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* James did show up. Sit there and take it. But why didn't he just apologize to Oprah. Even like a "Hey, I'm really sorry about all of this?" Wouldn't that have done wonders? He drank from the water like 17 times at least. He's not a bad guy. Really. Just got caught up in it all. He started to believe his own bullshit. He smoked a bunch of crack. There is no Lilly. Get over it. It's a book. He's not the president: when he lies you go to funerals. James' iffy memoir isn't the end of all Truth in the universe (wasn't that when the New York Times guy lied?)

* Nan Talese was off-message and probably off-meds. What the hell did the Carter Family have to do with anything?

* Couldn't they find somebody who was like "C'mon, it was a good story. Who gives a shit? You carried it around for 6 months and couldn't stop talking about it. Sounds like a pretty good book. Cost you like $12. Move on, Oprah."

* "Truthiness" has now been retired. It's the new "I'm Rick James, Bitch."

* How to Oprah-proof your memoir? Because creative non-fiction is looking a lot like Mohammad Ali in the Superdome. Waivers to sign and hand to booksellers. Forewards, afterwards and explanations in the middle. Lots of asterisks. It's a good thing Hunter's dead.

* The White Guy making Halle Berry jokes sleeps with the fishes.

* Someone please find something Maureen Dowd has ever made up and jam it into her weird-ass hairdo.

* And somewhere Jonathan Franzen popped a Bud Light and felt even less relevant.

* I've decided to write a poem called "I Want to Fuck Oprah."