{bazima.com}

If you were wondering where Sam Rockwell's been, I saw him this afternoon at City Bakery. He had a big, black, duffel bag over his shoulder that could have had gym clothes in it, or a dead baby.

I don't really have a story here. I'm just trying not to write about Oprah for the fifth time. It's hard because she is everywhere. I think The Secret is she's actually injected herself inside me somehow. (Seriously. Hello. How did this happen that I've become obsessed her?) I was at City Bakery for a meeting, and I was able to go about thirty minutes without mentioning Oprah's name.

I remember when Oprah's talk show first went into national syndication. Everyone was excited and all, "Who is this crazily-named black woman we've never heard of doing only what Phil Donahue can do?" I remember one of my 8th grade classmates said, "Wait, is her name Oprah or Ophra? ...Like, Oaf-rah?..." and another mate replied, "I think you can pronounce it either way."

I just realized - that's kind of like Bazima. You can't pronounce it either way. Like, you can't say "vageena" instead of "vagina." Well, you could but you'd be an asshole. You can't rearrange the letters. You can't say EITHER "Blaise" OR "Balise." You might as well just call me Ball Sack.

See how I just brought something that isn't about me - namely, how to pronounce "Oprah" - right back to something about me? That's totally something Oprah would do.