Thanks to db for sending this article in from Glamour Magazine!
Why you should watch Dawson’s Creek, Felicity and Roswell if you’re 34 years old
by Julie Stone
Last Sunday, I found myself frantically rushing out of a relaxing party to tape Felicity. I ran up to my husband-yes, I’m married-and screamed, “Give me the car keys. I have to get home!” Everyone turned around and stared. Some of the guests asked if we’d just had a major fight. Other people just rolled their eyes.
As I gunned through a yellow light on my way home and screamed profanities at the elderly people driving in front of me, I wondered, Am I crazy? This is a show about a 19 year old who recently lost her virginity. I regained my focus by reminding myself that later my phone would be ringing with calls from my other 30something friends who’d want to discuss the way Ben was looking at Felicity. Not to mention that Monday at the office, there would be a felicity-fest: Before getting down to work, we’d all swing our chairs around to talk about what had happened during Sundays show and what might happen on the next episode. After setting my VCR to record, I went back to the party and learned that everyone had been talking about me. My husband had informed all of the guests that I watch many-too many-TV shows. But I discovered I had a gang of supporters when most of the women-and I mean women-started fighting over who would be the lucky one to borrow my Felicity tape first! Then we launched into a debate on why Felicity cute her hair-was it her idea, or the producers? Was it for ratings? None of us could figure it out, but we did agree that we didn’t like it and that we missed her long, curly hair more than we missed our friends who were unable to come to the party! I almost got teary-eyed remembering the way she used to look on some shows, when she’d just rolled out of bed and her hair was tousled, or when she’d gather it up with a clip and look so pretty and natural. “Thank God you got home in time to tape your show,” my husband said to me on our drive back from the party. “I wouldn’t want a replay of last Wednesday’s debacle.” On that night, I was going out and had asked my husband to tape Dawson’s Creek and Roswell for me (what a dream TV night). I came home and rewound the tape, only to discover that he had mistakenly taped Dateline NBC-a passable hour of entertainment, but Dawson’s Creek it is not. D-I-V-O-R-C-E, your thinking right?
Me too. I considered it; I really did. I even fantasized about a conversation with my lawyer and the case I’d have. “Two shows I missed, not one!” I’d plead before the judge. But no, a lawyer and some future court wouldn’t do. I had to take immediate action. I called my friend Alison. Gasping for breath, I cried in broken words, “Oh, my God…the shows…the tape…wrong channel!” She told me to calm down, take a deep breath, and try to tell her what had happened.
“Dennis taped the wrong channel!!!!!!!” I screamed. “Did you tape the shows!?!?!?” “Of course I did, ” she replied. “I even have Gwyneth Paltrow on Oprah at the beginning of the tape.” I wondered, does life get any better than this?
I thanked her effusively, and we laughed at the horror that might have been had I missed the shows. That night, as I lay in bed organizing the next nights TV schedule in my head (first I’d have to watch friends, then my juicy tape) I realized what’s up with me and my adolescent-loving friends. I realized why all of us-adults, married, some with kids, all with real lives love to watch these shows about teenagers. The reason is this:Because I am married, I am set in my romantic place. This is it-no more new guys and new crushes. I will never again have that excited-sick feeling when the phone rings and I wonder if it’s him or when I walk down the street and see him. That queasy, crazy feeling will never rush through my body again-except when I watch these shows. With a click of the remote, I feel it all over again. When Ben walks towards Felicity, my legs get weak, my stomach feels nervous and nauseated; sometimes I even have to cover my face out of embarrassment for her. I feel alive, like I did when I was 16 and Tommy was walking toward me at school, wearing exactly what I had told him to wear on the phone the night before. What a rush it was to tell him (in my flirty, girly way) to wear his football jersey with jeans and his Timberlands-and he’d do it. It was enough to make me think I’d die. Now my husband asks me if his green shirt goes with his navy pants. I answer him without even looking (by the way, they don’t really go together, the green shirt and blue pants). I’m not complaining; I’m very happily married. I wouldn’t trade in my husband to be out there dating again for anything. I’m just letting you know that you can have that feeling again, and it feels real for an hour or two a night. Just tune in.