James Frey, in a skirt, on a ladder.
Days like this I wish I had a working TV, and, I dunno, a job that allowed me to work from home. I'm sure torrents of James Frey's appearance on Oprah today are already all over the usual outlets, but for now I'll have to content myself with the transcript of what seems like a fascinating hour of television.
My first response, when I found out about two hours ago that Oprah had invited Frey back to her show not to further defend him but to excoriate him in public, was something along the lines of "What a punk that Oprah is! She already came out in support of him, saying that the Smoking Gun's revelations were 'much ado about nothing,' and now she feels betrayed by him? Pick a lane and drive, woman!"
My view softened, however, after I read the transcript. Part of it was realizing that my initial reaction was rooted in the time I spent as a member of a violent street gang in Brownsville, TX1, a time when loyalty was, as far as I was concerned, the greatest virtue a human could possess. After the harrowing period following my departure from the gang, from which I emerged with neither my left eye nor my anal virginity2, I realized that "loyalty" is generally speaking not all it's cracked up to be, and in that spirit, I recognize that "Oprah should stand by her man" was something of a knee-jerk. The transcript shows an extremely embarassed and not a little angry woman who is taking the highly unusual step of going on national TV and admitting that she was wrong. Think about how rare it is for a famous and influential person to admit to a mistake to the entire country. Hell, think of how rare it is for you to admit to your friends that you've made a mistake. It takes guts, and I appreciate that.
I do think, and this is going to sound strange coming from me, that in her wrath Oprah went a little too far into attack-dog mode. The hay Oprah made about Frey's changing the manner of his girlfriend's death (he says in the book that she hanged herself; in reality, she slit her wrists) is exactly the sort of meaningless hairsplitting that Oprah initially accused the Smoking Gun of. In this case, I agree with the "emotional truth" defense: the point is not that she hanged herself, the point is that she committed suicide. It's like when my best friend Pato got killed in a drive-by3: in the immediate aftermath of Pato's shooting, there was a question of whether he was the intended victim or if he just happened to get hit in the crossfire. But as Xavier, the leader of my crew, pointed out, it didn't matter whether or not they meant to kill Pato; what mattered was that Pato was dead. If Frey says that he altered the details of his girlfriend's suicide to protect her identity, I'm inclined to believe that. Assuming, of course, that there was a girlfriend. And that she did in fact kill herself. How's that slippery slope treating you, Big Jim?
1 As related in my upcoming memoir, Sangre Hermosa: A Border Story.
2 For all this and more, be sure to pick up my upcoming memoir, Sangre Hermosa: A Border Story.
3 The story of Pato's tragic life and violent death can be found, along with many other gritty tales of life in the the barrio, in my upcoming memoir, Sangre Hermosa: A Border Story.
My first response, when I found out about two hours ago that Oprah had invited Frey back to her show not to further defend him but to excoriate him in public, was something along the lines of "What a punk that Oprah is! She already came out in support of him, saying that the Smoking Gun's revelations were 'much ado about nothing,' and now she feels betrayed by him? Pick a lane and drive, woman!"
My view softened, however, after I read the transcript. Part of it was realizing that my initial reaction was rooted in the time I spent as a member of a violent street gang in Brownsville, TX1, a time when loyalty was, as far as I was concerned, the greatest virtue a human could possess. After the harrowing period following my departure from the gang, from which I emerged with neither my left eye nor my anal virginity2, I realized that "loyalty" is generally speaking not all it's cracked up to be, and in that spirit, I recognize that "Oprah should stand by her man" was something of a knee-jerk. The transcript shows an extremely embarassed and not a little angry woman who is taking the highly unusual step of going on national TV and admitting that she was wrong. Think about how rare it is for a famous and influential person to admit to a mistake to the entire country. Hell, think of how rare it is for you to admit to your friends that you've made a mistake. It takes guts, and I appreciate that.
I do think, and this is going to sound strange coming from me, that in her wrath Oprah went a little too far into attack-dog mode. The hay Oprah made about Frey's changing the manner of his girlfriend's death (he says in the book that she hanged herself; in reality, she slit her wrists) is exactly the sort of meaningless hairsplitting that Oprah initially accused the Smoking Gun of. In this case, I agree with the "emotional truth" defense: the point is not that she hanged herself, the point is that she committed suicide. It's like when my best friend Pato got killed in a drive-by3: in the immediate aftermath of Pato's shooting, there was a question of whether he was the intended victim or if he just happened to get hit in the crossfire. But as Xavier, the leader of my crew, pointed out, it didn't matter whether or not they meant to kill Pato; what mattered was that Pato was dead. If Frey says that he altered the details of his girlfriend's suicide to protect her identity, I'm inclined to believe that. Assuming, of course, that there was a girlfriend. And that she did in fact kill herself. How's that slippery slope treating you, Big Jim?
1 As related in my upcoming memoir, Sangre Hermosa: A Border Story.
2 For all this and more, be sure to pick up my upcoming memoir, Sangre Hermosa: A Border Story.
3 The story of Pato's tragic life and violent death can be found, along with many other gritty tales of life in the the barrio, in my upcoming memoir, Sangre Hermosa: A Border Story.
posted by Dktr. Blasphemy at 9:18 PM
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