Oh, how I've waited for this day. Many years have passed us over, and, whether you realize it or not, in that time we've all grown older and wiser. But in just a short matter of time a major era in our lives is going to end. I've been resisting the nagging temptation to climb Baker Tower and raise my arms in triumph, tears of joy streaming down my face, my giddy screams soaring across the Upper Valley: Thanks be to God, "Friends" is finally coming to an end!
A decade of my life has been lost; a decade that should by all rights have been one of the best decades of my life but was utterly ruined by that venomous 8/7 CDT spectacle that has the audacity to pass itself off as "entertainment". Six pasty-white natives dance menacingly around a pot, throwing in sarcastic remarks, sexual innuendo, wacky antics, relationship melodrama and the occasional catch-phrase. Gyrating to the pagan beat of the laugh track, they take depth, sensibility, decency and intelligence and sacrifice it all to the feared gods of superficial beauty and a word from our sponsor.
I've been subjected to repeated playings of the most annoying song in the history of the world over and over and over and over again, slamming the radio against my skull as The Rembrandts rocket to number one. I've watched helplessly as the girls around me change their hair every week from September to May. And when I'm sprawled out on the floor gasping for air during the commercial break, David Schwimmer has the audacity to come on and lecture me about reading to my kids or drunk driving. "The more I know," my ass.
Here's the bewildering part: Millions of people watch this show every week! At first I just figured the Arquettes owned lots and lots of television sets. But I think there's only one explanation that makes a much sense. Millions of people are really quite stupid. These fans ought to be proud of one significant accomplishment: Their doe-eyed adulation for Matthew Perry gave him the chance to nurture his coke addiction. Ah yes, and the American dream lives on.
I remember hearing somewhere, probably in one of my Wednesday nightmares, about people finding these characters "likeable." If one's criteria for liking somebody comes down to how much they must spend on cosmetic surgery, then I guess these people are pretty damn likeable. Especially Phoebe, I mean it's downright adorable how she possesses the IQ of an amoeba, and a stupid one at that. Naturally, if she were ugly then none of us would find her loveable, we'd just find her annoying.
I've heard people tell me they're so enamored of this program because, and I quote, "It's so real, it's just like real life." Right. The only way this show could be less realistic is if they sat around Central Perk discussing the Nader Administration. This show is so devoid of reality that it makes "Lord of the Rings" look like a gritty, no-nonsense documentary.
No one over the age of six can possibly consider this show "realistic." And only the dullest of six-year-olds wouldn't roll their eyes at this feverish fantasy and want to watch something more realistic. Hell, even "Sesame Street" bothers to acknowledge the existence of non-white people (or puppets, as it were). And if this show were "realistic", it would be broadcast from the Manhattan Free Clinic. In reality, if anyone had, like, an eighth of the action those "Friends" characters had, they would be so laden with venereal diseases that going abroad would be dangerous, lest they be targeted as mobile biological weapons factory and blown to bits.
And anyone who has had the severe misfortune to catch even one episode of this paranoid fantasy knows exactly what is going to happen in the very last episode. There's going to be a lot of toils and snares of idealized cosmopolitan life, but the very last scene will feature Ross and Rachel sharing a passionate kiss. What's the point of watching this if you know what's going to happen? That doesn't work with other television programs. No one watches a basketball game if they know Dartmouth is going to lose by 20 points.
Reality my eye. Reality is cold and bitter and ugly and unpredictable. If you want reality, go out and buy some "Lost in Space" DVDs. Campy robots and child geniuses and cantankerous stowaways will teach you more about how to live your life than six giddy morons ever will. But to all those I've failed to convince on this point, consider this: If you're so obsessed with reality, why don't you just turn off the damn television and go out there and live it?
