My eyes kind of hurt right now.
It's not like I bawled my eyes out or anything over the final episode of
Friends, but I will admit that I got a little misty at the very end. Mostly because I was so disappointed, though. Weren't you?
The final
Friends goodbye started at 7 tonight, and the first hour consisted of back-to-back montages of funny/poignant Moments. I am normally such a sucker for Montages of Moments, but I couldn't even work up a lump in my throat during this hour-long barrage.
Maybe it was the music they blasted behind every scene. Does no one appreciate a subtle soundtrack anymore? Emotion doesn't just HAPPEN LIKE THIS ALL OF A SUDDEN WHEN YOU PLAY THIRD EYE BLIND SCREWED AND CHOPPED AT FULL VOLUME ON TOP OF SLO-MO HUGGING AND FALLING DOWN. You have to go slow with it, you know? The music must play in the background almost unnoticeably, naturally, and build just a bit until it compliments the scene. Okay? Dynamics, people. Dy-FRACKING-namics.
(Incidentally, this is part of the reason that I cannot watch American Idol. Not that I want to, you understand. However, if I
did want to watch overly dramatic talent show runner-ups sing the best Soft Country Crock Rock hits of 1982, I couldn't get past the damn theme song pulsing behind every stupid moment of the show long enough to chew two pieces of Nicorette and digest three Excedrin.)
I'm not a die-hard
Friends fan in the first place, I have to admit. I haven't come close to watching all the
Friends episodes, or even one full season. Last week I did watch the next-to-next-to-last episode just because, you know, I had to. It bummed me out to realize that
Friends had become the mediocre, PG-version of
Sex and the City's final season. Doesn't that just seem wrong? Even if the
Friends writers planned the entire final season
before they saw the last episode of SATC, why did they not freak out and shriek, "Holy crap! We can't have Chandler and Monica adopt kids and move to the suburbs and have Rachel pretend to move to Paris and then have Ross confess his love and ask her to stay in NYC, BECAUSE IT'S ALREADY BEEN DONE, and that would be LAME."
That aside, I just didn't connect with many of the heartstring-tuggers tonight. I'm glad I watched, though, because the filange guy on the plane cracked me up.
Goodbye,
Friends. I hardly watched you, but I guess it was comforting to know that you were always there on Thursday nights, bogarting the comfy couch at the coffee shop and living insanely hip and happy lives that, in comparison, made me feel like the girl in junior high who ate lunch in the corner and talked to herself.
(Oh, wait, that was me.)
(Just kidding, I wasn't quite that weird.)
(I promise.)
I did something today that I've put off for a while. I joined, or rather was invited to join,
Friendster. (See, I'm not a total loser. Somebody out there actually asked me to be their Friendster friend, and it wasn't just my boyfriend.) I kind of hate things like Friendster, but I can see how they're addictive and maybe even fun.
I need friends on Friendster, y'all. Some people have, like, 4,000 friends. I have three right now. The whole premise of things like Friendster is that you have to be invited by a member to join, so here's the deal: let's crash the party, okay? If you're a member, let me know - and if you're not, send me your email and I'll invite you to be "friends".
You know. Then we'll both look cool.
Please don't leave me alone in the corner talking to myself.
(Yes, I realize it's not cool to ask the internet in general to be your Friendster, but - damn the man. Anarchy and death to the hierarchy of hip!)
Lucy loves you |
