Let's turn the lights down low...

Requiem for Buffy

It was good, it was right, it worked. If you don't think so, I'm sorry. For me, it did. I cried, and then kept myself from crying more, though that's generally my anti-policy. (I will cry at just about anything that makes me feel like it, which I think ties into a revelation when I was 13 years old that it really wasn't worth it to care about what "people" larger, generic, thought about me; only the ones that mattered. And yes, I still feel that way. It's a lot easier to cry when you need to if you do.) But it was the right time, and I was so glad that Joss Whedon wrote the final episode and you know what?

I don't feel the least bit silly for weeping in fits and starts. I wouldn't if it were a book, I could name quite a few, and if I'm really going to be honest Buffy has been as profound and an as enjoyed influence on me as just about anything else I could name. And again, I don't feel one bit unbiased. So we're going to be maudlin here tonight. I've done my words for the YA already and I feel like reliving, so here we are.

I missed out on Buffy. I've taken a lot of flack actually, from many different people who I actually probably kept from seeing Buffy early on (oh well; I think I've balanced out with converts by now). You see, me and my friend Lorraine, we were Xena friends. And, most importantly, where I lived we were WB-less. So, it's not like I probably wouldn't have given in and become a Buffy devotee if I'd watched it a few times, because I'm sure I would've. It's that watching it wasn't feasible and so we reacted in a Buffy Versus Xena fashion, as so much was back then. "Xena would kick Buffy's ass," being the reasoning to wave off the show. (Which is a lot better than some critics' reasons for waving it off.) I now, of course, realize that was insane and Buffy would kick Xena and Gabriel and Sam Raimi's little brother's asses without breaking a sweat.

So. I was season four, when I really started to watch. I caught the "tricking Faith into showing her dark side" ep of season three at my folks, but it wasn't until I moved to Lexington and bought a fancy receiver (off that one episode's strength) that would enable me to pick up the local UPN affiliate, which broadcast Buffy, albeit at different times than normal. And I would rush home from my job to catch it at 7 on Wednesdays. As we know, that's not even NEAR the best season, but it was enough.

From there, boxed sets ordered from Britain and converted from PAL to VHS, because tapes of old episodes were woefully unavailable then.

And I've never regretted becoming such a follower of the show, not really. And I'm not embarrassed about it a bit. It was an excellent story, and sometimes it worked and sometimes it spectacularly did not (especially this last season) but it was larger than that. I know if I had to stretch a concept over seven years, I'd misstep some too. But go back, think about your favorites, think about the undeniably best episodes (some of which managed to do things that had never been done on TV). That's why I cried tonight. And that's why I'm not going to pick apart the last episode.

I'm sure I'll think twice about being hopelessly maudlin, but I expect not to take one bit of flack for it. Because on this issue, as I learned in eighth grade, the only thing that matters is how I feel about it.

Night.