On the eve of the release of the fourth season of Arrested Development, I finally gave in to my desire to get a Netflix account. I thought it would destroy my productivity and leave me with nothing but lack of motivation to do anything but watch television. Imagine my pleasant surprise when that didn’t happen. Instead I found a balance with a controlled use of Netflix unlike the codependent relationship many people have with it.
This was all true until the release of Gilmore Girls on Netflix.
I have always had a love affair with Gilmore Girls, for its original run and during the re-runs on ABC Family. I’ve seen many of the episodes out of order but never in sequence. The show is emblematic of many of the things I search for in a comfort TV show: witty dialogue, amazing female characters, and above everything else, all the laughs. My friends and I grew up worshiping the banter between Lorelei and Rory, loving the curmudgeon that is Luke Danes, adoring small town life and all its quirky characters, and above all, treasuring the sentimental moments that give the show its immense amount of heart.
It is the perfect show to watch when you’re tired. It is the perfect show to watch when you’re wide-awake (hopefully wired on coffee). It is the perfect show to watch when you are sad. It is the perfect show to watch if you’re just looking for a laugh. If Sam from Green Eggs and Ham was offering up Gilmore Girls instead of those green eggs, I doubt he would have had to go through that much convincing. It is perfect all the time… which is what makes this recent addition to Netflix so destructive.
Now, I can watch it all the time. When I’m supposed to be doing homework or going to a club meeting or fulfilling any pressing obligation. “15 more minutes” or “One episode as a break from homework” becomes 4 episodes, multiple hours, and productivity lost. I must have coffee in my possession at all hours of the day. I even had to take a break from writing this brief treatise to watch a little more.
It has been almost a month since the madness began and I am midway through season four. To paraphrase Interstellar, a briefer viewing experience clocking in at close to three hours, “Mankind was given Gilmore Girls on Netflix. It was never meant to die watching it.”
So I will take a brief break from this show with its seven seasons of twenty-odd episodes to do homework, maybe watch something else. But it is inevitable that I must finish the series to escape it. Farewell spare time, it was nice knowing you. Oy with the poodles already.