I don't know if anything in recent memory has depressed me more than the "news" that Oprah might be staging a big, fat, Kardashianical attention-buffet disguised as a "wedding" to Dignified Mustache in Chief Stedman Graham. (I mean, except for famine and stuff. I am totally depressed by famine.) But in terms of the follies of the idle rich, this is a BUMMER turn of events.
Noooooo, Opes! No! I know you're clinging to relevance like it's the last chopper out of attentionville, but it doesn't have to go down like this. Don't Weezer out on us.
To be clear, I love Oprah. Love. In like 1997 Oprah did a show about how chapstick is addictive and you should never use chapstick, and then I never used chapstick again. Because Oprah! Oprah is basically liberal America's mom—she's wise and lovable and spiritual and corny in exactly the way a mom should be. And now she seems to be going through some kind of national-scale empty-nest syndrome (our new mom is Jon Stewart). And it's distressing. I mean, can you imagine your MOM staging a celebrity stunt-wedding? Moooooooom! That is soooooooo embarrassing!
Her talk show—arguably the optimum Oprah delivery system—is over. Her TV network and magazine are flailing. She tweets, which is something, I guess, and tours the country at the helm of a weird Tony Robbins Traveling Salvation Wonder Emporium, but where can she really go from there? Any form of media left to her just feels like a step down from everything she's already done—I mean, is she going to start a YouTube channel? Knitting blog? Uhhh...Foursquare? (Oprah is the Mayor of J. Jill.)
Oprah already beat the game. There are no more levels. She picked our fucking president, for god's sake. As a friend of mine said, "She needs to be an Obi Wan, not a Vader. After your body gets destroyed, become a powerful hologram! Not an evil shadow of your former self."
So here's what I'm thinking for the future of Opes:
1) TELL-ALL AUTOBIOGRAPHY. OBV. I NEED TO KNOW EVERYTHING.
2) Old-timey philanthropist/arts patron, like the kind where they kind of adopt some starving artist (or delightfully irreverent lady-blogger!!!) and provide them with unlimited cheese cubes while they churn out masterpieces (or blog posts about vaginas).
3) Purchase Hawaii. Take outdoor shower. Repeat. FOREVER.
I do kind of hope she goes through with that wedding, though. If only so I can find out what the wedding favors are. (My money's on Ryan Gosling clones that poop fried chicken.)