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Now If I Can Just Get Someone to Walk Around With Me and Make the ‘Dun Dun’ Noise

Ah, Law and Order. It’s been a while since I’ve caught an episode, and I’d almost forgotten how much I missed it.

As a matter of fact, I think I’m gonna start trying to live my life like a Law and Order episode. You know, without all the shootings, and criminal trials, and seedy hookers.

(Well, okay, maybe we can keep a few seedy hookers. Gotta keep it real, dog!)

Anyway, it’s not the subject matter that enthralls me about this show. It’s that the entire story is told in these little two-minute vignettes. It’s not so forcibly rapid-fire as West Wing, nor quite so schizophrenic and phrenetic as Family Guy.

(Yes, folks, I just spelled out for you that Law and Order is somewhere on the entertainment continuum between West Wing and Family Guy. You just don’t get that kind of in-depth, comprehensive analysis on other blogs, folks. We’ve got something special going on here, that’s for certain.)

Anyway, I think living life ‘da Order‘-style would be pretty damned cool. (Yeah, we peeps get to call it ‘da Order’ — see what I said? That’s ‘keepin’ it real’, G. Word.) See, all I’ve got to do is just get through all the boring shit, like meetings and sleeping and braiding my chest hair, and pretend all that happens off-camera. No problem there.

(Hey, as an aside, the show just went to a commercial break. And I’m sure other people have talked about this before, especially because the ad looked awfully familiar, but I’ve just gotta ask:

‘Love for Life‘? Iggy Pop? Pitching Royal fricking Caribbean cruises? What the fuck?

Is there anyone, anywhere, this side of Johnny ‘jackboots and projectile vomit’ Rotten, who’s less likely to be found on a sappy, cornball, fat-pasty-old-white-men sea voyage than Iggy Pop? Forget for a moment that he’s getting up there himself, and he was always a pasty-white punker type himself. Do you really think he’d bop onto a boat with a few hundred suburbanite slugs like… like… well, me, for one, and spend a whole week of his life sipping coladas and playing shuffleboard? Come on.

Seriously, when there are amps to be smashed and angry punk anthems to be screamed? I don’t see it. And frankly, I can’t envision the ‘Royal C’ folks making our icky Iggy their poster boy, either. I certainly didn’t see his tattooed, sweaty ass in this commercial. This has got ‘match made in hell’ written all over it. I’m just saying.

And now the commercial’s over. I forget what I was so upset about. Shit.)

Okay, where the hell was I, then? Oh, right, the off-camera stuff. Sweet.

So, no changes for ninety percent of my time or so. But what I’ve got to concentrate on is those little chance meetings and short conversations that happen during the day. That’s where the important stuff happens. So I’m gonna have to put together little snippets of witty repartee and seemingly off-the-cuff comments that will reveal themselves to be nearly impossibly prescient and significant later on in the show. Er, day. Later in the day.

And at the end of every week, I’ll win the case… or, um, something. And I’ll get to make one more clever little comment, probably something on the ‘crime doesn’t pay’ tip. Seriously, what’s wrong with that? I think it’s the coolest. It certainly beats the boxers off my current life — right now, I seem to be basing it off something on PBS, or UPN, maybe. Meaning long, boring, and narrated by some old British dude. Bitches.