Despite the fact that I love writing reviews, I rarely try to push my tastes on people, and in person only gush to a receptive audience. But my obsession with House has become like a supernatural power, able to convert people simply through the power of its existence.
I turned my previously disinterested brother into a regular House fan. He watched the season one DVDs I gave him after his curiosity was piqued by my love of the show, and he caught up with season two through more nefarious methods in about a two-week period. Since then, after each new episode, he’s sent me a new House rule:
#1: Any person exhibiting a minor ailment in the starting minutes of the show will trigger a massive, probably life-threatening condition in a near-by person.
#2: No matter how many times House is right and shows up his slave-doctors, they will always doubt and argue with him. For related examples, see “Scully.”
My mom’s last fond memories of television are from watching The Avengers with my dad back in the ’60s. And I’m guessing he was the fan. She was visiting for the Easter weekend, and insisted we watch an episode of House because she knows it’s my favourite show, knows I have made some in-the-flesh friends from talking about it online, knows I heard the cast and producers speak in LA, and just found out via my big-mouthed brother that I did an interview with one of the writers back in October, which I hadn’t told her about because she doesn’t like television (I was left by the gypsies – blonde gypsies), had never heard of the show, and hasn’t shown an interest in my writing since I stopped scribbling poems about cats at about age 12.
I waffled between showing her “Autopsy” or “Three Stories.” The point was she wanted to read my interview and know what I was talking about, and the Lawrence Kaplow-written “Autopsy” had aired shortly before my interview with him, so I referred to it quite a bit in the article. And it later won him the Writers Guild Award, so I would have proof for her that other people liked it.
But my mom likes Disney cartoons, not bitterly sarcastic jerks who snort Benadryl and make fun of kids with cancer (remember those gypsies). She’s also extremely squeamish (OK, maybe there’s a chance we’re genetically related) and “Autopsy” has that whole bolt-her-head-to-the-table-and-kill-her thing. So instead, I showed her the Emmy-winning “Three Stories,” which is not only by far my favourite episode of House and perhaps my favourite hour of TV ever, but shows a more sympathetic side to the character.
The woman who normally wanders off when the cube in the living room starts to glow was glued to the television, and when it was over, asked if I’d mind if we watched the episode where we find out what happened to Stacy’s husband, because it was “too intense” to stop there. After that, she read the article I’d written based on the Kaplow interview, which made her want to watch “Autopsy” and “Detox,” unless I was tired of watching the show. Ha! My mom’s so cute.
I know this doesn’t mean Fox has picked up another new viewer. But just having her willing to watch is proof of my special powers. The fact that she wanted to see more and more episodes makes me think I should put these powers to good use.