Come ON, people

Today's pointless photo is pointless. Just so you know. I feel sorry for anyone who actually tries to find meaning in any of this stuff.

Anyway.

I'm going to break a personal rule today and talk briefly about House. House MD, that is. The television show.

I'm a fan.

I don't normally blather about House because, well, I don't have a lot to say about it. I like the show, I watch the show, I enjoy it. That's about as deep as it get for me. It helps that I've been a Hugh Laurie fan for about twenty years, you know. And anyone who didn't know that I'm a Hugh Laurie fan just hasn't been paying attention to the number of British comedy sketch links that have shown up on the blog when I haven't felt like thinking of something to blather about.

Anyway.

Oh, sorry. I said that already.

Anyway, I do watch House. I also lurk on a couple of House-related bulletin boards, mostly because I get a kick out of seeing what other people get out of the show.

Which brings me to why I'm House blathering at the moment.

Last night in a BIG SHOCKING WHATEVER ELSE THE OVERDONE FOX VOICEOVER MAN WOULD SAY ABOUT IT moment, a character did himself in.

And, judging from the aforementioned bulletin boards, people are mad. Mad in both the North American sense of angry and the British sense of insane.

In my opinion, that is. Heck, it's all my opinion. I don't know why I even bothered to say that, really.

I've only perused a little (I am supposed to be working, after all), but I'm genuinely perplexed at the amount of anger and venom that's out there right now.

The part I don't get?

It's a t.v. show, people. Just a t.v. show. How can you possibly get so invested in a t.v. show?

I can understand people feeling cheated or manipulated because -- let's face it -- it was a gigantic manipulation, but I don't understand the real anger and the real... well, let's call it grief. It's probably not actually grief, but that's sort of how it looks to the outside viewer.

And I do think of myself as the outside viewer here.

I mean, I like the show. I think I mentioned that. But it's just a show, no matter how much I like it. It's stories. Entertainment. I simply don't get how people can care SO much about things like that.

Of course, I've never in my life been the fangirl type. Even when I was a teenager I somehow missed out on the Tiger Beat crushes (and honestly? I find it a little scary that Tiger Beat even still exists) and celebrity posters on bedroom walls phase. There are people that I consider myself a fan of, yes, but not in the OMIGOD HE'S SOOO WONDERFUL way. More in the he/she/it entertains me and I find him/her/it interesting way, I guess.

Bland? Maybe. But I think it keeps me a bit saner.

And shut up, world. I already know that I need all the help I can get in that department.

I think the sad part about intense fandom is that some of these people get so invested that they set themselves up for a real fall when (not if; it's always a when) things don't go the way they want them to. How can there be pleasure in taking something you enjoy and getting so serious about it that you can't enjoy it anymore?

Obviously I don't know.

And I need to get back to work now.

Ah well. At least it'll keep me from coming to a point. After all, if this blog ever comes to a point it will, of course, turn into a pumpkin.




And I'm really not all that fond of orange.