Oprah went global two months after my fabulous daughter was born. I’m not sure when I started watching, but I’m pretty sure it was close to the beginning. At that time there was no such thing [...]]]> Today is Oprah’s last show, and I hope you will all watch it, because Oprah is my friend.

Oprah went global two months after my fabulous daughter was born. I’m not sure when I started watching, but I’m pretty sure it was close to the beginning. At that time there was no such thing as TIVO, so I didn’t tape it. Let’s say I watched five times a month. I don’t remember any of those shows, but I do remember she was a part of my life as far back as the birth of my fabulous daughter. I also remember that I never discussed watching her with anyone. It wasn’t until the last few years that I came out of the Oprah-Watcher Closet and demanded that those I care about take a look at some of her shows. Many of them looked at me like I was nuts, but I didn’t care.

I’m not alone. Some of Oprah’s stats boggle the mind. Oprah’s audience is predominantly female, white, and over the age of 55. Nationally, 7.4 million people watch Oprah daily—about 2.6 percent of American households. Four percent of American women (about 5.7 million) watch her daily, compared with 1.2 percent of men (1.7 million people). Overall, 2 percent of Americans age 18 to 49 watch Oprah—more than 5 billion people over the last twenty-five years.

She has sold millions of books, propelling unknown first-time authors to the New York Times Best Seller List and bringing some of literature’s classics to those of us who would never have read them. As a kid, I was a voracious reader, but somewhere along the path to adulthood I’d forgotten to pack books, and she reminded me that they needed to be a part of my everyday life. I remember the summer she said, “Let’s all read War and Peace together.” Here is what she said about it. “War and Peace is not so much difficult as it is long. Dig in, though, and you’ll quickly see why Tolstoy’s exuberant opus—set in the years just before, during, and after Napoleon’s invasion of Russia—is arguably the greatest novel of all time. Within these pages, you’ll find family drama, trenchant social observation, military history, brilliant discourse on the question of free will, and a love story for the ages.” I loved that summer, and War and Peace was one of the reasons why.

She has dealt with politically hot issues, including race, incest, bullying, and pretty much anything that has more than one passionate point of view. If topics like these hurt the heart too much, I sometimes have to look away, but she always does it with compassion, humor, and intelligence; and I can honestly say, I have never looked away or turned off an Oprah show. That’s a testament to her greatness right there.

I have watched some Oprah shows with Ms. Sarah, daughter extraordinaire. And, while Sarah sometimes rolled her eyes when I asked her to watch with me, generally she was transfixed after the first few minutes. She and I sent contributions after some shows. We laughed at Oprah and Gayle’s cross country drive, and at least I was imagining Sarah and me making the same trip as they lovingly bickered their way cross-country. I am closer to Sarah because of Oprah. Thanks, Oprah.

Oprah was born poor and black, deep in the south. Her mother left her with her grandmother when she was a baby. When she was around five, she was sent back to her mother. She was darker skinned than her sister, and when she arrived at the house her mother lived in, the owner of the house made her sleep alone on the porch outside because she didn’t want her in the house. Oprah was terrified out there. Alone and frightened, she invited an imaginary angel to sleep with her to keep her company and to keep her safe.

Her mother was on welfare, and one Christmas she said there would be no Christmas presents because there was no money. Oprah was saddened by this, mostly because she didn’t want to have to go to school and say they didn’t get gifts because there was no money. Nuns arrived on Christmas Eve and brought gifts, and Oprah received a doll. She was relieved because she could now go to school with a present to share. But, she also says that what was truly extraordinary was that she mattered to someone. She said she felt as if she was really somebody who was worth something to someone, or why would the nuns have brought her a gift?

Ok, last story, I promise. Her grandmother was hanging clothes to dry in the backyard of their house and she told Oprah that she wanted her to learn how to do it well so she could get a good job with a nice family when she grew up. Oprah was four. She remembers thinking, even then, that she was destined for something better and that she was not going to be hanging anyone else’s clothes on any clothesline.

I think Oprah’s pain and her experiences are what her shows relevant to her viewers. Been there, done that, and lived to share it with you, audience, if you just hang in there with me. And, isn’t that true for all of us and our friendships? Our shared experiences of our different lives are important to our friends, and sharing those experiences bring us closer.

There are Oprah-isms that have stayed with me through the years. Let me share a few of them.

Aha Moments. I have a lot of them, but not until she taught me to stop for a moment and notice them did I realize their value. I write them down now, and pass them on to my child and my friends. I like aha moments. They enrich my life.

God has a bigger dream for you than you have for yourself. While I don’t believe in the traditional God, Oprah and I have found our own God-voice over our years together, and I often go to that place that says I can do more than I dreamed. And while the journey to that end is slow indeed, I’m still striving toward it because I believe it.

You are enough the way you are. This is the hardest one of all. It’s hard to remember to view yourself through your personal mirror rather than out the window that shows your reflection through the eyes of others. It still eludes me, but it was brought to my attention by my good friend Oprah, and I thank her.

I should point out that I am not actually Oprah’s friend. She doesn’t know I exist, and that’s ok with me. Oprah is my friend. Her secrets are mine. Her glass, which seems always to be half-full, is my glass. When I am going through a difficult time I often think of her and remind myself that each of our journeys are a part of someone else’s journey, and that I need to remember that. So, I don’t really care if Oprah goes off the air. I have a lifetime’s lessons from her already inside me, and my friendship with her has nothing to do with seeing her every day, but rather with our mutual experience and attitudes over the past quarter-century. So, I bid you a fond farewell, old friend. It’s been a pleasure.

And as for the housekeeper/assistant—you couldn’t resign when you got pregnant? You had to stay in the household for ten more years? You had to provide Maria and the children with memories of yourself as an integral part of their personal lives, and all the while you were the mother [...]]]> Arnold, Arnold, Arnold. Really?

And as for the housekeeper/assistant—you couldn’t resign when you got pregnant? You had to stay in the household for ten more years? You had to provide Maria and the children with memories of yourself as an integral part of their personal lives, and all the while you were the mother to their husband’s/father’s child? Really?

This story is not a new one. In other countries, it’s not a deal-breaker the way it is in the US of A. Since time immemorial men have been fathering children out of wedlock. France’s president was not brought down when he introduced his out-of-wedlock daughter. It made the news, but not the way it would have here. What is different about the European and American points of view on these things?

I was having lunch yesterday with two smart men with whom I consult. One of them is from Central America, and he joked that it’s clearly Maria’s fault for having hired someone who could catch her husband’s eye. If he weren’t joking, he would be the cad that Arnold is, and that would be unacceptable. And then he told an extraordinary story. He said his mother had always said she only wanted to know the children of her daughters, because those were the only grandchildren that she knew to be hers. I asked if she really said that, and he said yes. Extraordinary. He asked me why it was that women who cheat on their husbands never seem to get pregnant, but the women married men sleep with do. I asked him if he felt it to be the man’s responsibility to make sure he is protected, and he said yes, but I think he meant no.

Arnold has always been more of a man’s man than a woman’s man. And he’s been very smart. He’s made a fortune and hasn’t allowed his image to be affected by his womanizing, or worse, by his mistreatment of women. And he never lost anything because of it. Is this where we start talking about taking responsibility? He said yesterday that he takes responsibility for his actions; will someone please explain to me what that actually means? The phrase, “I take responsibility for my actions” is bandied about as if there are always consequences for taking responsibility. Not so much.

He signed a three-movie contract last week, just before this story broke. He could take responsibility by saying he realizes he has no business being an action “hero” to the youth of this country and is pulling out of the deal. Or the studio could help him take responsibility by canceling the contract. Will men go to his movies because they love his Terminator persona as well as to join a secret society, one that is never public, that says a guy really wants to spread his “wealth” around? Go Arnold? If I gave a lie detector test to 100 really decent guys and asked if they thought he was a terrible person, they would answer, “Yes, of course!” Would they be lying? I’m not sure. And please don’t condescend to me by attributing my opinion to my being jaded by my own divorce, because I’m not. And fellow peeps without dicks, please don’t go to his movies anymore. And please don’t let your sons go. And please encourage your guy friends and your family not to go. Let’s retire this ridiculous, ego-driven human being to obscurity—which, as we know from OJ’s history, is a fate worse than being a lying, cheating cad (at least to a lying, cheating cad).

Who is worse, Arnold or the love-child’s mother, Mildred Baena?  Turns out her son is almost 14. Arnold and Maria’s youngest is 13, which means that at one point, Mildred and Maria were both pregnant in the same house together. Cozy. This is the type of thing from which one does not easily recover. When Maria saw the baby, did she know? And Mildred, who are you? Ever heard of sisterhood? Maria is one of the strongest supporters of women in the country, and she spends a good portion of her time on helping women build their self-esteem. Nice payback, girlfriend.

Ok, Christine, what is your point? I have no idea. I have no bloody idea what the point of this is. But one thing I know for sure is that it’s none of my business. Their personal life is none of my business. But I do want to know what the makeup of his DNA is; what made him do it? Is it a total F-you to women? Was it the steroids he must have taken in his youth? Was it a mistake, and Mildred then blackmailed him?

I would also like to say that I never liked him. When I moved to California I often told people that it was hard to live in a state whose Governor was not able to properly pronounce its name. Enough said.

Here’s a prime example of ‘Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus’ offered by an English professor from the University of Phoenix. The professor told his class one day, ‘Today we will experiment with a new form called the [...]]]>

I rarely post things from others, but I couldn’t resist on this one because it’s so me.

Here’s a prime example of ‘Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus’ offered by an English professor from the University of Phoenix. The professor told his class one day, ‘Today we will experiment with a new form called the tandem story. The process is simple. Each person will pair off with the person sitting to his or her immediate right. As homework tonight, one of you will write the first paragraph of a short story. You will e-mail your partner that paragraph and send another copy to me. The partner will read the first paragraph and then add another paragraph to the story and send it back, also sending another copy to me. The first person will then add a third paragraph, and so on back-and-forth.  Remember to re-read what has been written each time in order to keep the story coherent. There is to be absolutely NO talking outside of the e-mails and anything you wish to say must be written in the e-mail. The story is over when both agree a conclusion has been reached.’
The following was actually turned in by two of his English students: 
Rebecca and Gary.
—————————————
THE STORY

(TEACHER)

A+, I  really liked this one.

I have a picture next to my desk of a three-headed person. The caption under it reads, “I think my life would be easier,” she said, “if I could just get my selves to agree on something.” The struggle between the two people in the dialog above goes on inside me with myself each day.

I want to go to the dark side versus positive energy creates positive energy side. It’s a struggle each day to wake up and “choose joy,” as my friend Claire suggests.

I want to live in Los Angeles versus get thee back to NYC in a hurry girl!

I am going to quit everything and just write and money be damned versus making an amazing living with two jobs and tons of fabulous people to work alongside. (That last line is also a bit of a lie. Not all the people I work along side are fab. But some of them read this blog, so I thought I’d throw it out there.)

Ok, and the ever present, pasta appetizer or the ever allusive salad with dressing on the side?

Needless to say, conflict is the flavor of life and the conflicts inside and out are fun to laugh with if you can. PS. I think Rebecca is a much better writer than what’s his name above.

Listen up. We have a fabulous opportunity here. We can rise above our lowlife selves and let the media and the world know that what Tiger does in the [...]]]> Get it, Tiger in the Woods? Really it’s not about Tiger in the woods, as much as its about not seeing the forest for the trees.

Listen up. We have a fabulous opportunity here. We can rise above our lowlife selves and let the media and the world know that what Tiger does in the woods of his house is not our business. If he rammed a golf cart into the clubhouse at the U.S. Open after being chased by Jack Nicklaus because he moved his ball an eighteenth of an inch on the eighteenth green one stroke shy of losing to Jack just as dusk was setting in so it went unnoticed, then we would be entitled to be a part of his drama. But this situation, one that no one expected from the likes of the man who can focus better than a computer chip, has left those of us who expected he had the same championship personal life as he had in his professional life reeling.

So, let’s reel on down the highway, out of his space and let him and his wife figure out their future without us.

That said, can we discuss the word assumption? There is that stupid saying, “to assume is to make an ass out of you and me.” Whatever.

I hate that I assumed he had it all together because he wins on the golf course. I hate that I can never watch him again with the same awe that his life is better than mine; that the parenting that seemed to be the strong suit of his parents and something that I yearned to have as my own, must have had some sort of flaw. I hate that the lovely hugs with wife and children when he wins might just be for show, and mostly I hate that maybe they aren’t just for show but I will never believe it again.

So, Tiger hasn’t let us down. We have let him down. We are not entitled to his private life becoming part of his public life. We must reject it. I will not read one more article about it. I will turn the channel if it’s on TV, and most of all, I will try and watch that black or red shirt on the course and the fabulous way he masters the clubs in his hands without the benefit of knowing what went on in the privacy of his home the night before.

For me, how a guy drives says it all. I need a strong, [...]]]> A friend recently said you must always find the test you need to give a guy to make sure he has what you need to be your life partner. I started thinking about it, and I know exactly what she means.

For me, how a guy drives says it all. I need a strong, fast driver, with accuracy at the wheel. Someone who would never lose his temper at another driver. He would just leave them in the dust. He would pick the right lane and have an E-ZPass card in his pocket at all times in case we rented a car, or took mine instead of his. He would know how to get places, or ask for directions with ease, neither embarrassed nor pointing his finger whilst receiving said directions.

I had a boyfriend, who I look back on now and laugh about. I should have known he was a loser while I was dating him, but I didn’t. I couldn’t see beyond the Al Pacino looks. The biggest tip-off, however, was the way he drove.

“Did you see that guy? He cut me off!”

He handed me his apple peel, licked his fingers, and put them back on the wheel.

Little old ladies passed us in no passing zones.

“Can you believe ‘we’ picked the slowest line?”

I think somewhere underneath I wanted him to be a different guy in general, so I gave him Skip Barber Driving School in Arizona for Christmas one year. It’s a three-day course on the racetrack where you drive at lightning speed with a helmet on. You graduate after the course with a certificate.

“This is interesting,” he said when opening the card with the information in it. “It sounds like an adventure. I can do this. Do you think I can do this?”

He called after the first afternoon’s intro class.

“Our teacher hates me.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t hate you. Why do you say that?”

“I can tell. He ignores me now when I put my hand up. I’m the only one asking questions, and I think he doesn’t like questions.”

Pause.

“And, I could see he didn’t like my answer to the question about what car we each own. Everyone went around the room with answers like ’a fifties souped-up Mustang’ or ‘a Trans Am.’”

“What do you say?” I asked the question because he didn’t own a car, we used mine all the time. Which, by the way, was indicative of everything about what we did. I either paid for it or owned it.

“When he got to me, I said, ‘I take public transportation.’ And then, I looked over at him and he was rolling his eyes.”

I didn’t hear much from him the next two days. I went to his apartment when he got home and he was all abuzz about the course.

“God, it was great. They gave us these amazing cars to drive, and we wore driving clothes and I really got the hang of it. Look, I already hung my picture.”

I went over to the wall and there was a picture of him next to a race car with his helmet tucked under his arm, and a huge smile. He looked really handsome. Then I read the following underneath the picture, “He Whomever completed the three-day race car driving school at our Arizona racetrack. He was clocked going 57 miles an hour on his fastest lap.” I read it again, “Fifty-seven miles an hour.”

I turned to him. I looked at him. I looked at the picture.

“The fastest you went on the race course was fifty-seven miles an hour?”

His face fell, and I didn’t even feel bad.

“Yes, fast driving person, I was the slowest in the class. But they all drive a lot. Yes, they had to clear the track when I went around it so people didn’t pass me, okay? I feel really good about my performance. Jim, our instructor said I did great, and I didn’t need to do a second lap! You always ruin everything!”

I’m sure you are not surprised to hear we didn’t end up together. I should have broken up with him when the old lady passed us in the no passing zone and he yelled at her. I should have left him after the apple incident. I should have left him when he got lost and anxious. Actually, I should have broken up with him when all of my friends said he was a leech loser.

Take a look at the way the man in your life drives a car. Make sure it’s compatible with your own driving patterns. This could save you a lot of heartache and bad choices.