Having been weaned on afternoons of TV reruns, I don’t watch popular TV programs until the series is over. That way I start knowing that there is closure.

So, now I’m watching House, a drama with some comic moments about a grouchy doctor who is a diagnostic whiz. Hugh Laurie has a soulful edge like Heathcliff. And his American accent is better than mine. But I diagnose the show as suffering from “Murder She Wrote” syndrome. Why do so many people with obscure and esoteric diseases end up at Princeton Plainsboro hospital?

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