Infatuations

Today's entry has nothing to do with cards or crafts. I wanted to stay up to document some recent obsessions.

First up: flip flops. Not just any flip flops... these stinkin' Nike flip flops of which I now own four pairs. They are so "flippin'" comfortable. It was freezing and even SNOWING today here in Central IL, and, by golly, I wore my new flip flops. That and I gave myself a stinkin' pedi yesterday and, with as long as that took, I would have walked through a foot of snow without caring. The flip flops will be on until someone tears them off of me.

Now, for something more cerebral. I have a current infatuation with House. That show filled the void that The West Wing left in my world. The dialogue is as well-timed as Gilmore Girls (another show I miss, sadly), the humor is outrageous, and the medical situations are engaging (at least to me). You come away thinking your brain was entertained via many dimensions. How crazy-talented is the cast, especially Hugh Laurie?!

The writer's strike has pissed me off. New episodes are very hard to come by (tonight's is DVRed waiting for tomorrow, I hope). However, it has given me the opportunity to watch some of the episodes I never saw.

One such episode was from 2006 entitled "Lines in the Sand." Absolutely fantastic partial soliloquy from Dr. House as he and Dr. Cameron discuss a ten-year-old patient with autism. I was so enamored with this writing that I transcribed it. So, here's to you, writers of House. We desperately miss your talents.

CAMERON: It's normal to want to be normal.

HOUSE: Spoken like a true "circle queen." See, skinny, socially-privileged white people get to draw this neat little circle. Everyone inside the circle is normal. Anyone outside the circle should be beaten, broken, and reset so they can be brought into the circle. Failing that, they should be institutionalized , or worse... pitied.

CAMERON: So, it's wrong to feel sorry for this little boy?

HOUSE: Why would you feel sorry for someone who gets to opt out of the inane courteous formalities which are utterly meaningless, insincere, and therefore, degrading? This kid doesn't have to pretend to be interested in your back pain or your excretions or your grandma's itchy place. Can you imagine how liberating it would be to live a life free of all the mind-numbing social niceties? I don't pity this kid. I envy him.

As a parent of a child with autism and another with extreme anxiety, I say, "AMEN, Dr. House!" Over and out.