Oh Television! You ARE a sly one. These heady days I have most certainly succumb to your charms. Not only have I been recently, physically, moved to purchase by a commercial ( as in I saw the commercial and promptly left my house cash in hand), but I have more disturbingly realized my extreme attraction to the generic implements of crime scene investigation. I blame this on you Television. I blame this on your careful and ubiquitous message: Forensics is hot. You aren't even trying to hide it anymore. With your ten versions of CSI, your Cold Case, your Cold Case Files, your Forensics Files, your Bones (Let us not, of course, forget the X-files, oh no, we wouldn't...If ever I wanted to blame something - nay, someONE for my extreme fetishizing of the banal). Why are you doing this? Are your many shows sponsored by law enforcement hoping to snag a generation of hopefuls in to your deep, dark world of vehicle requisition forms and tiny labeled plastic bags? Well, it worked Television. It worked. My sailor's heart is not made of stone. I heard the siren call of your glass and metal labs, perfectly styled hair and white, white overgarments. It's all about the accessories isn't it, Television? Even the danger of the job can be tossed off as just one more carefully draped accessory - file it away with my fictitious sixty hour work week and my myriad tension filled glances at the other hot, hot forensics investigators on my team. Why, if I'm injured on the job I'll only be taken to an emergency room likewise staffed to the brim with foxiness. Oh Television, you win. You've made the ordinary exotic and the exotic ordinary. Kudos to you.
The Royal Tears pledge to Television our undying love and eternal disgust.