73 questions I hope the Gilmore Girls reboot answers

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  1. IS THERE A MR KIM?

 

  1. When did Jackson stop being Town Selectman, and Taylor start again?

 

  1. Did Jason have to move in with the Enron boys?

 

  1. Did Luke and Lorelai have babies?

 

  1. Who owns the Twickem house?

 

  1. What did Kirk do with all his money?

 

  1. Did Madeline and Louise ever leave Spring Break?

 

  1. Did Barack ever find out about Rory’s criminal record?

 

  1. Did he…. notice that she doesn’t “have it”?

 

  1. Did her criminal record get expunged?

 

  1. Does she work for Hilary now?

 

  1. Are Steve and Qwan hot now? (sorry)

 

  1. Did Brian ever get with the Replacement Laine?

 

  1. Did Hep Alien ever make it?

 

  1. Has Laine realised she’s better than Zac?

 

  1. Does Miss Patty have another husband (apart from The Business We Call Show)?

 

  1. Is Dean still surly and hot?

 

  1. Did Lindsay remarry?

 

  1. Did Michelle get a new Chow puppy?

 

  1. Did Rory ever send her stuff to Christian Amanpour?

 

  1. Arguably the worst guest star Gilmore Girls ever had.

 

  1. Come on, you know it’s true.

 

  1. Did Jackson get a vasectomy?

 

  1. Did anything else catch on fire?

 

  1. Did anyone ever fix the bells?

 

  1. What is Al’s Pancake World serving now?

 

  1. Has he finally run out of napkins?

 

  1. Has Lorelai killed Paul Anka yet?

 

  1. How is Emily doing without Richard?

 

  1. Pauses to cry

 

  1. Pauses more

 

  1. Carries on

 

  1. Did she get a dog?

 

  1. Has she managed to keep a maid yet?

 

  1. Is she angry at him for dying, given that she demanded to go first?

 

  1. Cries more

 

  1. How is Penolin Lott?

 

  1. How on earth do you spell Penalyn Lot?

 

  1. Where are Tool living now?

 

  1. Did Roy ever go to Fez?

 

  1. Did she maybe go to Fez right after Richard’s funeral?

 

  1. Cries again

 

  1. What’s April up to these days?

 

  1. Is she studying science at Harvard?

 

  1. Does she still wear that helmet all the time?

 

  1. How many rock polishers does she currently own?

 

  1. Are we ever going to get to see her mother and Jess’ Dad’s partner in the same room?

 

  1. NO BECAUSE THEY’RE PLAYED BY THE SAME PERSON.

 

  1. What is Jess up to?

 

  1. Is he a famous author now?

 

  1. How many surly babies has he accidentally fathered?

 

  1. Did Anna Fairchild ever make it to Yale, or did she drop out and become an erotic dancer?

 

  1. Does Logan have an avocado tree?

 

  1. Does he work for Rupert Murdoch?

 

  1. Did he marry the girl with the gorilla mask?

 

  1. Or maybe Finn? #GAY

 

  1. I would marry Finn. #Australian

 

  1. Finn is probably dead.

 

  1. RIP Finn.

 

  1. Marty?

 

  1. How is Marty?

 

  1. Is he still a fucking miserable wet rag with good Snap-Crackle-Pop hair?

 

  1. LUCY AND OLIVIA?

 

  1. Maybe they could do a crossover where Olivia has scored a starring role in a Marvel Netflix spin off?

 

  1. Yes?

 

  1. Is Olivia still making things out of trash?

 

  1. Yes?

 

  1. Are Paris and Doyle still together or did she accidentally-on-purpose kill him during a Krav Magar training session?

 

  1. Has Gill cut his hair?

 

  1. How did Luke give everyone back all of their tents and raincoats after he sewed them all together? Did he unpick them all? What about the holes? Were they mad?

 

  1. Did Emily sneak out to the Dragonfly Inn and install a tennis court covered over with a bubble while Lorelai was sleeping?

 

  1. WHY ARE YOU ONLY MAKING FOUR EPISODES?

 

  1. WHAT WILL WE DO WHEN THEY’RE OVER?

 

 

 

 

Lessons in Sex Brought To You By Television

Originally published here.

There are many reasons to watch television. Having voices in the background whilst you eat crumbed chicken and brown sauce between two pieces of stale white bread distracts you briefly from your crippling loneliness. It’s nice sometimes to be reminded that the world is not a merely a cesspit of brutality, but also a place where dolphins court by passing strands of seaweed to each other. If work is boring and your friends aren’t texting you back, it’s good to know that you always have the option of lying about a dead parent and appearing, knock-kneed and badly lit, on a talent show.

But the main reason we watch television is for the sex.

Ross and Rachel pining for each other through rainy windows. Nick and Jess savaging each other in quirky bathrobes. Meredith and McDreamy disrobing on operating tables. They have jobs and lives and hobbies and families but the part we wait for – the part we pine for – is… well, it’s the touching. Particularly if the two people doing it are unreasonably attractive, and have had to wait at least a year before throwing down.

It’s not all about make-believe, or even the satisfaction of fantasy. It’s also about learning. No matter how prevalent sex is in our own lives, we’re always looking for more information, as if sex can’t possibly be limited to what we’re actually doing. Because if that’s all there is to it – fantasies on the tube, Ask Reddit threads about masturbation, desultory encounters before bedtime – then what’s the point?

Luckily, in the same way that television can teach you about the mating habits of dolphins and the performance potential of prison guards, it can teach you about sex. There are lessons to be taken from the love affairs we love so much. This is sex education at its finest, shiniest and most heavily edited:

Always have sex with your best friend. Even if you don’t end up together, you will certainly end up having a close and intimate friendship. Nothing is lost by having that longed for drunk encounter. Just take your top off.

If you can’t have sex with your best friend, have sex with your best friend’s close relative. They love you. They want you to be happy. They feel the same about their family. Complete the circle of love. Just take your top off.

If you can’t do either of the above, then make sure you have sex with people you see all the time. The person who delivers your pizza, for example. Your colleague. Your boss, your teacher, your gardener. After the deed, you want to make sure that you see them every day, so you can look them in the eye and mutually reminisce over the time when your genitals smelled the same.

Sex almost never leads to disease, pregnancy or children. Also, condoms? A figment of your sad, closeted imagination.

Sex is not a private act between two people. Sex must be discussed in intimate detail with both friends and strangers immediately after the deed. Bonus points if you’re hugely insulting to your erstwhile partner; triple points if they overhear you.

Only good-looking people have sex. Only young people have sex. In summary: only young, good-looking people have sex. If you can’t find five points of similarity between yourself and Selena Gomez, you’re out of luck.

All women want to be saved by sex. Or money – but mostly by sex.

When you’re having sex, you always look like your best self. Shadowed, with skin like milk, writhing in the horizontal dance of life. Muscles flexed, hair snarled. You’re a goddess. You’re a dream.

Disasters will bring out your carnal side. Oh, everyone you love has turned into a zombie? Have sex. Your husband’s a drug dealer? Have sex. Bomb? Apocalypse? Flood? You know what to do.

Your life isn’t interesting unless you’ve having sex. So you’ve got a great job, a big apartment and loving friends. Big deal. Tell it to someone who cares.

 This leads us to the big one. Sex is actually the only important thing in your life. Don’t waste your time thinking about death and taxes. All you need is mutual nudity for a feeling of total completion.

 

And there you have it – lessons in sex from those who know best. Keep these rules in mind when engaging in a pants-down-party and people will love you more, you’ll be happier, and the sun will shine on your shiny life. Next time you’re watching a David Attenborough documentary, keep these in mind. Even the dolphins play by the rules.

British Television is weird – notes from a New Zealander

Originally published here. 

When this column gets published, I will not be in London. I will not be in the UK, nor will I be in the Northern Hemisphere. I will be in New Zealand.

This is pretty much all you need to know about New Zealand.

It is my homeland, and I am very much looking forward to being back there for a while, not least of all because it really does look like this, all the time, even when the weather is bad, even in the middle of winter.

The middle of winter, 2012.

But as I am supposed to write about television, I thought, in my absence, I would share with you the things I found most bizarre and striking about UK television when I first arrived here. You guys have odd viewing habits, you really do, and you don’t even know it.

Quiz shows

My god, you guys like quiz shows. I will never, ever understand the apparent rampant desire for ordinary people to put themselves on television screens, juxtaposed with abnormally intelligent people, and make fools of themselves. And you! You want to watch it! Does it make you feel better about yourself? Do you like to celebrate the occasions when you know an answer? Is this fame and success to you?

They are openly judging you and you don't even care.

Soaps

Now, I know that many countries suffer from this addiction. Even New Zealand has its own soap (it’s been running for over 20 years, that’s basically since the dawn of time, bitches), Shortland Street, in which harried women run around in pastel uniforms and occasionally die. It’s basically the cold hard heart of fame in New Zealand. If you’ve appeared on Shortland Street, you’ve made it.

There’re two things that set you guys apart, though. The first is that you have SO MANY soaps. How do you decide which one you want to watch? How do you know where your loyalties lie? Is there some kind of hot people/death rate/intrigue equation that you perform in order to decide which one to devote all your evenings for the rest of your life to?

These characters are probably all dead now.

And the second is the addiction to knowing what is going to happen ahead of time. Why do you like spoilers so much? As someone who will leap over tall buildings in a series of short, arduous bounds in order to avoid spoilers (if you talk about Walking Dead to me, I will feed you the heart of your own child/mother/postman/whoever you care most for) I will never understand the glee with which people learn when and how which character is going to die, and then await it. SUSPENSE, people. It’s what made your country great. Does no one remember the Spanish Inquisition?

You really should have expected them.

Old men

No two ways about it, there is a dearth of young hot things on your small screen. They must all divert into movies and music because all the gaps are filled with craggy cadaverous types who muse about the days when one made one’s own cheese. The day when one of them dies on live television will be the day when I am not even a small bit surprised.

Why do you choose to look at these people while you eat dinner?

Why do you choose to look at these people while you eat dinner?

The BBC

Most days, I have no idea whether to view this looming governmental being as a benevolent force or the source of all evil. I understand that it is responsible for Sherlock, and I’m grateful for that, but doesn’t it seem dangerous for one broadcaster to have so much power? Isn’t it kind of dictatorial that I can’t even urinate whilst I watch one of their shows? And do you really think it’s a coincidence that searching for “BBC” on tumblr is one thing almost guaranteed to get you fired from your job?

Sherlock, Sherlock, Big Black Cock

Sherlock, Sherlock, Big Black Cock

Do you agree with me? Or are you patriotic enough to be certain that whatever quirks your broadcasters have, they know what’s best for you? Either way, I don’t care. We don’t even have electricity in New Zealand, so I’m off to denude a sheep. Ta!

The Walking Dead: I love it and you shouldn’t watch it

At some point in my life I became a television reviewer. I’m not sure why, or how, but one should embrace these things when they happen. When the paths find you. Or when you happen upon a path, because paths don’t move, for the most part, unless they’re roads diverging in a yellow wood.

Television reviewer = pretty well trodden path. It’s almost sad that I didn’t discover this talent while I was living in Japan because there was such a wealth of utterly bonkers material. It got to the point that I couldn’t turn on my television, for fear of nightmares. I used it as a small table/jellybean stand, and it functioned beautifully. Anyone who has ever spent any time in Japan, or read 1Q84 knows that owning a television leaves you open to the machinations of the NHK man, who might kill you, or so Murakami says. But whenever the NHK man (much like a BBC licence collector, only less British and more persistent, and without the excuse of having produced spectacular television) came to my apartment I would merely show him my small convenient table, offer him a jellybean and then send him on his way.

This never happened.

And I almost never watched Japanese television, not because it was scary, but because listening to a foreign language at length is alienating and scary. Instead, I downloaded all 7 series of Gilmore Girls and have been watching them on a loop ever since.

I am television reviewer, albeit one with an inexplicable attachment to Lorelai and Rory, and thus I feel fully, spectacularly qualified to tell you this: do not watching The Walking Dead.

Yup, it’s brilliant. Yup, the acting and the scripts are novel and interesting, you’ll become invested in the characters and you’ll watch Seasons One and Two in under two weeks and be gagging for more, to the point where you’ll sell your Breaking Bad DVDs in order to obtain Series Three. There’s something in that, selling the meth cook to satisfy the habit.

I am addicted to zombies.

I’m not ashamed to like the show. I’m not ashamed that every time Rick, Sheriff McSexEyes, raises his gaze to the screen, I think of the same actor trotting along the Thames, drowning in love for Keira Knightley. We’ve all been there. We should embrace it. It’s a… self-preservation thing.

I love him. I love Walking Dead. DON’T, under any circumstances, watch it.

There is one circumstance under which you can watch it: if you are inured to horror. If gaping faces and bloody corpses and shocks and moans and guts and bones leave you cold (like the GRAVE), then you should go for it. This is the show for you.

But otherwise, you are like me. You are the kind of person who pictures shapes behind shower curtains, who tucks extremities under covers. You are the kind of person who cannot successfully separate the real life from the fiction – for whom horrific events on screens and between pages can leak out and form dark puddles. DARK WATER. Why did I watch that? And now I live in a house with a leaky roof, of course I do. And if you are that kind of person – god save you from R16 movies – then (and here we get to the meat of it, much like a zombie would) you should not watch The Walking Dead, because you will never have sex again.

Boyfriend and I are modern working types, which means 10 hour working days and approximately the hours between 7.30-11, 3 or so days a week, spent in each other’s company. It’s enough, if we’re careful and try avoid fighting about newspapers and dishes. But it’s not enough if you spend 1-2 of those hours, every night, watching mangled ex-men strip the flesh from the bones of screaming women, because even if you can cuddle and soothe each other during, you will not want to touch each other afterwards. Do you know how much sex noises sound like zombie noises? HEAPS. Do you know how unattractive sexy-neck-nibbles become when you’ve just watch a blonde six-year-old tear out a jugular? VERY.

So don’t. Don’t. Save yourself, and save your sex life. Continue along the Netflix path of lesbian inmates and drug-dealing teachers and don’t stray into the land where the dead walk. I myself look forward to the end of Season 4 and returning to the land of the living.