Okay, I know you're going to say, "But wait--I thought you were THIRTY-NINE and not FOURTEEN AND A HALF"--but to tell you the truth, I really LOVE watching The Gilmore Girls. (It's some of what my thirteen year old niece and I have in common . . .) I know it's hip to love LOST and that SIXTY SECONDS SHOW or whatever: c'mon people my age watch GREY'S ANATOMY and the cooking channel.
Not me. I really, really, really like the fast-talking sarcastic-mouthed Gilmore Girls. Amy Sherman Palladino is my kind of television writer.
The part about the arm band: she left. Amy, I mean. She left. I can't get the whole story (mostly because I'm not willing to read all the gilmore blogs), but she's not there any more. And now it's like watching your favorite movie when you're in another country and all you can hear is dubbed-over japanese on top of Gone with the Wind. (It looks famliar, but it's juuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuust not the same.)
I am sad, and I am sharing.
I'd say more, but I think you may find out that I'm even dorkier than I sound already. And, um, that seems tragic.
A moment of silence, please, for my favorite show. I can't believe it, but I think I may stop watching. I feel oddly sad, like someone I liked has moved away.