Goren In Plain Sight

With MANY thanks to Music Wench for this USA promo. I had not seen it yet. This is absolutely marvelous! Can't wait to see what other gems USA has up their sleeve. Love the line about "I've gotta go cuz it's 32 hours to New York. You put the siren on, it makes it go faster." And he SMELLS the pie...strawberry-rhubarb. Vintage Bobby... SIGH...I want him back! At least "promo" Bobby still has a sense of humor.



Thanks again Music Wench and to Jryan62 for posting it on YouTube. You guys ROCK!!! Am so glad I checked my email before turning in for the night.

Perverts, Deviants, & Obscene Calls...Oh My!

I awaken every morning and reach for the TV remote first thing to check out the weather forecast, so I know how to plan for the day. Now, before I can get to said forecast, I am invariably bombarded with a litany of the vast array of shootings, stabbings, murders, rapes, home invasions and other such wickedness that was perpetrated overnight whilst I was in the midst of a peaceful slumber. This morning’s lead story, however, is – perhaps – the most "unusual" one I’ve encountered in a long, long while.

It seems that a woman was sitting at a library table on the University of Cincinnati campus last night when she suddenly became aware that her feet felt…wet. So, she looked down and there, under the table, was a man on his knees spraying a "watery-like" substance from a syringe onto her shoes. Hand to God…true story.

Turns out, the guy had a digital camera with him, and when the police checked it out, they found pictures of the lady’s feet on it. The perp told the police that it was a new camera, and he was just...learning how to use it. (Yep, that's what I'd do with a new camera...head straighway to the library to stalk people and snap photos of their feet. Doesn't everyone?) The University cop who arrested the guy was quoted as saying, “There’s really no way to explain people’s fetishes.” How true, how true.

Now, as these things sometimes have a way of doing, this story reminded me of something that happened to me many, many years ago, long before I moved to Cincinnati. I guess the point I will ultimately make is that one does not necessarily have to live in a large metropolitan area to encounter deviants…they’re pretty much everywhere. Also, it is entirely possible that a “foot fetish” may not be an altogether uncommon fixation and can, in fact, be fodder for a mildly amusing anecdote.

One evening, my friend…Sara…and I ventured over to the mall in Ashland, Kentucky to shop and eat and hang out. You know, the usual things one does at the mall. The entrance is one of those double door entries where you open one set of doors and there is a small area that traps the hot/cold air before you go through the next set of doors. Well, in the open area between the two doors, against the wall to the right, was a couple of pay phones.

So, Sara and I were chatting away as I pulled open the first door to go inside, but as I stepped across the threshold, one of the phones began to ring. There was no one standing around like they were expecting a call back or anything, so I decided to answer the phone. You know, be helpful and tell the caller they had either dialed a wrong number or let them know their intended recipient was nowhere to be seen.

Before I could impart either of these messages, however, this deep, throaty, raspy masculine voice on the other end of the phone whispers lowly, slowly and deliberately, “Your feet…your feet.”

My reaction? Well, I was momentarily taken aback because, quite frankly, that was not what I was expecting...by any stretch of the imagination. Then, I just burst out laughing and said to the caller, “Listen, you really have a wrong number.”

To which the guy replied…even more emphatically, “No, your feet…YOUR FEET!”

Later, when I recounted this tale to my mother, she asked me what I did and I said, “I hung up. He was starting with my feet…I didn’t care to find out where he was going next.”

Ah, well. My one and only obscene phone call in 56 years, and I stumble upon it...by accident...at a pay phone...in a mall vestibule...in Ashland, Kentucky...and the pervert wants to talk about...my feet.

It could only happen to me.

In The Arms Of The Angel

I have always loved this song, ever since I heard it played in the background on "Friends." I never bought the CD or anything, never even heard it on the radio...just got snatches of it on different shows or movies and such...and had never really listened to all the lyrics. But the melody and Sarah McLachlan's voice are so hauntingly beautiful...the song has always captivated me.

So, as I was driving home this evening, impatiently punching the radio buttons in search of a song I could bear to listen to, whose lilting tones should I happen upon? Thus inspired, I came home, fired up the laptop, did a quick search of YouTube for the video and Googled the lyrics, and...wa lah...instant post.

I don't know...beautiful release...sweet madness...glorious sadness...and most importantly...comfort. The song just speaks to me. Somewhere out there, there's got to be a BOBBY video to this song. I can see it in my mind, just lack the technical savvy to make it happen.


(Video by Linhvu3010. Many thanks.)

The lyrics:
Spend all your time waiting
For that second chance
For a break that would make it okay.
There’s always some reason
To feel not good enough
And it’s hard at the end of the day.
I need some distraction
Oh, beautiful release
Memory seeps from my veins
Let me be empty
And weightless and maybe
I’ll find some peace tonight.

In the arms of the angel
Fly away from here
From this dark cold hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear.
You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie.
You’re in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort there.

So tired of the straight line
And everywhere you turn
There’s vultures and thieves at your back.
And the storm keeps on twisting
You keep on building the lies
That you make up for all that you lack.
It don’t make no difference
Escaping one last time
It’s easier to believe in this sweet madness, oh
This glorious sadness that brings me to my knees.

In the arms of the angel
Fly away from here
From this dark cold hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear.
Oh, you are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie
You’re in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort there.
You’re in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort here.

Purgatory...An Apt Title

Ever since I heard the title of the next Goren/Eames episode, I've had a secret little smile of anticipation. I know Purgatory and am looking forward to seeing how Bobby portrays it.

Now, I realize y'all have probably seen this a dozen or so times already, but since I figure Diane has most likely worn out the one on The Reel by now...that's a joke...I thought I'd post a backup here. Well, actually, it's a backup of a backup because Music Wench has also posted it on her blog. We do love us some Bobby, don't we?



Gotta say, looks like it may have been worth the wait. I can't wait to read the comments from the UK Vixens who will awaken this morning to find this enticing tidbit posted all across the Internet. I'll be checking all the VDO blogs today to see what you all have to say.

With special thanks to Music Wench for sending me the video and to the kind soul who posted it on YouTube. (P.S. Can't wait to see the screencaps for this one. Get ready, Eliza, Diane, Val, etc., etc., etc.)

Bobby Quotes From "One"

After all my "woebegone" posts of depression and such this week, I decided to focus on something a little more appealing to all of us...Bobby. (Is anyone truly surprised?) Actually, I've been contemplating a rather ambitious undertaking for a few weeks now; i.e., noting my favorite quotes from each Bobby LOCI episode and capping the corresponding photos. I'm not sure how far I'll get, but here is my first meager effort.

Now, before any of you email me, I realize that the pictures for "One" do not "exactly" match the quotes. I tried, but...quite frankly...I opted to go with photos that I liked vs. the actual scene...although they're pretty close.

Okay...so, right off the bat, I don't have a quote to go with this picture...I just like how Bobby looks. You know...lost in thought...thinking about ME.

Goren: "Mr. Kersten, I give you my word...we'll catch 'em."

Goren: "Well, you don't get to do this for a bunch of rocks."

Goren: "For someone who was outside all weekend, you look as pale as I do. Spending all that time indoors by yourself wouldn't have been much fun. So, can we talk to your friend?"

Goren: "Does it bother you that the same people who just jacked 300 million are maxing out a stolen credit card?"
Eames: "Once a thief. You said yourself, they're impulsive."

Goren: "Okay, if it doesn't bother you."

Goren: "I just like to watch."

Goren: "Bad guys do what good guys dream."

Goren: "This is her boyfriend. We think he was shot while trying to protect her."

Goren: "That's what boyfriends are supposed to do."

Goren: "I lied. Sorry."

Eames: "Men come and go, but diamonds..."
Goren: "Diamonds don't keep you warm at night."
Okay, I think I can safely say that we all would like to know how Goren spends his time inside...alone or otherwise, and I volunteer to let him keep me warm at night. Well, in a way...he sort of already does. So, does anyone else have a favorite line they want to share?

"Lucy, You've Got Some 'Splaining To Do"

The first thing I need to do is apologize and/or warn you ahead of time as to the length of the tale I’m about to relate. I recommend you settle in with a cup of coffee or tea or your favorite libation of choice should you decide to venture forth.

A few days ago, I did a post about the top ten ways one knows when one is depressed that elicited a number of concerned and caring responses via comments on my blog, as well as several private emails. Again, allow me to express my sincerest gratitude to those of you who reached out to me to extend a comforting word or a listening ear. I cannot begin to tell you how much that meant to me; especially since none of you would even know me if we passed each other on the street. I mean, the only thing we have in common…as a group…is the adoration of one Vincent D’Onofrio…aka… Detective Robert Goren. (Ah, the miracle and wonder of the Internet.)

Enough of the pleasantries, it’s time to get down to the heart of the matter; i.e., depression. Now, I realize this is a topic that is uncomfortable for some and a “disease” that a great many people do not understand. In fact, until recently, depression was one of those maladies that one did not discuss in “polite company.” Depression is considered to be a type of mental illness, and no one wants to go through life labeled as a “whack job.” (Right, Bobby?)

To be honest, I used to be one of those people who didn’t understand how anyone could be depressed. I was always the life of the party, always on the go, throwing dinner parties, going to parties, the last one to throw in the towel and call it a night. My mantra used to be, “You can sleep when you’re dead!” Now, I look back and wonder what the hell happened to that woman because nowadays all I want to do is sleep. My mom used to marvel at my energy and commented once, shortly before she passed away, that she wished she could live long enough to see me slow down. (Well, Mom, I’m almost at a standstill these days.)

I mean, I realize that one does not get through this life without hitting a bump in the road now and again, and I was no different. I had bad days here and there, but I always managed to “snap out of it” and contrived to work my way through the tough times. I never considered myself to be the “type” who could ever be diagnosed as clinically depressed…until the spring of 1997.

Actually, I suppose it started a few years prior to that when everyone I cared about started dying on me. Mom died in March of 1991 and Dad followed in August of 1992. Then I inherited our family home, which had to be completely renovated, and anyone who has ever undertaken a major house renovation project knows that can wear on one’s nerves. Then, three days after Christmas in 1995, my close friend and mother of my godson, Nathaniel, dropped dead of a massive heart attack. Carlisa was forty-four…one year older than me.

Now, I “handled” or got through all of this…or so I thought. As I tell everyone, you never quite get over losing people you love…you get through it. In the spring of 1996, however, my boss’s husband suffered a severe stroke, and that…albeit I didn’t know it at the time…was the beginning of the end of my life as I had always known it. (One note of explanation…this was prior to my move to Cincinnati.)

How could my boss’s personal problems affect me, you may well ask? Well, I’ll tell ya. When I took this job…back in July of 1985…I knew that I was going to work for a very powerful, opinionated, demanding woman. As long as I know what is expected of me…from an employer…I can do demanding…as long as one is fair and “reasonable.” Besides, I took the job in order to move closer to Mom & Dad. Mom had suffered her first heart attack on Easter Sunday in 1985, and she and Dad were getting on in years. I just wanted to be around to help out.

So, I went to work for Pat Clonch. Pat was the product of a broken home; both parents had been alcoholics. She had married young, had three kids, divorced, never remarried until the kids had grown up because she didn’t want someone else telling her how to raise her kids. She was a successful entrepreneur in her own right, having started and grown a large real estate company. She was, conversely, respected and despised by various factions in the community because, quite frankly, it was a small town, primarily run by a bunch of “good ol’ boys” who thought a woman’s place was in the bedroom…not the boardroom. She put her real estate company “on hold” to accept a temporary position as Executive Director of the local Chamber of Commerce/Economic Development Office until they could find someone to fill the position permanently. Twenty years later, she resigned from her “temporary” position.

Sorry, I just wanted to give you some background on my former boss, lest you wonder why I stayed so long at the fair…twelve and a half years…to be precise. A contributing reason was…quite simply…I liked my job. I was the regional director of a statewide program that provided technical assistance to small businesses, and I had a lot of friends in the industry. Plus, I helped coordinate/administer several local and statewide loan programs for businesses. In fact, I won a statewide award for being named the SBDC Director of the Year just two weeks before she fired my sorry ass on September 16, 1997, but I’m getting ahead of my story.

The main reason I stayed…it was home. Most of my family and friends…my “support group,” if you will, was there.

For the most part…through the years…I got along with Pat. In fact, I respected her and visa versa. I could get things out of her when the other employees couldn’t, and they would all come to me when they wanted something. I’m talking “work stuff” here, but I knew my boundaries and I knew when to pick my battles. But all that changed when Chris, Pat’s husband, had a stroke in the spring of 1996. You see, Pat was accustomed to doing pretty much as she pleased. She served on several local and state committees, was always in “important” meetings, making decisions regarding economic development efforts in the community, was involved in local and state politics, etc. To put it simply, staying home to take care of an indisposed spouse put a serious crimp in both her social and business lives. She was miserable, and when Pat was miserable, trust me...she made it a point to make sure everyone around her was miserable as well.

I have to admit that I was not the only target of her sudden erratic behavior…everyone was susceptible to her wrath. And you never knew when she was going to strike. Many times, we would be in the middle of a staff meeting when she would take the opportunity to reprimand someone…in front of the entire staff, mind you…for some minor mistake. There were times when Pat would ask me to prepare a particular report or document, and I would take the requested item to her. She would look at it, then look at me, and ask me why I had brought this to her…she didn’t want it or need it. Or, I had prepared it incorrectly…she wanted it a different way. It got to the point…when she asked me for something…I would prepare it three or four different ways before I presented it to her. She accused me of trying to take credit for someone else’s work, which is a thing I have never done in my life. Over a very short space of time, Pat managed to turn a fairly amiable work environment into a completely unbearable situation…for the entire staff. It got to the point that everyone…and I do mean everyone…dreaded coming to work.

Eventually…gradually…I noticed changes in myself. I started to withdraw from family and friends. I didn’t want to do anything…no shopping, no movies, no going out to dinner with friends, or having them over to my place. I didn’t want to talk on the phone. I avoided everyone. I started to sleep more. (So much for sleeping when you’re dead, huh? That woman had disappeared. As far as I was concerned...I was already dead.) I knew I was in trouble…that something was horribly wrong…but I kept thinking I could deal with it on my own. I never wanted to admit to myself…or anyone else, for that matter…that I was “depressed” and needed professional help.

By this point, everyone is probably asking, “So, why did you stay? Why didn’t you just leave and get a another job?” Both, very good questions. I knew I needed out, but as I explained, Pat was a very powerful woman, and it was a small community. She knew everyone and those who didn’t know her personally…well…let’s just say that her reputation preceded her. No one wanted to piss her off by pilfering one of her employees. Trust me, I interviewed for a couple of jobs and it got back to me that, even though they were interested, they didn’t want to upset her. Besides, I had a pretty “specialized” job, meaning I would most likely have to leave the area, and I wasn’t ready to do that. (Life's a funny old dog sometimes.)

So, one Saturday afternoon, I was taking a nap on the couch when I was awakened by the slamming of a car door in my driveway. Now, I had become quite adept at avoiding unwanted guests by dashing from the living room into the dining room, but this caller had started up the sidewalk and was almost to the front porch steps. My front door had a large, oval frosted window, and I didn’t have time to skedaddle from the room, so I literally “dove” to the floor between the coffee table and love seat to avoid being seen. Eventually, my would-be visitor gave up, but as I lay there…hiding…a prisoner in my own home, “kissing” my carpeted floor, I said out loud to myself, “Oh, Lou Ann, you need help.”

Next, I made an appointment with my doctor and reluctantly accepted several samples and a scrip for Prozac. That was in the early spring of 1997. The irony is, one day Pat and I were returning to the office following a meeting, and I can’t recall exactly how the discussion came about, but I told her about the Prozac. I don’t think I used the word depressed, but she responded by telling me that I was too young to need anything like that. Before I left work that day, she buzzed me on the intercom. She just wanted to reiterate her concern for me and told me…hand to God…that she loved me and would do anything for me, and just wanted me to know that she was there for me if I ever needed her. Now, here’s a conundrum for you…exactly how does one go about telling one’s boss that SHE, in fact, is the predominant reason for your present dysfunctional mental state? (See what I mean about my Big Fat Freakin’ Life.)

Anyway, the Prozac helped. Work still sucked and did, in fact, right up until the day she fired me. (What a relief that was. I never truly realized how much of my “soul” I had allowed that woman to drain from me until I was finally rid of her.) I was gradually able to “wean” myself off the Prozac after I was free of that awful woman. And I was “dealing” with giving up my home, moving away from my family and friends, learning a new job, and trying to make a new life for myself here in Cincinnati…when my oldest brother died, flinging me full tilt into my second bout with depression.

Leland was sixty at the time…a very young, vibrant, HEALTHY sixty, and one day he sat down in his easy chair to take a nap…fell asleep…and never woke up. I started crying and couldn’t stop, so it was back to the Prozac for a while. One thing I’ve learned is…once depression gets its hold on you…it’s reluctant to let go.

Well, this is wayyyyyyyy more than I intended to write in one installment, and...believe it or not...this is just the beginning. (There is sooooooooo much more.) I’m sure it was tres boring for many, if not all, of you, but I have to say that it was surprisingly cathartic for me. If nothing else, perhaps those of you who have never had the patience for, or understood people with depression will realize that we don’t want to feel this way and we can’t just snap out of it. We have to find our own way back up out of that big, black hole into which we've tumbled, and that takes time, my friends. It helps to have the love and support of family and friends along that most difficult and turbulent of journeys.

While searching YouTube earlier this evening, I came upon the following Josh Groban video. It just seemed to go with the subject matter. The song is, "Don't Give Up, You Are Loved."


YouTube video by ifstudents. It is now 4:00a.m. and me and my sad tale of "woe" are going to bed.

This Just In...From Jazzy

Jazzy puts together some pretty neat "Bobby" videos, and she just sent this one, so thought I would share it here.


Great job, Jazzy. Some of my fave episodes and scenes. Does it sound too "sappy" to state the obvious; i.e., "He took a little piece of my heart a longggggg time ago."

Trunk Monkey - Auto Security System

There are several of these ads floating around "out there" on YouTube. Someone sent them to me in an email several months back. For the life of me, I don't know what prompted them to pop into my head tonight, but they did and here are a couple of my favorites. They're short and sweet. Well, maybe not "sweet," but they are short.


The Trunk Monkey Theft Retrieval System...I want one. (YouTube video by TrunkmonkeyRacing.)


How often have you wished for just such a device to be at your fingertips to enable you to dispatch with obnoxious drivers? Well, if not a Trunk Monkey...perhaps a grenade launcher. (YouTube video by kidLoveCha.)

Patience

Know what I mean?

Top 10 Ways To Know When You’re Depressed

10. While watching the Cymbalta commercial, you think, “Gee, I wish I looked that happy."

9. You answer the “Depression Checklist” question: Do you have recurring thoughts about death or suicide with, “Doesn’t everyone?”

8. Your “contact” in the Reds ticket office calls to offer you FREE tickets behind home plate, and you blithely tell her, “No, thanks.”

7. You sleep for twelve hours, wake up and mope around the apartment for an hour or so, then take a four hour nap.

6. Things that normally make you laugh, now make you cry and...perversely...visa-versa.

5. You have an all expenses paid, ocean-view room at a top notch spa/resort hotel for a week and only manage to drag your big ol’ butt down to the beach one friggin’ time.

4. You wake up in the morning and realize that it wasn’t just a horrible dream…your Big Fat Freakin’ Life truly does suck!

3. You call the suicide hotline…and they end up giving you “how-to” tips.

2. You’d rather scrub the toilet or mop the kitchen floor than watch LOCI episodes.

And the NUMBER 1 Way To Know When You’re Depressed…

1. You look longingly and deeply at Detective Robert Goren and find yourself wondering, “What did I ever see in this guy?”

(Now, don’t get me wrong…I still love Criminal Intent and my big hunky Detective Bobby…it’s just hard to parlay that into a reason to live.)

The Mom Song

I saw this video last year before I started blogging. I had saved it as a favorite on YouTube, but it was suddenly unavailable. Luckily, these things have a way of reappearing, so I am able to share it with everyone now.

Now, I'm not a mom, but I have had a few of these things said to me as a kid by my mom or dad, and I'm certain the Mom's out there will recognize themselves in this litany of "sayings" for which Moms throughout the ages have become famous. Even those of you who "swore" when you were growing up that you would never, ever say these things to your kids, have had to eat your very words when these maxims have come tumbling from your lips of their own volition.

My favorite is the "and if all your friends jumped off a cliff, would you jump, too." It is fast-paced and sung to the "William Tell Overture," so listen closely. If you've already seen it, my apologies. If not, I do hope it brings a smile to your lips. I can...and have... watched it over and over.


By the way, this post is coming to you from a Holiday Inn Express about twenty miles north of Knoxville, Tennessee. Tomorrow, I hope to be talking to you from Savannah, Georgia. So, in the spirit of being in the south, I bid you a "'Night, y'all."

Bugger!

For two days now, I have prepared any number of wonderful slideshows using the following photos, but when I paste them to my blog, that little Photobucket "circle of hell" just keeps spinning faster and faster, but it never spits out any photos.

I have checked the code against other slideshows and reposted other "test" slideshows. The codes match and the old slideshows work just fine...and yet...the new one just thumbs its nose at me...well...if it had a nose and a thumb, I assure you that is what it would be doing. Anyway, about five minutes ago, I reached the point where I don't give a flying F---!!!! You know what I'm talking about...when you want to heave the old laptop through a window. I resisted.

I am, however, completely and utterly exasperated with Photobucket and Blogger. I know when I've been bested. So, I said a choice word or two, cried "uncle" and finally reverted to the old-fashioned way of uploading pictures to my blog. (And so go the days of My Big Fat Freakin' Life.)

I need to go pack for my trip, so here are some photos of the ever-handsome Mr. D'Onofrio. Don't know if you've seen them or not, but please enjoy them.

Got them from a fellow VDO fan.

Ruby Red Slippers

The agency that employs me is celebrating its 25th Anniversary this year, so a couple of weeks back, we had a black tie “preferred” event to commemorate this auspicious occasion. Now, you may be of the ilk that enjoys getting all “gussied up” for a night out on the town, but me…well…I fell out of love with that sort of thing a longggggg time ago.

In fact, I have a tendency to “beg off” attending these affairs altogether, but, as Dave…my boss…has said many times in recent weeks, “you only turn twenty-five once.” So, being the good, loyal employee that I am, I sucked it up and went out and bought a new “fancy-schmancy” outfit befitting the occasion. Then I sat back and waited the pending evening with all the enthusiasm of one anticipating a root canal...without anesthesia. (Okay, so being a good and loyal employee does not necessarily mean I don’t whine and complain about the job now and again.)

The thing I did not have to purchase for the evening was shoes. I had just the pair…have in fact, had them for nearly fifteen years. Yep, I said fifteen years. When you see them, you will…I think…understand why I keep them. Now, also keep in mind that I haven’t worn a pair of heels in…at least…twelve years, so I had to talk myself and my feet (not to mention my lower back and knees) into wearing them, but once I make up my mind to do a thing, I pretty much do it…come hell or high water.

Now, to the shoes…my ruby red slippers. The only pair of shoes I have ever worn, mind you, that has elicited compliments from the opposite sex. Yes, more than one man has stopped me to tell me how much they liked my shoes. But no one has enjoyed them more than my great-niece, Miranda, who…when she was five years old…was wont to clomp about in them playing "dress-up." I can still see her sweet face, as she clutched the shoes to her breast, and proclaimed in a breathless, little voice, “I don’t know why I love these shoes so much...but I just do.”

I bought them…years ago…on the Home Shopping Network from a designer named Shell Kepler, who, I recently learned passed away this past February at the tender age of 49. She was also an actress, who appeared on the soap opera, “General Hospital.” I never watched that, but I did love her designs. In fact, I still have several dusters and sweater sets that I wear to this day.

There’s just something “special” about these shoes, so wear them I did...pinched toes and all...a week ago Thursday night for our Twenty-Five Year Anniversary “Gala.” I did receive a number of compliments, but by the end of the evening, as I was standing in line outside “The Cincinnati Club” waiting for it to be my turn for the Valet to fetch my car, I abruptly reached my endurance level and kicked off the shoes. Unfortunately, clicking my heels together did nothing to speed up the process, nor did offering $20 bribes to leap frog over the people in front of me. Ah, well…there is only so much “fashion” this ol’ girl can endure.

So, here are my Ruby Red Slippers. Maybe, just maybe, in another dozen years or more, I may be persuaded to wear them again…NAH!

"There's no place like home...there's no place like home."

The flower arrangement is the centerpiece that adorned all the tables. Anyone want to take bets on how long it will take me to kill them?

My shoes, the flowers, and a couple of my bears.

Obsession...Detective Robert Goren

This somehow seems...er...appropriate, and I think my friend, Linda, would agree that I am just a "wee bit" obsessed with the good detective. The best part: I didn't have to put any thought or effort into this post...just click, copy, paste, and drool.


"YouTube" Video By Jane1975. And may I add...thank you!