajectories and taking blood samples from casino slot machines in order to come to some strange and exciting conclusion of a showgirl murder or accidental midnight buffet eater's death.
Now that's entertainment.
I've been watching the CSI series—which has been described as a cross between Quincy and X-Files, two of my old faves—since 2002, when it was the most-watched program on television, and preempted another goodie which I quickly grew quite fond of, Without a Trace.
That's right, another crime show—this time about an FBI missing person unit set in New York City. But where CSI characters have virtually no life outside of their forensics lab, when they're not on a case the special agents of Without a Trace deal with secret affairs, divorce, Alzheimer's, addiction and nepotism—and sometimes not even in that order!
Oh yes, CSI has been a gateway drug to other shows, as well.
Of course I watch CSI New York—that other knock-off Miami CSI I find dull and irritating and doesn't have Detective Danny Messer—on Wednesdays. Criminal Minds, the crime drama (yes, another—shut up) about FBI profilers from the Behavioral Analysis Unit who track serial killers, precedes it. But I've also gotten caught up in America's Top Model, Bravo's Top Chef and the new season of MTV's Real World during commercial breaks. Short Attention Span what? Dude, just pass the remote.
But this season Without a Trace has been moved to Sunday nights. And I found this out by being roped into watching the insipid Dancing with the Stars, which has replaced the crime drama on Thursdays.
And just to take the pressure off of Thursdays, I was also toying with the idea of watching Medium regularly. Yeah, that's the one where Patricia Arquette plays a psychic who works for the District Attorney's office helping him solve cases and such by having really bad nightmares that wake up her affable husband and three kids every night. Sounds crazy, I know, but it's based on a true story, people!
Anyway, they decided to move it to Thursdays this season, too. Whose idea was this monstrosity? Those dweebs in H-town, naturally. They hate me there.
Another Monday night show I got hooked on was Grey's Anatomy after I got tricked into watching last year's finale, which featured a smokin' hot heart transplant patient who proposes to one of the doc interns and then dies, leaving her with $8 mill and a broken heart of her own. Meanwhile the hospital throws a prom for the chief's niece who is dying of cancer and wants to "cash in her V-card," and another doc intern has to choose between a resident doc called McDreamy and a veterinarian called, uh, McVet.
Escapism at its best!
But, of course, this season the network heads also thought it would be a swell idea to move it to Thursdays to counter CSI. Those rat bastards.
Samantha Campos has issued a warning that her contents are under pressure, and her cap may blow off causing eye or other serious injury. She suggests that you point away from face and people, especially while opening. MTW
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