(Editorial note: Grief stricken Oprah fans: the following content may be unsuitable for your delicate sensitives given the gravity of the day. Consider the spirit of satire in which this article is intended. Do not write the owner of blogspot to complain. The following views do not reflect the philosophy or convictions of Al Gore (the inventor of the internet), so don't call him either. For goodness sakes, if Oprah is one of your facebook friends, do not roll it over to HER wall. Hmmm....maybe you can. . I'll never get a chance to appear on her 'books you can't die without reading' show anyway. Not like I can shoot myself in the foot on that one, can I?)
In Biblical times, families of the deceased hired mourners to provide displays of public grief. The shrieking and wailing your hear coming over the horizon are NOT officially hired mourners. I'm making all that racket. As some old rocker dude would say, "I don't need no hired help!"
How did I NOT get the memo? Yes. I was out of town for week. I did come home and get straight into my end-of-the-world bunker. Yes, I had packed up my fax machine to take with me so that all you folks left here after 5p last Saturday could get in touch with me after I was gone. But, really! HOW DID I NOT GET THE MEMO!
When I realized it was safe to come out of my bunker, the buzz quickly became a roar: OPRAH IS LEAVING! In fact, I think she already left the building here in my time zone. I had no time to prepare. No time to stock pile her favorite things. No time to DVR her last precious words. No time to make a list of all the celebs that came to mourn with me. No time.. no time...no time...echo...echo...echo......
What is a fraidy cat to do? I was just getting brave enough to put one timid paw forward into the world that Oprah made go round. So, she picks NOW to pull the plug! Are you kidding me? How in the WORLD am I going to know what my favorite things are? How will I know which new psycho-guru is the one I should listen to since Dr. Phil is getting a little long in the tooth? Where will I look for another Dr. Oz to take me to the next level of health? But, enough about me.
What will the chefs of the world do now that they no longer have the hope of working for her and leveraging their job into a best selling cookbook? What about the poor girl that spent a year Living Oprah (Robyn Okrant)? Whose advice will get her through another year's worth of book material? And, who...oh... WHO.....is going to understand my love/hate relationship with food the way Oprah does? Oh wait...that was about me again.
I am bereft and va-klempt. I am undone! Talk amongst yourselves for a minute while I inhale some chocolate dust. The future stretches out in front of me--a yawing abyss of unguided uncertainty. I was just getting my tiny little paws under me. I know, I just KNOW, that if she had hung around long enough to find my blog, she would have LOVED me. I would have been her next favorite book-thing. In fact, she might even have helped make me, a harmless little kitty cat, at least 1/10th as rich as Harry Potter and all his crew. Alas, the door is shut. The book is closed. I will never gain entry into that magic fairly-land known as 'Oprah's 15 minutes of fame which gets you bumped immediately to the top of the NYT's best seller list'.
Wait. What? What's that? Katie? Katie Couric is going to be her replacement in afternoon talk show land? Oprah has her own NETWORK now?!?!? GULP! I'm so embarrassed. I always wanted Katie to interview me anyway. Never mind! 'Scuse me! I need to go make a phone call. These hired mourners are costing me a fortune. What? You didn't really think it was just ME making ALL that racket, did you?