I am currently writing my PhD thesis outline. Naturally, this means it’s time to crack open the figurative book that is this blog. It’s like doing a warmup before a big sports game. At least, that’s what I assume one does before playing sports. It’s been so long since I put on a jersey (or team-themed t-shirt), maybe the protocol has changed. In any case, this is not procrastination. Nope, nope, nope. Warming up my fingers.
In the vein of not-procrastination, I definitely did not recently re-watch ALL of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I wrote fiction and researched stuff and other productive, smart sounding things. C’mon – I had just turned in my MPhil thesis and had lots of stress to relieve! And if you’re going to delve into the land of vampires, Buffy is totes the way to go. Joss Whedon is my hero – PLUS, it’s got some rocking feminist characters, which is a huge part of my PhD. So it was sort of research. Yay!
Now, I love Buffy. Even season six, which many people will say is only worth it for the musical episode. (Which, if you somehow haven’t seen, go watch now.) I can get past the depressing fast-food job, largely because of the Spike-boinking. But oh man. Season seven. I can’t even. Before I re-watched it, all I could really remember was Nathan Fillion as creepy preacher guy. Because I clearly blocked the rest of it out, since it. Is. So. So. Bad. It’s all speechifying by Buffy, with “some of us aren’t going to survive” and “doom doom gloom” and “don’t kill Spike” and “why don’t any of you like me?” and “did I mention the impending death that will inevitably happen to some, if not most of us?” Joss Whedon was clearly off doing other things, because there is NO WAY he would have let the writing get so terrible unless he had stopped watching the show altogether.
When I finally slogged to the end of season seven (I won’t even get into how pointless and terribly done Anya’s death was), I needed something to fill the void. I mean, besides all the PhD-ing I was planning. (Give me a break – term only just started.) Magically, all of Gilmore Girls came to Netflix!
Like with Buffy, I couldn’t really remember the seventh season. Something about Rory living in a terrible apartment and Lorelei and Luke not being together…but that was it. So, for some reason, I started GG at the end. Maybe some masochistic part of me wanted to get the worst out of the way in the beginning, so I wouldn’t have a bitter, dreams-dashed, burnt-coffee aftertaste at the end. But then something amazing happened.
Season seven of Gilmore Girls isn’t that bad!
Again, this could just be because I haven’t seen all of the good episodes first, but I remember thinking that the writing this season was horrendous. But compared to Buffy? It’s like watching Shakespeare! Well, it’s like watching a modern retelling of Shakespeare that I really enjoy, like 10 Things I Hate About You or She’s the Man (when you’re a camp counsellor to a bunch of 8 year-old girls, She’s the Man becomes one of the better cinematic offerings, believe me). Yes, some of the stuff that happens is kind of dumb (who marries someone two months after breaking off a previous engagement?) and some of the writing is kind of cliche (I keep waiting for Paris to say something that isn’t a rant about having been ousted as Yale’s newspaper editor, or about how she’s clawing her way up the corporate/journalistic ladder), but at least each episode is different. The plot changes, the characters have different goals, and the minor characters have big, life-changing stuff happen to them! It’s not a constant influx of new characters stepping all over the old and beloved characters’ screen time(blergh, I hated the potentials), AND it’s not the same “I hope we don’t die, so let’s take all of the humour out of this show, which is part of what made it awesome to begin with.” GG has the funny and the drama. It has led me to conclude that…
…season seven of Gilmore Girls kicks the ass of season seven of Buffy.
While you ruminate on that, I return to the glamorous world of thesis outlining. I feel very warmed up.