by Andy Cohen
My weeklong speaking tour about my career continued with a morning stop at the RCA Records off-site. I did it because they represent half the music industry and I also want their clients on WWHL.
Got booked on Jimmy for next week. Need to think of some stories.
Lunch with Bruce at Good. Trying to figure out where to go for Christmas. He thinks West Coast Christmas, then Cabo or Hawaii. I am intrigued, but also excited by Trancoso in Brazil.
Got another ride to the beach from Kelly and gave Wacha a few Happy Travelers for the helicopter because I was terrified he’d have the fit I thought he was going to have last week, but he was perfect. Went with Mark and Kelly to the JLo birthday thing and it turned out to be a lot of fun. (No one brought gifts, it wasn’t that kind of party. I had decided, though, that were I to bring her gifts, I would’ve gotten her books because who is buying JLo books? JLo needs books!) I probed Benny Medina for even more Diana Ross/Berry Gordy stories and he told me about the night he was working for Berry when he was in the studio mixing “Love Hangover”—that was the only thing I needed to hear all night. JLo was in white pants and a white kind of bra/bustier thing and her hair was super eighties. She said she was doing a Cindy Crawford homage and I said it was very Fair Game and she said she auditioned for that and wanted the part more than anything, and I said I heard that Cindy felt the same way about JLo’s part in Gigli. Laughs all around. She said it would take a strong woman to survive Gigli. Kristin Chenoweth was there and it was her birthday too, and our show was airing tonight so we were extra bonded. Rachel Zoe was in a black jumpsuit and her hair had a braid that she said her nanny did. Leah Remini told me some good backstage stuff about The Talk. She loves Julie. I also chatted with Elaine Goldsmith-Thomas, Darren Star, Tracy Anderson, and Aaron Rosenberg. Met Bethenny’s branding agent, who was very verbal about RHONY, and I said keep a lid on it, fella. No way this will not leak. And Tony Diavolo from Dancing with the Stars showed up at the end and said he does get put with all the difficult ladies. He survived Kate Gosselin. I need to hear that story but we had to go because Mark had an early call for Alpha House and my car was at their house and I was exactly at the point where I could still legally drive. Saw Khloé Kardashian on the way out and I sensed an initial cold front coming from her. Her ass—I don’t even know how to describe it. It was so bulbous and extended and shelflike and badonkadonkulous. I asked her if her ass had always been like that or if I was looking at something different or what. She said she was wearing special Spanx that lift it. JLo said Spanx usually flatten your ass so these must be a new kind. I got home and realized I have been shit-talking Kanye a lot on the show and maybe Kim a little too so I deserved some KardashiShade.
FRIDAY, JULY 25, 2014—SAG HARBOR
Woke up feeling blah and canceled my Tracy Anderson. Hung out all day at Amanda’s pool with Graciela, planning our yearly Fire Island getaway. We talked about: the Upper East Side, prescription meds, Botox, Israel vs. Palestine, marriage, Hamptons real estate, The Real Housewives of New York City, anal sex, our parents, ex-boyfriends, tits, and Wacha. Got a little work done, then had a date night with my long-term lover, me. (The doctor has been working overnights and our momentum is challenged.) We went to see Boyhood in East Hampton and it was the type of thing that felt a little plodding, then totally hit me in the end. An incredible achievement in filmmaking, says Andy Cohen. Went to Sam’s and killed a medium mushroom and onion pizza at the bar. Graham said that the lady from Coke was at his door the Monday after my dinner with Barry last month, and they’ve been back. I filled in some blanks for him about how this turned into a matter of importance for Coke. I think he’s going to make the change.
SATURDAY, JULY 26, 2014—SAG HARBOR
At Tracy Anderson there was a guy working out in full tennis whites. Of course I was watching him instead of the teacher. I zoned out several times trying to think of a great toast for Liza’s wedding. Bruce wants it to be a Smothers Brothers kind of deal where he is the quiet one who gives one-word answers and I do most of the talking. Could be cute.
Winnie Fallon’s birthday party was like Christina Crawford’s without the matching mom-daughter dresses, or the intense physical and psychological abuse. And Winnie wasn’t adopted. OK, this comparison doesn’t work at all but I’m trying to say they had a bouncy house, balloons, pizza truck, a pony named Keebler, swimming, and endless food; it was really colorful and festive. I was sitting with Alec Baldwin, who said that his MSNBC show reminded him of me because we’d talked a lot about it socially before it launched. I asked him to refresh my memory about what got him fired, in one word. “TMZ,” he said. I thought about it and remembered the whole story, but if he’d said the word “faggot” I would’ve caught on quicker. Oy. What a thing for me to be asking him to re-explain. I do not think he is homophobic, by the way, at all. He loves hanging out with gay people. Seeing him, Lorne Michaels, Marci, and Jimmy together was like the Mount Rushmore of NBC comedy. I ate like a pig—tons of mini hot dogs, a long hot dog, turkey burger, mac and cheese, ribs, and pizza. And a Popsicle. And candy. And rosé. Jimmy’s parents are hilarious. Gonna go out on a limb and say Wacha was as popular with the kids as Keebler.
Ninety minutes later Mark and Kelly were at my door picking me up for Rocco from Gant’s birthday beach party in Amagansett. It was sublime—spectacular music, tikis, bonfire, everyone in Grecian leaf wreaths (mine looked like a cabbage tree on my head; everyone else’s made them look exponentially hotter). The beach is perfect. In retrospect we wound up leaving too early.
SUNDAY, JULY 27, 2014—SAG HARBOR–NYC
I do wake up occasionally and wonder where those go-getting Jesus freaks are and why they never came back.
Today was blah. I was blue. Overcast. I dove for my bed at the end of day.
MONDAY, JULY 28, 2014
I remembered today that Wacha’s name was at one point Ron Swanson and at another Norman Reedus—and so I called him by both. He didn’t respond to Ron but he gave me a crazy look—like he was having a West Virginia flashback—when I called him Norman Reedus. I did it a few times through the day and he would quickly look at me with a suspicious face. I felt guilty for Shirley MacLaine–ing him (it’s a verb—look it up) back to the hill country. Or wherever. I’m going to stop with the Norman Reedus, though it is a crazy temptation.
The show was Zoe Saldana and Laverne Cox. I got a quick primer on what not to say to a trans icon (i.e., “How did you pick the name Laverne?”) and Zoe (not allowed to ask if she is pregnant even though her pregnant belly is sticking out), so I said, “Congratulations on everything you are beaming.” I thought that was smart.
TUESDAY, JULY 29, 2014
Woke up to a big article in the NY Post entitled “‘Real’ Boring: How the ‘Housewives’ Franchise Spiraled into Dullsville”—proclaiming that the whole goose is cooked. Not a fun read. I, of course, disagree, but we have work to do in a few cities. We rebooted Jersey this season because there was an overwhelming outcry from viewers for new women and new stories, but now ratings are down and there’s an outcry to bring the old women back. So, um … What to do?
Worked out with the Ninj and I weighed in at 163.4; I was thrilled, but I ate barely nothing yesterday, so I won’t get used to it.
Conference calls all afternoon. When I was walking the dog, Johnny Iuzzini ran out of that Little Owl catering spot where he was doing some kind of event promoting éclairs (do éclairs need promotion?) and insisted I eat one and it was beeswax and sugar and honey and I didn’t really want one and then a photographer appeared and I was in a tank top and it was awkward. I love Johnny, though. I took a bite and it was amazing. Jeanne texted—she and Fred were at Grahame Fowler—so I walked there and they were kid-less and decided to meet me at the show later.
I had a two-hour massage—my first in a month because, and this is what happens in life—I have recommended Adam to every single person I know and gifted him for Christmas to people and now of course he has built up his clientele
to the point where I can’t get a fucking appointment. Can a white man get a break? For the first hour (the on-your-back portion) I was on a conference call about RHONY casting and pickups and showrunner and all the rest. I am so crazily pumped for Plan B. The producers had dinner with her last night and are really excited too. I was speaking in code in front of Adam because I don’t want it to leak. For the second hour I gave him shit about my being at the bottom of his client totem pole. But it was a great massage, so I will be back for more ASAP.
Tonight’s show was a potential disaster. Joan Rivers arrived about twenty minutes before air, and there was a lot to discuss. I wanted her to do a little Fashion Police thing on the RHONY because we were coming out of the reunion; I could tell immediately when I pitched it to her that she wasn’t a Housewives fan (“I’ll just say they all look like whores” was my first clue). Michael Rourke was there, and we wanted to go through the new creative for the show we’re pitching with Joan, and she said it was fine but we had to figure out a role for Melissa. This was new information to us, and a little concerning because we hadn’t initially conceived this as a vehicle for them both, but I walked away admiring her for wanting to help her only child. (And is Melissa Rivers now an EP on my show?)
I went to say hi to Maksim Chmerkovskiy, and he was not the warmest; I guess that’s his reputation? I don’t watch DWTS, so what do I know, but I guess Joan Rivers had a similar experience, because she marched into the Clubhouse and all signs pointed to her eviscerating him on live TV. I told Jeanne and Fred that the shit was about to go down and I had a pit in my stomach. Their chemistry was tense for the first act (indeed she trashed the RHONY but I walked right into that one), and then during commercial break they started talking about Israel and once Joan heard he is on her side she totally fell for him. Crisis averted.
After Sadat and Begin worked out their issue, and just before we came back on air, I asked her if she had any new Helen Keller jokes (Joan is the last person alive still telling them, and the only one who could get away with it) and she thought for a second and gave me a nod as we came back. I asked her if she was still friends with Helen Keller and she went right into a shtick about how boring Helen was, how all she talked about was “the water, the water!” Not that funny in print, but she killed it. During the next break, Maxim turned to her and asked how she could get away with saying terrible things about people. She said it’s because she’s eighty-one. I told her it’s because she’s Joan Rivers. Legends get a free pass.
We still don’t have a toast for Liza’s wedding. My parents and Lynn get in tomorrow—so nice that she included my folks. Oh, I keep wanting to shout “Norman Reedus!” at Wacha to see if he will run to me, but I have controlled myself; I am fascinated and irritated that he has past-life memories. I feel like I’m living with Goldie Hawn in Overboard.
WEDNESDAY, JULY 30, 2014
After a mostly sleepless night, I boxed six rounds with the Ninj. Didn’t weigh myself. Was trying to wrangle a cab with Wacha over to Jackie’s while on my headset with the Fallon producer for our pre-interview and was interrupted by a sweet gay guy who needed to tell me at that very moment that his life is fabulous and he needs a show on Bravo. I told him I was on the phone and he said he would wait for me to get off. I said I’m getting in a cab and he should find a production company to partner with and then bring it to Bravo. He did not like that answer and stormed off. I felt bad. Short of an eight-episode pickup on the spot, there was no pleasing her (I mean him, but he was acting like a chick). Millennials! They want it all and they think they deserve it now. Little Monsters is right. I should’ve told him to go check out the Legos at Google HQ. Uptown after Jackie’s, Wacha was frothing at the bit to get me to take him into Central Park. I didn’t. Poor guy. He is Norman Reedus from Tree Country of West Virginia—and I put him in a cab to his concrete dog run on Little West Twelfth instead. Torture.
Mom and Dad got to town and we had dinner at Morandi with Wacha. They are once again sharing a hotel with a boy band—they can’t remember which—and my mom is on a tear about the fans. “They’re in CAGES outside on the street! They have them in CAGES! SCREAMING! At NOTHING!” My dad corrected her, “They’re behind barricades, Evelyn, not in cages.” “Whatever—they’re in HYSTERICS!” My mom told some fans they’d seen One Direction when they stayed in the same hotel in Toronto last year. “It wasn’t TOTALLY true, but the girls screamed anyway.”
Lynn was waiting for me at home, she’s staying with me for the wedding, and we hung for a while and then crashed really early. I was exhausted.
THURSDAY, JULY 31, 2014
Woke up to an email from Dave saying he’d crushed graham crackers in a bowl and put some milk in it, and that I needed to try it ASAP. Sounds revolutionary; skip the middleman! Took Wacha to get dry-cleaned because CBS Sunday Morning was coming over to start shooting a profile of me. He was furious! He knows exactly where Canine Styles is and tries to pull me in any other direction. Am I sure he only has the comprehension of a two-year-old? (I don’t know a baby that knows where things are in the West Village, I’m just saying.) Worked out with the Ninj—a lot of abs—and Ben McKenzie from The OC was at Willspace; it was fun to have someone new to look at for an hour. Erin Moriarty and Jay Kernis come to my apartment with their CBS News crew. Twenty-five years ago I was interning for Erin, Jay, and Lynn, who happens to be staying in the guest room, so this is the definition of a full-circle moment.
Here are some things Erin wanted to know:
• Why don’t I have a boyfriend? (I went through all the reasons and tried to keep it positive because there was a sadness in her voice.)
• Do the Housewives feel pressure to get plastic surgery? (I said it’s really fillers and injections we’re looking at and they might feel pressure from each other.)
• Is it hard firing them? (I said sometimes yes, sometimes no.)
• Did you always want to be a celebrity? (I said I always wanted to be myself on TV.)
• Is this the happiest I’ve ever been? (I told her I am by nature a happy person, so it’s hard to assess. But that I’m pretty damn happy.)
• She asked if being around narcissistic famous people all the time feeds into my own narcissism. (I said I’m around narcissistic non-famous people all the time too. So, no.)
They shot me walking Wacha and getting dressed for The Tonight Show. When I got to 30 Rock I schmoozed with Marcy Engleman and Julia Roberts in her dressing room in attempt number three to get her on WWHL. As we were talking, Daryn was leading my parents into my dressing room and I called them in and suddenly they were face-to-face with a huge movie star. “This is more than I bargained for,” my dad said in his best approximation of a former President. My mom was perky, then five minutes later announced in the safety of my own dressing room that she thought Barkin was better in The Normal Heart onstage than Roberts was in the film. Thank you for keeping it real, Evelyn. Oh, and she figured out who the boy band is at their hotel: “It’s FIVE DEGREES OF SUMMER!” She meant, of course, 5 Seconds of Summer but who cares. Nancy Fallon redid Jimmy’s dressing rooms and they are phenomenal. Dave, my parents, Daryn, Ryan, and Anthony from WWHL were all with me in the Adirondack Room. No one was carrying on about them, but these are the best dressing rooms in late night, and I wasn’t envious because I just was happy to finally be rolling deep with a large posse. I left an Andy bobblehead on the faux fireplace as a housewarming gift for the dressing room. Jimmy came in and was sweet to my parents. I’d say my performance on the show was fair, but I was ebullient that they played the What’s Happening theme song as my intro music. I wasn’t bad, I just wasn’t too great. And Jimmy was super nice about WWHL and plugging all m’crap. Generous. Julia called me back into her room again after we were both done and said she was nervous to go on Jimmy as she is usually a Dave girl. I said, “Will you please do my show?” and she said yes, next time. I believe it. (I’m always on the hunt, which can make me feel like a whore.) I raced downtown and met Hickey, wh
o is finally back for good from shooting Manhattan, and who did we run into on the street but that catcher for the Mets that Bruce and I ogled from behind home plate a few months ago, Anthony Vito Recker! He is impossibly hot in person. Took pics of him and Wacha but Wacha wanted nothing to do with him. He’s a Cardinals fan, what do we expect? Bruce and I had dinner at Good, then joined Liza’s rehearsal dinner at the Palm for dessert—we were the late-night cameo. “Ricki Lake’s husband turned me into a POTHEAD!” was how my mom greeted me. Apparently she got an earful about the uses of cannabis at dinner. It’s about time she came to the dark side, although it’ll never happen. She let everyone know that Dad would be wearing his “Box Suit” at the wedding tomorrow—a comment which is grotesque to all who hear it. Bruce put Liza’s Brian up on the wall of the Palm and I gave her the wedding greeting from Valerie Cherish—both cherries on top of their best night ever, until tomorrow. Came home and hung with Lynn and Wacha and was in bed early. Well, 1 a.m., which ain’t bad.
FRIDAY, AUGUST 1, 2014
Liza’s wedding day! Hickey and I took Wacha to the dog run and he couldn’t be bothered with his friends. He was handing out side eye and general indifference to all. Meanwhile, Mom and Dad raided Uniqlo for the third time this year—they think because everything is so cheap that they need to buy it all. Their fascination with that place knows no bounds.
Met Surfin’s brother from Ohio; his name is also Surfin! Watch, I’ll forget that. Em told me there’s been much chatter in St. Louis about the fact that I didn’t know who Clyde Frazier was when I took Jeremy to that restaurant, so I texted my nephew and asked him to name two Madonna songs. A couple hours later he texted back, “Like a Prayer and Holiday,” and I replied with several over-the-top emoticons. I was genuinely excited that he knew them! SJ’s mani-pedi lady, Gina, texted me that she was in my neighborhood (I later found out she was servicing the paws of Miss Liv Tyler) in case I wanted some buffin’ on my nails. I did and while I was soaking in it, Bruce and I hashed out our toast for tonight. We built on Bruce’s Smothers Brothers idea, where he is my shy brother and I keep setting him up for one-word answers. It’s either gonna be great or sink, like so many things. Lynn got home and we got dressed in a flurry. Liza—consummate producer—had warned everyone that traffic on a Friday to Thirty-first Street and Twelfth Avenue would be rotten and she was right. Everyone arrived acting as though they had to travel through Afghanistan to get there. I hadn’t expected to get emotional during the ceremony, but the sight of my friend of twenty years—a friend who in my mind has been perennially stuck at age seventeen (in the best way)—walking down the aisle calmly looking her guests in the eye with all the composure of, dare I say, a grown woman, just did me in. Waterworks. The sobbing was paused by the divine Mary Matthews, who led the ceremony and began with a nod to Liza and her culty Web series: “Welcome to the finale of 39 Second Single, brought to you by Match.com”—laughs! (They indeed met on Match.com.) They wrote their own vows and they were lovely, especially Brian’s. I thought Jamie was going to faint but if I was Liza’s twin I would’ve too. Hell, I’m not her twin and I felt a little faint. I didn’t expect it all to touch me so much. During cocktail hour I brought my mom over to Joan Rivers and facilitated an open mic during which I threw out topics and Joan went to town about Streisand (so many stories about coming up together—she imitated her waving with a finger across a room), Heidi Abromowitz (a fictional name based on a real person), Woody Allen (she loves him, but still tells Soon-Yi jokes), Nancy Reagan (will forever be grateful she sent a plane to pick up Edgar after he committed suicide), and Barbara Bush (Joan confirmed she and Nancy hated each other). Two topics on which they did not need my help were Israel (they both were going off on what’s going on there) and Bill Maher. Joan agrees with my mom that I shouldn’t do the show. She says she doesn’t know if she would do it because it’s very serious and you gotta know your stuff. So it’s official: if they ever do call, I’m out. I took a pic of Joan and my mom that’s a perfect juxtaposition of a natural and unnatural face. Joan and I were talking about the Warhol Diaries and I told her about my own. She said that I better include some good dirt and told me that her good friend Roddy McDowall had incredible diaries but made a stupid decision: in his will he says they can’t be published until 2050. “My grandson will be sixty then and he won’t even care! Who’s gonna care about Danny Kaye’s sex life in 2050!?” So true. And how do I get ahold of those diaries?