[Note: you must click the links to discover why I'm posting this,...]
"Oprah can glide like Cleopatra through the world, a phalanx of dutiful assistants teasing her hair and refreshing her lip gloss and straightening the shoulders of her Armani suit and I refuse to think any less of her. Oprah is a well-groomed, engaged, enthusiastic professional with a media empire at her manicured fingertips; she's had her image and her show and her brand restyled over and over and over again by a multimillion-dollar team of overpaid experts, each of them, in turn, as slick, cheerful, motivated and creepy as the last -- but I love that woman like the beautiful black mommy I never had.
Oprah! Even when she's irritated, she's lovable and intriguing. Oprah! Even when she's bossy and impatient and self-absorbed, she still wows you with her generosity of spirit and her openness and her warmth. I love fat Oprah. I love skinny Oprah. I love in-between Oprah. I love "I'm never dieting again!" Oprah. I love marathon-running Oprah. I love "screw marriage!" Oprah. I love "my little yapping doggies are my babies" Oprah. I love the whole Oprah franchise, with every one of the billions and billions of Oprahs served. I love the whole Oprah universe, with every one of the trillions and trillions of Oprahs that exist under the sun, to infinity and beyond!
Oprah! Oprah! Oprah! Tell us what to read! Tell us what to wear! Tell us who to vote for! Tell us how to redesign our emotional landscapes! Tell us how to be stronger, more confident, more put-together, more professional! Show us how to become glossy and intimidating -- traits we loathe in others, but secretly covet!
If I were ever motivated and ambitious enough to write a book, and my book made it into Oprah's Book Club? Not only would I let Oprah put her "Oprah's Book Club" logo on the cover of my book, I'd allow Oprah's logo to dominate the cover. "Hell, let's just scrap our original cover and go with an enormous photo of Oprah's face," I'd tell the publisher, and then I'd mention that if, instead of calling to tell me that she picked my book, Oprah would prefer to move into my home and sleep with my husband and polish off the rest of the Valentine's Day candy and grind her boots into my couch like Rick James, I wouldn't mind that, either.
Now you think I'm joking. No. Oprah is the one smiling, flawless powerhouse in this world that I trust, and I trust Oprah in everything that she does. I don't care if someone writes a book about how Oprah is secretly evil. Oprah could behave like an insufferable diva or a grandiose fool, and I wouldn't care. She could hire someone whose only task was to dust the stray specks of dirt and lint off her butter-yellow couches all day long, and I would think that was a good choice, because Oprah doesn't make any bad choices,...(And by the way, I love the look on Oprah's face when yet another mortal confesses his or her undying love. Yes, yes, you love me, of course, can we get on with this?")
- The totally deluded Heather Havrilesky, writing for Salon.com
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