Sooo….I have a confession to make.
I should be attacking my towering pile of books and working on revisions.
But…well, Gentle Reader, I have discovered Netflix’s Instant viewing program.
Subsequently, I have watched 8 episodes of Friday Night Lights in the last two days.
I loooove this show. I cried through about half of the first two episodes because, holy cow, does it know how to play me like a fiddle. An underdog who loves his dementia-addled grandma. A honey-eyed bad boy with killer abs and an alcoholic mom. A run-down Texas town where football is religion. A sassy wife who argues with her husband under the table during a party. And that’s without even getting into Jason Street, who just about slays me. And the art direction…oh, my. Gorgeous.
I grew up in rural Pennsylvania, not Texas, but football was a pretty big deal. My grandfather and great-grandfather both coached. My dad and my three uncles played. For an artsy klutz like me, the focus on sports was grating. But now, watching this show, it’s all tinged with nostalgia. I look at Saracen’s grandma’s house and feel like I’ve been there. I listen to Tyra talk about how she wants to get out, wants a different life, and feel like I’ve definitely been there (though I’ve, uh, gone about it quite differently).
The best part is that Steve loves it too, so when we’re feeling all stressed about moving and packing, we turn on the air conditioner in the bedroom, grab some chocolate fudgepops, and settle in.
Clear eyes full hearts can’t lose.