In Every Generation, There is a Chosen One

In my last week of unemployment, I finished the Buffy the Vampire Slayer series, which was about ten years overdue. In junior high school, I loved that show. No, love is too weak a word for what I felt about it. I lurved it, I loaved it. These feelings were shared by my friends Sarah and Meaghan, and we formed an unofficial fan club. Meaghan made me the President, which surprises me in retrospect because we were both horrifically bossy little girls.


However, despite many episodes being taped on VHS cassettes, and scrapbooks of magazine articles, and breathless phone calls recapping vampire drama, after the third or fourth season, I suddenly didn't care any more. I watched on and off, but mostly off, and my love of the show faded until it was just a joke tossed around among friends from high school.

But then a few years ago, Hulu put seasons 1 through 3 online and I watched it in my kitchen in Astoria, just to see if it held up. I realized it did, even if it was partially due to nostalgia. So I gave the rest of the series a shot and it's been pure pleasure for the last month. Anything intelligent I could attempt to say about the show (the humor, the wit, the writing, the camp, the feminism) has already been said on Wikipedia. So I'll just say that it's the end of an era for me, and 12-year-old Maggie would be very happy with my back-to-back episode watching and obsessive internet quote-hunting. Long live Buffy!

It's hard to be a dramatic 12-year-old when you're keeping your mouth closed all the time due to braces