Tuesday, November 13, 2012


***apologies for the late posting... it's been one of those days, more to follow***

I grew up watching Quincy M.E. and Murder, She Wrote on television with my mom. She was also a huge fan of Columbo. Little did I know that my Scooby-Doo episodes were really cut from the same cloth.

My brother was the first to turn me on to the original C.S.I. on TV. Initially, I didn't enjoy the formula of the series but once I bought into the premise and characters, I was pretty much hooked. I still tune in to see who from the original cast is still around and who has been imported to boost ratings but the show hasn't really been up to par since Billy Petersen (Gil Grissom) left and my favourite character in the show was the occasional entrepreneur and always entertaining Lady Heather (played by the lovely Melinda Clarke of Xena, Firefly, and Nikita allure) who, seemingly, ended her stint in Vegas with the 2011 episode "Unleashed" where she'd gone legit as a sex therapist. Without Grissom's tidy, subtle intellect to play off of, it just wasn't the same.

So, ANYWAY.....

Time and time again while writing this blog, I have been a little startled at how Life enfolds to create deeper meaning to these posts that I start in my head when I choose my shirt in the morning. I actually had a hard time picking a shirt today and just thought that I'd write a little post on mystery/cop shows that make forensic science look pretty with sexy camera angles and cool lights. Hence, the reminiscing about 80s primetime TV at the top of the page.

My day at work proved incredibly busy and I didn't have much of a break even during my breaks to write so I put it off to write when I got home. Didn't get in until after 6:30pm and started making some tomato soup for dinner. Just before 7pm, the neighbour's smoke alarm went off. I walked around my house carefully first to make sure it wasn't one of my alarms. (Since we share a wall with the next unit, Jeff and I have been fooled into thinking an alarm was next door when it was actually ours.) Establishing that it was definitely coming from next door, I went back to cutting cheddar cubes for my soup.

A few minutes later, I heard a knock on my door. The family from the other side of the squealing unit were trying to see if the neighbour was home. At their insistence, I phoned the landlady to see if she could call our neighbour on her phone (although why she'd hear the phone and not the crazy loud alarm doesn't make a lick of sense). After phoning her, I called the Vancouver Police non-emergency line to report the alarm. They put me through to the Fire department who asked me to vacate the premises until the fire fighters could take a look around. Next thing we knew, our street had a fire truck on it, lights swirling bright, and firefighters toting axes were circling the building. Because that's procedure. (See what I did there? ;)

Thankfully, there was no actual fire. Our neighbour had put a roast in her oven to cook and then headed across the street to visit a friend. The tasty, tasty fat of the pork roast meanwhile dripped onto the heating element and smoked up her house. By the time the firefighters were standing by her front door, axes still in hand, waiting for our landlady to come unlock the door, she came running. Soon afterwards, the tenant from the last unit in the complex arrived home, having been called by our landlady. As he came down the block, having already seen the fire engine and firefighters, what catches his attention? The back of MY t-shirt emblazoned with the giant "C.S.I." letters. Poor guy (whose townhouse was broken into and burgled the first summer Jeff and I lived here) had a moment of terrifying panic.

Our tiny little landlady was in quite the tizzy as well when she arrived with her daughter. By then, the firefighters had finished their paperwork and given the building the "all clear".

Now I'm thoroughly exhausted by all the excitement and suspicious of what may happen if I put my Star Trek shirt on tomorrow... First contact, anyone?