Her guest - squirming in his chair, his voice rising from whine to squeak - was James Frey, the author whose memoir "A Million Little Pieces," turns out to have gotten more than a few of those pieces wrong. Or have been tweaked a little too much. Or made up out of whole cloth.
And Oprah, who had stood by the man, after handing Frey fame and fortune by picking "Pieces" for her book club, wasn't stopping until he was crispy.
Couple deals out there. First the tunes.
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What's this? Text message cramming for Romeo & Juliet, according to the BBC. Duh!
And this? Who's first to name the SMS classic:
John Fowles, 1926 - 2005
The Magus was one of those books that watched over me as a teenager. It was my older brother's book, and it sat unread in the bookshelf by my bed, despite its exotic locale and racy cover. (Not this one. The one with the buxom, raven-haired beauty.)
Then I finally cracked it, and it became one of those books that stirred the blood, and made me realize I was a reader. Absolutely spellbinding.
He could feel her heart beneath his hands. He moved his hands slowly lower still and she arched her back to help him and her lower leg came against his.
I have to snip there for next comes a word we don't easily slip into the newspaper. Wait, this is a blog.
"A moment of brilliance," is how a veteran conflict negotiator described Ashley Smith's moves in March when she talked an Atlanta shooting suspect into letting her go, then turning himself in.
In interview after interview, the calm blonde waitress told how she read from her Bible and a book called The Purpose-Driven Life, and pacified Brian Nichols, who had taken her hostage after he allegedly shot his way out of a courtroom where he was being tried on rape charges.
She was celebrated as a heroine, the everywoman who summons unknown strength to rewrite tragedy into triumph.
"We just threw a gallon of Wild Turkey in the back and headed west," said Kevin Coy of Chester, W.Va., who drove more than 1,500 miles with a friend in hopes of seeing Dr. Hunter S. Thompson blast off posthumously. The news that a fist-shaped cannon shot the good doctor's ashes into the heavens has prompted many flashbacks, including this one from Joe Trippi, Howard Dean's former campaign manager. Trippi writes that Thompson's Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail showed how important and ridiculous politics was. Trippi soon worked for his first candidate, an African American women eying San Jose's city council in 1976.
Before it was known who actually dies in the latest Harry Potter tome, The Guardian pitched a contest to its readers. Let's pretend it is Dumbledore: Write a passage about his death in the style of another popular author. The results are here.
The winner wrote the professor's end as a Chaucer tale. Others channeled Dave Eggers. Sapphos. Stephen King. Dr. Seuss. And, of course, Norman Mailer, beginning the self-involved story:
It was a not unpleasant afternoon at the old people's home. Norman, knowing the intimate workings of the place, its shutterings and releasings of doors and inmates, and remembering the throngs that massed on the Pentagon back in '67, placed himself with military anticipation close to the buffet table.