Primetimely

Hello, my name is Dan Clarendon, and I’m an addict. Ladies and gentlemen, I’m afraid to say I’ve had a bit of a setback. I thought my life was better off without Gossip Girl. Only a year and a half ago, I publicly condemned it, deeming it “flat” and “uninteresting.” I criticized the fact that none of the characters mature and that none of the break-ups and make-ups matter because none of them last.

Well, I’ve been tempted again, and I have to admit, I lost control. But it wasn’t my fault, I swear—I have enablers! My boyfriend is a junkie, too. And Netflix is my supplier. How can I help myself when every episode from the past four seasons is available to stream instantly? I started using Gossip Girl again to indulge my boyfriend because I know he loves it and I didn’t hate it. So I figured I’d get caught up so that we could watch together. What was the harm, I thought. And there was a time when I enjoyed it. But then I started liking it way more than I thought I would or should.

I started watching it independently. It became my primary source of procrastination. If I had my druthers, I’d probably be watching it now instead of blogging. It’s a perfectly decent show. It can be silly and proposterous and ocassionally dull, but when it’s salacious and scandalous, it can be one of the most addicting TV drugs I know.

Listen, don’t judge me, okay? I can make fun of it like the best of them. Blake Lively is not likely to win an Emmy. Taylor Momsen looks like a would-be Lohan. Ed Westwick’s name is Ed. But, hey: everyone is good-looking, the clothes are bizarre in a cool way, the music is pitch-perfect, the storylines are tantalizing, and—best of all—the show glorifies New York City. And it just makes me feel good, dammit!

Look: I can stop any time. I swear.