Thursday, March 30, 2006

Damn you, Oprah.

I rarely ever get to sit down in front of the tv until after 9 or 10 at night (except Thursdays, of course. Survivor!). This pretty much excludes all daytime programming from my repetoire. Cartoon Network, Treehouse, and The Family Channel dominate our sets most of the time they're on.

Not that I'm really missing anything special - I know. The airwaves are filled with copius amounts of shite in general, but it's particularly bad from about 8am until 6pm when the local news comes on...or Dog The Bounty Hunter.

I have no time for Jerry Springer or Montel; if I wanted to watch dysfuntional family members scream at each other or some old lady who thinks she's a psychic, I'd go to my annual family reunion. Daytime soaps make me want to slit my wrists and Dr Phil's preaching gets old after a while. We know he's the all-knowing, most perfect husband-father-brother-son that ever walked the face of the earth. Seen one of his shows, seen them all.

Now Oprah. I used to watch her way back when. When she actually had interesting guests, that is. Before the books and the crazy celebrities. Before her weight was an all-consuming issue. Before she decided to remind everyone, every minute, how much money and power she really has. And why you can never be quite as rich and powerful as she is.

It just so happens that it is Oprah's 20th anniversary year and she was doing a retrospective of some of her favourite guests today and I was actually near a tv in a child-free room around that time. This segment had me blubbering like a baby. I had to lock my bedroom door so my husband didn't come in and catch me crying at Oprah. So cliche.

Damn you, Oprah Winfrey.