Blessedly, a final season of Friends. Alright, go already. Be gone. And take your syndicated re-runs with you. What do I have to do to get rid of you? I'm just about ready to put on a Captain Beefheart CD.
I've always hated this show. Not really hated, for that is an active emotional state. More like the Martian hate of Stranger in a Strange Land, the kind of bitter hatred that might best be described as "mild distaste."
I charge Friends primarily with the crime of being colorless. Let me just expound by copying and pasting from dictionary.com: they are characterless, dreary, dull, insipid, lackluster, lifeless, prosaic, tame, unmemorable, unpassioned, vacuous, vapid.
In short, they have the blandest show on television, give or take the insipid Everybody Loves Raymond. These characters have no personality. They are the blandest bunch of nothing imaginable. Howard Cunningham had more flavor.
Still others have a perhaps not entirely different argument against Friends being "colorless" on the basis that none of the principal friends is black. It is apparently at least a misdemeanor hate crime to have any show without a major black character. You remember when we all voted on that, right?
I really don't see the merit in this lament about blackness. Keeping the argument all in the family, let's refer this to fellow Blogcritic Dew, and her cleverly titled column "Friends Race Against Time."
"Blacks have a problem with the lack of color as its being referred to here because where do we get to identify?" Apparently black folk can't or shouldn't identify with a caucasian character. Hmm. From my side, I have no trouble at all identifying with, say, Bernie Mac.