I was at lunch last week with a couple of my friends, and we were talking about netflixing television shows. A couple of months ago when I was watching Sex and the City I had this rant about how it was ruining my life:
The men I met weren’t as hot
My stories didn’t end as neatly
My friends (and I love you, but you don’t have script writers) weren’t as witty
My shoes are certainly subpar
I found myself discontent with my day to day existence, and when I finished those damn shows it was like ending a relationship that you’ve wanted out of for weeks. I loved them and couldn’t say goodbye, but oh! the sense of relief. I blamed it on the SitC phenomenon, right? Everyone kind of felt that way.
So then I started watching Firefly.
My boss wasn’t as devoted to me (or as hot, for that matter)
My job never included disguises or adventures
Again, my friends weren’t as witty
Now I’m watching the OC. Oh dear lord. When I realized that I’d finished the last disk I had in house and wouldn’t see more for three days I almost had a teeny tiny panic attack. That is no good, no good at all.
So for the theory. When these shows are on TV, they come on once a week in a best case scenario, with quite a few multiple week breaks over the course of a season. Writers, producers, actors – they have to make you care soooo much that a week or a month later you’ll remember to turn on the television to find out what happened.
These shows, all good shows, were never meant to be watched all at once. It’s like television heroin, people. It’s just too good.
And on a ’emma is exeptionally dumb’ note, what I’m doing while I wait for my next OC disk? Reading all six Harry Potter books. In order, no breaks… and just so you know, my friends aren’t as witty as Hermione either.