The 35th Precinct

I've finished my ficcing goal for the day, and my family_secret SPN fic stands at 13,318. I hope to have it written, proofread, and HTML-coded by tomorrow, but Sunday is probably a more realistic bet. Then, a second read-through to be sure I haven't bungled things too badly. It'll probably see daylight Sunday night or Monday afternoon.

( CSI 724: Living Doll--SPOILERS )

I should have watched Supernatural instead.

How fun was CSI Thursday night? "Ending Happy" was a throwback to the days when the writers and actors weren't afraid to have a little fun, and it was a nice nod to continuity since Happy Morales was a throwaway character in an episode four years ago.

It should have been subtitled "Detective Jim Brass' Terrible, Awful, No-Good, Very Bad Day." His reactions to the suspects in the interrogation room were priceless, and the constant "Aha!...dammit" moments between him, the "confessing" suspects, and killjoy Doc Robbins had me crying with laughter. Brass is essentially Flack plus twenty-five years, and I want an LV/NY crossover just to watch the ensuing snarkfest.

The hookers were also fabulous. "I know you're not supposed to be sensitive in this business, but he could blister paint." Ahahahahahahaha! Oh, dear God. Vegas, I have missed you.

I'm usually ambivalent about Sara, but I loved her here. Nick is usually the patient one, but it was Sara who finished the Longfellow poem for the elderly man in the trailer and told him not to lose hope. God bless, Sara. Methinks Grissom is rubbing off on you.

And kudos for featuring a case with no clear answer. The truth is usually tied with ribbons in forty-four minutes, even at the expense of science and credulity, but in this case, the truth was so absurd that no clear resolution is possible, and it's unlikely that anyone will be successfully prosecuted.

C for a dubious string of ridiculous circumstances, but A for presentation. New York could take a few pages from the Vegas book on how to present a "fun" case, and no, Zuiker, it doesn't involve talentless guest stars, rich assholes with the personality of a gut-vomiting cucumber urchin, and ridiculous yuppie trends. If you'll notice, the Vegas case showcased hookers in a seedy brothel and a down-and-out boxer living in a trailer. No glamor there, but it's real, certainly a more believable scenario than death by baby octopus.