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Last fall, I decided to investigate these shows I'd heard so much about, and, after a false start trying to record episodes in syndication, I downloaded the series from Netflix. It took me a few shows to get into it, but by the end of first season, I was hooked. I also saw why the agent who represented me for Casting the First Stone drew a parallel between my book and Gilmore Girls. Lorelai could definitely hang out with Marita and Bets, and I was really glad I hadn't seen the show before I wrote the book. As it is, the similarities are uncanny.
As a reader, I'm drawn into any story where I care about the characters, and as a writer, the characters are where my stories always begin. It was fun watching Rory -- who began the series younger than my daughter is now -- grow up, and listening to the interplay between Rory and Lorelai always made me smile. Even now, having watched the show from premier to series finale, I still end most evenings watching an episode or two since my DVR has mysteriously resolved its aversion to recording them.
When the show first aired, my daughter was small and I wouldn't have identified with it the way I do now. Watching it as the parent of a high school senior -- one who walked around New Haven just last summer -- it resonates with me very differently than it would have when I was the parent of a three-year-old attending day care in Pennsylvania. I know it sounds weird to say, but Gilmore Girls came into my life at just the right time. Its impeccable timing not only allowed it to nudge syndicated episodes of Friends and that other GG (The Golden Girls) out of my late-night ritual, but also set me up perfectly for the Netflix revival of the show that's on the horizon.
This week, my daughter and I are heading into Stars Hollow territory to visit a college that's a front runner for her. I only hope I can be as cool as Lorelai. But even if I can't, you can bet I'll be watching the revival.
I might even wear my Luke's Diner sweatshirt.