Written by Lily Voss
I was 10 years old when my family gathered in front of the television to watch the series finale of America’s favorite primetime New Yorkers, Friends. I should have known as I sobbed through the ending credits that this was the beginning of a rather unhealthy relationship with TV shows. I should have known when my friend didn’t care that Rachel and Ross had named their baby Emma (just like her) and she gave me a look of utter disinterest. I still see that look in many close acquaintances’ faces when I just can’t wait to talk about last night’s episode of Parenthood.
TV is my stress relief. TV is my crutch when I don’t know what to talk about with someone new. TV is my escape for when real life people are proving to be inadequate — or annoying. I’m instantly in a better mood after a quick 22 minutes with the Dunder Mifflin crew.
I simply don’t understand when people proudly tell me that they, “don’t really watch TV.” Like, what do you do at night? What do you do while you eat food? As Joey says in Friends, “What’s all your furniture pointed at?!”
When I had cable, my shows usually came before being social, or the alternative “Come over and watch New Girl with me!” but then only letting them talk during commercial breaks. I catch myself getting territorial over shows or characters that people think they’re just discovering. I’m that girl, whenever James Franco or Seth Rogen get brought up, who quickly exclaims, “You know they started in Freaks and Geeks like forever ago, right?” They’ll always be Daniel and Ken to me.
So what if I reference fictional characters in everyday conversation? I’ll always have TV, and TV will always have me. Gilmore Girls is waiting.
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