Now Diagnosing Your Infections

Unfortunately, after many, many attempts to write this column, I’m forced to admit to myself that the whole is in fact better than the sum of its parts. I, in fact, might not be that funny and I hesitate to say that R might not be either. I’m sure you’d agree with our many (many) fans that together, the two of us are quite a riot, but with an ocean between us? Well, the Dynamic Duo turned Unfortunate Uno may be up for a downgrade from riot to mere hoot, or worse. Mildly amusing, perhaps. Not amusing, perhaps. But if this particular column is disappointing, relax … we’ve found salvation in Skype, so once we figure out what to do about that six hour time difference, all will be as it was.
R: I miss you, R …
(silence)
So after spending the last month on the couch, recovering from a severely mis-managed wisdom tooth extraction with a bag of frozen peas on my face, watching marathons of made-for-syndication television, missing my friend, crying about my tooth and crying about my friend, I racked my brain for an original thought and to my surprise, I found six. So in no particular order …
(1) Watching every episode of House has made me a diagnostic expert of sorts. Knowing this, my dad recently approached me claiming he believed that he had an infection. I cleverly asked if he had a fever (he did not) or a high white blood cell count (he did not know) and therefore decided he did not have an infection. Moreover, I advised him not to seek out antibiotics because I also know that taking them when you don’t have an infection is super dangerous.
(2) Watching every episode of House has made me fantasize about getting some impossible (even for me) to diagnose disease, in hopes of being sent to Princeton Plainsboro to be treated by a sadistic, drug-addicted, impossibly sexy fictional doctor.
(3) It’s also made me paranoid that every itch, twitch or slight wave of something weird is the first warning sign of a brain tumor, and then I can’t decide if I’m excited or terrified, and then I remember the whole “fictional” thing and I decide on terrified.
(4) Just in case a viewer not only hasn’t seen the show before but isn’t really paying attention to the episode they’re watching either, the other characters have an annoying tendency of making grand statements about House’s personality circa once per episode. “House, you’re just doing [insert mean thing here] because you’re sooo mean (bitter/lonely)!” Thanks Cutty — his overall dialogue, demeanor and actions up to this point have confused me so, but I get it now. He acts mean because he is mean. How could I not have seen it?
(5) Watching Top Chef is like watching American Idol on mute and just taking the judges word for it. Does anyone else find it bizarre that so many people (myself included) are so fascinated by a show whose premise is a competition on which we have no basis to possibly judge on our own? How delicious was that ceviche Tom? A little heavy on the salt, maybe? Yeah, I agree, because I can taste with my eyes.
(6) For all we know, Top Chef is a grand-scale conspiracy. The chefs’ food could taste terrible, or all taste the same, or taste nothing like what the judges say it tastes like. It could be made of wax. Isn’t Padma a little skinny for a woman who supposedly eats for a living? I mean, for all we really know these so called “chefs” are just actors, pretending to cook wax food week after week all to promote Kenmore kitchen appliances and other Bravo shows. I bet they laugh at us and our stupidity.
In conclusion, I would like to note that despite my illusions of grandeur, my dad went to the doctor and did, in fact, have an infection. Clearly House is a dangerous show.