Somewhere in America there are two rooms occupied by social outcasts sitting around a table and talking about what they’ve watched on television. In one room, they discuss sitcoms and Bill Murray movies. The occupants come from different walks of life, but they are united by their desire for self-actualization. In the other, the conversation is about the activities of terrorists the occupants are monitoring. This table is darkly lit and everyone sitting around it shares a single-minded pursuit of the “bad guys” and all the physical and emotional complications that come with it. The other thing both rooms share is that they are the settings of two of the best television shows to air in decades.
They say our generation is a fickle one, committed to the use of irony as a defense mechanism above all else. The hipster archetype haunts us like grunge haunted the ’90s or punk haunted the ’80s, only the youth of those decades grew into the crusty elder statesmen of the new millennium, deeming our mustaches and sarcasm and fixed-gear bicycles as chronically indifferent by comparison.