I plan my entire week around this single hour. It’s the only time that my five roommates and I are in the same room together. It’s the only show during which I let myself cry – which is saying a lot, because I’m emotionally dead inside. Of course, it is “Grey’s Anatomy.”

It’s not the first doctor show, but I’m glad for that. You’ve gotta have a few crappy drafts before you finally get it right, so I actually thank “ER” for being the first (oh, “Scrubs” fans, you’re so sad that your little show isn’t as original as you claim, aren’t you?).

What keeps me and, oh, like 30 million other people coming back is those characters and their oh-so-complicated lives. Does Derek love Meredith enough to give it all up? How much longer can Addison and Alex ignore that sexual tension that leaves me aching for my own steamy kiss? Izzy and George – just friends or something more? The show always leaves me damning the time until next Thursday.

“Scrubs” just doesn’t reel me in like that. It’s the kind of show that you watch when it’s on and you’re procrastinating. Sure, I’ve been known to enjoy a “Scrubs” episode now and again. Once, I thought I felt tears brimming at the edge of my eyes … oh, actually, I was on my period. Dang hormones, making me believe an inane comedy like “Scrubs” could make me emotional.

“Grey’s” has it all: a hot cast (McSteamy, you dick, those eyes make me forgive you every time), a soundtrack that makes you wanna waste time chasing cars around your head and a storyline with more twists than Lombard Street. What does “Scrubs” have but a dumb janitor and a dead stuffed dog?

And, Wikipedia tells me that “Grey’s” is Bill Clinton’s favorite show. Really, who can argue with Bill?