This is the end. If I were more eloquent, I might delight you all with an- inspirational quote. But alas, the only saying that comes to mind is: “Jessica, please put a shirt on.” It’s something that my roommate tells me frequently because I’m staunchly anti-clothing and pro making her feel uncomfortable. Sadly, those days of pestering her with my nudity or shamelessly singing Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On” when she’s trying to sleep are almost gone. And I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself.
During a moment of desperate nostalgia (and desperate procrastination), I looked at one of the first emails I sent her. Naturally, it was very strange. I had to determine whether or not she was a serial killer. so I asked her all the important questions: Where are you from? You don’t own a battle axe, right? Britney or Christina? What TV shows do you watch? Only the second and the last question mattered to me. I rattled off five of my top programs: “30 Rock,” “The Office” (when it was still enjoyable), “Mad Men,” “The Daily Show” and then “House M.D.” She’d only seen “House M.D.” Unlike me, television was not her entire existence.
As of next month, “House M.D.” will no longer be. Fox will air the series finale on May 21. Before this date, I will have graduated. A few days later, my roommate and I will part our ways. For the first time in a year of writing this column, I don’t have the words to express myself. I’m shockingly verklempt because I have a peculiarly personal connection with the show “House M.D.” I too was once a doctor with a limp. That’s not true.
When it began in 2004, I would watch this show with my mother. She thought the character Chase was a “cutie.” I thought the word “cutie” was ridiculous. That word is only reserved for babies and those clementine oranges you can buy in bulk at Costco. Those were good times.
They continued when I brought the DVDs to my dorm room here at Berkeley. Night after night, my roommate and I got to know each other by watching each episode of every season of “House.” In that cramped room, amid its suffocating humidity, there we were — watching Dr. Greg House solve medical mysteries while I pranced about in my polka-dot underpants (one of these images is very unpleasant). But we no longer watch “House M.D.”
In truth, our habits mirror this column and my experience at college exactly. The process began with enthusiasm and humor. So many in jokes, frozen foods and inappropriately vulgar comments were involved. And then, the whole shebang began to atrophy. Everything seemed formulaic: the show, my classes, these columns. Sure, there have been some highlights. A few episodes of “House M.D.” are quite remarkable, I’ve been in a couple of rather transformative classes and then there’s my (aka Sir Lester Butterfill XXIX’s) nine-stanza epic poem on “Jersey Shore.”
But it all must come to an end. All these things — especially TV shows — have their high points, their low moments and then, they end. Except for “Law & Order.” That show will continue as long as people need background noise at three in the morning. I’ll miss “House M.D.” Honestly, I will. I’m very rarely earnest, but here goes nothing: TV isn’t everything.
Oh shit. Did I just say that? Holy cheesus, I’ve retracted everything I believe in. But, I’m serious. “House M.D.” will soon come to a close, my undergraduate years will cease to be and this column will be kaput (sorry, no spin-offs involving Sir Lester Butterfill XXIX and his buddy cop escapades with the sports columnist’s alter ego, the illustrious Lombardo Trophy). And, I’ll be fine. TV is good and all, but it’s the friends and family you watch it with that make it worthwhile — be they a fictional English lord, the Daily Cal arts staff or my crazed, but wonderful roommate.