For those of you who are following along, here is Et Tu, Part XIIb. Part XIIa is available also, and is located in the links to various chapters section just above the story proper.


Blast and damn, but they canceled Eleventh Hour. Bastards. I liked that show. It was smarter than your average crime drama pablum, and Jacob Hood was a likeable hybrid of Gil Grissom and an actual human being. Not to mention that Rachel Young was one of the few female leads in a position of authority who didn't attempt to put my eyes out with wild and inexpert wielding of her clit codpiece. And Agent Lee was a refreshing blast of idealistic exuberance. But it's gone, victim of network penny-pinching. Because canceling a show that was developing a solid fanbase makes much more fiscal sense than curtailing the out-of-control stunt casting used oh-so-effectively to prop up floundering shows. Yes, sir, casting Ashlee Simpson and Peter Wentz sure shot CSI:NY to prominence. Those ratings have skyrocketed under this policy of turning the show into a cavalcade of B-list faces.

Oh, wait.

Between this and the niggling fear that Flack received a hot lead infusion in the NY finale and will have a pink slip folded reverently over his casket, I'm deeply embittered by TV at the moment.

Speaking of CSI:NY, a minute faction of DL supporters have begun to wonder why no one has criticized Angell for being "unprofessional" by calling Flack while on a security detail.

Was it unprofessional? Yes. Utterly. It was naive and stupid and made me wonder just how experienced Angell was as an officer. She should not have been engaged in phone foreplay with her boyfriend while babysitting a witness whose father is a ruthless publishing magnate. She should've known better. Frankly, the entire scene made me question the wisdom of assigning her to the protection detail. Why was she sitting with her back to the window? Wouldn't it be smarter to face the window so you can see the approach of an imminent threat, like, oh, I don't know, an armored van? The protection detail was a joke.

But.

No matter how unprofessional she was, Angell didn't deserve to die. The poor execution of her duty doesn't give those mercenaries the right to gun her down, nor does it lessen the effect of her death on the others. Mac isn't going to be any less angry over her death because she was doing something ill-advised, and Flack isn't going to be less devastated because the performance of her duty wasn't flawless. She still died at the hands of thugs and goons who shot up a diner of innocent people, and I'm not going to say she deserved it because she took five seconds to talk to someone she loved. If Lindsay had gone down in a hail of bullets while promising to clean Danny's banana hammock with her tongue, the DLers would tweet and bleat about how romantic and tragic it was, and none of them would point out that Lindsay might've seen it coming if she weren't stewing in her own juices.

And if Lindsay had gone down instead of Angell, I wouldn't have blamed her, either. Because being thoughtless and stupid doesn't mean you deserve to die, even if you're so self-absorbed that you view the world from the comfort of your own asshole.
For those of you who are following along, here is Et Tu, Part XIIb. Part XIIa is available also, and is located in the links to various chapters section just above the story proper.


Blast and damn, but they canceled Eleventh Hour. Bastards. I liked that show. It was smarter than your average crime drama pablum, and Jacob Hood was a likeable hybrid of Gil Grissom and an actual human being. Not to mention that Rachel Young was one of the few female leads in a position of authority who didn't attempt to put my eyes out with wild and inexpert wielding of her clit codpiece. And Agent Lee was a refreshing blast of idealistic exuberance. But it's gone, victim of network penny-pinching. Because canceling a show that was developing a solid fanbase makes much more fiscal sense than curtailing the out-of-control stunt casting used oh-so-effectively to prop up floundering shows. Yes, sir, casting Ashlee Simpson and Peter Wentz sure shot CSI:NY to prominence. Those ratings have skyrocketed under this policy of turning the show into a cavalcade of B-list faces.

Oh, wait.

Between this and the niggling fear that Flack received a hot lead infusion in the NY finale and will have a pink slip folded reverently over his casket, I'm deeply embittered by TV at the moment.

Speaking of CSI:NY, a minute faction of DL supporters have begun to wonder why no one has criticized Angell for being "unprofessional" by calling Flack while on a security detail.

Was it unprofessional? Yes. Utterly. It was naive and stupid and made me wonder just how experienced Angell was as an officer. She should not have been engaged in phone foreplay with her boyfriend while babysitting a witness whose father is a ruthless publishing magnate. She should've known better. Frankly, the entire scene made me question the wisdom of assigning her to the protection detail. Why was she sitting with her back to the window? Wouldn't it be smarter to face the window so you can see the approach of an imminent threat, like, oh, I don't know, an armored van? The protection detail was a joke.

But.

No matter how unprofessional she was, Angell didn't deserve to die. The poor execution of her duty doesn't give those mercenaries the right to gun her down, nor it does lessen the effect of her death on the others. Mac isn't going to be any less angry over her death because she was doing something ill-advised, and Flack isn't going to be less devastated because the performance of her duty wasn't flawless. She still died at the hands of thugs and goons who shot up a diner of innocent people, and I'm not going to say she deserved it because she took five seconds to talk to someone she loved. If Lindsay had gone down in a hail of bullets while promising to clean Danny's banana hammock with her tongue, the DLers would tweet and bleat about how romantic and tragic it was, and none of them would point out that Lindsay might've seen it coming if she weren't stewing in her own juices.

And if Lindsay had gone down instead of Angell, I wouldn't have blamed her, either. Because being thoughtless and stupid doesn't mean you deserve to die, even if you're so self-absorbed that you view the world from the comfort of your own asshole.
-Numb3rs was boring this week, utterly, utterly boring. It should've been gripping, the case of an "innocent" man on death row, but it wasn't. It quickly devolved into a philosophical wang-waving contest between Don and Robin. Robin didn't want the man to be innocent because she didn't want to face the possibility that she was wrong, that in her zeal to uphold justice and avenge a colleague, she'd convicted the wrong man. What bugged me most about her position, however, was its reliance on ridiculing Don's newfound faith. Don, for once, hadn't broached the subject of Judaism, and she immediately began spitting barbs about asking his rabbi about the idea of "an eye for an eye." It was flat-out nasty, and made her look like a disingenuous twat. Either support Don's decision to explore religion or don't, but don't use it as a convenient truncheon with which to bludgeon him whenever you have a professional disagreement.

Not that Don bandied his end of the argument much better. He came across as patronizing, as though he thought Robin was a timid little woman too delicate to understand the stakes at hand. It would've been better had Don acknowledged the difficulty of her job rather than belittling it and her. Granted, there is a quantum difference between understanding the psychological mechanisms behind seeking the death penalty and experiencing the act of taking a human life. But that difference doesn't give Don Eppes more of a right to decide what's justice and what isn't.

Can we please get rid of Bettancourt? Her constant needling of David for his close friendship with Colby wasn't funny. It was snide and petty and obnoxious and needs to stop. If David made constant sexual innuendos about Bettancourt and Warner, he'd be slapped with a sexual harassment complaint and banished to a sensitivity seminar, but if Bettancourt does it in the name of being sassy and busting balls with the guys, it's not only acceptable but something to be admired.

Fuck you. Bettancourt is an ass.

I'm not at all surprised that Larry Fleinhardt morphs into Rageman when his competitive juices are stoked. We've seen hints of it before when Megan was attacked in S2. That was the only bright spot in the episode, and even it was dulled by the pointless appearance of Pau Gasol and another NBA yahoo at the end of the game. Way to waste money that could be used to help Cold Case stay on the air and to re-enforce the idea that winning by any means necessary is all that matters.

Numb3rs is officially on Heap Watch.

Eleventh Hour--SPOILERS )

--The illiteracy on TalkCSI makes my head throb. Is it that hard to use the SHIFT key? Arrange your thoughts into sentences instead of stringing them together on endless chains of ellipses? I swear, reading the boards is like watching a hippie craft fair through a haze of patchouli and marijuana smoke.

-I wish Ghawazee would shut the fuck up about Smacked. No matter the topic, she somehow manages to wrangle it around to the sad and criminal neglect of the One Twu Wub that is Mac and Stella. Hence, her illiterate ravings are splattered over the forums like viscous, steaming pellets of bird shit. If it weren't for the fact that the mods are morally obligated to play Net Nanny and thwap me for refusing to play nice with the kid in the corner who stinks, drools on himself, and periodically reaches into his rubber pants and flings poo at everyone, I'd summon my own inner Rageman and loose the hounds. Maybe when CSI:NY is canceled...
-A Skirmish Involving Major SPOILERS for Supernatural )

I hope this doesn't turn into a rabid wankfest, but I just know my last paragraph is going to ignite the fragile tinder of wounded fangirl pride. She's either going to accuse me of calling her crazy or call me a condescending buzzkill for pointing out the obvious. Common sense dictates that I leave it alone, but I just can't stand to let such headache-inducing rationale go unopposed.

-I love Agent Lee on Eleventh Hour. He's like a giant, enthusiastic puppy. I want to hug and squish him as he bounds around the scenes. I hope he becomes a permanent fixture to offset the staid interplay between Hood and Young, but since I like him, he'll probably die next week.

-S3 of Bones started off with such promise. It's too bad it ended on such an abysmal wet fart. I can only assume they intended for someone else to be Gorgomon and changed gears once the strike threw a spanner in the works, because I cannot see Zack Addy trapping a toddler on the bottom of a pool, no matter how logical and just he thought Gorgomon was. He's socially awkward, not sociopathic. And yes, I know they later retconned the finale by having Zack tell Sweets he wasn't Gorgomon's apprentice, but the big reveal at the end of S3 was still a wet, sloppy ball of shit shat out by writers desperate for any sad nugget of unpredictability. There's unpredictability, and there's utter unbelievability. Fail, Bones.
My final is over. I think I did well, though I blanked on the name of the maiden Zeus impregnated via a golden shower. And no, that isn't a typo. I can only hope that the golden shower in question bore no resemblance to the ones on view in underground porn films featuring R. Kelly, an underage girl, and a bidet.

So, lo, I'm free until January 7, when I'll be taking Ancient Mythology, which will focus on Sumerian and Egyptian mythology. I plan to fic and play video games and watch DVDs, to decompress until the new year, when the whole blasted race will start anew.


I swore to myself that I wasn't going to get sucked into another Jerry Bruckheimer creation, but so much for that dream. I've been watching Eleventh Hour for the past three weeks, and I think I'm descending into a newfound addiction. Jacob Hood is a warmer, more human Grissom, and his Scully is a tough, fair, but hemorrhoidal Sara Sidle. The show has a definite CSI meets and sexes up The X-Files tone, an unsurprising fact given that Danny Cannon was once CSI's head honcho. It's currently case-driven, as CSI was in its earlier seasons, before shippiness and the blight known as Character-Driven Angst Rot set in, and I like that. It won't last, I'm sure, but I hope to get a few seasons' pleasure out of it before its inevitable descent into screaming melodrama involving Jacob Hood and the reanimation of his beloved wife's moldering corpse.

Just please God, don't let him leave the field to appease his whiny, clingy One Twu Wub. I'd rather have him die by terrible disease than see him warped and emasculated a la Gilbert Grissom.
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