CSI
Blood Lust

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Beware the best intentions

Back to Sara becoming one with the great outdoors. At least there's plenty of grass and an abundance of lush old-growth trees to block out the sweltering desert sun. She gives one of Todd's shirts to a scent dog, and it heads off in one direction. Gil wanders in another, sporting a metal detector. Sara ambles over once she hears a whine. She asks Gil, "What d'you got?" Gil reminds Sara that she's the one with the gloves and therefore in a position to paw through deciduous detritus. She does, and finds a gun. "Looking for a knife, uncover a gun." Gil asks in an ironic sort of way, "What is happening to our parks?" Ask Mark Rey, the Undersecretary of the Interior; he just helped craft a plan to "streamline" planning in national forests and parks, which would drop the requirement for environmental impact statements whenever forest managers wanted to introduce logging or livestock grazing on federal lands, and greatly reduce the requirement for ecological and species diversity in federally-managed ecosystems, because I think his answer might be something along the lines of, "What's happening is that the government is helping to subsidize the logging and cattle industries by letting a limited handful of owners treat federal lands as private properties, which makes no sense economically since it's not like the timber or ranching industries are particularly positioned for growth, and that more money can be made in the long run with eco-tourism and outdoor adventuring, but anything to stymie Clinton-administration favorite the Sierra Club!" Only he'd phrase it somewhat less bluntly. And I appear to have wandered off-topic here -- sorry about that. But in my defense, Gil really did ask about what was happening to our parks. While Gil and Sara ponder that question in a lot less political fashion, the dogs go nuts in the bushes. Sara and Gil mosey on over to see what the fuss is about. Sara says, "Dead body, twenty yards over from where our vic was knifed. You think they're related?" Gil muses, "Well, they're related by geography, but for now, it's just a dead guy in the park." He tilts his head, and Sara looks at him, pondering anew the ever-relevant question, "What is happening in our parks?"

We don't find out. Instead, we see Sara in the lab, spraying a puffy blue parka for either blood or gunshot residue -- I couldn't read the label on the bottle, so I can't tell. Just then, Catherine walks by, holding a few rolls of wrapping paper. Sara's all, "I thought you had a few days off," and Catherine replies, "I do, but I left these on my desk. I'm on my way to Circus Circus with five nine-year-olds." Oh, man, The Lindsey Age Conundrum is now hopelessly unrecoverable: we found out in Season One that she was celebrating her sixth birthday, and unless CSI takes place on a planet where the years are 245 days long, they're no way the kid should be turning nine now. Eight, yes, especially if she's in the third grade, but not nine. The only other explanation is that Catherine's taking a completely unrelated gang of nine-year-olds to Circus Circus. Oh, wait. Catherine says, "It's Lindsey's birthday." Well, we're officially fucked on the age thing. ["Unless Lindsey skipped second grade, meaning that it's actually her eighth birthday but many of the other kids in her class have turned nine already…? No, that doesn't work either. Never mind." -- Sars] Catherine continues that she's wrapping a bridal Barbie for her daughter. I liked it better when Gil and Nicky were picking out the presents and getting her chemistry kits. Sara asks, "What's a bridal Barbie?" clearly never having been to the FAO Schwarz in the Forum Shops over at Caesar's, where an entire wing is devoted to Tango Barbie, Bridal Barbie, Dynasty Barbie, Gone With The Wind Barbie, Developmentally Stunted Adults With Too Much Time And Money On Their Hands Barbie, and so on. Even more disturbing, the FAO Schwarz there has this whole Roman Empire theme, so the Barbie alcove is flanked by life-sized Imperial Barbie pillars where stola- and palla-clad vixens with improbably pert noses smile vacantly at the shopping masses.

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