The problem with the imminent shut down of Oprah Winfrey’s eponymous day time talk show is the grim future of sick days. We’ve all had those times dribbling on the couch, sans pants, eating peanut butter with a spoon in the zen-like state that comes with the knowledge that Oprah will be on tv soon. And while what I’ve described may actually be a random scene lifted from Bridget Jones’ Diary there’s a certain truth to the calming tonic that is watching Oprah. There’s her infinite bank of sage proverbs: “books were my pass to personal freedom”, “Doing the best at this moment puts you in the best place for the next moment”, “I feel that luck is preparation meeting opportunity”, etc. There’s the numerous relationships she provides viewers with: spiritual advisor, good conscience, generous benefactress, fat self-righteous aunt, hooked up social director of middle aged Hollywood…
But the time has come.
The talkshow zenith and benevolent billionaire is tapping out from life in front of the camera to bro down with Gayle in matching DreamTime Foot Cozys and mauve Pure Color Cords; but before that she’s got her final season of the show which started yesterday. At the beginning of the show she made the holy-shit announcement that she’s taking her entire audience for a week long holiday in AAAUUUUUUSTRRAAAAAALIIAAAAA and guess who is flying them there in a Qantas jet? Her very best friend JOHN TRRAAAVOOOOOLLLTAAAAAA. Oprah’s traditionally reactionary audience freaked.
She’s recording her show from the Oprah House Opera House. I’m going to find out how to be there and we’re all going.
