Supernova

 It was just a year ago that I bought Matthew Perry's memoir, Friends, Lovers, and the Big Terrible Thing.  To this day, I'm not exactly sure why.  I never watched the TV show Friends.  I'm not one who has much fascination with celebrity news.  And "I-battled-substance-abuse" celebrity memoirs are seemingly a dime a dozen.  But for an unexplained reason, I was drawn to this particular book, and Perry's story.  It certainly was a grim one.  It'll take someone better versed in psychology than me to untangle Perry's story of a cold, unloved childhood.  His fight for real affection. His early decent into drug and alcohol use.  And the devastating effect the substances would ultimately take on his life.  But it was an absorbing book, and the time I spent reading it was not wasted.  Through the book, I finally felt a small sort of connection with the actor who I had not paid much attention to throughout his life or mine.  His ended yesterday, and that's given me some pensive moments.  A lot of fine people died yesterday, and no attention will be paid to their lives, while an inordinate amount will be paid to Perry's in consequence of his celebrity.  But in his short and chaotic life, he left a mark on the world.  Many will fondly miss him.  The star has died in a brilliant supernova. The rest of us could do worse.

Matthew Perry : a memoir