YOU'RE A POOPFACE.

Shaking my funk in a funky way. Here's Caitlin over-analyzing television in a way she hasn't done in a while.

Recently there was an article in the New York Times about how many 20-somethings aren't reaching emotional or economic maturity with the speed and grace they used to. I also saw an Ask-Amy letter in the Washington Post a few weeks ago from a woman who was frustrated with the 20-somethings in her office who referred to themselves as "kids." The overall message that these overblown newspapers are giving us? We, as college students and recent grads, have the emotional maturity of a three-year-old turtle.

And because the goal of many, many television networks is to cater to our own screaming demographic, the representation of emotionally and economically stunted characters has skyrocketed in the past few years. Sure, there are a few Don Drapers out there, but we don't regard them as People We Know. Don Draper is the Superman. He's Awesome. Above all, he's Not One Of Us.

No, I'm talking about the J.D.s, the Chuck Bartowskis, the Jim Halperts of television. These are the characters--yes, they're mostly men--who for some reason, have just managed to avoid growing up. J.D. exists in his ridiculous dream world where he works out fantastical, childish resolutions to the serious problems that crop up in his life as a doctor. Seriously, think about it. Would you want J.D. to be your doctor?

Chuck lives at home with his older sister and her boyfriend/fiance/husband, who pretty much exists to show by contrast just how much Chuck needs to get his fucking act together. And in Chuck's defense, he does. Same for Jim--the man-child who begins the series just playing pranks on an obnoxious co-worker is currently a caring father and husband.

Even British television, historically filled with old men in tweed jackets, is taking a turn for the adolescent. The Doctor, an experienced time-traveler with the weight of the universe on his shoulders, is now a 27-year-old who fears commitment (as opposed to the first Doctor, who was lofty and wise and in his 60s.) He bums around from one end of the galaxy to the next, skittering through time and past dangers, running from his past, only facing it when he is forced. The Doctor as a 20-something avoiding his student loans. (I'm over-simplifying, of course. Don't hate me.)

The legendary and myth-infused characters of Merlin, King Arthur and Guinevere have had their ages ratcheted down as well. Now instead of being a white-bearded ancient, Merlin is a beaky 19-year-old who can't keep his magic in his pants. Arthur is a spoiled twot, possibly the most unperceptive person on the fact of the earth. Don Draper he isn't.

The point of this reduction of maturity appears to be to show how these characters grow over the course of the series. The Doctor takes on his companions again (the show kept a doctor and a companion together through a series finale FOR THE FIRST TIME). Merlin and Arthur begin by increments to see eye-to-eye. Chuck 'fesses up to the spy game and begins a real relationship with a real woman that he really loves. J.D., like Jim, becomes a loving father and husband.

It's like the TV is fulfilling it's public-service requirement by pointing out how--see? SEE?--we should be living our lives. "You're like this now," it says, "but look how you COULD be!"

I'm not surprised. TV has always been about showing us the ideal, even though that ideal is frequently unrealistic. Chuck may be able to get the unbelievably hot, blond CIA agent, but for the rest of us, that's probably going to be an unreachable goal. So for now, I'm gonna sit on the sofa with the rest of the kids and watch 10 Things I Hate About You. And if that doesn't sound like a plan for you, then you don't know what fun is.

Stupidbutt.

How are the kids?

Oh hey, Norbucks. Hey, iced coffee, hey gross purple sofa, hey bewildered freshmen. Hey girl giving me funny looks from the opposite sofa because I am humming off-key to myself in a way that's even getting on my nerves. Hey.

Part of me is thinking that it's like I was never gone. This all feels so familiar, mostly because I spent a depressingly large amount of time here last year, scrabbling to finish up screenplays that had no right to be finished. The man at Norbucks knew me and I knew my way around and I knew what the lakefill looked like exactly because when words escaped me, I could avoid looking for them by staring out the window and pretending to be pretentiously pensive.

(I just tried to spell "pensive" like "Pensieve". What hath Harry Potter wrought?)

But a larger part of me knows perfectly well that I've been away for three and a half months. It's that part of me that keeps reminding me that, all things considered, it's been a pretty crappy summer. Everything that's happened--cancer, car crash, concussion, criminal assault (got the alliteration, at least)--is so overwhelming that I am still having a hard time wrapping my head around it. Charlotte gave me a trophy that tells me that I beat "Summer level 10" but sometimes it feels like summer level 10 beat me.

So yeah, getting back to school is the-same-yet-different, but isn't that how it always is? We experience things over the summer, good or bad, but then when we get back among our peers in the fall or the winter or the spring or whenever, it's like someone hit the reset button a little. You're back a few months ago, when things were different, and you kind of have to wait for things to catch up to you. And it's weird. But interesting. But good, but bad, but relative.

This is not to say that I'm sad to be back at school, although of course, I was sad to leave home. Most college students (who don't hate their parents) have this problem, I guess. You like both places, you want to be both places, but of course going somewhere means leaving somewhere. Saying hello means saying goodbye. Life becomes more bittersweet, but also more exciting because saying goodbye makes the hello worth more. And when you have to say goodbye to someone, that person, their relationship to you, their personalities, their jokes, their insights, mean more to you because they have a deadline. You fit as much of them into your life as possible because of that goodbye that is on the horizon, because you don't want to say it.

So now I'm at Northwestern and I've said my goodbyes, for now. It's wonderful to be here among people I care about, in a place that I love. Soon I'll be saying goodbye again, though, saying hello to people at home. And that's okay. That's the ping-pong life of a college student. And as Mark Ruffalo wants us to know, the kids are alright.