Ellen's Thoughts

I still can’t get over how much fun I had in Chicago. You can tell that everybody there has a huge amount of pride in their hometown. Hometowns are fantastic places. I recommend that you get one if you don’t already have one. One thing that most of us all have in common is that we come from somewhere. I’m from New Orleans. It’s my hometown. You can tell I’m from New Orleans when I say things like, “All y’all.” That means “all of you.” If I used it in a sentence it would be, “When are all y’all comin’ by for beignets and a sleepover?” We’re friendly in the south.

Whenever you meet someone new from the same hometown, you instantly have a connection. Suddenly, you’re best friends with a complete stranger, but you still won’t speak to your next-door neighbor after that whole key-party thing. The ‘70s ruined a lot of friendships. You always think people from the same place know each other. “You’re from Saskatchewan? Do you know Kathy Stevens? She’s from Saskatchewan too.” It can be anywhere. “Oh, you’re from earth? Do you know Bob?”

I have a big brother. Not “big brother” like, “big brother is watching.” He might be watching. He’d better be watching. I’m talking about Vance. It’s so comforting to have a big brother. ‘Cause no matter how much older I get, he’ll always be older. Because he’s the eldest, Vance got to break-in my parents for me. He did it the way you break-in a baseball mitt. He oiled them up, wrapped a rubber band around them and ran them over with the car. My parents only had two kids, so I’m the youngest. I’m glad I’m not the middle child. I don’t have anything against middle children… except for Jan from “The Brady Brunch.” She was whiny.

When I was growing up, I always wanted a sister, or a puppy, or a really good stereo. And I think having a twin would be really cool. Twins amaze me. I think they're the most magical, supernatural, spooky things in the world -- besides leprechauns and twin leprechauns. I think if I had an identical twin, it would never stop freaking me out. I'd come down to the kitchen every morning and see myself making coffee… and I'd think, "I don't remember getting up this early." And I'd think, "Hmm. She's pretty." And I'd think, "What's going on? If I'm making coffee, then who am I?" And I'd think, "She's 50 years old, when is she gonna get her own place?" Then I'd say in our secret twin language: "Tiki tiki whoop dee whoop!" Which means, "Come on, we're late for our Doublemint audition!"

One of the best ways to stay cool this summer is to go to the movies. There’s lots to keep in mind when you’re going to the movies. First, you’ve got to find the perfect seat. I like to find a seat that’s somewhere in the middle. Once you’re seated, your eyes will be busy watching the movie. Your hands will be busy eating the popcorn. This leaves your legs out and looking for trouble. Do not let them bounce the person in front of you. No one deserves being kicked in their seat… except for tall people who sit in front of you. I think that tall people should be forced by law to sit in the last row. They can hang out back there with the people who bring in their own candy with the extra loud wrappers. There’s a reason that milk duds aren’t individually wrapped.

Then there are the people on dates at the movies. It’s very sweet. But when they’re sitting in front of you, and they get snuggly and they lean their heads in, they create a great wall that you cannot see around. It’s a love shield. And all you can do is hope their necks get tired, or they break up mid-movie. People on dates should sit in the back just in front of the tall people. Finally, people who talk back at the screen to warn the actors should sit in the lobby. Instead of yelling at the screen “Don’t go in there! There's a murderer behind the door,” they can warn people who can actually hear them: “Don’t buy that popcorn! It has 10,000 calories and costs 50 bucks! Don't do it!"

Hola! Como estas?! Happy Cinco de Mayo. If you’re home-schooling or just curious by nature, Cinco de Mayo means the 5th of May… and soup du jour means soup of the day. I did some research about the holiday because I don’t like to write about things I don’t know about. That’s why I hardly ever write about nuclear fission. Most Americans think that Cinco de Mayo is Mexico’s Independence Day. But no, their Independence Day is on September 16th. Cinco de Mayo actually celebrates an outnumbered Mexican army that defeated the French army in 1862… and who doesn’t like celebrating that? I don’t know what the French were doing in Mexico. I think they may have been there for spring break. If I remember correctly, the French tried to get the Mexicans to wear Speedos and the next thing you know, a war broke out. I think that little troublemaker Napoleon had something to do with it. I think the reason he always had his hand in his coat was he was hiding a taco and he didn’t want to share. And who can blame him? They are simply delicious. Sure, sometimes the taco shells can be sharp and you can tear up the roof of your mouth, but that’s okay because the tequila will sterilize the cut. Once again, if you are home-schooling, don’t tell your parents where you learned this history. It’s just between you and me. Okay kids?

It’s time to do something about waiting rooms. They’re so excruciatingly boring and dreary. At least when people wait at my show, they can dance. Although I suppose you can dance in any waiting room, as long as you’re not in there for hip replacement surgery. The nurses in waiting rooms hide behind a frosted glass window. They want no part of a waiting room. They open the window just a crack to hand you a pen and a form. It always sounds like a party back there. You can hear chatting and laughing and clinking of glasses. Meanwhile, you’re in a room that’s so crowded, you have to sit really close to people who are probably contagious. They’re always looking over your shoulder to try and read all your personal information. “What a coincidence, Ellen, I have trouble doing that first thing in the morning too!”

The magazines are always way out of date. You know the magazines are old when Charlie Chaplin is on the cover of “People’s Sexiest Man Alive” and Popular Science is celebrating the invention of the cotton gin. But old magazines are better than no magazines. After a few hours of waiting, you’ll read anything. I ended up reading, “Your Pancreas and You: Friends for Life,” cover to cover. ...And yes, I’ll admit it. I cried at the end.

Last night, I ate at a Mexican restaurant. I tried ordering in Spanish. I’m getting pretty good at it. “Una ‘Margarita!... y mucho tequila por favor!” Yo es loco! I noticed something last night that I believe is an international phenomenon. ...or I was drunk. Either way, I have to say, I believe Mexican restaurants have the best service ever. And it starts as soon as you get your table. Right when you sit down, they bring you baskets of hot fresh chips and spicy salsa. You don’t even have to ask for them. It’s like a delicious free gift. They bring them out, “With compliments from the chef.” You’d never eat three baskets of chips at home, but at a Mexican restaurant, you just pop ‘em in your mouth one after another like you just got outta Alcatraz. It’s a feeding frenzy -- until you run out of salsa! That’s when the panic starts. You look around for anyone who’ll help you. “Excuse me, we need more salsa. Our salsa dish is dry... so dry.” Have you ever noticed no one will eat the last chip? Finally, someone pokes their finger into it, breaking it into four mini-chips. Then, it’s time to order and the plates are enormous. You think you just ordered a taco, but when they bring it out, it’s a giant platter with a pile of rice and hillside of beans. And it’s all under a thick blanket of cheese. Then the waiter says, “Muy caliente!” ...which I now realize does not mean “grab the plate!”

We always say it’s the “best thing since sliced bread.” Yes, sliced bread is great. But they still don’t sell slices of bread in single-slice packages like they sell cheese. That’s a great invention. Why don’t we say, “It’s the best thing since sliced and individually packaged cheese?” You know who’s the real unsung hero of inventions? Squeeze-top jelly. That’s what we should be saying, “It’s the best thing since squeeze-top jelly.” I think we should be able to get other things in a squeeze tube. Like why not squeeze-top Cheetos? Actually, they should sell them with a dispenser, like Pez. Or just have a cannon so you can shoot them into your mouth. I hope someone is writing this down… oh, wait a minute, I am.

The latest thing is the soap that looks like a liquid, but when it comes out it’s instantly foamy. You don’t have to lather. I mean that’s gonna save you a good three seconds. You used to burn calories while you’d lather. Not anymore. We’re all gonna have fat hands. And you know what they say, “fat hands are the devil’s playground.” I think I missed my calling. I should’ve been an inventor. Here’s another one… high protein fudge. Do ya hear me, ladies?

At some point, we started adding "Right?" at the end of our sentences. People don't have time for answers anymore. It's a weird speaking trend. We go through different speaking trends. Remember when the movie "When Harry Met Sally" came out, people started saying "Hello?" like Billy Crystal did? "I asked for non-fat milk! Hello?" It was really just a way to call someone stupid disguised as a friendly greeting. "Hello?" "Oh, hello there! How are you?" After "Valley Girl" came out, people started using the word "like" in, like, every sentence. But we still say "like," like all the time. We seem to like it. Do you know what I mean? That's another one, "Do you know what I mean?" People say it all the time at the end of a sentence. But it's perfectly clear what they say. "I'm really hungry, do you know what I mean?" I'm not sure. You mean food go in mouth, then to tummy and make you full? That kind of hungry? The newest one I've noticed is people saying, "yes" and "no" in a way where they mean the same thing... or nothing at all. They're putting "Or no?" at the end of a question. Have you noticed that... or no? Like they'll say, "Are you going to the store, or no?" Give me a chance. I can come up with the alternative to "yes" all by myself. I have my own show, for god's sake.

I just read that there’s a helium shortage. They’ve cut back production overseas. That’s where we get the crude helium. And then we refine it and put it in balloon animals. You think it’s not a big deal unless you’re a clown or a car dealer, or you own a balloon store, or you’re a blimp pilot. I know there are blimp pilots reading this right now, exclaiming, “Finally, someone’s talking about it.” My point is, please conserve your helium!

I was never a big fan of balloons. If you’re giving them or getting them, at some point you have to drive with them and that’s dangerous. Especially if you just turned age 1. A 1-year-old driving with a balloon is scary. I mean, if there’s one balloon it's dangerous. If you’re 45, they’re all packed in there. If you’re 1 or 2, they’re floating around and coming at you. It’s like setting a parrot free in your car. And if you make it to the party with the balloons, you’re still not safe. There’s nothing safe about lit candles next to a balloon filled with helium. “Go ahead honey blow out the candles. I’ll be waiting in the next room.”

It’s a full time job trying to keep our hair looking good, isn’t it? Hair can give you confidence, or it can ruin your whole day. Most crimes are committed on bad hair days. That’s where the ski masks come in. You can spend hours fixing your hair. It’s perfect when you leave the house, but, between your porch and your car, a gust of wind can destroy it quicker than you can say, “Uh, my hair!” Unless it’s in a ponytail. Ponytails are hard to ruin. They can also swat away flies much better than a bun.

Anything can mess up your hair. Humidity, different products, even different water can affect your hair. My hair is better in the city. The city has hard water. The shampoo lathers up so well. Hands full of fluffy foam. I can make a Santa beard and ice cream cones. Then I go to the country where the water is soft and I can’t buy a bubble. Soft water? They should just call it what it is. Bubble killer. I can’t even make a goatee. They should make special shampoo for soft water. Instead of “rinse and repeat,” the bottle should say, “rinse and rinse and cancel all your appointments.” My point is that we deal with so many different kinds of hair. There’s bed-head hair, hat hair, airplane hair, beach hair, and occasionally soup hair, which I always send back.

SPRING CLEANING
Spring has definitely sprung. It’s warm here on the lot. The sky is blue. Jay Leno is wearing a beautiful bonnet. I love spring because it’s the one time of year that my obsessive cleaning is celebrated and encouraged. For spring cleaning, you’ve got to decide what you’re going to clean and then get a cleaner specifically formulated to do your job. There’s a different cleaner for tile, there’s one for wood, one for floors. And once you pick a product, you still have more choices. You have to decide what you’re trying to get rid of. “Well, should I eliminate odors and keep the mildew? Or I could get this one and get rid of the soap scum, but keep the bacteria?” They even have cleaners for each individual part of the bathroom. One for bathroom counters, a different one for the sink, the toilet bowl, the bath basin. What ever happened to good ol’ elbow grease and bleach? I don’t mean to be preachy, but can I get an “Amen?”

I love to clean. Once I start cleaning, I can’t stop. First, I’ll mop down everything. Then I’ll wax, then, the polish, then I’ll really get in there and clean out the cracks with a Q-tip. Then, I’ll get my tweezers out so I can get rid of any tiny spec of imperfection. And finally, my eyebrows are done.

LEAPIN' LIZARDS!
Lately, I’ve been finding lizards in the house that my cats bring in. I find the lizard in the middle of two or three of my cats. That’s gotta be fun for the lizard. I think my cats just wanna play with it. It’s a game they call, “Whack the Lizard with Your Paw.” And the poor lizard just wants to play a game where he’s not the one who gets whacked... like Monopoly or hopscotch. When I saw the little lizard, it wasn’t moving... I heard they play dead. Apparently, they have some theatrical training. They stay in character, too, ‘cause they play dead all the way until I take ‘em back outside. Then they give me a little wink and I let ‘em go. Lizards are smarter than people think. They can also change their colors. This one’s chest turned bright blue. Either that or it was choking. I did see another lizard giving it the Heimlich maneuver. You’d think that when they made it back home, they would warn other lizards and spread the news. “Hey, word on the street is stay away from that sliding door... the one with the cats and old lizard tails.” I don’t know why the cats are bringing them inside. Maybe they’re trying to show off the house... “Here’s the living room... this is where I sleep... and if you go like this, “Meeooowww,” that lady’ll feed you.

NOT SO QUIET TIME

I tried to find some quiet time this weekend... which is becoming harder and harder to do. I don’t know when it became harder, but I’m gonna go ahead and say it was when the industrial revolution started. I went to my favorite spa, where it’s mandatory that you keep quiet. There are always people in there who just can’t control their voices. I want to tell them, “You have your outside voice, you have your inside voice and you have your nude voice... and this is the time for at least two of them. Sitting in there with my eyes closed, I was nice and relaxed and then I heard a loud whisper, “Where do you wanna eat after this? Chinese? Italian? Mexican? What about Chili’s? It’s always good. Have you ever had their awesome blossoms? I think it’s Mojito Monday!” I escaped to the Jacuzzi where some other women recognized me... at least I think it was a Jacuzzi. It may have been a roman bath. They were trying to be inconspicuous as they loudly whispered, “Look next to you! It’s Ellen DeGeneres.” I was polite. I said, “Why don’t we all just listen to Enya for a while, and when I put my clothes back on, we can re-take that picture?”

Raising the Salad Bar

Today for lunch I am having a barbequed pork salad with oranges and micro greens topped with balsamic dressing. I’ve been on a salad kick lately... which is a lot healthier than my last kick of rum and doughnuts. I love salad. I love salad bars. Salad bars are a symbol of our freedom. It’s every person’s divine right to choose if they want mushrooms, chopped celery or miniature corn. I believe that’s one of the reasons we fought the Revolutionary War. England did not want us making our own salads. “Give me eight choices of dressings or give me death,” was the cry heard all over the colonies. Why are they called salad bars? It’s not really a bar, there are no stools, there’s no salad bartender. I’d love to go to a salad bar that has dim lighting, a pool table and a juke box. (Juke boxes are like musical salad bars.) I’d like to go to a salad bar that has a happy hour. “Bartender, another shot of sliced beets!” “I think you’ve had enough, little lady.” “I’m just getting started! Thousand Island shots for everybody!” Then I would end up dancing on the salad bar until the bouncer threw me out. ...Actually, salad bars would probably call them tossers.

Sleep Blogging

I’ve been waking up in the middle of the night lately... and it’s always 3 o’clock in the morning. You can set your clock to it. If anybody needs a wake up call at 3 AM, I’m happy to do it. In fact, it’s me who keeps calling Hillary in those commercials. I have no trouble falling asleep. It’s just that once I wake up, I can’t get back to sleep. Then I hear sprinklers go on somewhere. “Are those my sprinklers? Is that the front yard? Do they go on in the backyard at the same time? That’s a lot of water. How do sprinklers work? I’m sort of thirsty. If I go in the kitchen, I’ll be up for hours. No. I’m just gonna go back to sleep. I’m lying in bed, I’m tired; it’s a perfect recipe for sleep. Here I go...” Then I hear that bird! That one relentless bird. He has a whole routine. It’s a musical number, really. It’s like Mariah Carey’s in a tree outside my bedroom window. The sun isn’t up yet, why is that bird? I realize the early bird gets the worm, but he’s just singing. He’s not even looking for a worm. If he were, his singing would scare them away. Maybe he has insomnia too. But why does he have to take us all with him? I’m not calling everyone I know just because I can’t sleep. “Hi, whatcha doin’? Sleeping? Lucky you.” Are the other birds as aggravated as I am? A little later in the night, I hear another bird start singing along. At least it sounds like he’s singing along… he’s probably saying, “Shut up!”

BEATING OURSELVES UP

I did something embarrassing the other day. I would tell you what it is, but it’s too embarrassing. Usually when we do stupid things, other people don’t care about the thing we did as much as we do. I still have a horrible feeling in my chest. I’ve been beating myself up… which is much easier than congratulating yourself. We need to be good to ourselves and focus on the positive things instead of beating ourselves up. We need to train ourselves to be more self-congratulating for the little things. “Bravo! That was a wonderful left turn you just made!” Or, “You cut your own chicken today! Well done!”

We don’t remember the times that we did things right but we’ll never forget the, “It’s nice to meet you mistake.” That’s when you’re introduced to someone and you say, “Nice to meet you.” And they say, “We were roommates in college!” Of course, it’s really important to notice when you do something dumb. A little embarrassment is the best way of keeping dumb things from happening over and over again. Embarrassment is a part of nature. Living things have been embarrassed throughout time. I’m sure that over the last billion years, many an amoeba has mistakenly said to another amoeba, “Nice to meet you.” And the other amoeba says, “Nice to meet you? We used to be the came cell! I split apart from you last week!”

BLOW LEAVES, BLOW!

One noise I don’t want to ever hear again -­ leaf blowers -- those nasty contraptions strapped to a gardener’s back that sound like a rocket ship is taking off outside your window. For all that noise, they should be rocketing those gardeners off into space. How hard is it to move a leaf? A car doesn’t make that much noise. It would be more peaceful if a marching band cleaned up your yard. And they always start up on the day you want to sleep in. Or when you’re on an important phone call. Or when you’re waxing your legs… trust me, you need quiet when you’re working with hot wax. I learned that one the hard way. I’d rather have a rake scraping along the sidewalk outside my window. I wouldn’t mind a glass blower or even a horn blower. It’s really just laziness. Why do they have to blow the leaves around? They should rake them up. And where are they blowing the leaves anyway? Into your neighbor’s yard -­ so your neighbor’s leaf blower can blow them back into your yard the next day. It’s a vicious game I tell you. When I was a kid, we used to rake all the leaves into a pile and then jump in. It was a fun game. No wonder kids don’t go outside anymore!

GOOD DAYS BAD DAYS

Ever have a day when everything goes wrong? You trip over a cord and knock over the lamp, then on the way to the lamp store, you get a speeding ticket, and once you get to Lamps “R” Us -- it just closed for the night? Sometimes, when everything is going wrong you’ll hear someone say, “Oh, that’s because Mercury is in retrograde.” And then you feel better because there is a reason things have turned sour. I don’t know what Mercury in retrograde means, but at least now it’s not my fault. I used to have a Mercury and it never went into retrograde. It went into reverse and it went into the shop a lot, but it never went into retrograde. I do know this: If Mercury is rising, that means you have a fever.

My point is, you just have to accept that life is good and bad. That there’s an ebb and flow, there are peaks and valleys, there is joy and pain, sunshine and rain, Penn and Teller. It just depends on what you focus on. If you just pay attention to the bad things, everything will seem negative. If you just watched the news, you’d think nothing good ever happens. “Good evening. It’s time for the six o’clock news. Our top story tonight, everything has officially gone bad.” When you’re having a bad day, turn off the news, take a deep breath and focus on what’s good in this world. Think about puppies and rainbows and the smile that old lady gave you when you opened the door for her. ...Then, be sure to exhale and continue breathing... or it really could turn out to be a bad day.

MY MIND BOGGLING WEEKEND

I had an amazingly exciting weekend ... where do I start? Well, I played a lot of Boggle. If you don’t know the word game, Boggle, swell, then you haven’t lived. Boggle is one of my favorite games. Possibly my favorite. Craps is a close second. It’s like Scrabble, but with dice. You shake these lettered dice in a plastic container and then try to spell words out of whatever letters come up. I know what you’re thinking. “Ellen, you live a very glamorous show business life -- the parties, the champagne, the Boggle.”

I can’t help it. I love Boggle. The only problem is that it’s very LOUD. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, until somebody gets it right, they need to make it quieter. They’re hard dice shaking against hard plastic. The only thing that drowns it out is the sound of my daiquiris blending. And after 2 or 5 of those, I don’t care how loud it is. But, can’t they make it out of styrofoam or rubber or Nerf? Everything else is made out of Nerf. Or how about Nerf blenders? Then I could blend my drinks and not wake up Mama. Which reminds me, I’ve been meaning to ask Mama this for a while now. Mama, why do you sleep in the kitchen?