DVD Commentary: "A Princeton Odyssey (Alexander Pope Is Turning In His Grave Remix)"

The complete poem without commentary is here; you'll probably want to read that first, along with the original story it remixes.


	Fandoms: House Harry Potter SGA Misc.

So. Mock epic!

I was stuck on what to do for Remix this year, for a number of reasons, most of which had nothing to do with my remixee at all. First I thought I'd do a House/Wilson story with flashbacks to just after the infarction; then I considered remixing a couple of joe_pike_junior's House/Stacy fics; then I sat and brooded some more, because nothing was coming together. When joe_pike_junior posted Three Sheets to the Wind at the end of March, things finally clicked. Within his/her story about House and Wilson turning up drunk at Cuddy's house lay the seeds of a heroic comedy: House, the hero of the show, battling not mysterious diseases but a refrigerator door and a bath mat. "When you're drunk, everything's an adventure," joe_pike_junior said in response to someone's comment to that fic, and thus the mock epic remix was inspired.

I remembered reading Alexander Pope's The Rape of the Lock in college, how it turned the epic into the ridiculous, or highlighted the ridiculous within the epic. Either way, it was my direct source for deciding how to do this. After freaking out about how much work this would involve and deciding to do it anyway, I stole its subtitle and mined literary analysis sites for mock-epic elements I could adapt for the House version. The two most helpful sites I found -- by which I mean two of the first sites I found and settled on because I was already short on time -- were http://www.victorianweb.org/previctorian/tech/mockepic.html and http://people.umass.edu/sconstan/mockepic.html, which both outlined what traditional epics do and how Pope played with it. I read and re-read "Three Sheets to the Wind," picking out the plot points that needed to stay -- drinking contest, walk to Cuddy's, bath mat desecration, fumbling in the kitchen, nodding off, hangover -- and ended up with a sketchy outline of places the poem could go. It looked like this:

Invocation of the Muse (name, praise, request for help)
The Arming of the Hero (alcohol, leather jacket)
Single Combat/The Battle (House v. frat boy, House v. fridge, House v. toilet, House v. own balance)
Exhortation to the troops (House convincing Wilson to rally 'round)
Journey to the Underworld (Cuddy's house)
Epic Feast (bread)
Dream (House on Cuddy's couch?) & Apotheosis. Intervention of the Gods

Obviously some of that made it and some didn't, but it was an excellent starting place.

A Princeton Odyssey

The remix title ("Alexander Pope Is Turning In His Grave") came straightaway; it explained the nature of the remix and expressed my, er, awareness that this was not exactly as impressive an achievement as Pope's was.

The main working title was "Three Sheets to the Wind," after the original, but I didn't want to keep it, since the focus of the story was changing in the retelling. The best I could come up with by the time the poem was done was this completely unsubtle reference to the sort of archetypal epic being parodied. At least it has the benefit of being a unique search term for navel-gazing days.

An Heroi-comical Poem in Four Short Cantos

Stolen shamelessly from The Rape of the Lock ("An Heroi-Comical Poem In Five Cantos"). I liked the rhythm of this subtitle with "short" in it, except then the middle two cantos didn't turn out short at all. I thought the strike-through would set the tone right away, if the title didn't already, letting people know this would be silly.

Canto I: Invocation to Calliope (May She Forgive Me)	The canto titles were done on a whim as I drafted, but I liked their tone so much I just left them in. One of the conventions of the epic is to invoke a Muse to assist your humble, mortal self. According to a strange yet amusing website called How to Write an Epic Poem, "the Muse of epic poetry was Calliope, but you can also invoke Thalia (Muse of comedy) or Melpomene (Muse of tragedy)." I stuck with tradition.
O Muse! do sing to me of 'Ventures grand, The great and glorious Exploits in the Land Of Princeton, where resides our Hero true: A Man with Razor Tongue and Eyes of Blue Who makes Fun of the Morons, heals the Sick, Outwits Disease with Mind and Med'cine quick, Annoys his Friends by acting like a Dick, Delights in fig'ring out what makes Men tick, Lives by the Credo that Ev'ryone lies, And swells with Pride each time a Patient cries.	Oh, iambic pentameter. For the two weeks it took to write this thing, I walked around thinking in this rhythm -- hence the "warning" in the header. Buh DUM buh DUM buh DUM buh DUM buh DUM, went my brain. And as I wrote, I read in my head with the exaggerated beats; and I tapped my fingers on my desk as I tried to plan out each line. Even now when I re-read it, I see the beats. They're bolded there. Welcome to the inside of my head. Anyway, this whole first canto was a joy to write. Crafting a portrait of House as an unusual sort of hero -- in meter!
O Beautiful of Speech, do heed my Plea To tell the Tale with Grace and Honesty, In measur'd Verses sweet and Rhyming pure, Of Greg'ry House, the Genius of the Cure; How one dark Night, with his Companion true— James Wilson, young and fair, Doctor and Jew— He vanquish'd Enemies, one-two-three-four, Caroused, and joked, and many Ales did pour, Then cross'd the Town until he reach'd the Door To Cuddy's Home and knock'd, hoping to Score. (The Outcome of this most daring Foray Will be reveal'd in our Poem today.)	"Beautiful of Speech" is one way to refer to Calliope (Wiki). I can't read "Greg'ry House" anymore without thinking of a conversation I had with mer_duff once about fitting his name into the Sweeney Todd lyrics. Oh well. I hope the "Jew" line didn't/doesn't offend anyone; that was meant to echo the way House repeatedly points out that Wilson's Jewish.
Sing of this brave Adventurer, kind Muse! His Valor and his Talent for Abuse! His handsome Face, his slowly thinning Hair, His Brain's Dexterity exceeding rare! O, sing of House and Cuddy! Wilson too! Breathe Life into these Lines, our Heroes' Due!	After the last two stanzas -- actually, the whole first canto was originally one stanza -- I wasn't sure where to go. Somehow (from the Muse?) I got the idea to do all these exclamations, which I think work well in a way they don't in regular prose. I also like how "His handsome Face, his slowly thinning Hair" recalls Syphilis Lady's love poem to House in "Poison" -- "His manly chest, his stubbled jaw..."
Canto II: The Hero Is Armed and Fights his First Battle "What ho!" cried House unto his faithful Friend, Who lazed upon the Couch, Head on one End And Feet propp'd on the other. Beer in Hand, Fair brown-eyed Wilson raised an Eyebrow, and Inquir'd as to what was on his Mind. "What ho!" repeated House (for he did find The Phrase a Joy to speak in Poem-land). "Methinks this Eve we should go hear the Band Playing at Ivy, shoot some Pool, and drink 'Til we can't stand." He grinned. "What do you think?" "Uh, isn't that a Bar from which you're banned?" Asked Wilson. House replied, "Banning be damned!"	a.k.a. Two more mock-heroic elements comin' right up. For visual, see also: "Love Hurts." (And I did find the phrase a joy to type.) <-- also in pentameter. I am ruined. My friend C. pointed out that "What ho!" sounds like Jeeves & Wooster, which I haven't seen and wasn't on purpose but is still cool. Being a former resident of Princeton, C. also helped with the selection of the bar -- a place suitably skeevy where a guy like House might hang out but which would still have college students around, and has been known to do live music.
So valiant House and Wilson armed themselves: Hats, Gloves and Scarves rescued from Closet Shelves (And Floor, and Couch; it really was a Mess), Draining their Beers as they proceed'd to dress Against the wild, dang'rous Princeton Night— Teeming with College Students, at whose Sight Ill-temper'd House would oft retreat. No Cane Took he (for this was pre-Infarction; Pain Did not yet rule our Hero's Life); instead,	The Arming of the Hero(es). An attempt at irony... "Three Sheets to the Wind" was set pre-infarction, although I'm not sure how that timeline works with House and Wilson's friendship and Cuddy's position within the hospital. I decided to stick with that story's canon, so House doesn't have the cane, he hangs out and gets drunk with Wilson, and Cuddy's not only in administration, she's already the Dean -- I needed it for the rhyme. :)
House donn'd his Leather Coat with Stripe of Red, Thick Armor to protect him from the Drip Of Alcohol lest lightweight Wilson trip Bringing back Drinks, as he'd been known to do. (He swears it was some Gum stuck to his Shoe.)	One thing I disagreed with in the original story was that House was a lightweight -- even though it is very possible that he developed the tolerance we see onscreen after the infarction -- , so I made Wilson the tipsy one in this mini-flashback instead, and let House win the drinking competition mentioned in the original. Because House is the hero, and always wins at everything. nods
Thus thick-'browed Wilson and sure-footed House Ventur'd deep into Town for to carouse.	Okay, I'm sorry, but "thick-'browed Wilson" cracks me up. I knew I wanted to do epithets in the tradition of Homer, and this was one of the first I jotted down to use someplace. Others were "ample-bosomed Cuddy" and "fleet-footed House," contrasting with how he walks now, but that got switched to "sure-footed" to contrast with Wilson instead.
No Obstacles did thwart them 'long the Way, For many Folk had long since learn'd to stay Out of the sharp-tongued Doctor's Path. Hence they Unchalleng'd gained the Ivy's Door, and gaily Stepped inside and conquer'd Stools. Three Rounds of	You know it's true. He doesn't just terrorize hospital staff. I'm not happy with the way the lines started wrapping around here. Heroic couplets sound best when the end of each line is the end of a discrete thought, and that fades in and out for the next couple of stanzas. Here, instead, you're looking for a rhyme with "they"/"gaily" and you seem to get "stools"; and then you're looking to rhyme "stools," and you get "who." Oh, right, and here is also the only place in the poem where I did an ABAB rhyme instead of AABB -- "rounds of," "who," "sounds of," "to." All kinds of awkward wrapped up together. Also, starting with this line, I inadvertently switched to trochaic pentameter, where the stressed syllable comes first instead of second (bolded). It's fine on its own, but the transitions in and out from iambic pentameter can trip you up as you read; instead of on-off-on-off or off-on-off-on, you end up with on-off-off-on or off-on-on-off at the line wrap.
Ale they down'd before the College Boys who Loung'd nearby, perhaps drawn by the Sounds of Pink-Cheek'd Wilson's snorting Laughter, turned to Face our Heroes square, a Challenge shining Bright in one Frat's Eyes. "O, quit your Whining," House warn'd Wilson when the latter sat up Straighter on his Stool and look'd the Frat up And down to gauge his Threat, then said, "This may Not be the best—" But what he meant to say Was lost in House's Interruption neat.	Wilson's totally a dorky, inelegant drunk. A Challenge: single combat with the Hero amidst the general battle/crowd. Last line of the trochaic. Welcome back, iambic! What a relief when I realized why the lines had been unwieldy.
House asked, "What do you want?" "Bet I can beat You in a Contest of Endurance" (well, The Phrasing was less formal, but to tell The Tale in Language plain is not as fun), The Frat declar'd, and thus the Deal was done: A Battle of the Drinks.	Three cheers for tongue-in-cheek meta!
Shaking of Hands, Meeting of Eyes, shuff'ling of Seats; the Brands Of Ale discuss'd between the dueling Men; The Friends look'd on; after a grueling ten Seconds (or maybe three; Time stretches strange When one is drunk), a Coin was found; the Change Wink'd bright as Steel as 't flipp'd End over End And spun to rest upon the Bar. "O, lend A Gent in need some petty Cash," House said (The Coin had landed Tails, while he'd pick'd Heads).	What's funnier than a rhyming poem about House being an inebriated ass, I thought, but a rhyming poem about House being an inebriated ass with all the nouns capitalized, like Pope did? And then how about italicizing some of the most "important" ones for -- I hoped -- added comedic effect? And then eliding the "e"s semi-randomly* from the verbs? Yes. *As in, after the poem was mostly complete, I went back through and deleted "e"s where I caught them, except where taking the "e" out made the verb look weird, or where I missed one, or where I ... didn't feel like it.
Long-suff'ring Wilson reach'd into his Purse To pay for Skirmish One. Nary a Curse Nor Roll of Eyes appear'd as he obeyed. Habit and Drink combined; he sighed, and paid.	In this story, the lending habit was not born of guilt after the infarction. Hee hee. I stared at these lines forever before this phrasing got worked out, but I like it a lot. The most successful lines are the ones where you can't tell what a b*tch it was to get the words to work.
And so! the Men began their Battle fierce. They took their opening Shots—Grey Goose, weak Beers Having been scorn'd as fit for Sissy Boys— And prov'd an even Match: our Hero's Ploys Aim'd to outwit; the Frat relied on Bulk. (Intimidation, too; his Cronies hulk'd Behind the Warriors, tho' th' Effect was lost On Doctor House, who daily yell'd and boss'd Around People more powerful than he.) Lo, as the Men fought hard for Victory, The Fray o'ertook the Hall with Sounds of War: Deep Grunts, foul Swears, and Brave Men shouting, "More!" The Slaps of high-five Hands, and Bills on Wood, The Barkeep adding Fuel fast as he could, The Glass striking the Bar like Weapons' Clang, And underneath it all the Band's Songs rang Out o'er the Crowd with Pipes and Drums to spur The Men (who had imbib'd enough to slur) To ever-greater Feats of Guts and Strength.	I was so pathetically pleased with myself for relating shots of alcohol with shots in battle. In "Three Sheets to the Wind," Wilson tells Cuddy that "it was only some vodka," and Cuddy surmises that that had been "preceded by a head-numbing quantity of beer"; hence the order of the drinking so far. "Vodka" didn't quite fit in this line, so I went for a brand name. "Lo" -- almost as fun as "Yea" and "O." This part was fun, too, getting to play with the bar and drinking game as a real clash. Ugh, do not like this parenthetical. What happened was I'd accidentally orphaned "spur" -- it went, "Pipes and Drums to spur / Men on to ever-greater Feats of Strength," and only later did I realize there was that unrhymed line that needed a companion. I dunno; maybe it doesn't stick out to people as much as it does to me.
By Midnight, People'd gather'd down the Length Of that fine Bar to see which of the two Combatants would emerge on Top; a Queue, Indeed, had form'd for Folk who'd wager'd on The Bout. House fought, Frat held, their Balance gone, Their Temples slick with Sweat, their Wallets spent (Well, Wilson's was)—then came a Cry that sent A Startle through the Crowd: the Frat had tipp'd Backward out of his Seat; it seemed he sipp'd One Vodka more than he could handle. House Then raised his Arms to cheer, but he was soused As well, and had to grab the Bar or fall. Still, he had trounced the Frat, and that was all He cared. A *Truce* was call'd—the Bets were paid— Opposing Sides shook Hands, then caref'lly made A Beeline to the Back to take a Pee.	A few times, I slipped into this other rhythm: not 10 beats and 10 beats, but 8 and 6. Another side effect of not writing complete thoughts in each line. Once the line(s) were in my head, they were hard to shake, so I just concentrated on making sure they worked within the iambic pentameter framework and kept going. Here it is again.
When House emerg'd fresh-faced, he cried with Glee, "Let's we two celebrate my Triumph here By dropping in on busty Cuddy dear. But first, to fortify us on the Trek, A Drink, I do declare!" "O, what the heck," Said Wilson, laying out the Dough, mellow Enough to not e'en flinch when House bellow'd For one more Round, and then one for the Road. At last, brown Paper Bags in Hand, they towed Each other out into the cold Air sweet, And started on their Journey down the Street.	I hope the rhymes aren't/weren't confusing when they finished in the next stanzas like this. Seriously: "O" makes everything funnier. And into the adventures catalogued in the original fic!
Canto III: Journey to the Underworld, with Many Opportunities for Single Combat Bold House and Wilson wander'd across Town With some Detours and Breaks for sitting down. In Truth, they did not walk so much as weave, And sometimes House bent down as if to heave, But Stomach proved as strong as Brain and Will And they continued on against the Chill.	The Underworld being Cuddy's house, which may have gotten lost in translation. More on that later. This stanza was super-easy to write, and, I hope, easy to read as well. I started with knowing that I wanted to rhyme "heave" and "weave," and the other pairs grew up around that. Here is a case, too, where capitalization makes things instantly funnier ("Stomach").

An Interval on Rhyming:

Sometimes the rhyme came first -- weave/heave, Odyssey/Penelope... was that it? that might've been it -- and the lines were built around them. More often, I'd write one line and try to think up words that rhymed with the end and then write the next line to grow into its own end-word. That didn't always work, so I'd have to find a synonym or rearrange the phrasing (while preserving the rhythm) so a different word ended up at the end. More often than that, I'd start a line and try to think of how to end it in a way that would set up the next line with both rhyme and plot/content; or I wouldn't start the line at all, and tried to come up with the couplet all at once. Those were the most time-consuming methods, because things were so open. Well, that and the places where the lines weren't self-contained, like House and Wilson arriving at the Ivy that I mentioned up above, where the rhymes weren't the emphasized words or the ends of thoughts.

In short, there was a lot of staring at the screen and tapping of fingers. (I averaged about 100 words an hour on this thing. Not so smart when you're on a one-week deadline!)

Along the way, I built a nice 4-page companion document consisting entirely of rhyming words, so I didn't have to reinvent the wheel each time I reached the end of a line, and so after periods of rhyme-brainstorming I could pull up that library of available words and concentrate on figuring out phrasing. Here's a little piece of it:

new flew view woo you to too skew blue blew Jew due true coo sue rue stew strew chew hew hue few ewe ew yew pew ooh dew mew moue queue foo goo who cue shoe clue brew
you're your yore bore tore score pour pore lore four door nor for fore store whore core snore sore wore war more oar soar gore hoar shore
that frat at bat cat drat hat pat rat fat mat vat prat slat sprat splat twat brat gnat
lose choose cruise whose fuse ruse abuse news muse use
banned canned fanned (un)planned panned tanned // and band land hand sand damned brand strand
might light kite night bite cite site sight fight height plight tight rite right quite bright trite
fraught taught taut caught naught bought sought ought wrought
cane bane sane mane main lain pain rain wane fain gain Jane vain vane train strain stain plain plane chain
spill chill drill ill pill till will sill still drill fill gill hill kill mill nil bill shrill
splash dash ash bash cash sash gash hash lash rash crash
neat beat seat meet meat Pete teat eat feet heat mete street pleat treat Crete sweet
drip rip quip trip yip pip lip kip hip dip sip nip tulip
belt welt melt pelt dealt felt gelt knelt veldt Celt dwelt swelt
pride bide side hide wide guide bride glide slide // inside outside reside preside // lied plied tried cried fried pried dried
Cuddy muddy buddy fuddy-duddy ruddy cruddy study

I threw in everything I could think of, no matter how ridiculous the words. Because who knew what would end up in a poem involving House?

Along the way, they met a watery Foe Called Fountain, whose treacherous Undertow Near vanquish'd House before he 'gained his Feet. Yea, in the Battle's Splash he took a Seat Upon his Bottom sore without Intent; Great Fountain's slipp'ry Floor and Walls oft sent Him sliding while his trusty Pal just laughed. But rare-defeated House employed his Craft And Cunning to discern the winning Trick, And soon he clamber'd out onto the Brick. "You were a worthy Foe!" came House's cry. Kind Wilson used his Scarf to pat him dry.	The first of many Opportunities for Single Combat, and I think the only one not in "Three Sheets to the Wind." The idea came from that Season Three episode where House played in the fountain before showing up at Cuddy's, also when his leg was whole. Joe_pike_junior had used an icon from that ep in the fic post; maybe that's why it was on my mind. One of my favorite couplets in the poem. Hee.
They ambled forward, damp and cold yet pleased, And through the r'maining Barriers they breezed: Over the Shrubs, across the Campus Green, Into the Neighborhood that housed the Dean. One Driveway at a time they wander'd past, Until the One they sought appear'd at last. At the Conclusion of their Odyssey, They'd reached the Home of fair Penelope. (Or so the Heroes' drunken Logic said; Reality might turn that on its Head, For Cuddy was not holding out for House; She took Offense when he gazed down her Blouse, Grew frustrated with his Rule-breaking Ways And balancing the Censure with the Praise. But None could argue that she did not care. As she and House and Wilson were aware, There was a Soft Spot in her Heart for him. If Rumors are believed, back in the dim Old College Days they had a torrid Fling, But Neither of them will admit a Thing.)	Cuddy shouldn't have been the Dean yet, since she seemed to be an ordinary doctor when House had the infarction. I plead artistic license and shady canon timeline. This aside was supposed to lead to the conclusion that Cuddy was both Penelope and Hades in House's mind, both love object and lord of the titular underworld, but it never quite got there. :-/ ...A dangling "conclusion," right?
Point is, House met the Sight with a thrill'd Shout And started up the Path without a Doubt, Dropping his brown-bagg'd Bottle as he strode, Which hit the Pavement but did not explode. They stood innocent in the Porch Light's shine, Though House, in leaning, squash'd the Climbing Vine. The knocking Wilson did, for they did think That Cuddy would less likely make a Stink If the more charming Male presented first. A second quiet Knock—a Giggle burst From House's Lips, quickly subdued—and then Some telltale Movement came from Cuddy's Den. A Moment more, and she cracked ope the Door And saw him there, a Sailor washed ashore, Hair muss'd, Cheeks flush'd, apologetic Eyes, Which oft evok'd in Maidens longing Sighs. Then Cuddy shut the Door, drew back the Chain— And very nearly shut it once again When she saw who was standing there beside. But, too polite, she wav'd them both inside.	Here is where we start to get specific phrases and events from joe_pike_junior's story. At the beginning, Cuddy heard a shout and clattering bottle; here, they come from House. Cuddy looked out to see House already squashing her climbing vine; here, we see him lean on it. Logic was derived from the original fic as well, where Cuddy only saw Wilson, and opened the door. I'm never much for giggling, but in the original fic House was grinning, and I needed a rhyme with a certain number of syllables, so in the laugh went. Lifted wholesale from the original. I only changed the tense.
"I can't believe you brought him here!" she cried. House seized the Opportunity to slide Out of the Living Room into the Hall While Cuddy yelled at Wilson for his Gall. Their Argument was Background Noise to him As he stumbl'd along the Hallway dim;	Adapted from Cuddy's original line, "Yes, but why did you bring him HERE?!?" I think here is where it becomes most clear that the remix is not only a transformation of form but also of point of view; the events of the original story are from Cuddy's POV, and when we're in her house in the remix, her argument with Wilson takes a back seat to House's own adventures, which were in the background in the original.
He knew that dark-haired Cuddy loved him true— One Day she'd yield to his Attempts to woo— And would provide a Couch where he could rest, No matter that she swore he was a Pest. An urgent Matter call'd to him meanwhile: This time, the Hero's Awe-inspiring Trial Was Contest against no less than a God. House lurch'd into the Bathroom, grabb'd the Rod Above the Bath to brace against Light's shine, And turn'd to face his Enemy divine. 'Twas Kohler, mighty God of Porcelain, The Bane of Men who drink Vodka and Gin. This Deity 'twas House's Fate to meet. He raised his Chin—then raised the Toilet Seat— Unzipp'd—unsheath'd—and carefully took Aim— (In his Reflection, Kohler did the Same—) Then let loose with a Volley strong and hot. Some struck the Target—most of it did not. Too difficult when Kohler seem'd to sway; Both Sides would live to clash another Day. House flush'd, then gave the Tank a humbled Pat. A Casualty of War, the Pink Bath Mat.	I like these four lines a lot. I think they're much more effective than that rambling parenthetical a couple of stanzas ago, and sound more like they're in House's own voice. Interference of the Gods -- another (mock-)epic element. The "god" Kohler was one of the earliest things I knew I wanted to do. It still makes me smile. I hope it made other people smile too. More ridiculously fun battle metaphors. For all of House's unrealistic victories on the show, in a real epic a mortal couldn't kill a god. Therefore, a draw. Much ado was made over the bath mat in the original story, so I wanted to give it due attention here. Giving it the last line of the stanza, and a funny line at that (I hope), seemed like the way to go.
House left the Room where awesome Kohler dwelt, Striving to conquer wily Fly and Belt While beige-carpeted Floor struggl'd to throw Him off his Feet by pitching To and Fro. Against all Foes he managed to Prevail With Naught to hurt his Pride but one brief Flail. He reconnoiter'd in the Kitchen bright While Cuddy lectur'd Wilson to his Right; He sought fine Victuals to chew and bite, An Epic Feast to sate his Appetite. Yes, here! he found a Loaf of Wonder Bread Whose Twist-Tie clumsy Fingers did unthread. Two soft white Slices from the Bag he seized, Then scarf'd one on the Spot, feeling quite pleased. Some Jam the next Slice needed, just a Smidge, So House turn'd to confront the gleaming Fridge.	"Wily." Some words are just funny. House vs. equilibrium. Modern brand names in epic poetry: instant funny? Behold the deep and profound motivation behind House's fruitless (ha ha) quest in the original fic. The hero needs his jam.
He reached out for the Handle, firmly tugg'd, But Nothing happen'd; he ponder'd, then shrugg'd, And tried to pull and push and twist and nudge— Still, General Electric wouldn't budge.	House vs. refrigerator brought the hilarity in the original story; it definitely needed a spotlight in the remix. Poor House, thinking he's a strapping war hero when he can't even find the fridge handle. And, hee, the fridge is like a seasoned General on a battlefield, yeah? Yeah? sound of crickets
No Matter that House wanted Jam on Toast, Stoic Fridge Door would not give up the Ghost. (In Truth, the Fridge was willing to swing wide; Our Hero was pulling on the Wrong Side.)	Another of my favorite couplets. My BFF and beta synn read the remix without reading the original and asked why House couldn't open the door. Realizing that not everyone would go back to the original story, I added the parenthetical to explain what was going on.
Perplexity and Indignation grew. Who would have thought this House's Waterloo?	Just giving this its own space because I think it is awesome.
"Get out of there!" call'd Cuddy from the Den. House swiftly reattain'd his Sense of Zen When, joining her, he met the Squashy Couch. Munching his Bread, he sank into a Slouch. Around him, the World went fuzzy and gray; He dimly heard Wilson and Cuddy say Something about the Frat Boy he had trump'd, But tracking Dialogue? That had him stump'd. Head lolling, he brushed off some scatter'd Crumbs And into a light Doze promptly succumb'd. The subsequent few Minutes were a Blur; He thought he smell'd some Coffee, heard the Purr Of Taxicab out Front, a Goodbye Peck, But he was too Comfy to rouse and check.	Also borrowed from Cuddy's original dialogue. "Munching," too. And the crumb-brushing. I didn't think there was an advantage to repeating what joe_pike_junior had already written, especially when House was supposed to be dozing off. One of the strengths of this remix, I think, following on witchqueen's post on remixing, is how it lets the original keep so many of its details. This remix has confidence in itself. :)
When next he came Aware, it was to see, Quite near his Face, the Cleavage of Cuddy. Most welcome View for House's bleary Eyes! Their pleasing Shape, their Suppleness and Size! O Woe, that he Coördination lacked (For we all know he was not ruled by Tact) To reach out and enjoy a little Grope. He conjur'd an Expression full of Hope, But Cuddy shook her Head and snorted. "Nope." She tugged his Nikes off; he lay and moped, Managing but to fondle one sleek Curl, Lamenting that he did not get the Girl. "We aren't having sex," she said. "You reek. You going to throw up?" She touched his Cheek. Her soft Skin felt like Heaven, smooth and cool. The Moment, though, was ruin'd by some Drool. He answered no, then tried once more to sway His Heroine to lie beside, and stay. Alas; as he'd expected, she declin'd, And back upon the warm Couch he reclin'd. She fetch'd him a Blanket of thickest Wool, Which o'er his Feet and to his Chin she pull'd. 'Twas Time for all good Heroes to lie down. Sweet Hypnos closed his Eyes and smooth'd his Frown. O, what a Night! His Drowsiness ran deep. He snuggl'd further in, and fell Asleep.	It had to make an appearance sometime. Umlauts: another endless source of humor. Attempting to capture the spirit of the original story, where Cuddy rolled her eyes at House drunkenly trying to seduce her. Alas, the hero does not win over the heroine. Oh well, there's always Wilson. Condensing the original dialogue, and mixing around the action just a little for conciseness and rhyme. (That goes for the last stanza, too.) Another godly cameo for verisimilitude.

Canto IV: The Hero Greets the Morning After	I'd originally envisioned a dream overnight, to match the (mock-)epic element outlined on those websites. Time didn't allow for it, though, and in the end I don't think it's much of a loss.
House woke when rosy-finger'd Dawn slipp'd by The flimsy Blinds and stabb'd him in the Eye.	Another very early decision. It wouldn't be an epic without rosy-fingered dawn, and it wouldn't be a remix of "Three Sheets to the Wind" without a hangover. Et voila!
He groan'd, raising an Arm to block the Sun, But 'twas too late; the Damage had been done. He was Awake, Head pounding like the Drum The Ivy's Band had play'd. His Leg was numb, His Cheek was glued to Paperwork with Spit, His Eyelids felt sandpapery with Grit, His Teeth a Film of fuzzy Gunk had gain'd, His Bladder was demanding to be drain'd. Some Greeting for the Hero's Vict'ry Morn! For greater Fates than this had House been born. Such were his Thoughts as he gingerly stood, Squinting against the Light as best he could.	I hope this wasn't too gross a description of a hangover.
He made it to the Bathroom, noticed that Someone had peed all over the Bath Mat, Vaguely recall'd it had to do with him— Something about a tricky, moving Rim— Then sigh'd with Joy as last night's Beer splash'd free. He found some Aspirin; should he take three? Or four, perhaps? Or five? Or maybe more? He took the Bottle with him, Spoils of War. From now-compliant Fridge he procur'd Juice; He down'd the Pills, Head throbbing like the Deuce.	The Bath Mat got a morning-after reference in the original, so it came up again in the remix too. Early signs of drug abuse, or is that too serious for this poem? The aspirin and OJ came from the original fic as well. Oops, got a little 19th c. in the Ancient Greek there.
'Twas not enough to keep Hango'er at Bay; He donn'd his Gear, and stepp'd into the Day. He knew exactly what he had to do To Crush this Enemy who lurk'd in Brew. First, Breakfast at the local Workmen's Pub. Reviv'd by one stout Ale and greasy Grub, He'd stumble Home for a long Shower cold. Then, once upon the World he'd regain'd Hold, He'd wake up Wilson just to be an Ass, And o'er the Phone they'd trade Insults and Sass. A second Call to Pester poor Cuddy; Then Wilson would come o'er for bad T.V. For Supper, they'd eat Chili from the Can. Yes: That sounded like a delightful Plan. Of Deeds like these great Heroes' Tales are sung! House whistl'd as he walk'd. The Day was young.	One last hurrah against an enemy, for the hero's sake. Following on Cuddy's guesses in "Three Sheets to the Wind" as to how House would try to recover. It wouldn't be a story about House unless the word "ass" made an appearance. Because even though the original story verged on House/Cuddy, I love me my House/Wilson friendship, and remix is about how you would've written the story. I wasn't sure at first if this were a sufficient ending, but the epilogues I tried just kept going and yet didn't get anywhere. ...I think I accidentally deleted it, or I'd copy and paste it here. There was something about "And thus concludes our Hero's latest Tale," something something whether House ever achieved the Holy Grail / something something of female Companionship, (or a guy's, if that's how you prefer to 'ship), something something. Heh. But synn said this sounded fine, so there it is.

The end! Despite the hair-pulling of writing 300 lines of poetry in not enough time (my own fault), I'm very happy with how this turned out, both as a standalone story, as a poem, and as a remix of "Three Sheets to the Wind." Of the three remixes I've written, this feels most true to the premise: not (just) a POV switch or expansion beyond the original's frame of reference, but a retelling of the plot in a new way, with a similar tone. They're the same story, and yet they're completely different. And each has its own unique features. There are great details in "Three Sheets to the Wind" that didn't make it into the remix, so I don't feel like I mined it of everything valuable and left it bereft.

All in all, despite the rough start, a very satisfying remix-writing experience this year. Thanks for reading!

leave feedback at my LJ - read comments - email me

back to story index