*a poem from Nikita Gill
They won’t tell you fairy tales
of how girls can be dangerous and still win.
They will only tell you stories
where girls are sweet and kind
and reject all sin.
I guess to them
it’s a terrifying thought,
a red riding hood
who knew exactly what she was doing
when she invited the wild in.
Chandler Bing, Chanandler Bong. Chandler Bing was the character’s name, Chanandler Bong was an iteration created by the writers of the show, delivered expertly by another friend, Phoebe Buffet, played by the inimitable Lisa Kudrow. I know this factoid about Chandler’s name because I have seen the best seasons of the show Friends so many times I can practically repeat entire segments of dialogue out loud. And, it’s all Roddy Keller’s fault. He kept leaving work at a literal run on Thursday nights. Roddy worked for me for a time when I was managing the sale of Broadway merchandise while trying to figure out my shit (still working on it, no longer selling merch). When I asked him, what’s the damned rush – his response was ‘I have to get home see my friends!’ Okay, whatever – I need to see my friends, too, but what the hell, dude? Of course, he wasn’t referring to actual friends, he was talking about Friends the TV show, part of NBC’s line-up on Thursday nights.
At the time, I was skeptical in the extreme with regard to his attachment to a half-hour TV show. I don’t ‘do’ fandom; I don’t read People or whatever other fanzine/magazine; I think Entertainment Tonight is inane and yes, it’s a billion-dollar business but for large chunks of my twenties and thirties, I didn’t have a TV. This was in a time long, long ago and far, far away, eons before streaming was a thing, practically pre-historic! Most situation comedy is also pretty bad; canned laughter hurts my ears. Yet when the writers and the casting directors get it right, when the actors involved are charming, so perfect for and in their roles, the relationships feel deeply authentic – it can be a laugh riot. And if, on top of that, the situations don’t call for suspension of disbelief beyond belief, TV comedy is gold. Friends was gold.
I don’t know when actually I started watching Friends, but it was at least half-way through their decade run, and I know it was in re-runs on a cable network late at night during my infamous insomnia years. I did this, started watching (sorry Roddy, for making fun), after getting home from work or rehearsals at night. This would’ve been in 1995 or ’96, when I finally broke down and bought a television because, well, because. And, once I started watching, I was hooked; I was especially hooked on Chandler Bing. Matthew Perry and the writers created a character with Chandler who was funny, sensitive, highly intelligent, sarcastic AF, and vulnerable in a way that most of the other characters were not. He was also the only one of the Friends who seemed to have a regular, and very boring job, making him highly relatable. Joey’s vulnerability (played by Matt LeBlanc) was in his stupidity and decency – except where women were concerned; Joey could be taken advantage of, and insecure, wise-cracking Chandler Bing, his best friend, provided the perfect foil and occasional protection to the overtly horny, dumb AF, yet sexually confident Joey Tribbiani.
Perry demonstrated time and again in the role that he was a gifted comedian, blessed with abilities that were both physical and verbal. Chandler’s girlfriends – most hilariously Maggie Wheeler (it makes me giggle just thinking about it) – and the entire story-line of Chandler and Monica’s relationship, from their rendezvous in London to its ultimate reveal back in NYC, is classic comedy, with a nod to the casting directors having brought Jennifer Saunders and Tom Conti in to guest-star. But then, all of the other supporting cast and guest stars throughout the decade long series were stellar: Marlo Thomas, Elliott Gould, Christina Pickles, Teri Garr, Brenda Vaccaro, Ron Liebman, Kathleen Turner, Morgan Fairchild, Brooke Shields (in one of the funniest story lines, ever), Brad Pitt, Winona Ryder, Bruce Willis, Gary Oldman, Reese Witherspoon, Julia Roberts, Charlie Sheen…the list of fabulous character actors and legit stars of the moment doing hilarious turns on the show is endless.
At the end of the day, Matthew Perry became rich and famous at twenty-four, richer and much more famous at twenty-five, and super-rich as well as world-famous only a few years later when the show was syndicated around the globe. He would never have to worry about money again. Sounds great, right? He had a number one show, Friends, and film, The Whole Nine Yards in the same year, 2000 (TWNY is a truly great comedy, btw, and I don’t usually like what passes for comedy in films these days, so check it out). But, and it’s a big but, Matthew Perry was an addict. Lots of money and an addiction to multiple substances (cocaine, heroin, alcohol, etc.) are a dangerous combination as the early deaths of addicted celebrities has demonstrated time and again.
Chandler Bing could not have been an easy role to play, but not just because it is demanding and time-consuming to film a series. Due to Perry’s death, I recently watched a clip of him talking about meeting over lunch with producers of the show after being cast but before the series was fully fleshed out. These early meetings led to the writers basing Chandler’s insecurities as a person, especially in relationship to women, on Perry’s own issues. Perry had a complicated childhood story, and was insecure where women were concerned. Chandler was insecure with women, Chandler was also given a dad who was a trans-woman, and his mother wrote trashy romances of the most lurid kind. Chandler’s childhood was always referred to as challenging, and his inability to love himself, being the butt of so many jokes, particularly around his sexuality, could not have been easy for the actor to inhabit over the course of ten long years, particularly as Perry’s addictions weighed him down, and the love and healing he found on screen, in character, wasn’t duplicated in real life.
Make new friends, but keep the old, one is silver and the other gold. My heart goes out to Perry’s family and friends. As for his fans? We didn’t know him, really, very well at all, but I am saddened by his death, much too young. I also really, really hope – as a fan and fellow human bean – that the toxicology report regarding his death comes back clean, because his sobriety meant everything to him. Last year, promoting his book, he made it clear that he wanted to be remembered primarily for his recovery, and for helping other addicts acknowledge and work through their pain, moving toward their own healing, rather than for his career in the business of show. Let’s honor that, as his friends, even if we never met the guy.
So no one told you life was going to be this way.
Your job’s a joke, you’re broke, you’re love life’s DOA.
It’s like you’re always stuck in second gear,
Well, it hasn’t been your day, your week, your month, or even your year.
But, I’ll be there for you, when the rain starts to pour.
I’ll be there for you, like I’ve been there before.
I’ll be there for you, cause you’re there for me too.
You’re still in bed at ten, the work began at eight.
You’ve burned your breakfast, so far, things are going great.
Your mother warned you there’d be days like these,
But she didn’t tell you when the world has brought you down to your knees.
That, I’ll be there for you, when the rain starts to pour.
I’ll be there for you, like I’ve been there before.
I’ll be there for you, cause you’re there for me too.
No one could ever know me, no one could ever see me.
Seems like you’re the only one who knows what it’s like to be me.
Someone to face the day with, make it through all the rest with,
Someone I’ll always laugh with, even at my worst, I’m best with you.
It’s like you’re always stuck in second gear,
Well, it hasn’t been your day, your week, your month, or even your year.
But, I’ll be there for you, when the rain starts to pour.
I’ll be there for you, like I’ve been there before.
I’ll be there for you, cause you’re there for me too.
*from Pema Chodron
the truth is that things
don’t really get solved.
the come together
and fall apart.
they come together again
and fall apart again.
it’s just like that.
the healing comes from
letting there be room for
all of this to happen:
room for grief,
for relief,
for misery,
for joy.
*a wise woman once said to a whole group of women gathered in circle (of which I was one part), that we had chosen to come together to create a container large enough to hold all that we, collectively and individually, are. I loved that image, love the idea that we are containers (‘I am large, I contain multitudes’, said Walt Whitman) individually and in groups for all that human beings are. lately, I have been very aware of just what an asshole I can be, and you know what – that’s okay, too. I embrace my assholery!! We all are assholic, at times, messy or too tightly controlled: you pick. acceptance is key. humor even more key! in a time of uncertainty, and profound change,, self-love and acceptance of others, warts n’all, is the least we can do, and practice.
*Yes, even childbirth is political. When men – who do not give birth and generally dismiss women’s pain – make policy, how do you think that impacts women’ experiences? Not well.
Having read a number of books regarding the history of medical care for women in the U.S., specifically childbirth and abortion, I was immediately interested in this one by Allison Yarrow, which I have just now ordered from my local library! This podcast, Hysteria, to which I subscribe, introduces the book, and can substitute if you’re not the reading kind – but wait, here you are, reading!!?!! Still, a good listen with context and content on the subject, whatever kind of reader you are, maybe as an introduction to the subject, which should matter to us all, regardless of politics, or gender.
And, given the HUGE rise of syphilis – yes, syphilis – in babies in the U.S. over the last several years … WE NEED TO DO BETTER IN DELIVERING THE CARE ALL AMERICANS NEED, FFS, but especially women and babies. Pro-life, my cottage cheese ass.
****P.S. after this week’s election results, let’s take a deep breath and congratulate ourselves on the many progressive wins. AND, because we can do several hard things all at once, let’s keep fighting for progressive causes, and not ever forget that in the largest voting district in Mississippi – which also happens to be overwhelmingly black, election officials ran out of ballots, the GOP election officials would only print and distribute additional 100 ballots for each request despite the fact that literally hundreds of voters were on line, and Republicans also blocked efforts to extend voting hours due to this accidentally deliberate fcuk-up. #GetInGoodTrouble
My dad was left-handed, and throughout his childhood and early education, he was forbidden to use his dominant left hand, forced instead to use his right hand, resulting in horrible penmanship, and – my theory – a really bad case of can’t spell for shit. This was a wide-spread requirement of students back in the day, despite the fact that left-handedness was and is a naturally occurring phenomena in about – studies show – ten to thirteen percent of the population. Five of the last seven presidents have been lefties, including Truman, Clinton, and Obama. In the one room schoolhouse my pop attended from age five to age thirteen – under the instruction of John Norton, a man my pop always praised – his left hand was tied behind his back or to his side to prevent his using it. Imagine that. My dad was as bright as a button, but there would be no penmanship awards for Dick Mueller, and demerits were handed out (right-handed out) for his sloppy writing and spelling on all written class or homework throughout his academic career.
The thing is, back in the day, the 19th century day and before and across many cultures, it was believed that left-handedness was connected to the devil, as in The Devil. Jesus stood at the right hand of Gawd in Christian theology, thus the left hand was less Jesus-y and therefore less than. It seems absurd now, but the treatment that was meted out to my dad and others like him in that one room school house was an accepted practice from the time public education was established in the U.S. (and before) until the 1950s, which really ain’t all that long ago. After the ban on lefties was lifted, a surge in left-handedness was immediately made evident, and perspiration broke out on numerous small-minded brows. Like hazel or blue eyes (8% and 8 -10% of the human population respectively), left-handedness presents itself in about 10% of us regardless of whatever the devil-fearing crazies were selling. Hey, Ronald Reagan was another of our ‘leftie’ presidents, and to hear some folks on the right tell it, Ronnie single-handedly conquered Gawd-less communism, bringing down the bad-old USSR simultaneously. Yeah, sure.
After the practice of denying lefties the use of their actual dominant hand, there was an understandable and very reasonable surge in reported ‘cases’ of left-handedness in the U.S., which ultimately evened out. Makes sense, right – acceptance leads to more lefties ‘coming out’, leading to a temporary surge followed by a natural leveling off. If you don’t have to hide or fear being tied up (I mean really?), of course you’re going to use the hand that works best for you instead of pretending to be what you ain’t, and public records will reflect that transformed and kinder reality. Seventy or so years after the leftie stigma ended, here we are waking up to the fact that trans children exist, to the reality of transgenderism in our midst, while at the same time parents, schools and legislators in the U.S. are being taught and swallowing another boatload of politically motivated and advantageous horseshit by fear monger-ers on the right. There seems to be an explosion of trans kids and even trans adults because holy shit, y’know what, not unlike lefties trans humans have been hiding in plain sight, but now, there’s not so much hiding anymore. Meanwhile, right-wingers are using language that makes an imminent takeover of girls’ sports by trans-males (an actual statistical blip) into a dangerous threat, along with the death of civilization as they think they know it. What’s really going on is that trans kids, with the support of their families, as well as trans adults, are stepping out into the light; parents are making life-saving choices in the best interests of their trans-children, and trans-adults are out and proud, if far too vulnerable to anti-trans violence.
Trans individuals make up approximately 0.6% of the U.S. population, less than one-percent, much less than lefties or blue-eyed people; fewer trans humans exist than do natural blonds, who comprise under 2% of the world’s population (natural blonds, y’all). And if you didn’t know a trans child or adult before now, it’s merely because the increasing acceptance of the LGBTQIA community has led to those who have suffered in silence and shame because their gender identity at birth is not consistent with who they actually are have stopped playing the game of fear.
Living inauthentically is not living. I have known probably only a handful of trans individuals in my life, and my response has always been one of deliberately gentle and slow curiosity rather than fear. And no, zero, zip, nada contempt or disgust. Who the fuck am I to walk in someone else’s shoes, choices, feelings, life? Tying these kids and their families up, legalizing transphobia and trans-hate, legislating away the right to access health-care the AMA and all other medical organizations of note acknowledge as necessary and life-saving is wrong, regressive, and mean. It’s fucking stupid, as well.