Is It Just Me?: Or is it Nuts Out There?

by Whoopi Goldberg

  All those women say they have all of these texts between them. Now, with emails, I understand how you can save those. But a text message, I don’t know how you physically save text messages for nine, ten, twelve months. Unless you’re transcribing them. Or doing a cut and paste to email or Word. I’d like to know how they did that. How does that work? I need to know how to keep my texts for an entire year. Maybe I can do something with all those racy text messages Baby Elmo is always sending me.

  Kidding!

  But think about it. It just seems very odd of them to do that . . . to save all those supposed texts from him . . . For a year! What were they planning? I’m just curious. Just how does that work and should we all be worried about this? Because this is something that can potentially affect every person who uses texts.

  You know, when you write a letter, people can keep them. So, I guess, any communication can be held. That is to say you could turn it into a booklet of the letters that were written to you. You could even turn them into dialogue for a musical. But now we have texts and we all have to start wondering, “Wow. Wow . . . How’s that going to affect me?”

  It’s kind of spooky when you think about it. We suddenly get this new idea that you can’t communicate without fear now. Anything you text—to anybody—is floating around like a big shoe that’s waiting to drop.

  Well, I guess people are starting to get hip to the problem, because they have come up with this new program, some app for cell phones that lets you make your text messages disappear from the other person’s cell phone after they are read. It’s kind of like the self-destruct thing at the beginning of Mission: Impossible . . . but without all the smoke. The maker’s slogan is “Cover your tracks.” Well, like they say, necessity is a mother.

  They’re calling this app tigertext.

  Nuff said.

  Chapter 50

  Bloggers Are Cowards

  Not long ago, a blog published a story that the poet Maya Angelou couldn’t appear at an awards event in Los Angeles because she had been rushed to the hospital. Instantly, the Web started buzzing. This was big. Twitter kicked in and, you know, next thing . . . word was out that Maya Angelou was dead. Her family and friends heard about it and started calling the house and panicking. She wasn’t dead. She wasn’t even in LA . . . which is almost as bad. She was in St. Louis, kicking back at her house.

  This particular blog apologized for lighting the fuse on that story, but it’s not the first blog to get it wrong in a big way. Another one famously posted a death speculation about Fidel Castro back in 2007. A bit premature.

  The thing about these two bloggers, is that at least we know who they are. Shame on y’all!! But with most, you don’t. They’re anonymous. Anonymous assassins. They publish rumors and innuendo and sensational guesses. If it’s about you, you’re getting slammed left and right and you don’t even know who it is.

  And forget famous people. This is happening to you and your neighbors too. Even kids in school. Someone writes something on their friend’s Facebook page about someone else. And nobody has to check it. But people see it and say, “Oh, this is a fact.”

  Bloggers are people who write stuff and no one has to check it. There’s no one saying, “Is this accurate?” And true or not, once you say it in our wired-up society now, it travels around the world . . . four thousand times before noon.

  Hey, you anonymous, unaccountable blogger. You’re a coward. And my name is Whoopi Goldberg, if you’re looking for me. I’m not scared to tell you that you’re a coward because you hide. You don’t want the effects of what you’ve said to come back and kick you in the ass. So there are no consequences. And because there are no consequences, you think you’re absolutely free to say and do whatever you want. But what if there were consequences to this? . . . What if you had to register your real name? You’d have to take the heat that you stirred up.

  And that means that you’d have to own the consequences of your actions. Or your words. Let the lawsuits begin!

  When consequences disappear, civility goes out the door and anarchy takes over. If there is no consequence for bloggers doing damage, then they’re just going to keep doing whatever they want to do . . . saying whatever they want to say. And who’s to stop them?

  What’s that? Do I hear you saying wait a second? “Um—er, Whoopi? Isn’t this a contradiction? Aren’t you one moment talking about personal liberties like freedom of speech, and now here you are calling out bloggers for exercising theirs?”

  You’re right, I do prize freedom of speech. But last time I checked, freedom of speech doesn’t mean you get to say any old thing you like. “Fire” in a theater and “bomb” in an airport are just two that come to mind. There are also libel and slander laws we all pretty much agree help protect folks from written and spoken abuses. And that’s where I come down against the anonymous bloggers who do harm to people by spreading lies—without accountability—and think it’s all cool just because it’s on the Web.

  Don’t get me wrong, I like the Internet. But I don’t love it. I like that I can find facts and information, but I don’t like that anyone can say anything they want about people anonymously. But I do love it that some judge ruled that the anonymous blogger running Skanks in NYC had to reveal her identity to the ex-model who sued to find out who was talking shit about her. I think that’s what it should be. I think you should have to be real. I don’t think you should be able to post anonymously.

  You want to talk shit? Face up.

  It comes back to accountability. You should not be able to write just anything and have it circulate like that and not be held accountable for what you’ve written. I don’t think it’s good for adults . . . And I certainly don’t think it’s good for kids.

  Remember, you don’t have to be famous to have this happen to you. The best example of that, of course, was the security guard that they wrongly accused in the Atlanta bombings at the 1996 Olympics, Richard Jewell. That poor man’s plight illustrated how you don’t have to have your facts straight. And you can say it loudly and largely on paper, on television, everywhere.

  And ruin a guy.

  Chapter 51

  Don’t Think You Know Someone Because You See Them on Television

  Hey, so you’re still with me! . . . Still reading, great. Thank you again. Can’t say that too often . . . especially when you’re banging on about civil behavior and manners and all. I wonder . . . Am I shocking a few people who got a copy of this book hoping to get all pissed off at me . . . only to find we’ve got more in common than they thought? If that’s you, glad to bring you a little surprise . . . and, in the process, if I’ve made a new friend, that’s great . . . If not, piss off.

  I’m kidding. Sort of.

  But you know, some people do want to be offended. Count on it . . . And that’s because they have made up their minds about who I am. Do people do that with you? I mean, not really know you outside work or church once a week, and then . . . later . . . admit how different they find you? That’s usually after a couple of margaritas and a laughing jag.

  I never forget that . . . Oftentimes people like to think they know all about me because of what they’ve seen on TV. But, come on. You can’t think you know me—or anyone—because of what comes at you from a flat screen.

  This is inclusive of the people on Survivor, and The Amazing Race, and sitcoms, and The Housewives of Boogah-Boogahville, and whatever movies you’ve liked. Because unless you actually can have conversations with somebody, spend time with them . . . you don’t know how their image has been put together. So sometimes you think you’re walking up to somebody who thinks the way that you think.

  Don’t assume.

  It’s like me, for example. People paint me to be whatever makes them comfortable, so often they are shocked when they find out that . . . yeah, I am pro-life. But I have a gun. And I will shoot you if you’re in my house at three a.m. without an invitation. And I don’t have any issue with that. Now, most people don’t know that. I�
�ve said it. But they don’t hear it.

  I like my animals. I take care of my animals . . . but I do wear my fur coat sometimes. I’m a wealth of contradictions.

  Sue me.

  I don’t believe in the death penalty. Unless you touch a child. And then, you shouldn’t even get a trial. Oh, but wait! Here’s why that’s wrong. Not too long ago, there was a gentleman who had been in jail for thirty-five years for molestation. And he never touched that kid. And what was he like when he got released? Forgiving. Because he felt that getting angry wasn’t going to help him. He’s right. If you’re screaming, people generally stay away from you. But if you’re speaking in a normal tone, people sort of start to hear and say, “Wha—? Whaaat?” Then you’ve reached someone.

  So I’m wrong and the law is right. I guess folks do have to have a trial.

  More contradictions, huh? What’s next, needing warrants before you can wiretap American citizens? No, calm down . . . That would be crazy.

  Anyway, don’t assume you know someone.

  And it’s not just about folks in entertainment. In your own life, in your own neighborhood—you never know what’s going on in somebody’s house. People who think they know all about the neighbors across the street are dead certain they have them pegged. They say, “Those people over there? I’m sure what they’re doing is running a meth lab.” Or “That divorcée is one hot mess on the make.” Well, they don’t know . . . do they?

  Just check out the neighbors we always see on the news when they find out that quiet guy upstairs is a serial killer or was imprisoning kids he and his nice wife had kidnapped. They all say how blown away they are. Like they never had a clue. Because they don’t. Or, on the other hand . . . you have those noisy rabble-rousers . . . folks who dress all scruffy and park on their front lawn. And you don’t know it . . . but they’re donating their weekends at a hospice or something.

  You don’t know. And if you’re not really interested in taking the time to find out, then don’t talk about it. It goes back to:

  THE THREE QUESTIONS:

  Does it put any food on your table?

  Does it enhance your life in any way?

  Does it affect your personal being?

  Got it? Good.

  Now. I wonder what Simon Cowell is really like . . .

  God, am I a walking contradiction, or what?

  Chapter 52

  A Civil Person’s Handy List: Commonly Used Hurtful Words and Phrases

  Stupid

  Dummy

  Idiot

  Retard

  Lame-o

  Spazz

  He or she takes the short bus

  Cup o’ Joe

  White trash

  That’s so ghetto

  You’re so gay

  Raggin’ on somebody

  And this is just a start . . . Add your own.

  Chapter 53

  You Realize I Can Hear You

  Remember how I said before, I could see you? I want you to realize I can now hear you too.

  It’s tough getting some people off their habits. Not smoking or drinking . . . That’s easy. I’m talking comfort zones. Those things are armor plated. People get in them, and do they ever get stuck. If you don’t believe me, ask someone to be more sensitive about their word choices. They turn all cranky and go, “These days you can’t say anything.”

  But look around . . . Have you noticed? It is a newer day. We have to be conscious of the fact that the old ways don’t flow the way they used to. Neither do the old words.

  Take “Cup o’ Joe.” Now when you grab a stool at the diner and want some coffee, you might be thinking, “What sounds more friendly than asking for a nice, hot Cup o’ Joe?” Well, maybe you didn’t know the origin of that nickname for coffee goes back to the 1800s when a Stephen Foster song became popular. The name of the song? “Old Black Joe.” I’ll wait while you do the math on why some people might not like hearing that. Didn’t take long at all, did it?

  You hear people say “white trash” all the time. It’s meant to insinuate that you are a white person who is not good enough . . . that you are garbage.

  “That’s so ghetto.” Kind of the same thing, different flavor, don’t you think?

  Racism seeped its way into our culture, and now that it’s in there, it’s hard to get out. Back to habits and comfort zones . . . Think of all those vintage cartoons, the ones where all you see is black people in demeaning and stereotypical roles. You also see it in the cartoon portrayal of Japanese people in the World War II era. I love the Three Stooges, but they had black stereotypes too. The black cook would get bug eyes and see a “Guh-guh-guh-ghost.” Or say, “This house sho’ nuff gone crazy” . . . right before he ran out of the kitchen in a cloud of dust. Same with the Marx Brothers. Watch A Day at the Races.

  Once these words and images go unexamined . . . they slide into the American language . . . and we all start using them. And not just racial stuff. How many times on a sitcom have you heard someone say, “That’s retarded”? Or radio talk shows where someone calls someone else “a retard.” Next thing, kids are calling each other that. And there we go . . . New habits are forming.

  If you have a child with special needs, you already know “retard” is a derogatory term meant to insinuate that somehow that person is “less than.” It’s all about ridicule. And marginalizing. They’re not only using it to belittle the person they are calling retarded . . . who probably isn’t . . . but they are also stigmatizing people with special needs, who, frankly, aren’t getting much benefit out of the contribution, thank you very much. But people do it. Without thinking.

  Even me. I’ll cop to it right here . . . I’m guilty of this too. I’ve used the word “retard” in the past, not really thinking of its harm. But then a friend of mine asked me what another friend of ours who had a special needs kid in her life would think if she heard me say that. Busted.

  Sarah Palin wanted President Obama’s chief of staff, Rahm Emanuel, fired for telling a meeting that some plan they had cooked up was “fucking retarded.” I do admit one of those words really bothers me.

  Saying so-and-so “takes the short bus” is code for “he’s retarded.” They get that term from the smaller, special needs school buses, you see. It’s just another way to marginalize and stigmatize. Besides, I like those bitty little buses. I see them zipping around and say, now there’s a cool ride.

  Is it me, or in what world is telling someone “You’re so gay” meant to be anything but a put-down? Like that is something not to be? Look, we can debate the pros and cons of gay marriage and gay rights all you like . . . but when you slam someone simply for who they are as a person . . . you’re just being plain hurtful.

  Some women are offended by the word “ragging.” As in, “She’s been ragging on me.” It’s all about a woman’s period and hormonal crankiness—and comes from the slang for sanitary napkins. If folks are offended, why use it—unless you are trying to be mean? And you aren’t . . . are you?

  A comment Senator Harry Reid made years ago came back to haunt him. Somebody dug out an embarrassing sound bite when he described the prospects for Barack Obama to succeed as a Presidential candidate . . . Now, you have to understand, Reid was speaking in support of then-senator Obama when he described him as “light-skinned” and that he was an African American “with no Negro dialect, unless he wanted to have one.” Senator Reid apologized. And the President accepted it and moved on. But it’s one more marker that shows us race is a tough topic. And how to discuss it . . . That is something we now have to deal with because, guess what? We do have a black President.

  And now that we have a black President, we need to be prepared for . . .

  A female President

  A Hispanic President

  An Asian President

  A Native American President

  A gay President

  A lesbian President

  A transgender President

  So, all manner of describing people
has to change. Phrases that we never thought of as derogatory . . . well, they will have to be examined and gone over and explained. And if you are the party that chooses to utter those names or expressions . . . you’re going to be called up or called out.

  Does retard mean retarded?

  Do you need to rethink your vocabulary? Chances are, yes.

  Words do mean something.

  But there are two categories here: people who say things to hurt; people who inadvertently say things that hurt.

  So what do we do about all this stuff that’s getting said and offending so many people? Sarah Palin wanted Rahm Emanuel to get the boot. Mark the date and time. I think she is correct . . . that what he said isn’t acceptable. However . . . every offense does not warrant a firing.

  Sometimes a swift kick in the pants will do.

  See, that’s where consequences come in. If there are no consequences for somebody’s action, then people think it’s OK. But there should be consequences for it. If you get punched in the nose because you called somebody lame-o, you’re probably not going to do it again.

  But what we need is less capital punishment for words, and more thinkable moments. Otherwise, from what I hear out of folks’ mouths . . . pretty soon, we’d have to fire everybody.