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My Point...And I Do Have One [Format Kindle]

Ellen Degeneres
5.0 étoiles sur 5  Voir tous les commentaires (1 commentaire client)

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Descriptions du produit


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 can flip through his photos and it's like one of those animation books; it looks like a movie where he's walking and riding a tricycle and running around. They must have taken a picture of him every ten seconds.

After four years of that, my parents must have gotten tired. I came along and they said, "We don't have to take any pictures. We'll remember." But they don't. It was ridiculous. There were statues of my brother around the house, but nothing of me. They tried to fool me and show me pictures they said were of me. But I'd say, "That's not me. Those are pictures you cut out of a magazine. I know, because I'm neither Elizabeth Taylor nor a member of England's royal family."

So I decided to do something to fill in these great gaps in my memory. I set out to interview people who knew me through various stages of my life. Most of those I interviewed didn't look familiar, but I'm sure they were telling me the truth. Otherwise they wouldn't have answered the ads or accepted the money I gave them. What follows are the transcripts of some of those interviews.

My Investigation Notes:

I was born, bred, and lightly sautéed in and around New Orleans, a city steeped in tradition and marinated in history. During those formative years, a trusted family friend and neighbor was Miss Selma Clanque (pronounced Klan-kay), a woman who earned her living making decorative jewelry out of crawdads.

I interviewed Miss Selma, now a feisty spitfire in her early seventies, on the fire escape of her apartment (which she insisted we call a lanai). Throughout, she chain-smoked clove cigarettes and drank a mixture of Ovaltine and vodka, a cocktail she calls chocolate thunder.

What do you remember most about me as a baby?

You were fat. Oh lordy, were you fat! You didn't walk for the longest time, 'cause you were so fat. They just rolled you wherever they wanted you to go.

Anything besides that?

I think your parents just kept feeding you. They were happy you weren't walking. They already had your brother, a very handsome boy–no fat on him–so they figured, might as well let you take your time.

Do you remember anything not having to do with my being fat?

Well . . . you had a big old head, too, and not a lick of hair on it. Bless my corns, you were one ugly baby. Now you know that Miss Selma Clanque's mother didn't raise her to say nothing mean about no one. But your mama dressed you in the most hideous clothes–flowery frocks and bonnets and the like. Now when you've got a bone ugly child, you don't want to bring more attention to it. Am I right?

Let's move on. Do you have any memories of me from when I was in grade school?

I recall you coming home all upset because there was a cloakroom in your class and you didn't own a cloak. In fact, none of the little boys or girls had a cloak. I don't think any of them even knew what a cloak was. For some reason this scared you.

Do you remember my being good at anything?

You would nap better than anybody else, and your parents would brag on you being good at recess. You were quite a good tetherball player, probably because you were so aggressive.

I remember tetherball. A ball would be attached to a pole by a rope and you'd try to whack the ball hard enough to wrap the rope around the pole. It was violent. You'd either hurt your hand on the metal thingee holding the rope and ball together or you'd be on defense, standing in front of the ball, and get hit in the face. Somebody would always end up crying.

Well, crying's good. It prepares you for life. The more often I see children crying, the more often I think, "That's gonna be a healthy adult." That's what life is all about. There's a lot of crying involved. So you'd better cry now and get used to it.

Well, it's nice to know that I was good at something.

Oh my, yes! You were so good at tetherball that I bet someone $100 cash that you would become a professional tetherball player.

I guess you had to pay up?

Why? You ain't dead yet. There's still time. Everybody's always trying to get Miss Selma Clanque to give them $100, just like it grew on trees. Look at me, I ain't Rockefeller, am I?

No, you're not. Thanks for the time. I've got to go.

I moved to Atlanta, Texas, in my second year of high school. When Columbus came to the New World, he thought he was in India so he referred to the people he met as Indians. When the first settlers came to Texas, they thought they were in Georgia, so they called the place Atlanta. It was a culture shock moving from New Orleans (The French Quarter, jazz, great restaurants) to such a small town as Atlanta (Dairy Queen). So, I learned a different way of life.

My high school guidance counselor in Atlanta was Mr. Bowden Lamar, a man rumored to have a wonderfully infectious laugh; rumored, because no one living had actually ever heard him laugh. We spoke in his office at Atlanta High where, though he appeared to be somewhere in his early hundreds, he still doles out advice as a guidance counselor.

Mr. Lamar, was I a good student here?

Well, the teachers here remember you very fondly. They all say you were very bright.

Why, thank you. I guess that's . . .

But they're just saying that because you're famous now. I know because I've seen your records.

What do those records say?

That the only reason you passed any class was because your teachers gave you very broad clues. For instance, if the answer to a question was Thomas Jefferson, your teacher would say, “The answer to that rhymes with Bhomas Hefferson.” If you still couldn't guess, she'd start singing, "'Movin' on up, to the East Side. We finally got a piece of the pie.'"

The theme from "The Jeffersons"?

Exactly. Sooner or later–usually later–you'd end up getting the answer.

Was I good at anything?

Athletics, I suppose. You were on the tennis team. And you started the girls golf team. You were the only one on the team, playing every day by yourself. You would whack the ball very aggressively then acknowledge the applause of a crowd that only existed in your mind. Very strange and more than slightly disturbing.

Do you remember what I looked like?

Well, you were a little hefty. Yup, you were a little hefty girl who'd drive to school each day in a canary yellow Vega. But then again, everybody here is a little hefty. That's because the only kind of food you can get around here is chicken-fried. Chicken-fried steak, chicken-fried broccoli, chicken-fried sushi, chicken-fried whatever.

What sort of career do your records say I was best suited for?

Let me see. Oh here it is. "Ellen DeGeneres might be good at making caramel candies of some kind, either chewy or hard. Not the wrapping, just the candy."

Just one last question. How come this school didn't have a drama department?

Oh, we had a drama department. We all just thought it was best for everybody involved that you never knew about it. Whenever we wanted to put on a play, we'd just send you golfing somewhere. Ha, ha, it's kind of funny, isn't it?

Yeah, hilarious.

As soon as I graduated from high school, I moved back to New Orleans. I had no plans to go to college and no idea what I was going to do, but I don't remember caring either. After all, it ...

Présentation de l'éditeur

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.

From the Trade Paperback edition.

Détails sur le produit

  • Format : Format Kindle
  • Taille du fichier : 3078 KB
  • Nombre de pages de l'édition imprimée : 224 pages
  • Editeur : Bantam (16 mars 2011)
  • Vendu par : Amazon Media EU S.à r.l.
  • Langue : Anglais
  • ASIN: B004QZ9VGE
  • Synthèse vocale : Activée
  • X-Ray :
  • Word Wise: Activé
  • Composition améliorée: Non activé
  • Moyenne des commentaires client : 5.0 étoiles sur 5  Voir tous les commentaires (1 commentaire client)
  • Classement des meilleures ventes d'Amazon: n°163.461 dans la Boutique Kindle (Voir le Top 100 dans la Boutique Kindle)
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Commentaires en ligne

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Commentaires client les plus utiles
2 internautes sur 2 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Excellent 23 avril 2009
Par Courtes
Malgré le fait que ce soit un livre exclusivement anglais, le livre se lit avec grand plaisir. Ellen Degeneres reste toujours fidèle à elle même et c'est ce qui fait son charme. Absolument à lire pour passer un agréable moment.
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Commentaires client les plus utiles sur Amazon.com (beta)
Amazon.com: 3.8 étoiles sur 5  169 commentaires
50 internautes sur 51 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 The funniest book in Print 3 décembre 1996
Par Un client - Publié sur Amazon.com
Ellen Degeneres is the funniest comedic performer to ever
grace the stage, and now bookshelves. Her book, "My Point...
and I do have one" is not your typical book written by
comedians. Ellen has not written this book to tell you how
much she loves her family, nor has she written it to tell
you all about the hard times she's had in her life, she
wrote it to bring you extreme joy, and hours of endless
laughter. When I first read this book in November of last
year I had only heard of Ellen from an HBO Comedy Showcase,
and I knew then that she was extremely funny. I borrowed
the book from a friend and went into my room and lay down on
my bed. I began to read it and before even finishing the
first chapter, and began laughing, hard. Laughing so hard
in fact that tears began streaming down my eyes. My mother
ran to my door and began knocking to ask what was wrong.
She thought I was crying I was laughing so hard. In her
book Ellen looks at the little things in life, like what
your teachers and friends thought of you when you were
growing up. What it is like to have a sister or brother
who is favoured. She deals with all of the issues, such
as wearing fur, in the funniest manner possible. She
does not tell about her life, at least not in an auto-
biographical manner. She looks at the little things in life
that we never take time to notice and she notices them for us
and makes us laugh about them. No one will be able to read more than a page of this book without
breaking into glorious laughter. It is a very therapeutic
book which could bring even the most dismal of people out
of the dumps. READ IT!!!!
21 internautes sur 22 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Read it again...and again...and again...and again... 24 novembre 2003
Par Eric K. - Publié sur Amazon.com
Ellen's first book is SO hilarious! You can hear her voice inside your head with every word you read. Which is actually kind of spooky. But fun at the same time. I know she'll come back to haunt me in the afterlife and she'll just be talking and talking and talking to me non-stop. I'll never be able to take a shower alone again.
Anyway...I've read this book twice now, and it never ceases to amaze me with its laugh-out-loud humor and prose. I pick it up when I need a good laugh. In fact, that makes it a great pick-me-up! It never gets old for me.
I've also given this book as a gift to friends. Thankfully you can find it really cheap now. :)
So what are you waiting for? Order this book and you'll have something to read over and over and over again! You'll never have to buy another book.
16 internautes sur 16 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Hysterically funny 1 avril 2002
Par Rev. William H. Carey - Publié sur Amazon.com
Without doubt, this is one of the funniest books I have ever read... and read... and read. And each time I read it, I laugh all over again. I even took it to work and read it out loud to a coworker on our lunch breaks. Each day, we'd read a new chapter. Whether you're a fan of Ellen, never heard of Ellen, or can't stand Ellen, you've got to read this book. She has such an unconventional way of looking at things and relating a story. She'll keep you laughing for hours.
7 internautes sur 7 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
4.0 étoiles sur 5 Funny Book For DeGeneras Fans 20 juin 2000
Par Anon - Publié sur Amazon.com
I picked this up not really familiar with Ellen's comedy, but I was truly a fan after reading it. It was so amusing by Ellen's querky personality and wonderful offbeat humor. She has a wonderful way of putting things that never failed to crack me up. Like most comedy books though, I must admit that I would probably find all of the material far more humorous and enjoyable if I saw a preformance; Ellen, like other comedians, is great in her field but no writer--her routine loses a bit of humor when transferred to paper. It is still an enjoyable book and laugh-at-able read. Recommended for the fans of Kate Clinton (and Kate Clinton recommended for those who become fans of this book.)
8 internautes sur 8 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 I had to leave the room because i was laughing so much 8 novembre 1999
Par Un client - Publié sur Amazon.com
What a funny book, a must for any Ellen fans who understand her ramblings
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