Lindsay

I thought Mickey7 would have been full of hijinks, but it instead consisted of Mickey8 sleeping all the time, both Mickeys being hungry, and histories of colonization and exploration that didn't interest me.

Go read “Project Hail Mary” by Andy Weir for more fun with new life forms. 

Meltzer's writing reminds me of a Hallmark movie (ironic?). If you can get past some of the cheesiness, it can give you nice feelings.

This one was a bit of a stretch for me. The motivations of the characters seemed trivial and contrived (summer camp rivalries from more than a decade ago, desperately needing a Matzah Ball ticket for inspiration, etc). 

Also, I don't know when the phrase became “crashing symbols” (Chapter 10) but for some reason I doubt that would be as loud as “crashing cymbals”!

I can't say that I feel like I know much more about Matthew Perry after reading his memoir, than I did before reading it.

The basics: He made millions of dollars doing Friends, tried to turn that success into a movie career, all while being drug-addled, feeling inadequate, and self-sabotaging his relationships.

The cycle of addiction/detox/pain management recurring throughout this memoir, along with some jumping in the timeline, made it difficult for me to keep straight what events happened and when they were taking place. The haziness may be apropos, given the stupor Perry seems to permanently exist within; the writing ebbs and flows between precision and vagueness, and never lands in a comfortable middleground for any extended amount of time. This strange cadence expresses itself in the way Perry presents certain individuals on the page. For example, names range from what feels like very formal first-and-last-name mentions (“Jamie Tarses”), to the cloak-and-daggers never-identified-in-the-book “woman I dated for six years” (Google will tell you this is most likely Lizzie Caplan); only a few people receive the typical first-name-only treatment. That, along with Perry's use of the term “geographic” (What does he mean? Who told him he could use that word in that way?) throughout, is a little jarring

Perry talks about the movie “Groundhog Day” and that's kind of what his book feels like: another chapter, another time he almost succumbed to and lost everything to his addiction. The book itself is quite dreary; there's not a whole lot of uplifting, positive experiences showcased here, which is fine (not everyone's life is golden). I guess I just thought there might be something more. 

I'm still a Matthew Perry fan; I hope he finds solace/hope/happiness; I hope his book was cathartic for him, even if it was a bit of a downer for me.

For me, the biggest takeaway from this book is the idea that households (partners) should focus more on splitting REST more equally, and let the chips (work) fall where it may. Most times, we are obsessed with making sure that we are doing equal amounts of work, and that leaves one or more people chronically tired and constantly falling further behind, becoming more irritated, and resentful. The shift to prioritizing rest, and then tackling the tasks that are most important to making our lives easier and more functional will lead to improved mindsets. I also appreciated the author's specific outlining of what counts as rest or freedom from responsibility, and what does not. Time to yourself is not necessarily rest if you are “on call”.

Another thing this book did a good job of was stating that it is okay to not do it all. Many other books in this realm try to solve the problem of not doing it all (i.e. it's okay that you don't do it all, because now you have my book; here's how to do it all), but I found this book stopped after saying it is okay. There is a very basic guide for how to improve the situation (gather trash, gather dishes, gather laundry, gather misplaced items, action the four previous steps), but the author acknowledges you may still have a mess on your hands after; and, she reiterates that it's okay.

The focus on mental health, no matter the physical state of your environment, is usually absent or a footnote in other books; it was nice to see the spotlight on it, here.

This is like the junior version of “Gone Girl”. Both Logan and Delilah are a bit unhinged.

I'm not sure if it was meant to be predictable, but it was obvious from very early on that Delilah is part of the drug dealing shenanigans at Draycott.

Loose plot thread: whatever happened to the neighbour's garage camera footage? What was the point of Mendez poking around?

Sutanto gets around any potential plot holes by ending the book before any repercussions can play out, but if we (the readers) had been able to stick around a while longer, I think the whole story would have unravelled.