Oprah is on an outing to Australia. And she wowed the Melbourne crowd, working them like an old fashioned black gospel preacher.
I’ve seen nothing like this in my life!! In my life!! MY WHOLE LIFE!!! WOW!!!!!!. I love you Melbourne!
Really? Better than the 21,000 strong dancing flashmob in Chicago last year,which she described at the time as ‘her favourite city on the whole world’?
Perhaps sensing my cynicism, a friend asked plaintively, “Will you hate me if I go?”
No dear, of course not. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of company.
And sure enough, although the TV cameras concentrated, predictably, on the middle-aged housewives, the halt, the lame and a stylistically-challenged Prime Minister, all yearning for a touch of the sainted hand, there were plenty of queens there too.
What is it with the gay adoration of this woman? Is it the endless tiresome attempt to ‘out’ her and her bestie Gayle?
Oprah says no, and then no, and then no again. There’s nothing to out. If she was a dyke, she would have said so a long time ago.
If there were any story to tell, she’d have told it. Her struggles to understand and accept her sexuality would have been documented at heart-wrenching, profitable length, on TV, online, in her magazine and in a book.
Oprah is probably the one woman in the world who would actually raise the esteem in which she’s held – and more to the point, her ratings – if she were to come out. The very fact that she hasn’t, means there’s no coming out to do. She’s straight.
No, tempting as it might be to imagine Oprah and Gayle as a black American remake of Dame Edna and Madge, I’m sorry to tell you it just ain’t so.
Besides, even if she were a closet case, there’d be every reason to respect her. This modern-day global Evita, whose word is gospel to millions if not billions, is one lady you do not want to piss off.
Another of these tiresome and pointless campaigns of celebrity outing was apparently crowned with success, when Carrie Fischer appeared to out John Travolta.
No doubt Mr Travolta’s very busy lawyers – almost as busy as Tom Cruise’s – have been on the phone to Ms. Fisher already, and she will sooner or later issue a clarification’.
But really – who cares? By all means out with extreme prejudice the pollies and celebs who hide their sexuality yet speak and act against us.
But hands off Oprah, and Travolta, and Cruise and Jackman. This constant hounding of people who have done us no harm is ridiculous.
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Calling all real celebrities. Just as I thought; no reply.
Do all real celebrities still use fake names? Fred Astair was really Frederick Austerlitz, which sounds like a WW II obergrüppenfuhrer rather than someone twirling on his toes. Jack Benny, comedian, was actually Benjamin Kubelsky and Walter Matthau was legally, take a big breath, Walter Matuschanskayaskay.*
Today’s so-called celebrities are now more famous for being charged with serious night-club criminal offences or for multifarious, simultaneous extra-marital liaisons (read sex romps), being sued, taking out AVOs, being seen at beaches wearing nothing but too much weight, admitting themselves to five-star rehabilitation clinics or even just doing the completely ordinary; arranging Christmas dinner with their mum.
Nose jobs, boob jobs, penis “enhancements”, tummy tucks, and face lifts are de rigueur. Being straight, gay, bi-sexual or tri-sexual, those who try anything, or those who are what I call I-sexual and who love themselves more than ever, is all passé.
TV show hosts such as Oprah now think they’re more important than the interviewee, who is the real point of the interview. And sometimes they ARE actually more important, with hosts having more people-pulling power than a turbine tractor.
Even royalty is engaging in celebrity-itis by announcing an engagement. Yawn. They turn weddings into an industry with all their teapot pageantry and pedantry.
Why is the mundane chore of cooking pasta for dinner now subject to TV shows by celebrity master chefs? They recreate a simple, boil water, dunk pasta, drain-and-eat, task into something so complex even space scientists couldn’t handle it. I buy take-away instead.
All these are faux celebrity try-harders and part of society’s new narcissi. Being noticed is enough to justify their existence to themselves. But not to me.
There’s really nothing to celebrate in this phalanx of fools.
I believe we live in an age of surfaces.
Like Oliver Twist, however, I want more. I want to see more meaning in their flash bulb-driven, face book existence. I want more than just callow comments about their newly-adopted, cafè latte-coloured baby.
I actually want to hear about their positive, behind-the-scenes, significant cultural contributions if I must hear about them at all. And I want to see how they create an over-horizon, lasting legacy to our future and intelligence.
My celebrities are absolute, concrete people.
A celebrity by definition should actually do something or be someone worth celebrating, not just noticing.
I celebrate inventors. I celebrate the marvellous, inner world of artists and musicians whose crotchets and meaningful minims vibrate the air in our minds and excite the senses.
I celebrate writers and thinkers, even cobwebbed philosophers and orators, if the latter still exist.
These are the real celebrities and really worth a celebration.
* http://www.angelfire.com/la/stagenames/
Look! Nobody really cares and she’s str8 right! Well, i’m not and i would like to take Gayle on a date!!!!!! Holla at me Gayle! :)
I can’t say Ms Winfrey excites me to be honest. But it’s nothing personal – I’m simply not interested in the talk show genre. Give me Julian Assange any day.