Introduced to the public by Oprah, he was refreshing and kind. He told us things we needed to hear and taught us stuff about our health and bodies that was new and helpful.
While never entirely comfortable with his insistence on wearing green operating scrubs on the show every week (I swear this stems from an early childhood memory soon to be a blog post), he was kind of cute with that flip of hair on his forehead and his droopy upper eyelids.
While I was never one of them, I suspect many women imagined him handling their pancreases with the same sensuality he fondled the preserved organs brought as show and tell to the Oprah show.
|Look at that body language!|
This went on for a while.
Oprah's boyfriend, Steadman and I endured the increasingly touchy-feely relationship that appeared to be developing between Oprah and Mehmet (I call him that). They both seemed in a bit of a lather over the dessicated lungs and heart valves they were petting and, if you combine all this with purple latex, the show was starting to get a little breathy for my taste.
Rumor has it, he wore no underwear beneath those scrubs. *
Then he got his own show and it didn't take long for me to grow annoyed.
Between the infatuated women in his audience who thundered to the stage to participate in some demo illustrating why we're all going to die very soon, to his constant groping of everyone in the studio, I was beginning to feel uncomfortable.
Then as his producers realized that weight loss tips and tricks drew the biggest ratings, this became the focus of the show.
It now seems that every day he touts the miraculous properties of some new extract or powder harvested, perhaps, from the enlarged thymus of the Amazonian transvestite, freeze dried, packaged and express shipped to obese America to hasten the loss of belly fat, cellulite and bank account.
Instead of his original message of less food, more exercise there were endless supplements or ways to trick your metabolism, awaken one's enzymes or meditate your way to a slender figure.
As I grew tired of all this, I noticed there was a co-host on "The Chew" (for those new to this blog, it is no secret that I have TV addiction issue but don't worry, I watch "Intervention" every week in the hope of learning how to overcome it) who was ditzy in a very uninteresting way and did not seem to know a parer from a grater from a ricer.
When I learned she was the daughter of Dr. Oz, it all made sense. In general I have no issue with nepotism---it's how the world works. I, myself, pine for a successful relative to set me up but she was just so blah. Plus I was insanely jealous that she got to hang around with my beloved Clinton Kelly--every straight woman's idea of the perfect man: funny, clever, can help you dress to minimize your ass bags, whips up delicious cocktails and does not want to sleep with you.
I just checked out the young Miss Daphne Oz and, guess what, I did not see any culinary or nutritional training. Hmmmm.
Then, to complicate matters, Dr. Oz's wife pops up on a morning show, introduced as being a "relationship expert."
First of all, what is a relationship expert? By current television standards, it appears to be someone who has not yet taken hostages or killed a co-worker.
Hold on...let me google her. Well, no education or training in relationships...but, wait, she was captain of the tennis team in college!
All this worried me. We have an unqualified Oz talking about food on TV and another one giving advice--to millions of people. Was the Oz family attempting to take over the world?
I DVRed "The Chew" so I could avoid Daphne and go directly to the intoxicating Clinton Kelly, put my fingers in my ears and said "Lalalalala" when Lisa Oz came on and stopped watching her husband in the afternoons.
But then I tuned into a summer medical show about real life doctors in New York City....and there was Dr. Oz, again-- and this time wearing scrubs for more than just foreplay with Oprah.
He was actually interacting with sick people and I found myself falling in love. This guy was warm and approachable. I found myself desiring bypass surgery just so I could playfully tug at the tie of his sterile mask and bask in the reassuring glow of his smile.
It was then I realized the power of Dr. Oz.
While I am still boycotting his show, I can understand it all a little better now.
* I started that rumor today.
|I love you, Clinton.|