You know how I know you're gay?

'Cause you watch "Glee."

Like Jeff and I did today.

I guess I should elaborate. Jeff and I frowned on the idea of a show like "Glee" when it premiered, but since I don't watch television, it didn't affect me much. However, as the show (Jennifer) garnered more and more acclaim, culminating with the Golden Globe for Best Musical or Comedy, I thought, "Hmmm, maybe this show is worth a look." Plus, they used Journey's "Don't Stop Believin" in the clip they showed (which is a song I'd like played at either my wedding or execution, whichever comes first), and the fact that Joss Whedon goes on and on about the show, and that made me think I might like it.

I mentioned this to Jeff and he said, amazingly, that he felt exactly the same thing. We hugged.

So, I then forgot about it. But recently, it came out on DVD, and according to Jeff, it's one of those First Half Season Boxed Set things, which shouldn't irritate me, but still sort of do. Jeff put it atop his Netflix queue, and mentioned it to me when we went to a rugby game last week. Darn, I meant to blog about that too.

But when Jeff mentioned it, I suddenly got all skittish about "Glee." The whole reason I would never want to watch the 21st century version of FAME, or The HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL Saga, or Jeff's kid doing Riverdance, seemed to apply in droves to this show. And you know what, there may even have been a little homophobia in there as well. The actual literal definition of that term.

But Jeff said he had rented it and I was at least going to watch the first episode with him. If I didn't like it, fine, he'd let me go, and he'd watch the rest of the show by himself. Sans pants.

Well, naturally, I refused. A third thing I vow to blog about is a little HBO pseudodocumentary entitled "What If I'm Gay," and I told Jeff I just couldn't view it with him. So he had his kids shoot me in the face with darts until I relented (damn, I wanted to blog about that too), so I sat down, and we watched "Glee" together. And you know what? The pilot episode just wasn't for me.

I don't even have the words for it, to explain what was wrong. I call myself a writer--a Professional Writer even--and I can't explain, beyond just the overproduced-ness of the musical numbers, the choreography, and the irritating interstitial music, which may have been more than interstitial. Sorry. They should've sent a poet instead of an athiest science gal.

Jeff agreed completely. At least he said he did. But before he took out the DVD (or whatever you call those in the blue cases) to put in that Jamie Foxx movie, he said, "Maybe they fix that. Maybe they heard people complain and they made changes when it went to series." Before his eight year old could grab the dart gun, I shrugged and allowed him to put on another episode.

And you know what? It was a lot better. The second episode was singy and dancy, sure, but it was also very, very funny. And struck me as a little more BREAKFAST CLUB than STEP UP TO THE STREETS. So we continued. We watched four episodes in a row, and both of us laughed, sang along, and at least one of us bawled by the time it was done. Okay, I still wish the damn musical numbers sounded and looked like real people were actually singing, instead of soulless machines being sweetened by even bigger machines. Perfection should be a goal in entertainment, but it shouldn't be the starting point.

But ah well. I doubt I'm even in the secondary target demographic for a show like this, and the creators sure as hell don't care that I think the dancing looks too staged or the singing too professionally produced. The important thing is that I ended up enjoying the show (Jeff too), and will watch it again.

Oh, and the other thing: the gay kid? Best character on the show. Awesome stuff.

Rish "The Fan That Dares Not Speak Its Name" Outfield

P.S. And I also meant to blog about the misfit nature of the characters, and how I used to get dumped in trash cans when I was in high school too. While Big was busy having sex, I was on the outside looking in (though my junior high experience was much worse than my high school one). But one thing I was thinking about the next day after watching "Glee" was that, a couple of years after my Sophomore year of high school, one of the guys who used to torment me came up to me and said, "Hey, I don't know if you remember me, but I used to, uh, sort of pick on you back in high school." "Really?" I said, not really recognizing his face. "Yeah, I sort of dumped you in the trash can in the hall by the auditorium." That brought it back to me. "Oh yeah. Good times." He said, "Well, I just wanted to say I'm sorry for that. I don't know why I did that." And I tried to explain that I actually looked back on those days somewhat fondly (and the guys who would do that) because I liked being center of attention, and it was better than my cousin who would throw me onto the concrete, or the bully who would steal my backpack and stomp on the contents, or Dan Underwood who choked me until I lost consciousness. You know, the horror in this guy's eyes when I said that was probably worse than anything he and his buddies ever did to me in tenth grade. I sort of feel sorry for him, oddly enough.