Friday Night Lights all the long weekend long

Dang, y’all. I started streaming the first season of Friday Night Lights at 11 o’clock Saturday night and apart from sleeping and eating haven’t done much since but keep selecting the next episode on Netflix.

I hear it’s great TV even if you don’t like football. What with the Dallas, Miami, and Gainesville in my background, I can’t speak to that — one of few things my parents agreed on during my toddlerhood was that we rooted for the Cowboys — but I do know I haven’t been so taken with a show about high school since Freaks and Geeks.

Miranda Popkey’s praise at The Paris Review Daily for, among other things, the way Friday Night Lights “expertly … dramatized those moments when adolescents, almost unconsciously, begin to act like adults,” is what convinced me to watch. I’m just hoping to forget everything she says about season four by the time I get there — which, at this rate, should happen in about three days.

Anyhow, I’m in that jittery, new-love stage and feel like talking about it. Conversion anecdotes (see, e.g., Nancy Franklin’s) are welcome, but no spoilers please.


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