Author Archives: wendywelch

The Monday Book – Friends, Lovers, and the Big Terrible Thing by Matthew Perry

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Guest review by Janelle Bailey, avid reader and always learning; sometimes substitute teaching, sometimes grandbabysitting, sometimes selling books

Friends, Lovers, and the Big Terrible Thing by Matthew Perry

Friends, Lovers, and the Big Terrible Thing by Matthew Perry

It is simply uncanny, the timing of my reading of most books and then the tentacled webs of connectivity to other incidents and events in either my own life and/or life in general and on the larger grand plane of existence, locally and more broadly. That I read this book just weeks ago, and got all of this insight into Matthew Perry–truly listening as he, himself, read the audiobook “to” me, and that he then died two days ago is…simply uncanny.

I truly appreciated the honesty and sincerity with which Matthew Perry told this, his, story, and today I am so much sadder for this unfortunate and final result for his life: death way, way, way too young: 54. It just so happens that Matthew Perry and I are the exact same age, he just a few months younger than I and now eternally so.

From here, my review of the book when I read it, no knowledge of what would come so soon and next for this dear old “Friend,” may he rest well and truly, ultimately, be at peace.

While I understand that these are addictions Perry suffered, I am still stunned by the excessive waste of money and rehabilitative care and privilege exuded by his many expensive actions and cannot help but feel like he threw away numerous opportunities over and over again; I know quite closely and well people who would give anything to be given such an extension of life and opportunity–and their health–for much, much less cost or requirement for change on their part.

Over time with these lengthy cats-and-Matthew-Perry-apparently-have-nine-or-so-lives, Groundhog Day-like stories of his returning to rehab only to continue to use, complain about the rules and refuse to follow them, ditch the program, etc., I grew even more weary of his constantly crass language and dismissive treatment of others.

I believe I listened generously to Perry’s story and understand that the core issues stem back to the “unaccompanied minor” status of his existence during his parents’ break-up and their individual abandonment of him. And I heard and understood his honest revelation of his sexual difficulties.

But the steady and gushing bragging–best word I can find–about nearly everything from his giving Chandler Bing his character, to changing the way that emphasis on lines occurred for him and many others from there, to his many cars (gosh, is the green Porsche even the same one as the just a bit later “forest green” Porsche?) and gorgeous views from multi-million dollar homes…just all took its toll on me by the end. A completely reckless–careless–waste, so much of it seemed.

Somewhere along the way (and a very long time ago in the lengthy, sordid, repetitive stories), my willingness to be sympathetic anymore or at all was lost completely. If, at the very end, he is expressing any apologies at all or requesting forgiveness, it is completely lost–for me–by all of the names he dropped and then immediately dragged through the mud, by the crass and constantly cursing language, and by having spent so much time detailing his innumerable refusals to allow anyone to help. He seems to have been a pretty big jerk and over and over again to many. I just can’t feel sorry for him, I am sorry to say.

Really the only thing I “learned” is that Perry’s dad was “the” Old Spice guy of my childhood tv commercials. I see the resemblance. Unfortunately, everything else I learned convinced me that Perry was and wasn’t everything and anything like his beloved and better understood Chandler Bing. That beloved “Friend” is now gone and replaced, for me, by this less lovable actor.

Life is–for many of us–far more fragile and precious than that Perry describes.
And money not falling from the trees or abundantly banked–in much greater excess than need–for lots of us.

I get that his point, ultimately, and which he stated over and over is that none of the things that should have made him happy did, but he spent soooooooo much time painting the extravagant pictures of all that he had–still has–and then so foolishly threw away that I really grew weary…annoyed, actually. The story had no redemptive conclusion for this reader…but now that I have written this, and then Perry passed and not so quietly this weekend…presents more pause.

Like so many others, I am quite sad about his passing. I will not be able to unhear him telling me his story myself…or be haunted by this juxtaposition of events: reading, well, listening to his audiobook in his own words and voice just weeks before he died.

Truly, rest well, Matthew Perry. Rest so peacefully well.

Come back next Monday for another book review!

Pumpkins Bursting With Opportunity And Community

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Many people know Wendy as a writer, but in her day job she runs a medical non-profit. This post is about the monthly outing with her non-profit sponsors.

Today I am off to help kids in a rent-controlled apartment complex paint pumpkins – by which I mean I sourced where to get free pumpkins, bought paint, and will pick up the pumpkins on the way there.


The kids will have a good time. So will their parents. They will sneak down to the picnic shelter after 20 minutes or so, have a snack, and look at what their kids are doing. They will say things like “Good job” or “What’s that supposed to be?” They will look at the extra pumpkins, and paints, then look around.

One of us who are in charge will smile and say, “Want to do one yourself?” and the parent will shake their head: no no, these are for the kids.

“We will have so many left over we can’t take back with us, seems a shame to waste them,” one of us who are in charge will say. And a minute later the parent will be sitting down at the edge of the group, tentatively reaching for a brush.

Most of them didn’t get childhoods. No one stood over them and said “Good job” or “what’s that supposed to be?” The fact that their kids are whooping it up with stuff they didn’t provide makes them maybe a little sad, maybe a little relieved, these parents who were never children themselves.

After a few minutes, those of us in charge will realize a couple of the parents are amazing artists. We will admire their pumpkin, ask them how long they’ve enjoyed drawing. We will sneak to the craft bin and take out some extra stuff from an event I ran last month, where doctors and their children who were waiting for supper could watercolor on small canvases.

We will ask them if they want a couple of canvases, if they know their neighbor who is also having a grand time painting, and which of the two of them should take home these leftover watercolor paints so they could be shared.

It’s just pumpkins, another day in the life of a bunch of people society blames for their own poverty. It’s just a monthly do-gooding session by a bunch of medical students doing community outreach.

But those medical students are watching what happens when kids and parents have childhoods—maybe together. And those parents are creating community because they’re talking to each other about their pumpkins.

And the directors of the event are watching the pre-med students watch the apartment
complex population come alive with joy, all of them having a good time. Nobody is lecturing anyone about nutrition, but the students just scooped the pumpkin guts into Tupperware and handed them off with recipe cards and small jars of spices and oil.

We’re changing the world, one parent, one pumpkin, one medical student at a time.

Because we’re prioritizing joy, community, and understanding each other.

When these medical students get into residency and hear “poor people make poor choices” and “they’re not interested in changing,” they will remember the pumpkins, the parents, the paints, and the laughter that said a little more loudly: “We’re people who want lives with happiness in them, and we’re doing the best we can with what we’ve got.”

And they will say, “Excuse me, but….”

And I cannot wait until these medical students enter residency!