Properly Whedoned

In my post-Firefly haze, my editor at the paper (Ryan Miller) insisted that I’d yet to be properly “Whedoned.” All I’d seen of Joss Whedon’s work was Much Ado About Nothing, which I enjoyed, and Firefly, which I practically imbibed Colin Sniffin one sitting. So now after a failed go at Game of Thrones, which I couldn’t stomach past the first episode and a half, my boyfriend and I are racing through Buffy the Vampire Slayer at an only slightly slower pace than we set with Firefly. He’s seen it before, but I was reluctant to watch something about a girl named Buffy, and I mistakenly thought the show was a bizarre meld of Hello Kitty and Twilight.
(“Books smell.”)
It’s true that the cheese factor is high, and so is Buffy’s skirt line, but it’s just so gosh darned ’90s that I get a relaxed, nostalgic feeling while watching it. Sort of the same emotions I get from Gilmore Girls or Golden Girls, a sense that however bad things might appear everything will, ultimately, be all right with the world. I recognize how silly that is, given that three of my beloved Golden Girls are now dead. Though, in a weird accepting-things-as-they-come-along sort of way, death is life working out exactly the way it’s naturally supposed to. (I didn’t mean for this to turn into a high school essay about the inevitability of death, truly.)
All I meant to convey was that I am, finally, in the process of being well and truly Whedoned. And share the following exchange from an episode of Buffy titled “I, Robot … You, Jane”:
Jenny: Honestly, what is it about them that bothers you so much?
Giles: … The smell.
Jenny: Computers don’t smell, Rupert.
Giles: I know. Smell is the most powerful trigger to the memory there is. A certain flower or a whiff of smoke can bring up experiences long forgotten. Books smell. Musty and rich. The knowledge gained from a computer is … it has no texture, no context, it’s there and then it’s gone. If it’s to last, then the getting of knowledge should be tangible, it should be … smelly.

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