As anyone who reads this website knows, I love Gilmore Girls.  I get a lot of eye rolls about this from people who have never actually watched the show.  The perception most people have of the show is that it is a “chick show”–girly and superficial.  I always respond that it is not, in fact, all that girly and that the dialogue and references are actually quite witty as far as television shows go.  At this point, I often get The Stare.  Any of you Gilmore Girls lovers who have had this sort of encounter probably know what I am talking about.  At this point all you can really do is tell them to just watch the show and give it a chance.  They won’t, but at least you tried.

Occasionally, though, they will.  Now, I always tell people that it within three to five consecutive episodes, they will be hooked.  About a year and a half ago, I convinced my sister to give it a shot.  It was at about the third episode that my sister became addicted.  Now, addicted is a strong word, but that is exactly what happened.  We would watch a disc at a time over my Christmas break.  Of course, being that I am human, I had to sleep at some point.  This was not entirely acceptable to my sister.  She would sneak downstairs and start up Gilmore Girls while I was sleeping, because she couldn’t stand to wait an hour or two longer for me to wake up.  At the time, I couldn’t even muster up annoyance towards her.  I WAS THAT PROUD.  She was so distraught when I went back to school and took my two seasons of Gilmore Girls with me that she bought the entire series in a boxset less than two weeks later.

In retrospect, my sister was an easy sell.  My roommate did not want to watch Gilmore Girls.  Getting her to watch Gilmore Girls was like pulling teeth.  I managed to weasel her into watching it through a combination of supplication and guilt.  I pulled out the pout and told her that I watch terrible, awful, mind-rotting VH1 shows with her and that it would make me happy if she would just watch a few episodes with me.  Then I added the “pleeeeeease?” at the end.  (It was wrong of me, and I acknowledge that, but it was for her own good.  I knew she would eventually thank me for it.)  She finally agreed.  She watched the first episode and made fun of it the entire time.  After it was done, she was asking me how I could love the show.  I managed to get her to watch another one.  She still wasn’t entirely enthusiastic about the experience, but then a week or two later when I was going to watch some more, I told her that I would invite her to watch it with me, but I know how much she disliked it.  CLINCHER.  She paused but for a moment, and then she said, “Well, I didn’t hate it.  I wouldn’t mind watching it a bit more with you.”  Internally, I was jumping up and down, because I knew exactly what was going to happen by the end of the evening.  We sat down, and I put the DVD in.  We watched an episode, and then I turned to her and asked her whether she wanted to watch more or not.  She said she did.  Two episodes later, she admitted that she was hooked and the show was like crack.  She told me I should have just stuck a needle in her arm.

We now watch at least one episode almost every evening to wind down before bed.  We have finished up the first season and are just a bit into the second.  We joke that everyone in the building (our building is small) probably cringes in anticipation of Carole King singing the opening song of the show.  They probably bide their time, knowing that it is going to happen in the evening, but never really sure when it will.  Once Carole King’s voice starts singing, we look at each other and laugh and wonder aloud whether tonight will be the night that it proves to be too much and someone throws themself off the balcony.  Friday evening, right when Carole King started singing, we loudly sang along, and we heard the patio door to the apartment above us slide open.  We burst out laughing.  (They play guitar at all hours of the day and night–though, thankfully, not as much as they did when we first moved in–and we consider this our own brand of revenge.)  Fortunately, everyone survived the night.

I’m beginning to think that perhaps the Palladinos should be paying me off for bringing new addicts into the fold, though.