House, M.E.

2-3 years after the rest of the world, I've finally caught up with the series "House, M.D." The bits and pieces I had seen of it before led me to severe bias against the show, what with the rapid-fire, "too cool to be real" dialog and the beautiful people on screen. "Blech," I thought, "more American non-realistic drivel." But now that I've finally been watching it - and this only applies through season 2, hoping it doesn't go down hill! - I think the series, and the character of House in particular, are sheer genius.

It would be way too long for me to go into all the qualities I think make the series so good, but there's one aspect in particular I find myself relating to so much - House's repeated ducking of redemption. He will forego emotion, wrestle with his leg and pill addiction, never actually say a kind word to anyone, etc. If you've watched the series, it's referenced directly many times. But the beauty of the series is in setting up your expectations that he may be saved. After all, the other characters are all so much more emotional.. or emotive. There's subtle humor to soften you as you watch. The characters are beautiful. So you kind of assume that in the thick of it all, House himself will finally be saved. Surely, in the season finale he'll be cured. Or realize something life changing. or fall in love. But the brilliant scriptwriters never allow it to happen.

Oh, how I saympathise. Maybe you've been there - in your 30s, relationship dry spell, somewhat hyperactive mind - or maybe your mind just goes hyperactive because you've been living on your own so long that? On those nights with nothing special to do, you begin analyzing yourself psychologically. and analyzing the fact that you're analayzing yourself. and ideas come and go. they seem so important until the next time a little distraction comes along and you forget all about it. Unless it's 4AM and you think, whilst in the shower, "I've got to get this feeling down." True story - I'm sure you've guessed...

If you're in a situation anywhere near this, maybe you also feel torn. I've spent the last several years unwittingly striking some sort of delicate balance between an almost blind worship of the purely rational - House style, to a degree - yet carrying some hope of redemption. That a truly major change is just around the corner... or maybe a little further on, but it's coming. Meanwhile, of course, my "purely" rational intellect is reminding me this is all nonsense, and that the quicker I put aside these passive hopes and focus on some personal building, then maybe there's some chance of this all not being in vain. But no matter what happens - I mustn't ever, ever count on it. because that's just plain folly. Not now. not after I'm 30, and still nothing big has changed. and no love to be seen.

So House strikes a very deep chord with me. As a series, it fully recognizes the power of these hopes - without poo-pooing them. in fact, it builds you up to believe in their worth. Just as you're primed to really feel something, House will always manage to evade his own happiness. If the opportunity arrises, he'll mess it up; generally, his mind will make sure he doesn't even get that far.

It's just a tv show, I know. But catch me at a certain time, in a certain disposition, and I'll feel just like that. screwed, lost, and trying to rationalize my way away from it. Away, never out of it.


P.S.

After watching season 3, I realize I must've come off as an especially arrogant bastard. It contains an already solidified - and expressly referenced - view of House as near-infallible, genuinely arrogant, and relatively comfortable in loneliness. I didn't mean to compare myself to any of this. Avid viewers with a good memory may recall that none of those were certain in the first couple of seasons. To clarify, my empathy concerned only the "earlier" House, when some kind of redemption still appeared possible and welcome (and the arrogance still appeared a defence mechanism), and had nothing to do with his ostensible brilliance...

Midnight, on a Bench, ____ Street

It feels pointless at moments, like I'm on display. But then again - so is everyone else. We're even on that score.

On select moments within the daily humdrum, when I free my mind enough to think, I feel a vague sensation of trying to unravel this big riddle. Except it's too difficult. Requires too much sustained concentration. So like a Rubik's Cube wasted on the impatient, I toss the riddle aside, figuring I'll chip away at it some other time. But each time, I'm starting from scratch.

Tonight I'm alone.

The weather is perfect. Light breeze. Cool, not cold. It's a special experience. stretches of noise, cars whizzing by, punctuated by moments of silence. Relief. It's not them that I'm here for, though.

Random moments in people's lives: young, religious girl helping her grandmother down the street; hip Jerusalemites, with their 3/4 pants and sandals, congregating outside some bar - discussing their big travels, big career plans and, of course, the big soccer match; a solitary young woman in colorful shuk garb shows up on the horizon, grows larger and larger as she comes near, then past me and into the car; the obvious first-date couple, "uhhhh"-ing away at each other through their best attempts at a natural grin; the smokers, communicating by proximity rather than language, like a pack of cats on a lazy afternoon; the mad biker, going for a speed record whilst pulling off a wheelie. But by and large, each and every person is in a box and outside of it. Ultimately indescribable.

Then comes someone I know.

"Hi."

"Hey."

"So, you like sitting on this bench?"

"Oh, no. I'm waiting for someone.."

Interim Report: "I Love Rock'N'Roll"!

Banality warning: this will be one of those posts...
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Yeah, I haven't posted in a while, I know. In explaining this to a good friend, he suggested I post about that. Touche!

The thing is, after returning from the gigantic tour (mentioned briefly elsewhere), I had been incarcerated at my folks home for a few weeks as I'd badly sprained my ankle. This meant, among other things, watching stairs become virtually impenetrable walls, having a hell of a time trying to shower - you hobble along with one foot up in the air and try to get in there! - and, most importantly, being away from my guitars. This last fact, combined with taking time off from work, meant I had all the time in the world to post on this here thang. Turns out blogging's awefully time-intensive (isn't everything?)

I've since gotten much better, thank you, and am back in the confines of my own apartment, a veritable sea of guitars at hand. So I've gotten sidetracked. But watch this space. I'm not giving up the war, possibly the battle. Or the other way around. The point is, we shall rise to fight another day. A day in which "job" is but an afterthought, and guitars, with their sinewy shapes and beckoning essentia, will be far from my mind. In other words, I'll keep posting but expect sporad..icy? icism? icness? icity? icitness? eosity?*

"You men, always with the commitment issues". WHY? Why make this a gender thing? Listen, ya little squirt, it's my blog and I'll post when I want to / post when I want to / post when I want to.

Catch y'all later!


* I could go all day, baby, aaaaaallll day....


------- !!UPDATE!! -----------

Hah! How quickly things change.. my next post is dangerously near completion. I can practically hear the palpitations.