not sad, just embarassed

I watched the first 38 minutes of Oprah’s interview with James Frey; for the most part, it just served to remind me why I don’t watch Oprah all that often. Because it’s all about Oprah!* Really, how MANY times could she tell us that she was ‘embarassed’ by the whole whoops-it’s-not-all-true thing? What irritated me was her swing from I BELIEVED EVERY SINGLE WORD to I HAD MY DOUBTS ALL ALONG. Because, of course, like you, I found myself thinking, well, if you had your doubts, why not pursue them? Like the folks at The Smoking Gun did!

Frey himself seemed to be regretting his decision to get clean and sober, as a stiff drink would have made it all better or at least less painful. In fact, I turned it off primarily because Oprah’s insistence that she was not sad, just embarassed was starting to make ME want a stiff drink. Frey did get himself into a bit of a tangle, however, when he insisted on referring to people in the book as ‘characters,’ a term usually applied to the folks in fictional writing. But let’s face it, he was just there to face the Wrath of Oprah. It’s the literary version of being called to the principle’s office. But with a live studio audience audience! And Oprah! By the end, even that drug-free double root canal was sounding less painful than this particular interview.

I was the most irritated with Nan Talese, Frey’s editor, who had no good answer when asked, in Oprah’s defensive, roundabout way, why she never had Frey’s manuscript fact checked. The best she could do was assert, repeatedly, that it ‘rang true.’ And while I will give her that (after all, OPRAH believed it), I still say that she has a responsibility to check the facts in any text that purports to be a TRUE story. How hard would it have been for someone at Doubleday to call the Ohio police department? Again, not so hard! The people at The Smoking Gun did it!

And now I have done with James Frey and Oprah. Forever and ever, amen.

when I said mundane, what I really meant was fascinating

I want to be clear about something I said in my last post, about Mommy blogging being about the ‘mundane.’ I did not mean that what I–or anyone writing in this genre–has to say is insignificant; quite the opposite. Too often, in our culture, we overlook the mundane–the everyday, the quotidian–in favor of the exotic. But while the exotic–Brad and Angelina and their instafamily, for example–might be entrancing, most of us are not Angelina. And if we think about it, I don’t think most of us want to be (although I would like to know what it’s like to have those boobs, just for a day. Wade thinks maybe for a weekend).

I went on to say that Oprah’s selection of A Million Little Pieces confirmed the importance of Frey’s story. I did not mean either that Frey’s story was more important than, for example, mine, or that only Oprah has the power to conferr importance. We live in a culture that demands external validation and we often turn to the media to find it. And, unfortunately, when the media talks about mommies, it is more likely to be a story about Angelina than a story about someone from your playgroup. Or mine, for that matter.

Even though THAT is the story I really want to read. Particularly if it’s funny. And perhaps involves a cute puppy!

Enough said.

other than this, everything else is completely true (I think)

Having made such a huge deal about TRUTH, I feel compelled to disclose the following: I don’t really like martinis. I like the idea of the martini, and I love those glasses, but the actual concoction makes me a little queasy. But I will happily carry one around at a party, because they make such great accessories! Although I prefer to drink wine. Or a nice Bloody Mary, if it’s early in the day.

Can you ever forgive me?

they’re sparkly! and shiny! and practical!

Let’s say, hypothetically, that I was thinking of buying these shoes (by which I mean that I have already bought them but have not told Wade). Are they fabulous or just . . . not? Help me out, here, Internet. I need some external validation.

*Yes, I am aware of the irony of complaining, in my blog, which is, of course, all about ME, about Oprah turning her televised talk show into an hour of narcissism. Let it go, people, let it go.