I have a terrible addiction. I wake up to it in the morning, binge on it all day long and if left to my own devices, it’s the last thing I do before hitting the hay: Crime TV, or as my family calls it, when they walk in on me enjoying another episode of Homicide Hunter with my morning coffee, “Murder for Breakfast”.
Frankly, I never knew I lived in such a dangerous country the first 22 years of my life. Along with my man, Joe Kenda, the Homicide Hunter, you’ve got “Women Who Kill”, “Nightmare Nextdoor”, “Blood Relatives” and on a good day, something icky and maggoty on “Dr. G. Medical Examiner” or “Forensic Detectives” all happening in the U.S. Of A. keeping law enforcement busy as can be.
A number of episodes of “Nightmare Nextdoor” occur close to where I grew up, but on the other side of the highway, aka “down there”, which provides a comfortable degree of separation and Dr. G. works out of the county where we vacation in Florida. Having watched many seasons of “Homicide Hunter”, there is no way I’ll ever willingly go to Colorado, it is just too damn scary and Lt. Kenda is retired. Don’t get me started on the murderous goings-on in the Midwest; Capote’s “In Cold Blood” is just the tip of one very creepy iceberg.
Creepy, but entertaining. No, seriously. I’m not a ghoul, not really, hear me out. My life is pretty boring (in the nicest way possible) and it is the drama of looking for a solution to the crime, cracking the code, tracking and catching the perp that I enjoy, the crimes are heinous. I cannot watch any programs dealing with child murderer and “Criminal Minds” gives me nightmares. For me its true crime, solved, done and dusted with a Joe Kenda, “My, my, my” thrown in for good measure.