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Informationen zum Autor Ellen Degeneres is a stand-up comedian, actress, multiple Emmy Award-winner, writer, and host of the wildly popular and critically acclaimed talk show, The Ellen DeGeneres Show . She has been the recipient of a Peabody Award and two People's Choice Awards for Favorite Daytime Talk Show Host and Favorite Funny Female Star, as well as earning the Producers Guild Award for Outstanding Variety Television Show. Klappentext In this #1 New York Times bestseller, Ellen DeGeneres shares her hilarious take on everything from our most baffling human foibles-including how we behave in elevators, airplanes, and restrooms, and why we're so scared of the boogeyman-to fashion trends, celebrity, and her secret recipe for Ellen's Real Frenchy French Toast. Most of all, this witty, engaging book offers insights into the mind of one of America's most beloved comics.... Dear Reader, I was awfully excited when I was asked to write a book. I was however, nervous. I was afraid I didn't have anything important to say. But when I began writing, I realized that although I don't know a lot about any one thing, I know a little about a whole bunch of things: baking a pie; dancing; curing the common cold; running the Iditarod-it's all in the book. And I realized I notice things that maybe some people don't notice (or they don't notice that they don't notice). That's all in the book, too. Leseprobe Chapter One thanks for no memory Who am I? How did I get to be me? If I wasn't me, who would I be? How can you mend a broken heart? These are all good questions. Well, almost all good questions–I'm pretty sure the last one is just a Bee Gees song. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is who I am now is what I was then, plus all the stuff in between, minus a few years during the seventies. Actually, that might not be what I'm trying to say. Here's what I really mean: When you start to write a book, you began at the beginning; when you start to examine your life, you begin with childhood. I try to work on my memory. A few things come back to me when I concentrate. Like, I'm now pretty sure I had parents. I have these two old people who are my parents now, and they say they were also my parents then. I'm thirty-six. I was a little girl. I know because my parents say I was. I was born in Jefferson Parish, Louisiana, at Ochsner Hospital, January 26, 1958. I lived in a house on Haring Road in Metairie until I was . . . oh, let's say eight or nine–maybe ten . . . could've been seven or six, I don't know. I don't think I remember my first memory. Actually, I suppose I would have to remember my first memory. If I didn't remember my first memory, then it couldn't in all honesty be my first memory. It could, however, be the first thing that I forgot. Do I recall the first thing that I forgot? I don't remember. Maybe. I am amazed when people tell me that they remember things like lying in their cribs or getting their diapers changed (these are things they remember doing as infants not as adults–that would be an entirely different story and probably not a very pleasant one). Some people even remember learning how to walk, which I find especially surprising since I just barely remember learning how to drive. Sometimes my lack of memory (or, to put a positive spin on it, my surplus of forgetfulness) worries me, especially since it's not limited to my early childhood. I don't remember huge portions of my life. Maybe something big (i.e., an anvil or France) fell on my head and gave me a slight form of amnesia. Maybe a lot of things have fallen on my head. I just don't know. My parents have tried to help me out, but they remember even less about me than I do. They hardly took any pictures of me. But my brother–who was four years older than me (and still is, as a matter of fact)–they took so many pictures of him that you...
