The month of May brings with it many glorious manifestations of nature. The flowers bloom, the tree canopie fill out, and hormones surge. Unfortunately, at my advanced age, testosterone surges seem to result only in excessive hair growth in places one really wasn’t so anxious to have hair in the first place. And some of them are damn tricky to reach with the trimmers.
May also brings the television season finale season. So while the evenings are increasingly mild as the sun stays out later and later. You huddle in your living room, clinging to the last vestiges of your winter cocoon. Oh, and cursing at the VCR as you try to figure out how to tape two of the three 2-part multi-hour off night finales while watching the third. What sadists at the network arrange these schedules anyway? Why can’t a show that you’ve watched all season simply hold its finale in the same damn time slot it always runs in? Does every show need a 2-hour climax?
And what was up with CSI Miami last night? They billed the show as the season ender. A nice tight 1-hour normal time slot show to wrap up a few loose ends. But when it ended, they told you that the actual season finale wasn’t until next week, and of course it was a 2-hour show. And what about the chick who died in the hospital? Granted, she needed to die as her sub-plot was a serious drag on the show. But here’s a woman who’s supposedly in ICU following surgery for her GSW. She flat lines. Nobody shows up. No nurses, no crash cart, no reanimating joy paddles. She just dies while her husband watches. Apparently he signed a DNR? This would not have happened on Grey’s Anatomy. Or maybe it would have. The doctors on that show are so busy sleeping with one another and having hissy fits about their relationships it’s a wonder anyone gets cured.
…and it’s only Monday.