Say What?

I never cared for the television show House, or for the actor/comedian Hugh Laurie who portrays the character. I watched a couple of episodes when it first came on and decided he was a sociopath, way too much like some of the characters I worked with back in my engineering days.

Recently a friend of mine told me House reminded him of me. So I decided to take a closer look at the show. One of the stations ran a House marathon the other day so I had a chance to study my supposed doppelganger with laser-like intensity. I scrutinized, analyzed, examined, contemplated this character. I was appalled. Dr. House is despicable. My original impression that he was a sociopath was confirmed. Okay, I am a smartass, but I'm an endearing smartass. I don't use my skills to hurt people's feelings. Dr. House is a complete narcissist. I connect with people. Don't I?

So I asked my friend why he felt I resembled this psycho in any way. He replied, "Well, you're really smart, and you're a smartass. Like he is. And you're a loner. You don't care what people think of you. You go around saying funny smartass things all the time. And now you play piano like he does. You're just like him."

Sure enough. Gregory House plays a mean keyboard. At the conclusion of many of the episodes, after severing ties with most of the people around him, leaving most of them in tattered emotional ruins, (granted, also performing miracles of medical diagnostics often in the nick of time) he can be found tickling the ivories.

Ah alas. I am a loner. I don't form friendships easily. I have a very small circle of close friends. Like, uh, well. A couple I guess. Compulsively-addictive personality, Mea culpa, but been off any substances for over three decades, unless you count strong coffee and chocolate cake, and some would.

Women of my acquaintance find Gregory House fascinating and attractive, which solidifies my conviction that the emotional and mental inner-workings of women will always be beyond my comprehension. There seems to be an inverse/square ratio relationship with gentlemanly behavior and female sexual response: the bigger the schmuck, the more women will want him, which explains why women liked Alan Alda, who had to be one of the most insufferable narcissists in the history of human existence. Here's my impression of a date with Alan Alda: "Me me, me me. But enough about me. What do you think about me?"

Ha ha ha, maybe I am a lot like Dr. House. I told my wife about this and she agreed that I did say mean, smart-ass things sometimes. I think she refers to my running commentaries about shows she sometimes watch, which specialize in hyper-hosts and wallow in maudlin emotional content. I mean, to be specific, Extreme Home Makeover. I hate that show. Now I'm glad that deserving people are helped, but this style of voyeuristic "reality television" has gone too far and I am ashamed of us as a species for allowing it to continue. Can the camera get any closer to the tear-streaked faces, and can the carpentry crew fake empathy and sympathetic joy any worse? You can practically hear them thinking, "Can I quit hugging these smelly kids and get on with hanging this sheet rock? I only have 12 more hours to deadline and I only had four hours sleep, that prick Ty only sleeps like two hours a night the hyper crackhead and he listens to Radiohead all night; I'm losing my mind, someone shoot me; why didn't I stick with English Lit in college; God help me." Speaking of Ty--Ty Pennington, easily the worst choice for a television personality since Carmen Elektra, reminds one of the ADD kid next door who bounces a ball against your siding continuously, and whose parents refuse to do nothing, until driven to madness, you drive to Tru-Value Hardware, purchase a Tranq-gun, and pop the kid one in the gastrocnemius just so you can have one minute of sweet, sweet silence. (For those of you who aren't Dr, House, the gastrocnemius is the large muscle of the lower leg, shown here:)

So where does this leave us? I think I've made a cogent, logically consistent, solipsistic and incontrovertible defence against the argument that I am in any way shape or form like Dr. Gregory House--except that I play the piano. He plays it a lot better than I anyway. SO ene there the resemblance ends. Thank goodness.