As a reasoned, fairly intelligent sort of person in a pretentious college town where PhD's are a dime a dozen and pseudo-intelligentsia reign supreme, it's risky to admit to being pretty average.
So this is my sneaky testimonial of my Thursday night addiction. There, I've said it. It's a guilty pleasure that makes my week. Almost every week.
Somehow or another, I ended up watching the very first episode of Grey's. It was just after Desperate Housewives, which was very new at the time, and I'd just started back in college for my second degree.
I'll never forget how good it felt to curl up in the living room, all dark except for the soft glow from the TV, and to totally immerse myself in Shonda's exceptional storytelling. The lady's a genius and I wish I could weave storylines half as well as her and the other writers for that show. Stunning.
It became my weekly escape into Seattle Grace and all the pressing questions that lie therein, while I was going through school, finding a job, getting laid off from that job, getting engaged, and everything else that happened in the meantime. Every week there's this question that's looked at from different perspectives and it's artfully played out by the characters, both new and familiar.
It settles me somehow, this escape. Dear Fiance isn't a TV watcher at all, so this is one place where I'll still curl up by myself in the living room, soft TV light glowing, terriers snuggled close, TiVo remote in hand for commercial zapping, and immerse myself in the world of Seattle Grace Hospital once more.
