The Yellow (by Rosie O'Donnell)

The Advocate ^ | May 27, 2003 | Rosie O'Donnell

[Mister Magoo]

The Yellow By Rosie O’Donnell From The Advocate, May 27, 2003

So Michael Moore and Eminem won Oscars because the art they make is pure yellow. None better, more real, or true. Those in the audience voted for these two men—these outcasts—because they knew that if they didn’t, they would be cursed.

See, no one knows where yellow comes from. How to make it has become a business but not a science. There is no surefire way to create it. And if you have ever been lucky enough to do so—the reason always somehow eludes. It’s magic. It’s real, true, and brutally honest.

Yellow—with my kids. Yellow—with Parker always. The boy who first handed me my own piece of human form, himself. The bundle of bright yellow—warming my very core—formerly frozen and unhabitable. Parker.

Fame stole my yellow.

In happened during the third year of my show. The joy of watching people on the street corner—gone. Of finding the perfect cotton Gap pullover (size 24 months) on the sale rack—none there. Playing with my son in the park—ruined.

My yellow was officially missing.

Truth—what is it, and how much can you compromise it before it goes? I told the truth during the first two years of my show, for the most part. Enough to allow the yellow in, at least. I spoke of dreams—of Tom and Barbra and Broadway. I believed in their yellow.

Here I was, a fat Irish tough gal from New York, invited into the palace ball. And when that was real, the public responded. They got yellow from me, and I felt yellow giving it to them.

So I was canonized the Queen of Nice—universally loved and praised. At first it felt nice. But that soon began to change. You can develop a taste for worship, and when you do, the yellow fades.

It started to show on my face and my body. And as I became bigger and sadder—starved for yellow. I filled my craving with food—getting madder still with my expanding girth and with my inability to make more yellow.

Falling in love—a life-changing level of love—with a woman of brilliant yellow. But I forced myself to deny it—because that’s what we’re taught to do in our society.

OK, I reasoned, I won’t tell, but I won’t hide. Kel came places with me and the press knew, and it was printed—but I never commented. And that made it OK for me, I thought. Still, the yellow we had together lost something by never being let out.

The show stopped shining for me by the third and fourth years, but I got my yellow marching on Washington and shaking my fist at the National Rifle Association. I had something to believe in, to fight for. It made it easier knowing that the show would be over by 2002. Maybe then I could detox myself and my family and get us all back to the yellow.

So Michael Moore makes a brave and brilliant movie—and it is yellow. And the Hollywood types who voted for him in private knew that if they denied him his Oscar, they might lose their own ability to create—yellow.

He won. Up he went in his “I’m not one of you” Sears polyester suit in a size no one in Hollywood would ever allow themselves to be in. Wow.

Then he did it—his big “mistake.” He opened his mouth and told the truth. And all those people clad in million-dollar jewels and almost believable lies—the ones not nearly as courageous and without half of his conviction—were forced to fess up.

I wanted to shout, “Who are you anyway? You give him an award for the truth and boo him when he speaks it?”

Fame. It forces you to be afraid, to be removed from who you are. You’re alone in the dark watching Michael Moore make yellow but too scared to admit in public that you saw it there. Shame on you.

So why did I leave my show? It took my yellow. I wanted it back. Without it, I can’t live.

O’Donnell is adapting her memoir, Find Me, for the stage, featuring her own art and original music by Cyndi Lauper.

[Extremely Extreme Extremist]

I think I just vomited some yellow myself.

[wideawake]

All that carpet has eroded her brain.

[Jack of all Trades]

What planet is she from?

What planet is she ON?

[petitfour]

Me, too.

Bile!

[netmilsmom]

Anyone ever read "Sybil"?
The Purple, the purple!!!!!

[TC Rider]

Rosie just pissed herself.

[TheBigB]

Okay, what kinda crap is this? "I believed in their yellow." "They got yellow from me" "I felt yellow giving it to them." Was this ghostwritten by a six-year-old? What does it even mean?

[RichInOC]

I swear to God, I had to double-check this to make sure this was the Advocate and not the Onion.

[JeeperFreeper]

First time through this article it made almost no sense. When I substituted the word " bullsh*t" for "yellow", it was comprehensible. Try it, you'll see.

[ServesURight]

Classic symptoms of depression.

When your personal life and career has suffered a meltdown, exhibit emotions of "finding peace and solitude" and "inner strength" or indulge in some other new age crap.

In other words, Thornsie is simply crying out for attention and nobody's listening.

[Mister Magoo]

[egarvue]

Wow. I thought that Michael Moore and Eminem were just scuzzbags and societal parasites. I find out now that they are the embodiments of Rosie's mystical "yellow".

Rosie shouldn't write articles when tripping on acid...

[axel f]

I've read this five times now, and I can't figure out what she's trying to say. This is one sad woman.

I'm sure it's really deep though and a boor like me couldn't possibly understand its meaning.

[risen_feenix]

Keep it up, Rosie, an excellent job as always. Republicans couldn't do as good a job as you do in convincing the country that Democrats are irrelevant. Keep it coming, big girl.

[Die_Hard Conservative Lady]

What "yellow" stuff is she smoking? Is she on medication or what? What an idiot! I can't stand her, and when she insulted Tom Selleck I was mad!!!!!!!!

[TC Rider]

I'm just mad about Saffron.
A-Saffron's mad about me.
I'm-a just mad about Saffron.
She's just mad about me.

They call me Mellow Yellow,
Quite rightly.
They call me Mellow Yellow,
Quite rightly.
They call me Mellow Yellow.

I'm just mad about Frontine.
A-Frontine's mad about me.
I'm-a just mad about-a Frontine.
A-She's just mad about me.

They call me Mellow Yellow.
They call me Mellow Yellow,
Quite rightly.
They call me Mellow Yellow.

Born-a high forever to fly.
Wind-a velocity nil.
Born-a high forever to fly.
If you want your cup, I will fill.

They call me Mellow Yellow,
Quite rightly.
They call me Mellow Yellow,
Quite rightly.
They call me Mellow Yellow.

So mellow yellow..

Electrical banana
Is gonna be a sudden craze.
Electrical banana
Is bound to be the very next phase.

They call it Mellow Yellow,
Quite rightly.
They call me Mellow Yellow,
Quite rightly.
They call me Mellow Yellow.

Saffron, yeah.
I'm just-a mad about her.
I'm-a just-a mad about-a Saffron.
She's just mad about me.

They call me Mellow Yellow,
Quite rightly.
They call me Mellow Yellow,
Quite rightly.
They call me Mellow Yellow.

Oh, so yellow..
Oh, so mellow..

[r9etb]

Fat is yellow. Other than that, I have no clue about what she's talking about.

[TC Rider]