And, we’re back

Let’s talk about death, baby, let’s talk about mortality and me…

Well, hello, Substack. 2 years, 10 months and a handful of days later, we’re back… (and by “we” I mean “I”.)

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I’ve never forgotten you, but we were never really close, were we? It’s not like my long-term relationship with Ghost, or even my exes, Movable Type and WordPress.

Look, I’m not going to break up with Ghost. We have a stable and committed relationship. But, y’know, it’s a very modern CMS relationship, and Ghost will forgive me a dalliance on the side, won’t it? I mean, it’s not like flirting is actually cheating, is it?

So, I’m going to have a wee play with Substack again. If that idea horrifies and disgusts you, you know where the unsubscribe button is, despite Substack’s best efforts to hide it. They’ve got to keep those active user numbers juiced for the investors, right? .

And I won’t hold it against you if you use it, you know. I might even respect you that little bit more. It’s the ones who walk away that are always the most attractive, aren’t they?

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Stack Finds

A pair of Substack posts I found worth reading.

I was Chandler

I loved the early seasons of Friends. I remember finding it one evening on the telly, in the days before the internet consumed all my attention, and boggling at seeing my life on the screen. Well, not my life exactly, but a more glamorous, more American version of it: 20-somethings trying to figure it all out, with not quite enough money, and not nearly enough power at work, and with friends at the centre of our universe.

The genius of the show was two fold:

• The casting

• The archetypes

Each of the major Friends represented a certain character type, and you could quickly sort your friendship group into those archetypes. For example, my serious girlfriends in the 90s were a Rachel followed by a Phoebe. The 2000s have been dominated by my marriage to a Monica.

(I originally typed that “girlfriends” as “grief friends”, so I think it’s fair to say my subconscious hasn’t yet forgiven me for my dating choices at the time.)

And, appropriately enough, I was a Chandler. I probably didn’t realise it at the time, because I saw Ross’s nerdiness and thought that was me. But no, I was the snarky outsider, who kept everybody at an emotional distance through humour. It was only with distance and time that I saw it. Frankly, I never had any of Ross’s clinginess and emotional baggage. He really comes across as so much more creepy than I remember, when I watch the odd episode these days). And so, like many people, I was deeply unsettled by the death of Matthew Perry over the weekend.

I, like Chandler, got my happy ending (for now, at least). But Perry never did. And if looking at Chandler three decades ago was like looking into a funhouse mirror version of myself, looking at Perry’s life is like looking at a nightmare path not taken.

For those of us who grew into middle age alongside Friends, it’s also an unsettling reminder of mortality. I lost one of my best friends last year, and another acquaintance from the 90s passed over the weekend. We’re getting to that age where our parents generation is shrinking fast, and our own it beginning to see attrition. And nobody likes being reminded of where that leads.

For those amongst us who were a bit younger, who grew up aspiring to be the Friends, the experience was a little different, as Helen Lewis catches in her Substack post:

Matthew Perry, the best Friend I never knew

(If you wonder why I specified “the early seasons” of Friends, well, it’s because I lost interest when it became hugely popular. Yes, it only felt cool when hardly anyone knew about it. I was that sort of a 20-something.)

Ouch

Long years ago, I taught Isolde Walters social and digital journalism as part of a Masters in newspaper journalism. She seemed nice, and very engaged with the course. And this is the bit where I go on to say how positive she is about the whole experience, right?

Nah.

And yes my journalism masters - which offered modules on investigations, shorthand, media law and interactive journalism - did not dedicate a single class to teaching us how to pitch. An omission I still find mind boggling. 

Social and Digital journalism, Isolde. Not Interactive. That’s a whole Masters.

Tsk.

(Although, confusingly, that’s just been renamed Digital and Social journalism.)

But, y’know, I’m big enough to take criticism, so here I am plugging her Substack, which is very good, if tending to a little on the TMI side for an aging lecturer to know about a much younger person he once spent circa 20 hours with over a term…

(Cynics might also note that, as a mere hourly rate visiting lecturer at the time, I had absolutely zero control over anything but my own module, and thus can spin a barb I don’t feel the sting of into a decent intro, without having to engage emotionally at all. But only cynics would note it, and you aren’t like that, are you? See, I knew I liked you.)

How to pitch a story

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Token Photos

Here’s some gourd photography:

Gourd heavens!

Yes, I do enjoy plays on words far too much. Why do you ask?

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See you again in about 2 years, 10 months and a handful of days…