Plus, I love the I’m not Yelling I’m from Chicago we just talk loud vintage shirt scenes where they show off their busy city lives and they’re walking around Manhattan saying things like, ‘Can you loop me in on that email chain and we’ll set up a one-on-one?’ Those were the days.” Even in before-times, I clung to comfort-food TV. Why take a chance on something new when you can return to something you know you love? In the initial months of quarantine, I ran through all the usual suspects: 30 Rock, The Office, Fleabag season two. But as the weather turned oppressively hot, I needed something truly transporting—something familiar but not too familiar. In my Goldilocks search, I rediscovered New Girl. It is lobotomy TV at its finest: four friends muddling through extremely low-stakes situations, which somehow never veer into anything too earnest or self-serious. New Girl provides an effortless slice of pre-pandemic life: mindless hangouts, inside jokes, and a steamy roommate romance. Was anyone ever so young “I’ve cycled through a few different bedtime shows this summer: first, the BBC’s 1994 adaptation of Middlemarch (which I helpfully found very boring), then ITV’s 2002 adaptation of The Forsyte Saga, and now, the late-aughts HBO series In Treatment. (The news of a possible reboot reminded me of it.) Yes, one of these things isn’t quite like the others, but common to all three is a narrowness of focus (and, well, a talkiness) that I’m finding comforting these days. Tastefully furnished rooms where people discuss their feelings and sometimes settle estate disputes? Yes, please!