Specious.

Something that's devoid of truth, or an argument that lacks logical reasoning, something with fundamental errors in the process of making something real. It may sound nice, and plausible, but when you get down to the gritty details there's not a chance in hell that it truly is. Then again if you believe that, you have to believe that there is the possibility that there is a chance, and weigh your options. That's the point. What do you believe? What is truth? What is lies?

Where does hope have a place in the process - and where does reality set in.

Maybe it's the doctor in me that causes me to pick at the holes in everything I see or read. If there's a chance that something, anything, is a falsehood, then I will find it and I'll tear it open until the guts spill out. If I don't, then all you're going to get is kicked in the ass at the end of the road.

I'm not here to hold your hand and let you know everything is going to be just alright. I'm here to tell you that you're in trouble, and I'm going to tell you your options for fixing it. Maybe they'll work, and maybe you'll walk out the front door with your head held high. Maybe they won't work. You have the choice. You don't want the treatment, fine. Your choice. I'll give you the options, and I don't sugarcoat things, and that's your choice.

Of course, everybody lies.

Dr. Greg House
House
Word count: 250

So last night was Halloween. A few weeks ago, we took Jackson to one of those Halloween stores and let him run all over the place like those kids you see destroying displays and asking where are his parents and we ended up settling on a costume.

No, Princeton was not terrorized by a miniature Batman (he didn't like the cape) or Iron Man (he didn't like the mask/hood) or Spiderman (apparently Jackson hates spiders) or a race car driver (the jumpsuit was not happening) or fireman (he threw the helmet on the floor and nearly had a screaming fit) or any of the stereotypical things one would expect a two year old to want to wear for Halloween.

We finally managed to find one that he liked: a furry little sea otter.

Apparently, my son has inherited my dislike absolute disdain of conforming to the 'norms' of society.

I apologize in advance. God have mercy on us all when he hits preschool.

(But he was a damn cute sea otter, that's for sure.)

Awesome.

You know what's awesome? Days where I don't have to listen to mindless dribble from the mouths of idiots. Days where I don't have to spend hours upon hours treating kids downstairs in the clinic. Days where my boss allows me to do my job...wait, none of these days ever happen. Right. Okay. Let's start that over.

I will admit that while I don't like sitting back and watching, there's something about being able to sit and watch a true genius at work. Deft maneuvers. Hair-raising drama. Death defying action. I'm not talking about surgery obs either. I'm talking about planting myself on the leather couch in my living room with a beer in one hand and the remote in the other.

Monster trucks. You realize how god damn hard it is to drive one of those things? If I can't be there in person getting mud flung on my face from the pits and if I can't get deaf in person from the engines and exhaust, then my living room is a damn good alternative. Gravedigger is awesome. Gravedigger never, ever disappoints.

Dr. Greg House
House
Words: 181

White w/ Red

Red w/ Red

Titanium w/ Red



I am leaning towards the first one. It's got a bit more personality.

Also, Brittany:

Pick one?

I guess almost-dying wasn't good enough.



You know Tom Petty's old band, before he brought together The Heartbreakers was a little house band called Mudcrutch, and they obviously haven't been together since the 70's but they just got back together and put out a new album. They've got a single out that's pretty damn awesome - Lover of the Bayou. Make sure you listen to the backing piano (and the guitar, but the piano is really what should be listened to) because it's really damn impressive. So is the guitar. The whole damn thing's really good.

Yeah, that's all I've got.


[episode 05x01 spoilers in comments]

Two things:

First of all, yes I will be pulling and using new material from season 5 for this journal, for both writing and RP purposes. Since House is already so obviously AU at this point he's not binding to any other muses from the 'verse in TM and none of the characters mentioned are any muses currently in the community.

Second thing I wanted to bring up was a question, in regards to the friends list. I will be cutting major spoilers for episodes and plot and so on, but I am curious as to what the readers on the friends list here would like to see. Is anyone watching season five who won't get it until after the US does? I don't want to spoil the season accidentally for any muns. Please let me know if I should avoid commenting/bringing stuff up with your pups in comments because of spoilers.

Thanks guys. The headvoice has been quiet due to a long, long break and the strike, but he's back and rarin' to go, snarky as ever...

Would you make a good spy? Why or why not?

I'm a very detail oriented person, but I know when to ignore the bullshit and focus on the important things. I'm very hard to lie to, because I spent months in a hospital bed listening to doctors and nurses lie to me and there's something about a person that just screams liar in their face when they're doing it. They never even notice. That's the great thing, about humanity. You can be in control, but in reality, there's always a catch.

I people watch. It's a hobby of mine. I like malls and airports. There's always at least a dozen different things going on at any one given second, and you can sit and contemplate all the ways that everyone would react to any given scenario. People in motion are people worth paying attention to. Someday it might come back to help you, the things you see. Or it may come back to hurt you.

Would I make a good spy? Probably not. But I'd make a hell of an agent assigned to gather intel on someone. Give me an hour or two and you'll have plenty.

Then again, the CIA and I don't really get along well, so that wouldn't help.


Dr. Greg House
House
Word count: 200

What are the five steps to a successful negotiation?

Shoot first.

Problem solved.

Really, I'm serious. It worked for Han Solo, didn't it?

The story is simple, and goes like this. One morning, a man named Jack Moriarty wakes up and decides that someone is going to pay for the fact that his wife decided to kill herself because she just couldn't bear to live. Naturally, he loads his semi-automatic pistol and tucks it into his coat, then heads for the most logical choice of target. The man who, according to his fucked up brain, is responsible for her not wanting to live.

Her doctor.

Me.

At roughly ten thirty-four on a Tuesday, Jack Moriarty walks into my office and does something that I have always, always tried to teach my fellows to do. He doesn't hesitate. He trusts his gut, he pulls that gun, and he squeezes that trigger.

He shoots first. He doesn't ask questions, just steps over and looks at me lying there on the floor, bullet having shredded through my side. Looks at the blood pooling on the carpet, and he really looks at me. He didn't have to ask questions, and he didn't have to try and negotiate anything. It was settled.

He'd won.

The next bullet hit me in the jugular and I passed out pretty quick after that, but did it really matter to him? He didn't care if I lived or died. He had his answer, he had his peace, and he'd done what he wanted to do without having to deal with anyone's bullshit. He wasn't going to be talked out of what he felt like he had to do to get the job done.

In a way, I understood. I understand. I don't blame the son of a bitch.

He did what he thought was right. I do what I think is right. And if it gets the job done, without negotiating and wasting time? Great.

Shoot first.


Dr. Greg House
House
Word count: 307

Hey, drivers of the world? Newsflash.

Let's start a new rule: Get off your fucking cell phone while you're operating something weighing close to two tons on the turnpike. I don't care if you're giving birth or late to pick up Johnny from ballet practice or what the fuck ever. Get off your fucking cell phone and novel thought, signal and better yet look before you change lanes into the motorcycle next to you.

I came about two seconds from getting creamed by a giant Lexus SUV this afternoon. Lady was on her phone and decided that it was a great idea to jump a lane to catch her exit that she'd apparently been too deep in conversation to notice.

Note to self, write Honda, thank them for the front brake package they put on the CBR's.

Dumbass bitch was lucky I can go endo without killing myself.



You know what?

Fuck work tomorrow. I'm getting stoned and listening to George Harrison instead.

Happy Endings

There are some fields of work in which a person gets happy endings more than half the time. Hell, there are even some fields of medicine where most of the people that you take as a case end up walking out the front door, rather than rolling out the back. But being a doctor means that people come to you because something is already wrong, so you're at a disadvantage from the start. Yeah, it sucks, but it's a challenge.

I like challenges. That's why I'm in diagnostic medicine with a specialty in infectious diseases. I get the cases that are so off the wall and so difficult that any other kid in a lab coat would have no idea where to start. I like what I do. I have the freedom to run my department pretty much how I see fit (thanks to my contact's awesome clause setting up the account for my legal fees -- there's a lot I can do with 50k a year to fuck around with) and I don't have to think inside the box.

I hate the box. Sure, when you're in medical school, it's all about procedure. Test this, run this, check this and this and this, and if it's not that then it can't be...no. Screw the box. Test it all. I don't care if you have a date on a Friday night, we're all going to be staying up with urine samples looking for designer drug cocktails and with petri dishes full of cultures. Find the problem and then you can have a social life. Or well, my little lab rats will. My Friday nights are spent cheering for the Mets or Gravedigger, whatever happens to be on my TV.

Right, topic. Happy endings are great. You don't get many in my line of work -- I do save more people than I lose, though -- but the ones you do get after all the hard work? Rock.

I'll take anything I can get, be it someone walking out the front doors of a hospital, a walkoff by Delgado, or a half dozen smashed schoolbuses all lined up in a row, I'm really not particular.


Dr. Greg House
House
Word count: 360

Despite the fact that he is obviously the coolest two year old in the Tri-State Area, we decided against throwing Jackson a huge party. We just had some friends over and did dinner, and cake, which the boy absolutely insisted on destroying. Not that we minded, as that is what the novel invention known as a washing machine is for. It was fun.

Work has been...work. I'm still not back up to full speed. That really pisses me off, but there is only so much I can do before my head starts to kill me and my focus goes. Even if people are still dying, which is incredibly unhelpful. What we need is a giant 'pause' button for when I can't think straight.

Though that would be playing God, and we all know I already beat him the last time we did that.

So, my plan for the day is to go home (after I'm done, of course it would be wrong to leave the sick and dying to wait for me tomorrow), hang out with my son and with my wife, and dust off the guitar. I haven't really played since I smacked my head. I still remember how, obviously, it has just been awhile.

I hate headaches.

More later. I need to go on about happy endings, after all.

Though, question...wouldn't happy endings kind of be against the point? If you're happy, why end anything. I sure as fuck would rather keep on my happy course than end it and start a new one. Or end it period. Maybe I'll ponder that for the topic. I don't know.

I've got a patient who is apparently claiming to see elephants dancing down the hall waiting for me in the clinic. Fifty bucks says I make him see hippos wearing tutus too, before he's discharged. Who's with me?

I have a heart.

Yes, I do. And there has been photographic evidence presented to back up my claim.

( Really. I have a heart. )

I'm stoked. Now I can just wave this at people when they go on about me not having one, yeah?

In other news, Jackson will be 2 in like, a week and a couple days.

AND I don't get migraines every day. Just every other day. Yay for head injuries going the fuck away. Seriously. Anytime it would like to get the fuck out and stay gone would be great. Thanks.

What principles are sacrosanct in your opinion?

Do no harm.

It's simple, really. As medical professionals we take an oath, and the general gist of it is to 'do no harm'. Granted, I think a majority of the other parts of it are absolute crap. Yeah, it's a great and storied tradition and it works when you're looking at things in a general sense, but I think it's bullshit to expect a doctor to treat every case the same way.

Cases are never the same. Even if you're dealing with an epidemic, each patient is a different problem. Each patient is a different puzzle and some puzzles require different strategies to solve.

And sometimes, you have to think about the box -- and practice outside the oath -- to do that.

In my opinion, having the nuts to do that without worrying about lawyers crawling down your neck -- there's a reason my contract has an extra 50k a year set aside for legal fees -- or letting yourself get pushed around, having the nuts to do the right thing, to do anything to solve the puzzle, to treat the patient, that's what's really sacrosanct.

Do no harm.

But above that, cure the disease. Medicine isn't about holding hands and flowers and balloons. It's blood and needles and sometimes it just hurts but if that's what has to happen to win, well then, that's what has to happen.

Dr. Greg House
House
Word count: 225

So, I went to do that 'Googlism' thing. There were no results for 'greg house' or 'doctor house'. Apparently I am rather unknown on the internet. Which, is surprising, considering the news I've been known to make in the past. Also, I just listed them. Not italic or whatever the other rules were. I break the rules. There weren't that many to choose from. However, there were a few interesting ones:

house is rocking
house is het gezelligste casino op lokatie
house is not for sale
house is never done
house is clyde
house is now online
house is a home for new ideas
house is it
house is haunted
house is fort lee's premier luxury high
house is looking for you
house is on fire
house is a luxury safari destination in laikipia


house is home to controversy

I think that one says it all. Also? I'm feeling better, so expect to read more of my nonsense soon. Either that or I'm too stoned to feel worse. Joke, people.

Sometime on the 28th, a package arrives at the Kelly household, and inside are the following note and items.

Happy Birthday, Bobby.

Hopefully the postal service doesn't screw up my plans for supplying your efforts at World Domination by getting this to you late. And congratulations to both you and Nic on Dylan finally showing up -- I would've said so sooner, but you know, head injury and all. I know you already have a kid, but take a ton of pictures, because he's gonna grow up right before your eyes and you'll want to remember him when he was this little.

Seriously, hope things are going well for all of you.

- Greg (and Brittany and Jackson)

Thinking Putty

(Because it reminded him of Robert and he couldn't help the irony.)

Inspirational Poster

(Because one always needs inspiration.)

T-shirt

(Because some days you really love your job.)

There is also something for Dylan, since it's really not in Kelly's size:

Baby In Black

(Because you have to start them early.)

Show us where you live.

New Jersey.

There's not much to say about it, really, and while I can't go on in detail about it for too long, as I'm slowly getting back into the swing of work and that takes effort as it is, I can't really show you unless there are images involved. This is a laptop, yes, but getting my camera, taking the photos, putting them online...why would I do that when I could just tell you.

My house is white on the outside. It looks good with the yard. There are a few bushes out front, and a tree. The backyard has the patio, a sandbox, the koi pond, and the hot tub, and a few more trees. The kitchen is done in cherry and granite. Lots of bookcases. Piano in the corner of the living room, down the hall, bathroom, Jackson's room, the office, our bedroom, another room for random stuff and workout equipment and boxes of stuff we can't put in the garage.

It's really not that amazing. But I like it. It's home, and it's something I didn't think I'd have for awhile, so I'll take it.

Come visit...I'll find some giant ball of paperclips or something to take you to.


Dr. Greg House
House
Word count: 199

I have decided a few things:

- I am never riding a city bus again, so help me God.

- Life isn't fair. It's fucked up and it's cruel and it's all a pack of lies that you have to spend your entire existence on this planet trying to pick apart and it's just not fucking fair.

- However, I would rather spend my life picking apart those lies to find the truth, when the other option is cold storage or a dirt nap. Or in my case, three bottles of scotch and some flaming arrows.

- Head injuries suck. Amnesia sucks. Skull fractures suck. Having a seizure while you've got a rod jammed in your temporal lobe and cracking your head open even further sucks. So do heart attacks before lunch.

- I'm going on vacation after I can see straight and remember what year it is.

- I think I would rather have been shot again than this.

- Bahamas. Definitely.


What year is it again?

Apologies for the lateness of the topics.

If you could get anyone drunk, who would it be and what would you do?

The President of the United States. Though I suppose that wouldn't be a very wise idea, I still think it would be hilarious as all get out to see the big guy in charge (no, not God, as I am better than God and I already know what I'm like drunk, thank you very much) after having a few drinks. I wonder what the President drinks, is it beer, is it scotch, or is it something like a cosmo or a fruit soaked martini? Hrm. That would be something to findout, before taking on the mission of getting the President drunk.

What would I do? Well, ask questions of course. (And take photos and video, because while I hate it when people take photos of me drunk, my son does have a college education to be paid for and some snaps of W with a lampshade on his head would probably ensure that Hopkins or Yale would be taken care of just fine.)

Surprise! Your mother/a priest/an arch nemesis/the tax man/dinosaurs/your ex/a famous talk show host is at the door -- and at a most inopportune moment! Now what?!

"Hey, get the door, would you?"

He moves from the couch on instinct, mouth watering slightly at the thought of the double cheese and pineapple pizza awaiting him on the other side, held carefully in the hands of a overeager (yet incredibly bored) teenager who just rang the doorbell and pondered the tip he'll recieve from the customer who opens it.

Wallet in hand, he pulls the door open and finds himself staring at a scene not unlike those found on the late night Sci-Fi channel. Someone down the street is screaming as a car is flipped on its side and the pizza boy goes darting across the lawn, chased by a large pack of...

...are those...triceratops?

House cocks his head to the side to watch the show (the pizza boy is quite nimble, clearing the fence with ease) and to contemplate why herbivores are attempting to eat the pizza boy.

Wait. Just. One. Second.

"Honey...watch the cat...I may be a minute...and you may want to find the shotgun just in case this gets ugly."

"Yes, dear."

It's one thing to be facing down a triceratops in suburban Princeton. It's another thing when you're doing it in the name of justice.

Or just because you want your pizza.



Dr. Greg House
House
Word counts: 162 & 199

Hey, everyone.

I know House has been rather absent from your friendslists of late and that's been to the mun trying to get life in order and deal with some changes and such that RL has to offer. House is not going anywhere, I am still in the process of catching up, and work has been killing my energy and mental motivation to turn on the computer and RP lately.

Also, I am behind on the episodes. Today I am dedicating time to catching up, so hopefully soon (if my brain allows) there should be some posts to bring the character up to speed. Being that the first part of the season finale was last night and all...

On one hand, while being behind on the episodes is no fun, being able to play my way up to the events (which I may modify based on the fact that House really isn't 'canon strict' anymore, obviously) will keep me occupied through the season break. So, look for posts to come soon, and I have been reading all the entries on the friendslist and seeing some great plots, so, keep it up guys. :D

3am.

He's sitting alone in the living room at the piano, not playing, just staring quietly at the keys, the black against the ivory. The house is quiet. It should be quiet. The boy is asleep, and so is his wife. Even the cat has taken the night off from prowling about to curl up in the corner of the sofa. Everyone is asleep, except for him.

House really wouldn't call this moment one where he was awake, either. Not asleep, but not awake. Just a period of awareness that comes between the two. There's probably a word for it. He could think of it if it wasn't three in the morning, but, it is. Just after, actually, by the clock on the microwave in the kitchen.

Before he got married, he rarely slept normal hours. Medication kept him awake, or pain, or the way his mind never quite stopped working. So many reasons to be up in the middle of the night, and so many nights spent at the piano, playing things from memory, inventing new things, just him and an empty apartment.

The house isn't empty. Wife and son, cat, a few houseplants. It's lived in, comfortable, but instead of filling the space with soft strains of music, he just sits.


Dr. Greg House
House
Word count: 209