Law & Order: Special Victims Unit

Little known fact: I do not watch television and have not owned a television during my time at college. I don’t watch shows on DVD or online. I have not experienced viewer loyalty since Buffy the Vampire Slayer ended during my junior year of high school. This summer, I completed watching the entire Sex and the City series, but only because I previously watched the show when it was on the air and largely because of my reemerging desire to bed John Corbett. Yes, I side with Aidan on the Shaw vs. Big debate.

So I don’t have an explanation for why I love Law & Order: SVU and how it’s managed to keep me up at all hours of the night (note the current time) despite TV Links‘ slow loading time and Currier’s utterly unreliable wifi connection. Perhaps it’s because there’s a morbid fascination with the worst side of humanity, perhaps it’s because the show offers the ultimate in instant gratification (cliffhangers resolved a commercial break later), or perhaps it’s because the characters are actual characters — unlike those in the other L&O franchises — but still static enough for continuity to not matter. Whatever the reason, I tune in to the semiannual marathons, watch reruns with the excitement of a fresh-eyed viewer, and ogle Chris Meloni as if he’s some modern-day Mr. Darcy. With a gun. And anger management issues.

Stabler. Ah, that’s another thing. I am somewhat numb to celebrity and celebrity crushes, having once flirted with the pursuit of entertainment journalism and then realizing its utter boredom. I spotted my pre-teen love (a Backstreet boy — guess which one) at E! Entertainment’s headquarters during an internship there my 17th summer. My heart did not throb as much as I thought it would. But enter Chris Meloni at Elizabeth and Spring St. during my first summer as a non-teen and I am catapulted back into the irrational idolization of middle school. McDreamy I could care less about when given the choice between doctor or detective.

Still, Law & Order: SVU is not what I would call quality television but a guilty pleasure, one I admit to freely but not proudly. The show can be simultaneously simplistic and convoluted and never is it entirely satisfying even though I stay until the last minute to see the storyline play out. Unlike Buffy, it is not stunningly self-aware and the bad guys are nothing more than the bad guys, not metaphors for some universal fear or experience. Unlike Sex and the City, there is never a question of who is right for whom because the show depends on Stabler and Benson not being together. Their highly anticipated coupling would spell the end rather than the beginning. SVU never really evolves, and the plotlines that matter most move along at a snail’s pace.

But maybe that’s why it works. Like a friend with benefits, it is reliable without being overbearing. It is exactly what I want, when I want it (have you seen its syndication rates?) and if I don’t catch an episode this week, it won’t drastically impact next week’s. I can still call back, tune in, and make amends with an hour of one-on-one alone time. Maybe this is a relationship of convenience, maybe the only part of SVU I’ll ever fall in love with are Meloni’s chiseled abs, and maybe I am settling when it comes to what I want from a television show. Still, it is past 3am, I am two episodes down, and I have never been more satisfied. When’s the last time a man made me feel this way?