House

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Blogs and Logs
In a hurry? Read the recaplet for a nutshell description!

We open late one night on a woman writing an entry for her blog, entitled "A Considered Life." You can find it at www.aconsideredlife.blogjournaling.com. Well, actually all you'll find there is a message saying "server not found" because it isn't a real website, but you know what I mean. Apparently, the woman, Frankie, just got in a fight with her husband, Taylor, over whether or not eating salmon goes against the Frankie's vegetarian diet. Frankie's commenters agree with Taylor that salmon is not a vegetable, although Frankie takes great delight in telling Taylor that they also found his attitude about it (as described by Frankie, who is not necessarily an impartial observer) to be "judgmental." I'd be judgmental too if someone tried to tell me that salmon isn't meat. I mean, come on now. [In the words of Kurt Cobain, it's okay to eat fish, because they don't have any feelings. - Zach] Taylor isn't thrilled to hear that Frankie blogged about their fight, but she says she has to, because her blog is about her life, and Taylor is part of that. Taylor says he doesn't want to be a part of her readers' lives, too, and orders her to delete the entry. At this point, there's an insistent knocking on the door. It's their neighbor, who claims that their slightly-raised voices at 2 am have drifted through the paper-thin apartment walls and woken him up. I find that hard to believe, since they weren't being loud at all and they're in their living room and there's at least the bedroom acting as a buffer zone between the living room and the neighbor's apartment. Sounds like Mr. Early Morning Wiring Job is being way too picky. Of course, I live next to a deaf woman who watches Russian TV at full blast all day long, so perhaps I'm less than sympathetic. Taylor and Frankie apologize to him and promise to be quiet, at which point both Taylor and the neighbor notice that Frankie's face is suddenly covered in bruises. The neighbor immediately dials 911 to report some domestic violence (so, despite his earlier assholishness, he seems to be a decent guy). Taylor tells him to call for an ambulance, since something is seriously wrong with Frankie. She finally checks it out for herself in the mirror, at which point her gums start bleeding.

House ejects a DVD of the classic film How Wet Was My Valley from his living room entertainment center and carefully puts it back in its case. From the kitchen, Wilson asks what he's planning for tonight, and House honestly responds that he'll be doing some masturbating. In the living room, apparently. Because that's the way to thank the guy who basically paid for this entire apartment just to help you get back at Cuddy and lets you live there because your therapist recommends that you not live alone. It seems that House's living room nightly porn masturbation ritual is nothing new to poor Wilson, who simply replies that when House isn't watching the Discovery Channel, he's viewing porn that he apparently rents from a nearby video store, because House hasn't yet mastered the art and convenience of watching it on his computer. House claims that he likes renting DVDs because they come with a director's commentary. Wilson decides that House is way too lonely and invites him to join him on a speed-dating session tonight. Because if there's one thing that handsome, successful doctors just can't find on their own, it's a date. Come on, Wilson. Meanwhile, how long have they lived in that apartment? And it's STILL full of unpacked boxes and little else? Maybe House should masturbate less and unpack more. [Maybe the boxes are full of porn? Or soiled Kleenex? - Z]

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House

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