Last night, while doing work, I had Oprah’s 2009 interview with Whitney Houston on as background noise. This is it, in case you’re curious …
The 45-minute chat drove me crazy for 8,000 different reasons. No. 1 on the list, however, is the utter bypassing of a wonderous opportunity. Oprah had a truly fascinating, truly riveting, truly (to be polite) unstable woman sitting before her … and she whiffed. Big time. She asked puff questions diguised as good questions, and never followed up with important details. For example, Whitney discusses how she and Bobby Brown used tons upon tons of drugs after their daughter was born. Then … nothing. Like, for example, “So how did you parent?” or “Didn’t you feel incredibly guilty?” or “So, it sounds like you placed getting high above caring for your child. Is that fair?” She never asked about Houston’s fading voice; about why would a singer smoke two or three packs a day, every day.
Worst of all, Oprah basically guided Whitney into saying what she wanted her to say. Oprah explained to Whitney how surely she (Whitney), never liked dressing up all fancy. Whitney agreed—while being dressed up all fancy.
Arg! Not sure what this irks me, three years later, but it does.
OK, back to work.
PS: Please, GOP, make Rick Santorum your nominee. Pleeeaaasssseee …
