Editor’s Note: All seven seasons of Gilmore Girls were added to Netflix on Oct. 1.
I am a man. I like red meat and Hemingway. I have facial hair. And I love the Gilmore Girls.
It started as a family obsession in high school: My mom and sister borrowed the DVDs. I watched from the entryway, finding some excuse to sit in the shadows and observe. I slowly inched closer — feigning interest in homework or a book or a laptop while camped out on the couch. My Dad was the last to join. Soon we were mad when they watched without us. We’d know we missed something because Lorelei wasn’t seeing [insert the name of some guy who doesn’t understand her banter like I do].
Those whose idea of winter consists of a light sweatshirt and an extra pair of socks will never understand the metro-Detroit hibernation period from late November to early April. Going out is an ordeal. The roads are icy. The steering wheel is cold. Ugh, and the driveway needs shoveling. Let’s put another log on the stove and fire up season four on DVD.
We had our spots on the couch. We ate Chinese straight out of the box. The slight hesitation after each episode: ‘Should we put in another disc?’ And the solemn consensus that the latest plot development wins over adequate sleep every time. We spanned the series at least twice, and we dabble enough to account for a third.
In what is my favorite marketing move since House of Cards, Netflix now features full streaming of all seven seasons. I decided to squeeze into a spare hour an episode of Gilmore Girls. I sat alone on the couch, far from the darkened room in Michigan I left earlier this year. The sun shone. I activated the new speaker system. No more fumbling through old DVDs or fast-forwarding past the exact moment where the disc skips. The next episode starts without lifting a finger.
But the jokes are muffled and there is no longer any tension. I know exactly what is going to happen. I can read the script in real time. Once you take away the geeky sentimentality and inside jokes with family and friends, suddenly you’re just a 21-year-old International Studies major who can quote a fictional character on the sly. My sister is in Texas. I’m too busy to watch much of anything. My house in Michigan with its wood-burning stove and the perfect placement of the furniture is sold to [insert the name of some guy who doesn’t understand her banter like I do].
Something has been gained and something has been lost. Everything is easier but my heart is not as warm. I am kayak, hear me roar.
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Follow Nate Barton on Twitter: @TheNateBarton
