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sublingua | |||||
| The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
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Hugh Laurie and Sublingua Sitting In A Tree
Hugh or Ugh? So I have this...thing for Hugh Laurie. Of course, you must know that it started out as a thing for Stephen Fry, but a few episodes of Jeeves and Wooster later, I had a new thing for Hugh. And I don't know what it is about a British comedian that makes me crazy. And by that, I mean that I usually can't stand them. I mean, Rowan Atkinson as Mr. Bean makes me want to claw my own eyes out post-the weeping for humanity. But take Rowan Atkinson and put him next to Hugh Laurie and I could sit through an entire season of Blackadder. And sit I did, because Hugh as King George? Yum. (Well, any man in tights = yum in Sublingua lingua.) Anyway, so I have this thing for Hugh Laurie, who used to ride. Kawasakis I believe. Like I do. We have that in common, me and Hugh. He is my imaginary biker boyfriend, if you want a glimpse into my sad little imaginary biker fantasy headspace. So anyway, the point is: I love me some Hugh Laurie. It follows that since I have the crush, I watched the new television show that he's on called House, MD and I have to say: I'm sorry, Hugh. Because the general impression that I took away from the first episode is: Ugh. First of all, I have to say the fake American accent isn't bad. Faking an American accent is a challenge that I face every day, so I understand that it can be difficult. As someone born and raised in America, I am just barely up to the challenge. And Hugh, the native Brit, he kicks my ass. Yeah, I'm big enough to admit that Hugh fakes it better than I do. But, on the flip side, on the American slang front? I could whup Hugh's ass hands down. (That's another teeny glimpse into my sad little imaginary biker fantasy headspace, isn't it?) First of all, he's just too old to be indulging in American slang. It just rings false to hear him say "Cool" in response to something going his way. That's a teenager's response, not the response of a well-educated, talented doctor. Secondly, I don't care what kind of cynical spin he puts on his slang expressions, it's still wrong. Wrong I say. Also? The premise of the show is only...okay. It's only okay. These supposedly great "medical mysteries" come straight out a first year med school textbook or popular literature based on med school textbooks. And while I'm sure that most medical school graduates are stumped by them, it's likely that anyone with a background in real science has figured out the big mystery by the first commercial break. Also? I can't stand that the hospital looks so incredibly and suspiciously clean. I mean, it's like this: I can't hardly go to a movie or watch a television show that has a bum or a homeless person because in Hollywood, bum or homeless person means casting a pretty face and putting them in some designer rig with a brown color scheme and maybe a rip or two in the jacket or pants to signify that they've been living on the streets. Clean homeless persons in the movies and on television is just one of the many reasons I don't do movies and television. Okay, so now back to Hugh's show: The hospital is the homeless person in the above equation. And by that, I mean: The fucking hospital is just too damn clean and new. It's too: HEY LOOK AT ME! I'M A CLEAN, NEW HOSPITAL SET!! I mean, have you been in a hospital lately? They're dirty. They're grungy. They have the same stained ceiling tiles that every public school you ever attended had. You've counted the little holes in those damn things to get through many a lecture, I'm sure, so you know what I'm talking about. And, too, the cast is very pretty. Too pretty. The woman who runs the place was apparently cast with an eye towards how she'd look in her designer hootchie wardrobe, and even the male doctors look like cabana boys. I mean, honey, you're pretty, but don't try to make conversation, okay? You're arm candy. The sooner you know this, the better the sex will be, alright? (And there's yet another glimpse into my sad little imaginary...Well, you get the idea.) Hugh, darling, I adore you. I do. But stop with the slang, honey, okay? And ask your dad about some real "medical mysteries." And get some Teamster to put up some water stained ceiling tiles, won't you? Because I want to love you every week, but a girl has to have her principles.
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