In the secret life I live, by which I don't mean I indulge in S&M, unless that stands for Smarties and Mars bars, I fall in love every so often. An enduring relationship has been with Horatio Caine of CSI Miami, because the world I've created, in the hushed interiors of my room, revolves around television, and books.
I was into H from the first; that sideways stance, the low voice, that baby face with the old eyes, the dark suit and the necessity of addressing everyone as Mr and Ma'am and Son. Well, others have gravitated to the same alluring forces that gather in H because the show has surpassed the original CSI, even though they have given H the worst one-liners ever to leave a beloved character's lips. Despite that, he has become the man all eyes turn to, a hero of heroes, so full of virtue that a man will commit a crime in the city H lives in because he knows Lt Caine will uncover the truth in what he has done, and justice will be served.
In the end, that is the reason for CSI Miami's ridiculous popularity. At a time when media personalities have revealed the venality of their famous personas in the most embarrassing revelations, I turn to Horatio to stand as a beacon for what is right. Lose that sense and you lose it all. You can be an editor in India today because you know the right people, or you can be a politician because you paid the right people, or you can run a business because you destroyed the right people (by which I mean all the wrong people, of course), but erase your soul and you erase the only thing you can take with you.
So when I'm promised a Horatious November on Fox Crime all I can say is here, Jim Morrison, are the feasts we were promised.
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