Tag Archives: Oprah Winfrey

The Shopping News

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If you open, they will come.

This must be the new mantra of malls and department stores all over the country. While so-called “Black Friday” has been going on for years, never has there been so much hype and hoopla, before, during, and, we can safely assume, after the event. For the last three days shopping has dominated the news on TV, and on radio as well. Even Public Radio devoted more than half of every hour to shopping–or, as we used to call it, conspicuous consumption. It got so bad I was forced to flee my beloved NPR in favor of the only station I could count on not to be swept up in material madness–the good ol’ left-wing KPFA.

Will they come?” was the breathless query Monday.
They are coming!” was the elated cry this morning; and
They came!” will no doubt be tomorrow’s triumphant report.

One of my favorite bits of wisdom is Art both creates and reflects culture. Substitute media for art in this case: the news programs got on board early and often so as to shore up our sinking economy with an outsized Christmas blitz. They seem to have succeeded. Some stores even opened on Thanksgiving, and you can be sure more of them will do so next year, and the year after, and so on ad infinitum.

The other day I paused in my channel surfing to catch Oprah displaying My Favorite Things, handing one of each out to every person in the audience. In typical Oprah fashion she screeched out each blessed item with the fervor and conviction of an evangelist, while the (mostly) women in the audience literally screamed, swooned, and salivated over the bounty. It was the most vulgar display I’ve ever seen in my life, bar none. People don’t even care what they’re getting, as long as they get lots of STUFF–I mean, they went apeshit over a jar of face cream!

According to the exhaustive news reporting, three-quarters of these shoppers are supporting today’s binge with plastic. Hello? Hasn’t anyone learned the lessons of this economy, the “new normal?” I thought everyone was pissed off at the credit card companies?

People! Get a grip! Isn’t it bad enough we’re no longer called citizens, or even people, but consumers? Aren’t you sick and tired of corporate America’s business-as-usual? Do you really need all this STUFF?

I know, I sound like Scrooge, but I just had to vent. Thank you for your time. We now interrupt this rant to return to reading “Just Kids” by Patti Smith–which is about the furthest I can get from this year’s version of our national illness.

Movie Star Sex

Cover of

Cover of The Way We Were (Special Edition)

Yesterday Oprah Winfrey reunited Barbra Streisand and Robert Redford on her show as a sort of tribute to their 1973 movie The Way We Were. Millions of women all across the country, including me, shed millions of tears at the sight of these two coming together again. TWWW is the chick flick of the century, a story of unrequited love that breaks your heart every time, whether it’s your first or seventh viewing. For me, the ultimate Barbra Streisand fan and aficianado (see At the HoJo with Babs), the most intriguing aspect of yesterday’s show was the way they interacted: they just could not keep their hands off each other. Their kiss-hug greeting was more than just friendly, and throughout the interview they held hands; every once in awhile a hand would roam. Strangely enough, I’d never wondered if Babs and Bob (she calls Redford Bob) had a real-life affair, being so caught up in the film version. Yesterday I couldn’t help but wonder, what with her facial expression announcing that she was dying to go backstage and grab him good. As my friend Angie said when I asked what she thought, How could they not?


I got to thinking about movie stars’ sex lives, a topic that’s never seriously engaged my interest. I wonder why – after all, the possibilities are endless. Think about it: we plebes have our little fantasies that we think are so risqué, while these golden girls and boys have endless reels of erotic drama to play with when the cameras aren’t looking. Think of all the scenes that end at the bedroom door: why wouldn’t the actors take them to their logical conclusion? Why wouldn’t Babs and Bob have had breakup sex, makeup sex, falling-in-love sex, angry sex – you name it, that movie relationship covered the gamut of human emotion. Why wouldn’t they fly to the nearest bed after the day’s shooting ended?


Celebrity fantasies are nothing new — but people frequently use them as cover-up: to the question What’s your fantasy? a person will often respond by naming Brad or Jen or Angelina, rather than confessing their deep personal dramas. We all have them. Some of us have even written about them. My friend Shar published a couple of collections of sex with the famous and beautiful called Starf*cker.

I’ve dreamt, in my sleep, of doing a 3some with George Clooney and Jimmy  Smits. Even that now seems mundane compared to imagining celebrities with each other, completing all the truncated sex scenes in PG-Rated movies, incorporating the characters into their bedroom fun. By comparison, the straightforward celebrity fantasy seems almost clichéd.

I’ve gotta go now: I have a ton of movies I want to watch again. Camelot. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. All About Eve. West Side Story. And oh yes — The Way We Were.