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Yesterday handed me one of those small, serendipitous moments that keep life interesting. After a pleasant but long day out in the ever-deepening cold(Shut up; when you live in Florida and have poor circulation in your hands and feet, the forties and fifties are cold. In fact, I might as well have pitched a tent in Siberia), I came home and Roomie flipped on the TV. Whose voice should issue forth from the speaker but Flack's. Ah, just what the doctor ordered. A hot dose of man tottie to warm me from the ladybits outward. I pray he's on Friday, when the temperature is expected to sink to nineteen degrees. I swear, it's like God has decided to envelop the Grey-Hair State in mind-numbing cold and turn it into a massive cryogenics experiment.
The episode in question was the one in which the 333 Killer sends Stella a series of puzzles and Mac belatedly realizes that it's all about him. As usual. I've seen the episode multiple times, have seen the entire 333 arc numerous times, as a matter of fact, but it wasn't until yesterday that I noticed how ludicrous the entire arc was. I should've seen it before, but I suppose that I, like most fans of a show, had succumbed to the oddly soothing narcosis and wonderful, Alice-in-Wonderland illogic of television.
Why doesn't he immediately make the connection to Clan Bedford as soon as he returns to Chicago armed with the knowledge that the blood on the mysterious t-shirt is a fraternal match to the high-velocity spatter on the puzzle? How many sets of brothers in Chicago has Mac pissed off? And why didn't his mind immediately make the leap to his Horrible, Hidden Secret as soon as the killer led him home? How many horrible deaths did Mac witness as a teenager? Was he a part of a pint-size crime syndicate that routinely watched children being murdered? If not, the childhood tragedy he witnessed should've been the first thing on his mind when he returned to Chicago. Frankly, the sight of the bloody t-shirt in his luggage should've triggered some unpleasant suspicions. He told Flack that he's never forgotten that night. Apparently, he'd forgotten the t-shirt worn by the victim who was beaten to death in front of him. Those vaunted powers of observation at work. Yes, he was fourteen, but if he were as haunted by that event as he claimed, he should've remembered that shirt. But Mac's sense of guilt runs as deep as his sense of humility. Either that, or Mac's stupendous capacity for willful blindness and denial is just another hallmark of writerly incompetence. It's certainly possible, since the writers would have us believe that seven-year-old Drew Bedford somehow found a way to stalk Mac for the next thirty years without arousing suspicion from his grief-stricken family.
Funnier still, I think they had Drew Bedford's age listed as thirty on the information screen. If that's true, then Mac should be forty-one as of 2006, since he was eleven years older than Drew on the night of the murder. If that's true, he would've been seventeen or eighteen during the Beirut bombing and death of Stan Whitney and not old enough to be a sergeant or lieutenant. Hell, he might not have been old enough to legally be in the Marines.
God, CSI:NY so fails at math, as well as logic and forethought and consistency. And yet, I still watch, because I'm a sucker for pretty blue eyes and an incredible ass.
I guess we all need a guilty pleasure.
The episode in question was the one in which the 333 Killer sends Stella a series of puzzles and Mac belatedly realizes that it's all about him. As usual. I've seen the episode multiple times, have seen the entire 333 arc numerous times, as a matter of fact, but it wasn't until yesterday that I noticed how ludicrous the entire arc was. I should've seen it before, but I suppose that I, like most fans of a show, had succumbed to the oddly soothing narcosis and wonderful, Alice-in-Wonderland illogic of television.
Why doesn't he immediately make the connection to Clan Bedford as soon as he returns to Chicago armed with the knowledge that the blood on the mysterious t-shirt is a fraternal match to the high-velocity spatter on the puzzle? How many sets of brothers in Chicago has Mac pissed off? And why didn't his mind immediately make the leap to his Horrible, Hidden Secret as soon as the killer led him home? How many horrible deaths did Mac witness as a teenager? Was he a part of a pint-size crime syndicate that routinely watched children being murdered? If not, the childhood tragedy he witnessed should've been the first thing on his mind when he returned to Chicago. Frankly, the sight of the bloody t-shirt in his luggage should've triggered some unpleasant suspicions. He told Flack that he's never forgotten that night. Apparently, he'd forgotten the t-shirt worn by the victim who was beaten to death in front of him. Those vaunted powers of observation at work. Yes, he was fourteen, but if he were as haunted by that event as he claimed, he should've remembered that shirt. But Mac's sense of guilt runs as deep as his sense of humility. Either that, or Mac's stupendous capacity for willful blindness and denial is just another hallmark of writerly incompetence. It's certainly possible, since the writers would have us believe that seven-year-old Drew Bedford somehow found a way to stalk Mac for the next thirty years without arousing suspicion from his grief-stricken family.
Funnier still, I think they had Drew Bedford's age listed as thirty on the information screen. If that's true, then Mac should be forty-one as of 2006, since he was eleven years older than Drew on the night of the murder. If that's true, he would've been seventeen or eighteen during the Beirut bombing and death of Stan Whitney and not old enough to be a sergeant or lieutenant. Hell, he might not have been old enough to legally be in the Marines.
God, CSI:NY so fails at math, as well as logic and forethought and consistency. And yet, I still watch, because I'm a sucker for pretty blue eyes and an incredible ass.
I guess we all need a guilty pleasure.