Tuesday, September 14, 2010

"Cuz I’m a wOman…”

My plan yesterday afternoon was to leave school right away—that is, as soon as contractually possible (2:25), rush home, change, go to the gym, stop at Costco and Stop and Shop and get home by 4. In other words, I was going to run around like a maniac, at break neck speed, so I could get home for Oprah. It is her final season, after all.

I have watched Oprah on and off for all of her 24 seasons. Sometimes she got on my nerves, but always I was in awe of her tremendous power and influence, and respected her decision to do good things, talk about difficult topics, and to use her celebrity to affect positive change. Like her book club.

Sure, I often make snarky comments about having read certain titles before Oprah picked them for her book club, but I’m a reader, so I tend to read what’s new and, in my estimation, what’s good. Okay, that makes me a book snob, too. I suppose I read things around the same time she does, and the lag time—for current titles—more than anything probably represents production time. Shows are recorded and edited before they air, and those O logos don’t appear magically on book jackets over night. I know that. And I appreciate that she has inspired people to read, and to read good books. No offense, but I don’t think there’s been a single genre book or any formulaic fiction (read: John Grisham) on her list. (I told you I’m a book snob!) Amen, sister. Anyway…

I didn’t manage to do everything I planned yesterday, and I actually didn’t make it home by 4, but later in the evening Deanna watched the first 15 minutes on TiVo and then called to fill me in on what I missed. During the forty five minutes I did watch, I managed to go through three Kleenex tissues. I imagine this season I’ll go through a lot more of them.

She has been a great companion on my couch and on the treadmill at my gym. She has been conversation fodder for my friends and me—as has her show. And I plan to watch as many episodes as possible, but maybe from the treadmill and not my couch. Or at least not my couch after the treadmill and a thousand errands.

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