Jonesing for Star Jones
Clearly the world has been on pause awaiting my take on the latest media maelstrom involving Star Jones' departure from The View. Anyone who knows me knows that I am very secretly into The View. And that I very secretly love Star Jones. Which means I'm bereft at the news that another one of my procrasti-friends has left the show, in a hail of bad press at that.
A couple years ago, I fell into this rather unhealthy pattern whereby I became addicted to Ellen, which comes on on NBC at 10am. I would be so buoyed by the non-stop yuks of the Ellen hour, the zany fantasy world of morning chat that permitted me to forget I had a million words to write before the day was out that I risked crashing when Ellen ended at 11. Anyone who has ever had the monkey that is Ellen addiction on her back knows that if one stays tuned to NBC even for five minutes after Ellen ends, one risks falling into the deep abyss that is the horrifyingly depressing reality show about a halfway house full of rock-bottom-residing women who cry and fight and ask god why them called Starting Over. (Ugh, just the title makes me feel like the last person on earth.)
Which is why, like any addict without cable, I had to change the channel swiftly in order to keep my Ellen high as potent as possible, lest I risk crashing and remembering the heaps of work I was avoiding. This, of course, led me straight into the welcoming arms of The View on ABC, where I found solace and PG-13 female-targeted lite entertainment that allowed me to remain safely anesthetized against the cold hard truth of the world, to believe, as I suspect many people who watch daytime television do, that the View hosts were my friends. They saved me, they continued to tie me off and shoot me up with charming repartee and the delusion that since the show was by, for and about women, watching it constituted "research."
I will not go into my reasons for loving each of the View hostesses in my own way (although I will say that Joy Behar reminds me so much of my mother, I sometimes felt like she was in fact my mother, which made the show that much more like coming home.) Star, for all her shilling and religion-invocation and rapid weight loss that made her face resemble a basset hound's and love of fur, was hilarious. She was witty and idiosyncratic and wore wigs and used street slang and purred in her buttery contralto. She was, to put it succinctly, all one could ask for and more in a procrasti-friend. She was the TV equivalent of meeting my fellow writer friend Stefanie for coffee with our laptops at a cafe where we would ostensibly be working but end up talking the whole time yet somehow manage to avoid feeling guilty because at least we were going down together.
It is my deep desire to be in the studio audience of The View, and on the life version of my Amazon wishlist, I want desperately to be a guest on The View. I also want to be a host. I want to sit at the table with The Ladies and hold my big contoured mug and have impossibly white teeth and participate in pre-scripted chit-chat on Hot Topics. This wish goes hand-in-hand with my other life plans. Failing either, I'll settle for a gently used Vornado fan.