Personal Voices: The End of an Era

By Farai Chideya, AlterNet. Posted May 7, 2004.

I've watched maybe, ten hours of Friends, one for each year it was on the air, being generous, since I think it might have slipped in the cracks, like: Do commercials count? Surely the time I spent watching Friends commercials should amount to something. They should pay me: After all, I ceded a small part of my brainspace to Phoebe, and -- wait -- I know the rest of their names. At least I know them as people: Jennifer ("Hot Chick-Next-Door") Aniston, Matthew ("Rehab") Perry, David ("Why Doesn't He Have a Movie Career?") Schwimmer, Courtney ("Remember that Springsteen Video?") Cox-hyphen-whatever, and The Dumb Guy ("The Dumb Guy"). Phoebe, or Lisa Kudrow, seems adorably smart and scattered -- not that I know much about the character of Phoebe but I've heard Kudrow on NPR.

I watched the final episode of Friends from a hot tub on the roof of a hotel in Burbank. I just wanted to go to the hot tub, I swear. Went to dinner with a friend, bitched about how the end of Friends is eclipsing one of the defining moments in modern American democracy: the slow-motion implosion of America's legitimacy on the global and human-rights stage, quite possibly the end of an empire, because even Rome could not stand beset by enemies without and the slave revolts within, and should Rummy resign? And was the apology enough? It's enough to curdle your sushi (pass me the unagi....) -- or, wait, maybe it's the reverse. Maybe this media coverage of this whole torture-Iraqis thing was some evil rival-network attempt to take media attention away from the end of Friends. Like, CBS exposed the prison story and Friends is NBC. It's clear now! Those bastards!

But I digress.

After sushi we came back, we changed into bathing suits -- had checked the tub just minutes before, mind you, and it was empty -- and there are three guys camped out, two enjoying The End of an Era while basking in the embryonic warmth of the hot tub.

Yes, the hot tub had a television, and if I had a hot tub and a television together at my house (if I had a house) I would turn all wrinkly like a raisin in the water. Someone would have to get a pool guy to fish me out with an extra-large green net and deposit me on a pool lounger to dry.

When we climbed into the hot tub, Friends was on the twins thing. Another infertility plot. They're getting so common these days. It's like the Handmaiden's Tale, with working-class pregnant women -- played as stupid trailer trash -- acting as breeders for the impeccably well-qualified upper-middle-class main characters. And, yes, I'm thinking of Sex and the City -- Charlotte's near miss, with the family that just wanted a trip to New York. How cute! Do you think people like that really exist?

The entrance of the twins to the FriendSpace © was so old school, with the double-triple-takes, gags that go back, to what? The twenties? And I thought: my god, I am watching an actual sitcom, like, the things I avoid all 364 days of the year, but this is a leap year, and this is my lucky day.

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