CSI etc.
My dad has a theory. This theory states: If you are watching a crime drama, and you recognize the guest star from anywhere-- they were a regular on another television show; they were in a lot of movies; they are the guest star who pops up everywhere, on every show, every single week-- then this person is the person who did it. They’re guaranteed to be guilty.
So last night I watched CSI. I’d never seen CSI before, but my household is down to one TV, so we’re making concessions. It was the one with the dead people in the big bathroom. Butterflies, bathrooms, and bleach were the main (and highly alliterative) topics.
I should probably explain that because I live in the Mountain Time Zone, I get two opportunities to watch all the shows on the major networks. I watched the first half of CSI on the eastern feed, until thirty-five minutes in. My dad said, “Look, it’s Detective Bayliss. We know him from Homicide. He’s guilty.” Then he stood up, and changed the channel. (The TV we’re left with doesn’t have a remote control; in fact it’s so old that one just like it is used as a prop on That ‘70s Show.) All that the viewers know about the killer at this point is that he is over five feet nine inches tall.
Personally, I got a little frustrated. At thirty-five minutes past the hour, I’m generally in favour of finishing the program I’m watching. But instead, a CFL game flashed on my screen (Winnipeg versus Ottawa, punt for an extra point) and I left.
Later in the evening, the same episode of CSI came on again. At about half past the hour, I started watching it. Then my mother came in. She hates “crappy TV” (meaning anything that isn’t on PBS, CBC, or the Knowledge Network) and started bitching at me. I shushed her, and filled her in about the episode. “The killer is over five foot nine,” I said. “Dad says it’s Kyle Secor. You know, Detective Bayliss.”
To her credit, she shut up and listened to the show. When we got to the end, we found out that yes, it was Kyle Secor. He was guilty guilty guilty, just like my dad said he would be. But when my mother looked at the screen, she said, “That can’t be him! That’s the face of a short man! He is not over five foot nine!”
And then Kyle Secor stood up, and she stopped shouting. “My, is he tall,” she said.
So last night I watched CSI. I’d never seen CSI before, but my household is down to one TV, so we’re making concessions. It was the one with the dead people in the big bathroom. Butterflies, bathrooms, and bleach were the main (and highly alliterative) topics.
I should probably explain that because I live in the Mountain Time Zone, I get two opportunities to watch all the shows on the major networks. I watched the first half of CSI on the eastern feed, until thirty-five minutes in. My dad said, “Look, it’s Detective Bayliss. We know him from Homicide. He’s guilty.” Then he stood up, and changed the channel. (The TV we’re left with doesn’t have a remote control; in fact it’s so old that one just like it is used as a prop on That ‘70s Show.) All that the viewers know about the killer at this point is that he is over five feet nine inches tall.
Personally, I got a little frustrated. At thirty-five minutes past the hour, I’m generally in favour of finishing the program I’m watching. But instead, a CFL game flashed on my screen (Winnipeg versus Ottawa, punt for an extra point) and I left.
Later in the evening, the same episode of CSI came on again. At about half past the hour, I started watching it. Then my mother came in. She hates “crappy TV” (meaning anything that isn’t on PBS, CBC, or the Knowledge Network) and started bitching at me. I shushed her, and filled her in about the episode. “The killer is over five foot nine,” I said. “Dad says it’s Kyle Secor. You know, Detective Bayliss.”
To her credit, she shut up and listened to the show. When we got to the end, we found out that yes, it was Kyle Secor. He was guilty guilty guilty, just like my dad said he would be. But when my mother looked at the screen, she said, “That can’t be him! That’s the face of a short man! He is not over five foot nine!”
And then Kyle Secor stood up, and she stopped shouting. “My, is he tall,” she said.