I’ve been seeing someone. Actually a high school girl. Well, she is about to graduate, but I’ve been seeing her for three seasons now (She was a Sophomore at Sunnydale HS when she first was introduced)
Yeah, I’m in love with Buffy, the vampire slayer.
Why does this young, fierce demon warrior appeal to a queer, peace-loving Quaker? No clue. Perhaps I feel drawn to her female superpowers along with her saucy sarcasm.
Yes, the show is cheesy. The plots barely hold together. The effects are laughable. But something draws me.
I stacked my Netflix queue with Buffy episodes, four to a disc, and I long ago succumbed to watching all four episodes in a single sitting, even if it keeps me up until 2AM.
Salmon Rushdie, when he appeared at the CT Forum in Hartford, remarked that the TV sitcom is a unique genre where we live with characters for years and see them develop, grow, change. They become part of our lives.
Although I don’t own a TV, somehow Buffy found me, and serves as my current patron saint of corny yet moving story lines digitally displayed on my iBook.
I fear that after season three, things will do downhill. I already know that Angel and Cordelia will leave, Willow becomes more and more ethereal, and at some point the writers insert Buffy’s formerly unmentioned younger sister, (in hopes of wooing a fading teen audience–the Scrappy Doo of Buffy—always a bad sign)
But for now, Buffy, provides refreshing entertainment and an odd sense of comfort.