Why Horatio Caine is a horrible hostage negotiator and victim sympathiser

If you've ever watched CSI: Miami, you know Horatio Caine makes a good case for a new kind of Tourette's syndrome. The symptoms would be repetitions of entire lines or of a persons name. The repetition is preceded and followed by a dramatic pause. Then the sufferer compulsively puts on sunglasses. As a result, a patient diagnosed with Caine Tourette's is rarely seen at night and favors sunny climes. Other possible symptoms or side-effects of the syndrome is 100% accurate aim with any kind of fire arm in any situation and a unswerving drive to discover the truth even when it is none of your business. Although this diagnosis seems to make the perfect soldier or interregator for desert warfare, it is advised that a person with Caine Tourette's be kept away from others who are: short-tempered, of an average or above average intelligence, fully capable of remembering events that occur 5 seconds ago, hiding valuable/highly-classified information, etc. especially when they have a weapon of any sort as these person's may become highly agitated and hostile at the constant repetition of their name or badly written threats. Who knows how or why this syndrome came to be. My supposition is that David Caruso's contract requires him a certain number of lines per episode and because the writers of CSI: Miami are so unoriginal that the only way to meet their obligation is to endlessly repeat meaningless lines.

All I know was if Horatio Caine was speaking to me in an attempt to prevent me from shooting someone or to comfort me in my time of loss. . . I would only be aggravated more and end up shooting or stabbing him or myself. There is nothing calming about his voice or slow pauses. The whole show is a joke, evident in the fact that Caine is not an anomaly in CSI's fictional Miami. Most of the other characters suffer from some form of speech disorder ranging from the inablity to maintain a believable accent (Calleigh Ducesne, supposedly from Louisiana) and uncontrollable mumbling (Eric Delco). No one sounds intelligent, so they make a pretty good team.

It may be a joke, but it sure is a funny one.

It's summer time. . . That means soon you will naked. Then the shame begins.

Seriously, I heard that on the radio. Can't we even hide our self-esteem damaging advertising schemes any more.

Prescription Names

Being laid up in bed or on a couch most of the time, I am watching twice as much tv as possible. This is in conjunction with all the other old lady habits I've been developing: nodding off, reading, cross-stitching, flower drying, etc. Thus I've been getting a glut of commercial input. Ignoring the completely capitalist commercial regarding the economic stimulus package (SPEND! SPEND! SPEND!), I'm seeing way too many prescription medicine commercials. Andit's lead me back to a question I've had for a while: How the fuck do they come up the names for prescription drugs?!?

The newest one that is bothering me is Januvia (sp?), a diabetes medication. My problem with this is that it's pronunciation sounds very similar to the made up country Anne Hathaway is the princess/queen of in Princess Diaries 1 and 2. And it is in no way similar to the actual medical/pharmaceutical name of the drug. This is true of other drugs as well. For example, I take Lexapro for depression and anxiety. Lexapro is the brand name for escitalopram oxalate. Now, you may be able to get Lexapro out of the letters provided in the second name but there isn't any further connection between the two. The same is true of the other prescription I am currently on, this one for the pain in my ankle. Hydrocodone is the generic name for Vicodin. And both are just fancy names for really strong acetaminophen (the medical name for Tylenol). Again, none of these names are related to the other. So where the fuck did they come from?

Maybe they are the names of the doctors/chemists/scientist who discover the medicine. Except they don't really look like names. Maybe a combination of names for the whole team in R&D? Maybe a letter from each of the last names of the BoD? Maybe they ask test subjects what they would name the drug and pull one out of the hat.

I think I would name drugs after whatever they are suppose to do. I. E. Viagra=Hard-On, Cialis=Long Hard-on, Lexapro=Happy, Vicodin=Legal High, etc, etc, etc. Maybe I can include side effects in there too. Like Alli=Weight-Loss and Constant Shitting or Ambien=Sleep and Amnesia.

So . . . any ideas? Cause I have none. But I really wish I would stop seeing these commercials. At least Subway has decided to put their $5 foot longs on the everyday value menu. Now, I don't have to hear that ridic song anymore.

Modge-Podge or Miscellany

So remember that thing I said about how I felt unexpected relief . . . it was about 1,000 times better after I finished my last exam. . . And 1,000,000 times better after I walked. And perhaps 1 billion times that once I got out of those robes and into the bar. I don't know if everything feels worth it. I know the shine is a little off since I graduated .01 below the GPA for magna cum laude. I actually think it's amazing that my GPA survived this semester at all. I've got the lowest grade I've gotten all my college life: a B. So I guess I have nothing to complain about, right?

No, yeah, I've thought about it. . . I don't have fuck all to complain about. I'm fucking thrilled!! I don't have to write another paper I don't want to write. I don't have to go to another class I don't want to go to. I may have to work, which I still don't want to do, but at least I get paid. College only pays off eventually, unless you are truly academically stimulated--I am not. Some of my most interesting and enjoyable conversations "off" duty. Anyway, I'm glad that I will only have to go back when I am willing to. Except after I move out . . .

Speaking of which . . . I had a little accident on Thursday night. I pretty much aggravated an old injury. Well, aggravated is a bit of an understatement. Pretty much, the morning after, I was in the worst pain I have ever felt. Well, maybe comparable to when I had three wisdom teeth and a root canal in one dentist visit. Or that other time when I broke my wrist. I went to the emergency room and spent six hours there. Most of that time was just waiting. I got an X-ray, which showed an indiscernible bone irregularity. Then I got a CT-Scan which didn't clear anything up. And since they couldn't diagnose it, they couldn't treat it.

Finally, they decided to treat it like a fracture. Now, I have a giant splint. Apparently an old school one too. And crutches. And Vicodin. Plus, I have to make a follow up with an orthopedist. He will look at the X-rays and scans, then try to determine if it's a fracture or just a freak of nature in my ankle. In which case, I just have a sprain. And in the mean time, life is quite uncomfortable.

There's this saying "Only put off until tomorrow, what you are willing to die having left undone." Usually, I scoff at this. I mean, before I knew who it was from. Because if I thought like this, I would never accomplish the mundane. I would spend all my time writing novels and short stories. What it should really say is "Only put off, what you are willing to do with great difficulty tomorrow due to a newly acquired disability." For weeks now I've neglected my room at my parents' house, thinking I would clean it up after school was over. I also hadn't done a full load of laundry, only washing what would get me through the week. And I never packed up the dorm in order to check out. I thought it would be easy to do it all some other time.

Now, according to Picasso, the genius behind the aforementioned quote, I should have thought about what would happen if I had died. If I had died before I got to do those things, I wouldn't give a rat's ass. Unfortunately, tripping down the stairs only severely injured my foot, and left the rest of me generally intact. Now I have two options: I could ask my helpers to do all my chores or I could struggle greatly and do it myself. I'm somewhere between being lazy or being a martyr. Or setting all my shit on fire and getting over all of it.

But there are other things this whole possible broken but mostly sprained ankle is fucking up. I was going to learn to drive this summer. Near the beginning. I was going to start yoga and other work-outs again. And I'm going on vacation soon. Now, I don't know when I can do any of that. I mean unless I want to jam my splint heavy leg on the gas pedal and running everyone over, I'm really not gonna do the driving thing (which kind of impedes a job I may have had lined up since you have to have a license). All of my hotels are non-refundable but I can't really walk around King's Dominion and Historic Williamsburg on crutches. The beach maybe fine but I will get a weird tan, prob be too hot, and cannot go into the water. And I may be able to do some yoga but nothing like what I want. . .

Anyway, I had a fucking awesome time on Thursday night. I think celebrating graduation was probably the best time I've ever had. (There should have been another celebration Friday but the ankle thing fucked that up too). But I am looking forward to some good times soon, just need a couple more bits. . . But until then, I got my Vicodin.

Graduating (Naturally)

It was even as recent as yesterday (Sunday) that I was denying the fact that I would be finished with college soon. I denied that I even wanted to be done. Because graduation would mean entering the adult world, with no more road blocks legitimate or otherwise.

And suddenly it hit me. One of the times I tried sleep last night, I was washed over with relief and joy. I am fucking graduating. I'm getting the fuck out of here. Even though here isn't that bad and there isn't much better. I'm gone. I cannot wait until Wednesday or Thursday or Friday or Saturday. It's like an itch I cannot scratch (and I'm an expert on this).

I'm lucky I didn't have this feeling earlier. Perhaps my stress would have been less but . . . let's just say today I did absolutely nothing. I literally slept most of the day, left the dorm twice, watched CourtTv, and half-assed some packing. I got some essential stuff done earlier (between trying to sleep) but really, I accomplished little. I already had serious time-management, procrastination, and senoritis concerns before . . . I did not need to worsen it.



What's the deal with combining products? Suddenly Shout has Resolve power and Tide has Dial scrubbing. Why are we increasing the power of our already too powerful chemicals? While I personally think Resolve is great for carpets, I feel like I'm killing brain cells with fumes AND I'm terrified that it will eat through my clothes. And why are we combining dish soap with laundry detergent? I'm already trying to find ways to use less chemicals. I have to use All Free and Clear and Fragrance Free Bounty. And sometimes even just that is a challenge for my skin to handle. I mean, stains come out pretty easy with cold water and hand soap and normal laundering (and I am not a neat person). Shouldn't are chemist/scientist be working on something useful to someone other than OCD soccer moms? What about the children starving in Africa and people dying in the Middle East. Can't they find a scientific and peaceful solution to those problems? How about cheaply and safely mass manufacturing mylaria vaccines or finding a cure for AIDS (something I think we can fix)? Or anything really besides making Super detergents . . .

I'm going to write about vampires now, something else I thought of between attempting a nocturnal sleep cycle. . . .

Unsympathetic Viewer

So not crazy about the title. . . and the fact is this has nothing to do with much except my own personal rant about my life sparked by an episode of Burn Notice.

Although I love Jeffrey Donovan because of Touching Evil, I was seriously disappointed with Burn Notice, the story of a spy who got kicked out of the spy business and spends his time with his misfit violent spy like friends trying to find out why he was burned and in the meantime works as a mercenary for random underworld like people. This is a summer season show but USA is currently replaying the first season in preparation for the 2nd summer season coming soon. Last night I caught a rerun of the rerun because CourtTv is all messed up and there is no sound. Otherwise I would have been able to watch Party Heat or Beach Patrol at 2:30 in the morning like I usually do after a night out at the bar. Really I was suppose to be watching Aladdin but a phone call ended that plan. . . so needless to say I really didn't want to be watching Burn Notice in the first place. On top of that I had already missed most of the beginning.

So quick summary . . . some chick is a witness for the prosecution and the prosecuted really doesn't want jail time. So Jeffrey Donovan and his crew have to protect this chick, a teenager, and her mother, from Columbian drug lowlifes trying to kill her. This involves no contact with friends and hiding in his mom's garage for a while. Of course, the biggest upset is missing the Spring Formal. Already my sympathies are being tested by the ungrateful wench.

When all the best attempts fail to get the Columbians of their back, Donovan informs the put upon and attitude fueled witness that she will have to run away to Buffalo. Probably the best lines in the whole episode:

Wench: What am I suppose to do in Buffalo?
BA Donovan: The same thing you do here. They have malls . . . and clothing stores . . .

While his character is totally sympathetic, his dialogue illustrates the already ridiculous stubbornness of the teen.

And this is pretty much that part of the episode where I tune out and get pissed off. The problem stemming from her whole "Moving disrupts my entire life and how dare you ask me to do such a thing even though it is the only way to save my life. I'm a high school senior for god's sake!"
I think that's the part that really bothered me. Because I too was a senior when I was forced to move (yet again). And I've never received sympathy or god forbid pity. Even though it felt like the end of my world (and not because of 'regular' teenage attitude but because of the various psychological disorders that when undiagnosed in my youth).

As a military dependent, moving was pretty much a regular part of life. Everyone moved, so I thought. Some people more than others. Admittedly I moved less than some other military families I know but more than a few others. And even though we stayed in Nebraska for 6 years, I use to my friends coming and going. The problem was, that once we moved, my life was spiralling out of my control. A huge problem for someone with anxiety issues.

At the time I was considered a quite and shy child. That probably was the only thing wrong with me . . . at the time. Then a series of events occurred that thrust that 'inherent personality flaw' into a full blown disorder. They were in such quick succession that I can't even figure out what which was the main culprit: tonsil surgery involving overnight hospital stay and creepy male nurse, death of grandparents (two grandfathers), moved from quiet neighborhood in Nebraska to a busy city in Colorado, death of another grandparent, loss of friends not through moving but because they decide they don't like me, no more family vacations to visit family in Arkansas, elementary to middle school change, and you know being a teenager in general. And probably more that I just can't remember. . . It all kind of combined into this giant atom bomb in my life where I retreated further and further into myself and away from the unstable outside world.

I can't explain why I chose the outlets I did. It wasn't peer pressure, I did what I wanted and chose my own friends. I think I may have chosen them based on a fear of rejection. So instead of trying to make friends with band geeks and the magic nerd like I wanted, I went with the degenerates in my apartment complex. So instead of getting into pogs and D&D, I got into shoplifting, sneaking out, skipping class, and smoking. For a long time I just thought I was a bad person. Now I realized that I really was trying to control something in my life, in order to control the crushing anxiety I felt.

Things didn't get better, I just did less "illegal" things once we moved to England. Instead I drank, slept in cars, and broke curfew. Then we moved just before more senior year. And I gave up trying to make it work. I just broke away. I got my GED and moved out and I was in full control of my life, except for those things you can never control like 9/11.

I think it is fair to say that I have gotten completely off track. If I even had a track. Like I said, just a rant about my life in general. Or rather my childhood. Cause it's been on my mind. After that I was in control of everything and it just became a struggle to live. At least in my mind. And eventually I got treatment for anxiety and depression. I don't feel like the same person anymore. I'm not hanging on for dear life because I don't feel like it's slipping out of my fingers constantly (only at those times when the world tilts temporarily). And I don't know what the rest of my life will be yet but now I'm looking forward to it.

And the end of Burn Notice? They fake a surveillance tape and get the Columbians to turn on their own low life. The whiny witness and her mother get to go back to their life. And Donovan gets a clue to his burn notice.