Where Did They Get 1000 Yellow Daisies?

Hey look! It’s the Naked Trucker! And he’s wearing clothes.

Today’s episode, one of my favorites of course, was “Love, Daisies, and Troubadours.” And I thought I’d get the troubadour part out of the way first. Okay, now that that’s taken care of, I have several thoughts:

Firstly, where did they find 1000 yellow daisies? Are there really that many florists in Hollywood? Did they have them shipped from across the country or something? Maybe it’s lucky I didn’t need any daisies around when they were filming this episode, or I might have been out of luck. On the other hand, maybe they did it with mirrors.

Secondly, how did Rory date Dean for, like, 5 months, know where he lived, in that small town, without ever having met his sister?

Thirdly, did you know that P.J. Harvey’s name is Polly Jean?

Fourthly, the opposite of ennuiCHHH really is off-wee.

That is, when you’re depressed, sometimes the thing you need most is simply to think about something funny. Psychologist Ivan Tyrrell, in his book How to lift depression … fast, tells a story of one of his patients, came to him in a deep depression, had been in it for 11 years, had attempted suicide 3 times, had been an psychiatric in-patient several times, had only come to see Ivan because her husband had insisted. One of the things he asked her was when was the last time she remembered laughing, rolling-on-the-floor laughing, with tears of laughter coming from her eyes. She searched her memory for several minutes, and then suddenly she remembered, and she began to laugh uncontrollably. And in between giggles and guffaws, she relayed to him the funny story from her memory. That single event was the beginning of her recovery.

I love stories like that.

Back to the episode: There are a number of things that strike me differently about this episode, differently than when I first saw it.

Tristan, for example, lying about going out with Rory. I used to think he was sleazy and maladjusted. But now I’m beginning to sympathize with him again. Which of us at that age didn’t do something equally as crummy and stupid and pathetic? I guess writing Love through the Eyes of an Idiot has broadened my perspective on Gilmore Girls.

And i disagree with Lorelai: A proposal doesn’t actually have to be planned. It doesn’t need to be magical. There doesn’t need to be music or romantic lighting or a subtle buildup to the popping of the big question. There don’t need to be 1000 yellow daisies. Because no intensity of feeling will make a marriage work or not.

Again, I’m pulling this from my own story, from my own marriage proposal. Unlike what I had accustomed myself to, it was not magical; it was not big and romantic; it was not heart-wrenching; it was not painful and dramatic. It was easy, almost too easy. But even then, I knew it was right, because Margaret was what I wanted in a soul mate.

And so I also sympathize with Max. Lorelai really does expect a lot; she’s so much work. I feel sorry for Luke, because he obviously has deep feelings for her, and I’ve been there, too. But let’s face it, Max is a nice guy, and he has his head screwed on straight, and he was raised in a good stable family (unlike Lorelai), and he’s not afraid of real commitment, and he would have made even Lorelai a wonderful husband.

Too bad she didn’t find her prince charming, but I’m glad I found my princess.

-TimK