friends on friends on friends.

Back in November, around Thanksgiving Break, I decided to watch the final season of Friends for the 23896753th time. I’m not even a little ashamed of my slight obsession with the ‘90s sitcom. It’s a cliché-and-laugh-track-fueled half-hour, in which the characters are just as likely to make a fart joke as to sing a song about pubic hair. But that doesn’t matter. No critique can undermine my connection to Monica’s purple, rent-controlled apartment, with its copper saucepans and mismatched chairs. The very first time I watched the show was when I was 9, sleeping over at Leslie Franklin's house (I'm allowed to use names in here, right? Even though I haven't talked to the girl since, well, probably that night I slept over 11 years ago) and her older sister had it playing on late night NBC.  The show sold mid-20s mediocrity in its opening credits: “Your job’s a joke, you’re broke, your love life’s DOA.” But that’s not what I saw - or understood, really (I still don't know what DOA means?). Monica & co. lived in Manhattan, (mostly) worked at creative jobs they (mostly) loved, ate out every night and were, of course, beautiful. To a shy, insecure home-schooler, the fantasy looked pretty good.  

But it’s more than that: I now see the failure those opening credits advertised. In “The One With Ross’s Sandwich,” Ross flies into a public rage when a manager steals his gravy-soaked turkey sandwich. He’s just been evicted from an apartment and filed for his second divorce. As he puts it, “Somebody ate the only good thing going on in my life.” Though stocked with pretty people in flattering lighting, Friends wasn’t about success—if it had been, myself, my friends and 52 million other Americans wouldn’t have been able to relate. The sitcom showed us that even in our wealthy, sushi-eating daydream, life wouldn’t be perfect. It showed us that we weren’t alone.  Even now, as a near-20 year old, my roommates and I rely on Friends to be playing while we unwind from our days and eat dinner on our couch, our only source of light being our flat screen TV and the delight we get from imagining ourselves sitting right there with our 6 friends in Central Perk. 

My point? Life as a college student is far from glamorous and, in my case, far from successful.  But, from the very first day here at BYU, I have had great friends to back me up, laugh with me, cry with me, and do generally absurd and reckless things (making police beat twice in the matter of a few weeks is still impressive and NOT a need for concern in my mind).  And while the series finale of Friends had me bawling like a babe in my bed that Saturday night back in November, it doesn't compare to the emotions I feel when I think about all the heartbreak, success, inside jokes, and reunions (see the picture above for a mini-reunion with Jazzy lady that Jennae and I had on Friday evening at the Noteworthy concert) I have in store because of my "family" here at school.  Now if only the rest of the boys could get home already...