Before having back surgery this past spring, I’d never laid eyes on a full episode of “Gilmore Girls.” Yes, I came late to the party. Very late. The show debuted in 2000 and went off the air in 2007. So when I found myself virtually immobile for weeks at a stretch, with nothing but Netflix (and a bottle of Percocet) to keep me occupied, I decided to give the show, which people whose opinions I respected told me was a classic, a whirl.
Despite writing for a TV-centric website for a chunk of time, I’ve never been one to get full-on obsessed with a TV show (not since my “My So-Called Life” days, anyway.) But “Gilmore Girls” incited, nay demanded, an unprecedented level of boob tube devotion in me. If the show’s brilliant dialogue, comfy-cozy aesthetic and kick-ass soundtrack wasn’t enough, the lead characters—two flawed, hilarious, complicated and fiercely independent women—sealed the deal.