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Nshima & Curry

Melvin's  Blog

Nshima & Curry

OUR LIFE OF LAW AND DISORDER

My wife and I have an addiction, the kind that seems to only
get worse over time, no matter how many therapists we see.
We just can't get enough of Law and Order, the critically
acclaimed television series. We're hooked to them all: the
original crime drama, as well as the many spin-offs,
including Law and Order: Special Victims Unit, Law and
Order: Criminal Intent, and Law and Order: Parking
Violations. We're even looking forward to the next spin-off:
Law and Order: Library Fines.

On some nights, we can watch as many as five episodes on
cable TV, and on some weekends, we can enjoy a nonstop
marathon, the type of marathon that doesn't end,
surprisingly, with a medal presentation to a Kenyan.

If you're wondering how we're able to watch so much Law and
Order and still find time to produce children, all I can say
is this: Thank God for commercial breaks. It's amazing what
you can accomplish in a short interval, with enough time
leftover to prepare dinner. It helps, of course, that I'm a
former newspaper reporter, with the ability to perform well
under deadline.

My wife is so enthralled with the show -- the one between
the commercials -- that when a rerun appears, she can tell
within five seconds if she's seen it before and how many
dozen times. But that doesn't stop her from watching it
again. Where else is she supposed to get her fix? Certainly
not from the nightly news, where so many homicides go
unsolved, so many detectives fail to match the amazing
efficiency of Law and Order's Briscoe and Green, who nab
killers as often as Anna Nicole Smith nabs a pizza. If these
guys were sent to South Asia, they'd be back in 12 hours
flat, a long-faced Osama in tow.

How do they do it? For starters, they know how to track down
excellent witnesses, the ones with photographic memories.
Waiters and waitresses are particularly good at remembering
details (except perhaps what you ordered for dinner).
Scanning a suspect's picture, a waitress at a busy
restaurant will say, "Sure I remember her. She was here six
months ago, came in at 7:35 p.m., left at 8:24. Sat in the
corner booth with a tall bearded guy. I'm not certain, but I
think she was wearing blue Levis, a Yankees T-shirt, and
Revlon Pure Pearl nail polish. Paid her bill with a Citibank
Visa. Don't hold me to it, but I think the last four digits
were 5234. Sorry I can't be of more help."

It's also a plus that most murderers are terrible at hiding
evidence. The blood spatter in the living room is a dead
giveaway (no pun intended). So is the DNA under the victim's
fingernails, not to mention the one-way plane ticket to Rio.

But if you think murderers are inept, you should see the
defense lawyers. At first, they're wary of the police,
instructing their clients to not say a word. But halfway
through the interrogation, the lawyers are mesmerized by the
cops' performance, allowing their clients to take
responsibility for everything but the slit in J.Lo's dress.

Ah, if only real life was like that. There's nothing as
enjoyable as seeing a crook get nailed. At least that's what
my wife says. As for me, I much prefer the commercial
breaks.

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