Last night Sandra and I finished watching the last of the CSI: Miami Season I episodes. Looking back on it, here are some thoughts:

First, I’m a CSI junkie. I like seeing science take a major role in a story — even if it has to be watered down a bit for TV. I like the thought that the average violent criminal leaves a huge evidence trail — even if in the real world we lack the resources to sniff out that trail in most cases. I even like the concessions that the CSI series make for TV Drama, like having the CSI team interview suspects, carry guns, and occasionally get placed in mortal peril. I’ve stopped wincing and saying “now that’s just ridiculous,” and I’ve started enjoying the way it allows each story to unfold and run to resolution in just 43 minutes.

Comparing the Vegas CSI series to the first season of CSI: Miami, three things stand out. Click here for the three things, as well as for some other things

I finished the latest Harry Potter book, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince today. The story moved better than it did in Book V, and I’m pretty sure that’s not just the Lortab speaking.

Spoiler alert! Spoiler alert! There are spoilers behind this cut!

I’m not sure I hurt any less this morning than I have other recent mornings. The pain in my shoulder, should I absentmindedly roll to the right as I’m waking up, is a sharp, “loud” pain that chases all other thoughts out, and clears out the early morning cobwebs with a flamethrower.

This morning, however, my brain told my shoulder to shut the hell up, because we wanted more sleep. Nothing’s torn, nothing’s broken, there’s no need to yell, just conversationally remind us that the right side is a little tender, and we’ll roll back to the left.

I got another two hours of sleep, which I needed badly, because I had an uncharacteristic hour of near hyperactivity last night after popping the 2nd Lortab. I was up until 1:30am musing on political matters, of all things. I definitely would have been better off sleeping.

So, here I am, all painkillers have worn off, and every time my shoulder makes noises about how nice I need to be to it, I tell it to shut up. It’s had almost a week — a week I had other plans for, I might add — and I’m done babying it. There’s some CC impingement, yeah, and so I still have to be careful through some of my usual range of motion, and there’s exercises I need to do, but I’m done treating my shoulder like some blown-glass knick-knack that grandma can’t bear to see tossed around. It’ll get an ice-pack and a hot-pad, but it’s going to have to EARN those by supporting my arm and hand for a spot of cartooning.

The pain in my shoulder has become the whining of a spoiled child. The brat is about to get spanked.

–Howard

Musing on current events… I’m a little miffed at Tom Tancredo for his off-handed remark about bombing Mecca as retaliation should islamist terrorists detonate nuclear devices on American soil. After all, regardless of how important it is that islamofascism be excised, it does no good to the cause of freedom to be seen stooping to the levels of our enemies, even hypothetically. It discredits us all.

Then I think how much worse I could have it. I could be a moderate muslim, reading the rantings of Mohammed Atta’s father, who praises the recent attacks in London, and says that moderate muslims who condemn violence are traitors and non-muslims.

It would be nice if the worst any of us had to worry about was being made to look bad by people who claim to share our faith.