You got the life insurance. You got the advanced medical directives. You got what looks like a rock-solid will, and maybe you even got a religious service all picked out. But what about death? Have you given any thought to the sort of death you hope to have? Now I’m not talkin’ about physician-assisted suicide up there in Oregon where they smoke all that pot, or like that. No, this is more like what some folks call a “worthwhile” death. You know, one a them dignified deaths after a good, long life. But you also know you can’t control that. And deep down, you worry you’re gonna to die for no good reason, right?
There is a certain sort of person I can’t stand. You know the type I’m talking about. The one who effortlessly rattles off a list of restaurants in response to a breathless comment like, ‘Oh, I could really go for some vegan Peruvian tonight.’ The one who gets the perfect gift — you know, the gift that gets at the essence of the recipient’s personality, or captures the significance of the occasion for giving the gift. When you see the gift, you’re stupefied. You might even smack yourself on the forehead like in the V-8 commercials. It’s like one of those self-evident truths — when you see it, you think, ‘Duh, that’s so obvious. Why the hell didn’t I think of that?’ That person. The one who makes you feel like an idiot — or more properly, whose very existence is a constant reminder of the fact that, compared with this person, you are an idiot.
Horatio. Light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Hor-a-tio.
You know how some people say everything happens for a reason? I think they’re right. And anyway, if this is wrong, I don’t want to be right. If this is a dream, don’t wake me. I am guilty, guilty, guilty, but I don’t care! I have begun watching reruns of CSI: Miami.
Horatio. Steps into the frame. Perpendicular.
It wasn’t long into my first episode of CSI: Miami that the perpendicularity of Horatio Caine announced itself to me. Subtle, at first. Tucked discretely beneath the cool paradoxically radiating heat. Insouciant pauses nevertheless throbbing between liquid phrases. Hypnotic repetitions of people’s names, people’s names, people’s names, pitched just low enough so you have to lean in to hear. But there’s more.