Published on March 2nd, 2012 | by Hermia1
Culch Lent: We can’t give up… The Gilmore Girls
In the last of our anti-Lenten frolics, Hermia talks TV’s greatest… The Gilmore Girls
Last weekend was a weekend that required a box of tissues, a couch and a constant supply of tea and movies.
I snuggled into the pillows and decided to start out with the old reliable romantic movies – you know, to give me hope that I wouldn’t die alone. I tried Dirty Dancing first – it was a timeless love story – but wound up shouting at Baby, telling her that Johnny was probably riddled with STDs and that after the final epic dance scene she’d realise she had the clap.
That was obviously not working.
I needed a Plan B. Moulin Rouge was put on next. Usually it turns me into a sobbing mess, wailing about the beauty of true love (and Ewan McGregor) every time I watch – this would do the trick. Instead I opted to laugh manically and point out that Satine was going to DIE and that Christian would spend the rest of his days miserable every time they declared their everlasting love for each other. I also varied this with telling Christian that she was probably riddled with STDs and that after he released her cold, dead body, he’d realise he had the clap.
Are we seeing a pattern here….?
I should add that my poor friend Stephen was sitting there the entire time, trying to be supportive but was looking rather worried by my behaviour.
I may have also been shouting at random loved-up couples passing by my apartment window at the time…
The healing process seemed unattainable…..until the next day.
I saw the collection on my shelf and knew that this was the only thing that could work. It was my last hope.
I pulled out the first season, popped it in the DVD player and sat on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket with a cup of tea.
The Gilmore Girls: it just couldn’t fail me.
You see, I worship that show. It justs gets me. It sees into my soul in a way no one else could.
That day as I sat with bits of tissue stuck to my teary, red face and dabbed away the never-ending stream of mucous, I knew I’d get over this. Lorelai knew what I was going through. She’d been there many times and at that very moment, was dealing with the fact that she and Max couldn’t be together because of Life. Nobody else could possibly understand what I felt!
When I was younger and a shy, nerdy bookworm, I comforted myself with the knowledge that Rory, who suffered my same affliction, found a boy who appreciated her unique qualities, saw her for the deep-thinking creature she was and loved her for it. This made me believe that boys would someday stop calling me a Klingon and see my inner beauty….someday….
My relationship with my best friend was just like that between Lorelai and Sookie – my best friend, the pretty, sweet, hilarious, grounded, redheaded person in my life, and me the disaterous, sarcastic brunette who talks too fast and wants to murder her parents. I feel like Lorelai is the person I could be if I was quick-witted, confident, gorgeous, charming, hilarious…well, you get where I’m going.
The characters share my love of old movies and TV shows, literature and food. They never stop making obscure, clever references that fascinate me, they all speak as though they’re staring in His Girl Friday and they appreciate my obsession with fairylights.
I regularly start at the beginning of the series and watch every episode up until the end. And then I start all over again. It’s seen me through sickness, bad moods, heartbreak and everything in between. It makes me laugh and it makes me cry. It guides me and comforts me. I hold my collection dear, and if anyone tried to harm it, I would go all ninja* on their ass.
Oh, The Gilmore Girls – teacher, mother, secret lover.
*I took this one Kung Fu class this one time….I learned one move….so if you punch me really slowly with your right hand and don’t resist me, I can totally take you down,ninja-style.