House In My Home

Thanks to several days of spending way too much time watching DVDs, coupled with three weeks' worth of TiVoing, I am now at last all caught up on House. Which honestly feels like some kind of major accomplishment. Hey, I'm watching a show while it's still on the air! Go, me!

What's really strange about this is that House totally does not seem like the sort of series I ought to like at all, and certainly not the kind that'd prompt high levels of enthusiasm from me. I've never cared much for medical shows, and I find procedurals of any sort at best only casually interesting. But there's just something about the character of House that gives this show a weirdly addictive quality. Like crack. Or, perhaps more appropriately, Vicodin.

I will say that, while it's the characters I'm watching for, the medical mystery stuff is kind of cool, too, even if it does tend to be formulaic enough that you can practically set your watch by the plot points. And I'm feeling all big-headed and full of myself right now because I figured out what was up with that kid from last week way before any of the characters did. Boo-yah! My knowledge of weird scientific trivia pays off! That by far beat my previous (and only) record of figuring the disease out about two seconds before House announced it, too. Usually, all I know is that it ain't vasculitis. Mind you, I don't actually know exactly what vasculitis is. But I do know that's never it.