Another metaphor for love

Liking a television show is not unlike falling in love. Sometimes, all the right ingredients are there, but there’s just no spark, no sickly-sweet sensation in the pit of your stomach that screams “YES!” Take me and Battlestar Galactica. On paper, it would seem I would be a prime candidate to get all fangirl over BG. I’ve been a Trekker since the age of seven (true story), when I saw Star Trek: The Next Generation’s brilliant pilot Encounter at Farpoint for the first time. I love well-written characters, convoluted plots and escapism. All the elements of Battlestar, right? Well, yeah, but it did absolutely nothing for me. You know there’s that saying that strangers are friends or lovers you just haven’t met? Well, it was sorta like that for me and BG. I saw commercials for it, but it was never on at any sane time, and I would’ve continued in my ignorant state had it not been for one of my friends (a rabid BG fan) literally shoving the DVD into my hands one day and saying, “Watch this, you’ll love it.” I did not. I was bored after the first ten minutes of the pilot. See, some shows – or strangers – are just things or people are dislikes you just haven’t figured out you dislike yet. I never knew I didn’t like liver until I tasted it. Same thing for Battlestar. Didn’t really hate, just did not want to watch it ever again. No spark, no love. And that long, long, long explanation was meant to segue smoothly into this thought: there are reasons I love Supernatural, but just like plain, old regular love, the sum is greater than the parts. There’s no logic to falling in love. Oh, scientists say it’s something about genes and upbringing and whatnot, but when it really boils down to it, they’re as clueless as the rest of us as to why you can be matched up with someone who seems absolutely perfect for you, who fits all your criteria, and you still end up not falling for them. So, in conclusion, I can list out all the reasons I adore Supernatural, but really, it’s just what is. It’s a gut reaction I have no empirically-based explanation for. I love this show, and barring any major faux pas à la Prue’s death on Charmed (ugh), I’m gonna continue loving this rip-roaring, sexy, scary hour of television. I just shot through five episodes in a row (oh my God! Mystery Spot! Why, Eric Kripke, why, why would you sign off on such anguish?) and I cannot wait for the rest of the season.

Final thought: I love you, Dean Winchester.