Criticult.Com

I know what you're thinking.

There was a time in Germany when uttering such a thing aloud about certain people would ensure that you were dead before morning. There was a time in Russia - as recently as last night I understand - when the same was true.

So needless to say, by the time you read this I will in all likelihood be dead. Don't let it be in vain; tell the world my story for the world must know.

It all started three years ago when I went hiking with a girlfriend in a slightly remote area. We were having a relatively decent time chatting and enjoying the scenery. I was actually pretty optimistic about things, as to this day this is one of the most unpleasant people I've ever met yet we were having a terrific time. Well, one way or another we got on the subject of who our personal heroes were.

This is one of those questions that sooner or later in a relationship a woman will ask you and to your ears it sounds like she's kidding - because nobody but your girlfriend ever asks you stupid shit like that - but she's completely serious. And foolishly, you answer facetiously.

You're not alone. I said William Shatner.

Not sure whether I was being honest, she asked me why, and of course I said 'because he was Captain Kirk, T.J. Hooker and Denny Crane.' (The 'duh' implied in my inflection which was also unwise). Before anything unpleasant could happen, I asked her in return and she said...

"Oprah Winfrey."

She didn't just say Oprah, she conspicuously thought about it for a moment, waited until she had reached the top of the small hill she was climbing just ahead of me and she stopped at the apex. There she stood, right between two trees, sun over her shoulder, one foot perched upon a small stone. The benign purr of a nearby brook danced in my ears, and the wind kissed the trees like the gentle touch of a distant lover.

My memory may be slightly fuzzy but I could swear a small bird landed on her other shoulder - opposite from the sunbeam - as she placed her hands on her hips and gazed skyward. Her back arched slightly and her mouth became a slit. Like leaves from a dying tree, the words flowed from between her slightly parted lips and seemed to float in the air for a moment as though pulled forth by eternity, transformed into milk and honey and dispersed to the ages like an ancient spirit released from aeons of torment.

"Oprah Winfrey."

Oh ha ha, it sounds intolerably cheesy now but trust me, that's exactly what happened and I'll fight anyone who says it isn't. Frightened by this but not knowing what else to say, I uttered the first thing that came to mind:

"Oprah is Evil and Must Be Stopped."

It was at that very moment I thought - for just a flash - that I was going to die. They'd never find my body, it was too far out, too far up. The animals would take care of things long before the police could find a shred of evidence. Trust me, if you lie there long enough without breathing there'll soon be nothing left of you but your social security number. I kid you not - if lasers could have come from her eyes I'd have been a cloud of water vapor. She leaned forward slightly and hissed:

"Very funny. Men like you are the reason we need Oprah. She's intelligent, beautiful and empowering. She brought herself up from nothing to become the most powerful woman in the world."

Yes, as I recall, many cult leaders hail from meager beginnings and this they use to ensnare the humble to their cause. Just because you're on television doesn't mean you can be trusted. Just ask that crazy guy with the ponytail who sells the exercise equipment.

You wouldn't believe the number of women I know who have turned out to be secret members of the Cult of Oprah. You'd think that women had never had anyone to look up to before now. Susan B. Anthony, Eleanor Roosevelt, Marie Curie, Harriet Tubman...Princess Leia Organa...apparently these women weren't wealthy or ubiquitous enough to merit admiration.

No, only Oprah can tell you what to think and how to feel, and if the men in your life tell you you're paying too much attention to Oprah they must be discarded...disposed of...or worse.

I was sitting at work with a friend of mine - a woman who is notorious for having a poor self image and I noticed her purse was lying open and inside was a self help book that had made Oprah's book list the previous weekend. I don't remember the name - Finding Yourself, Helping Yourself, Helping Finding Yourself, Finding Happiness Through Letting Go Of Yourself, Letting Go By Finding Happiness In Yourself, some shit like that.

This is one of those gals who only date men who treat her like shit, are fifty pounds overweight and can't stand to look in the mirror and punish themselves by eating...you know the story. I'm not making light of it, I am just pointing out that she's typical. This was clearly yet another quick fix for her:

Naturally it didn't work but at the time I pointed out to her that self esteem comes from with in and isn't something that can be given to you - and that role models are people you have to physically spend time with, not just put on your Windows Wallpaper so they can grin at you when you come to work every morning because they're $39.95 richer and you're a bigger failure than you were even yesterday.

Again, I thought I was going to die. I was standing on the 90th floor of the World Trade Center and that plane was about to hit me right between the eyes. She didn't kill me but it wasn't for lack of desire for having slighted Frau Oprah. And for the record, she's worse than ever today. Not Oprah, the Girl at Work.

Well...both, really.

Then there's Oprah's Bitch, Doctor Phil - that corn fed hack who feeds people shovel after shovel full of hug-yourself feel good pabulum designed - like crack - to make you feel great for a while but keep you just damaged enough to continue coming back to him for help, thinking all the while it is your fault you're not feeling any better. Back in the day this is what they used to call a 'snake oil salesman'.

Yeah, go ahead and give him a nickel. It'll change your life. Just let me know if you want to be buried face up or face down.

And then there's the James Fey incident. Remember that? Oprah descended from Mount Harpo with yet another Holy Book Club Selection in Her hand, clothing torn, hair windswept, a single gossamer Tear teetering agonizingly in the corner of an Eye, and She Spake unto we huddled masses Her Almighty Will. This time it was James Fey's 'A Million Little Pieces', a gut wrenching tale of overcoming something by finding something within something and blah-blah-blah.

Upon her command, millions of her Obedient Servants sprang forth from the bowels of suburbia like locusts and made the book an instant best seller overnight. J.K. Rowling couldn't get arrested for a while, because Oprah's Almighty Book Cult, which had long stopped promoting fiction and started pushing weak kneed self-help bric-a-brac was in full swing. Any drunken hack who happened to hit it off with Mrs. Stedman could sell a million copies while the next Dostoevsky could be...well, in a gulag somewhere, I guess.

But why encourage people to read truly great books, when they could read something that just made you cry so hard you'd never notice through your tears how badly written it truly was?

And then the book turned out to be at least in part fake. And it wasn't the first one. Had Oprah failed? Was she losing her touch? Was she a fake too?

I'll be honest with you - Oprah's done a lot of good for some people but from the perspective of the Non Afflicted, something has always bothered me about her. It's the way that even in the beginning she pushed herself as one of us - someone who was just trying to figure out how to be a better person, and wanted to share it with all of us. She had a conversational presentation whereas the other leading talk show host of her day - Phil Donahue - was something of a cross between a completely humorless David Letterman and Sam Donaldson in a white wig.

But Oprah never really was one of us - despite her humble beginnings. There was always something about her that implied that the reason she was trying to help you was because she was just an itty bitty bit - just a little bit better than you.

Oprah needs to fix you, sort of the way you'd treat cockroaches if you didn't have the guts to kill them but instead felt the need to train them to accept your table scraps on command. With a single wave of your arm they'd scurry from the walls, humbly accept your bread crumbs, and then with another, obediently disperse when your dinner party guests arrived, picking up their filth behind them.

And who knows...if you needed them to kill for you, maybe...just maybe...they'd do that too.

And for more than one generation of Americans who think the answers to life are inside the television Oprah has given more and more of us reason to sit and be coddled by the warm fuzzy glow of high calorie cathode rays than find a path to enlightenment within ourselves.

You know the biggest difference between television and books? Television - for all its merits - flings ideas at you like a rabid electronic monkey hurling poo and you sit there gurgling at it with all the immediacy of a puppy chasing its tail. Books on the other hand - good ones at least - are the blood and sweat of a single author just as he put them to paper and they retain their relevance throughout the ages. They rip feelings from you, impart intellectual sustenance to you, awaken parts of your mind you didn't know were there and before you know it you're creating ideas independently and thinking for yourself.

The difference is, it takes work. Effort. That's right. Self improvement takes work, people and it's painful and it will suck. It's supposed to. Nothing worth doing that is meant to change your life is ever going to be easy or pleasant. And while it doesn't hurt to have help it's something that you ultimately have to do yourself. Oprah can't tell you what to do, and neither can Doctor Phil, James Fey or anybody else.

Resist Oprah, my friends. Turn away the Kool-Aid and Just Say No. Awaken your mind, turn off the television and learn to think for yourselves. Tell the world what I have said here today. Pass it on and don't let my words die with me. You can become a better person, but you have to do it yourselves.

Oh God...what's that? No...not yet...I've still so much to say...no...you'll never take me alive...oh...you're not here to keep me alive. Well, that's a good point. Still though, it is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done...oh...what? You've heard that one? I'll admit I'm a little surprised, I wouldn't have expected Dickens to be on Oprah's list...

Very well...do your worst...wait...who's there? You? Can it be? Dear God someone's come to save me...I'd never have dreamed in a million years there was anyone powerful enough to challenge Oprah...but...