Oprah's on, and on, and on ...

I've changed the locks on my front door, bought a bulletproof vest and adopted a pit bull in preparation for this moment: I'm about to slam Oprah Winfrey.

Criticizing the Queen of All Media is like poo-poohing apple pie or using the American flag as a dishcloth. It's simply not done.

My hesitation stems partly out of fear (I imagine, as most people do, that Winfrey has a secret squad that makes sure that every nonbeliever will automatically have his or her phones tapped and taxes audited), but it's mostly out of respect.

In an industry dominated by white males, Winfrey rules over an empire built on the empowerment of women and minorities. Her program, the highest-rated daytime talker in history, long ago banned transvestite midgets and cousins who marry each other to focus on more serious subjects. Her book club has done as much to encourage reading as the light bulb. And her commitment to giving is unprecedented -- and I'm not just talking about passing out free cars to members of the studio audience.

But Winfrey's generosity and goodwill come with a catch: her ego.

Nowhere is this more evident than in "Oprah's Big Give," an intriguing idea for a reality series that's overshadowed by Winfrey's personality. The concept -- 10 big-hearted participants compete to see who can orchestrate the most successful charity drives -- is, in Winfrey's own words, "designed after my own heart."

To accentuate the point, she's all over the first episode, even personally calling all of the chosen contestants with a series of wacky accents that trigger mass hysteria to those on the other end of the phone. She kicks off the actual contest by asking the players if they are ready for their "very ... first ... CHALLEEEEEEEENGE!" once again demonstrating the ability to turn ordinary sentences into over-the-top arias.

Minnesota native Nate Berkus is introduced as the host, even though he doesn't utter a word until the last 10 minutes of the first episode.

It's good business for Winfrey to be front and center. Without her clout, the show might wind up on Channel 351. But Winfrey, bless her heart, is dangerously close to making me sick.

Does she have to be the cover model on every single issue of O magazine? Does she have to run her book club like a prestigious literary professor with the world as her doting students? Does she have to preface everything she's involved in with "Oprah Winfrey Presents" as if it's some special blessing? Donald Trump does the same thing and he's a pop-culture punch line. How much longer before Winfrey suffers the same fate?

She may have become too big to host her own talk show. In his heyday, Johnny Carson had a comparable amount of clout and popularity, but he always ceded the spotlight to his guests, whether they were big-time movie stars or little old ladies with potato-chip collections. Winfrey can't or won't do the same. Her program isn't about what the guests have to say. It's about how Winfrey will react, and I, for one, find it a tiring exercise.

This trend shows no signs of letting up. There's little doubt that her endorsement of Barack Obama has played a role in his surge. She's launching her own network, and I wouldn't be surprised if every program on its schedule has to include the word "Oprah" in its title. She also has another ABC reality series in the works.

Winfrey has a wealth of ideas and talent, but she's dangerously close to overexposure and overindulgence, and she's too valuable to risk that.

Winfrey's ideas -- a musical version of "The Color Purple," establishing a girls' school in South Africa, a reality series that's more about benevolence than backbiting -- are strong enough to survive without constant reminders that she's pulling the strings.

It's time for Winfrey to take a scooch left from the public eye. In exchange, I promise to put a leash on the pit bull.

njustin@startribune.com • 612-673-7431