CSI musings...

OK, I admit it. I watch CSI, reruns, I'm sure, because I am usually way behind the madding crowd about this stuff. Star Trek Generations had been on the air for years before my brother talked me into checking it out; it seemed such a betrayal to Captain Kirk & Co. And I only began watching CSI because I had a couple of hours to kill before Monk, which I used to watch on East Coast feed at 7 pm, and now have to wait until 10 like the rest of the peons. So, isn't it interesting the myriad of ways that people age? William Peterson, who was such a hottie when he was young and nubile, has now become this fireplug kind of guy, a lot like my father was, actually; my mother called him "husky", not fat or even plump, just more solidly packed, like an Italian sausage. I just love his character, so laid back, always professional and terribly sincere. It would be nice to think that if I were to die horribly, there would be this team of experts crawling all over the scene like cockroaches, picking up every tiny piece of evidence to pore over in a lab until every nuance of my death was uncovered. I fear that in real life, where there are daily tragedies that pile up like dirty dishes, no one has the time or money for this kind of investigation and I would wind up a cipher in the big ledger of life. And even though he has spread a little, I still like watching William Peterson. He has some good years before, again like my father, he develops little-old-man butt, where he withers some and his pants get that droopy look in the back.