CSI
Big Middle

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A sensitive look at weight in America

Cut to Brass talking to Gabe Miller, who is radiating the squeaky-clean and generally intact complexion of the not-at-all dead. Miller remarks lightly yet ruefully that he hasn't seen that ring in a long time. Brass is all, "Why is that?" Miller says, "Every cent I made playing ball went up my nose or on some dog at Las Vegas Downs. I was a real mess until I accepted Jesus Christ as my personal savior." Brass can't keep the smirk off his face, and Miller asks, "You got a problem with that, Captain?" Brass slyly says he's merely being a good listener, and Miller's all, "All right. Out with it." I like this guy. Brass says, "Okay. Councilman. Say you're an alcoholic. One day you decide to give up the bottle. More often than not, you're going to trade in the shot glass for a dozen Krispy Kremes and start pounding them with both hands --" "So you think I'm an addictive personality, only now I'm into God and not greyhounds," Miller says, not at all upset. Brass says, "I'm really not making judgments." Brass is lying through his teeth. He's judging every minute of the day; you don't get to be that hard-boiled by waltzing through life with a mind as open as Tara Reid's neckline.

Miller says, "When the Lord cleaned up my life, I promised him I'd always remember the man I used to be, so I'd never be that man again. I dedicated 20 years of my life to playing football -- and I pawned my championship ring for a $50 parlay." Miller then pulls out the ticket, which he's evidently kept as a reminder of how low he sank before he began rising again. Brass tells Miller that they've got the ring now, and he can file a claim, and Miller tells him, still unruffled, "I don't need trophies now, Captain. Good luck on your case." And that's it for him. I have to say, it's refreshing to see a Christian on television who's not a Camden. Or very possibly evil. Or symbolic shorthand for "sanctimonious hypocrite." Would that off-screen morals squads took their cues from the Christian depicted on this degenerate show.

Anyway, we go to commercial and come back, and now we're in the lab with Sara and Hodges. He's inviting her to check out the purple fiber in the scope, saying, "Based on birefringence, your product's the product of a bivoltine moth." Bivoltine sounds like something you'd drink. "Mmm! It's lemon-y, lepidopteric goodness!" Anyway, Sara straightens up and tells Hodges, "You could just say it's silk." Hodges is, "Um. Yeah. Moving on...the color's unique, not found in our database or the Fed's." And then he's quiet. Sara asks, "That's it?" "That's it," he assures her. Sara says suspiciously, "That's not like you to get down to business." "Even I have off days, Sara," Hodges sniffs. I LOVE HIM. If that is wrong, I don't ever want to be right.

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