WINTER
IN WHICH I …
BLOWTORCH THE MAYOR OF NEW YORK CITY
GET A STAR
WAKE UP WITH A STRANGER
SATURDAY, JANUARY 1, 2022—NEW YORK CITY
Considering how much I drank and how little I slept, I should’ve woken up with a massive hangover this morning, but I was wired and spry! Anderson and I had so much fun last night. I think it was a great show despite awkward satellite delays—which had me sputtering and interrupting (more than normal)—and the rants. The rants! It felt so good, ranting on CNN, about ridiculous things: Diana, the Musical (dancing AIDS patients?), Mark Zuckerberg (slowly killing all our souls)—oh, and “Fake Journey.” They performed on the Seacrest stage, behind us, and I got covered in confetti and started feeling a way about them and said they’re “propaganda” and not real Journey without Steve Perry. Sidenote: when you start calling something “propaganda,” chances are that you’re drunk.
The big rant was about de Blasio, who once again ruined midnight by torturing us with his dancing after eight (I said four) horrible years as mayor. The city has gone downhill under him. Fuck that. Anderson was pulling me back by my hood. (I lunged forward a step with each outburst.) Anyway, we also had Cheri Oteri doing a hilarious character, surprised Regina King with Jackée, Amanda Gorman, James Taylor. Between Omicron and Betty White dying yesterday, we had to turn it up, and I felt pressure to get Anderson wasted and giggling to ensure total fun on the air.
I was unsuccessful in getting Anderson to announce that his new boy is arriving in five weeks, and that’s probably a good thing, since then I wouldn’t have been able to keep my baby news quiet—which would’ve resulted in chaos at home, given Ben’s lack of understanding of what’s about to happen. As we pulled out of Times Square en route to Sarah Jessica’s after the broadcast, I saw the de Blasio rant on Twitter, and my mouth was on the floor. “I said, ‘Sayonara, sucker?!’” I shouted! I turned to Anderson and said, “I said ‘Sayonara, sucker?!’”
“Yep!” he said bemusedly.
I had no recollection! At SJ’s, Jeff Richman said that rant was the wildest thing he’d seen on live TV in a long time. As we sat around talking, I wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Then I started wondering about all my other rants. Did I actually go too far?
I got home and was so wired from the excitement of the night that I spent a few hours chilling, listening to music. Everyone seemed to really like our show online, especially the de Blasio thing. Woke up with Ben this morning around eight. Let him watch Sesame Street, which is our weekend thing. He grabbed the bongos Grac gave us and pounded away at the “Letter of the Day” theme song. Tweeted that I was a bit overserved last night, then posted a story on Insta showing people I was up and functioning and tagging the Mujen and De-Nada I’d been drinking.
I sat on my phone looking through a hodgepodge collage of texts about the night. Claire McCaskill (“the trashing of de Blasio was epic! Love you!”), Kristen Johnston (“HIGHLARIOUS”), Marie Osmond (hers just said “happy new year,” so I don’t think she watched), Harry Smith (“Love drunk Anderson”).
Then Jeanne texted, “how are you holding up?” When one of your very oldest friends sends a smoke signal that everything must not be okay, you shudder. I said, I’m good. She said, “Any backlash?” I said no, everyone hates de Blasio. She was relieved to hear it. Our conversation gave me cause for pause as I realized there were a few key people I hadn’t heard from (my parents, for starters), which then made me wonder whether I’d actually done badly.
I then went into a ninety-minute shame spiral, wondering if the show was actually horrible, and then realized I’ve done this exact spiral the day after hosting New Year’s Eve for the last four years. (The first year, in fact, was arguably horrible.) It’s just the weirdest show to host—on the one hand, it’s wallpaper for other things that are happening in people’s homes, and on the other, it’s on for five hours and everyone sees it and has an opinion of it one way or another. After checking in with my parents, who were thumbs-up, and rehashing with Anderson (“I had a ball”), I felt better. (I always feel better after rehashing with Anderson.) The de Blasio thing is trending on TikTok, according to someone’s daughter. As the day went on, I saw a headline that I’d trashed Ryan Seacrest. While I was yammering about Journey, clearly loving the sound of my voice powered by endorphins and tequila, apparently I called everyone on ABC “losers.” I was like, “Oh damn,” and a couple hours later texted Ryan apologizing. He’s a good guy, and I like him. Spoke to Jeff Zucker, who said they’re getting a lot of calls about the de Blasio thing and they may need to release a statement. When the network is releasing a statement about your messy rant, you’re in the doghouse.
I went to bed early.
SUNDAY, JANUARY 2, 2022
Went to Zazzy’s Pizza with Ben, and on the walk there was fist-bumped by five different strangers thanking me for what I said about de Blasio, which made me feel great! Lunch dates with my boy have gotten even better lately: we can now sit and have conversations in which we actually understand each other. I mean, they’re not deep, but we can certainly volley about Elsa and Anna, who I was CONVINCED after his inaugural viewing he would not care about. Now he doesn’t shut up about them. He needs a sister! I keep floating the idea to him, and at first, he loved the baby idea but now he thinks we should put a cat in the new room. I need to check if I’m still allergic, because otherwise I’d get one.
Ben’s imagination is wild. On the way home, he spent an hour running around the AIDS Memorial Park, fully entertained by a dry fountain, while I collected more fist bumps! Tyler Cameron texted and said, “I love you man.” He shivers me timbers. One of my leftover quarantine traditions—“Covid Saturdays” (which can happen on any day) with Jackie and Jeanne—is still going strong, and they’re still so fun. Ben adores them, and Hopper the dog. Ordered sushi from Sugarfish for the first time and loved it. (It’s making me hungry thinking about it as I type.) I asked Jeanne why she sent concerning texts after New Year’s, and she said she’d seen the de Blasio rant and had to turn it off because she thought it was going to trigger my downfall. She said she saw it all crashing down from that clip. Jackie’s niece FaceTimed to say she has Covid and that the de Blasio thing was epic. I said, “See, Jeanne?!”
MONDAY, JANUARY 3, 2022
In the cab to Sirius, Twitter tells me Howard is talking about me. I turn it on to hear his Joan Rivers–like impersonation of me. Do I sound like Joan? He liked the de Blasio thing but went nuts about what I said about Journey. Also, he thinks I drink too much. And he and everyone on Twitter are ripping on me for tweeting that I was “overserved.” You can’t try to put something delicately on Twitter. Tone or intention doesn’t read. YOU WERE DRUNK, NOT OVERSERVED! DON’T BLAME SOMEONE ELSE! ALSO, YOU SERVED YOURSELF. I would like to respond to each and say, “I know, sweetie. I know.”
On Radio Andy, I apologized for the Seacrest thing, because there is now a raft of headlines that imply I personally attacked him. By apologizing to Seacrest, I actually turned it into a bigger thing, because today became a whole new round of press rehash with the new “news” that I apologized. I already texted him and should’ve just left it at that. By the way, I haven’t heard back from him. Kelly Ripa tells me he knows what clickbait is and not to worry. Went to WWHL for the first time since Covid shut us down right in mid-Christmas, and the vibe went from Christmas cheer to January bleak.
The Salt Lake City reunion is on Thursday, and it looks like my hour-long New Year’s Eve day pep talk with Mary M. Cosby about showing up to the reunion had no effect on her. She wants to leave the show, and I encouraged her to leave it while also having the last word and not giving that to the other women. So that didn’t work. She’s not coming. And now Jen Shah’s team is convinced that we gave the questions to Erika Jayne in advance of the Beverly Hills reunion (we didn’t), and they want the questions for Jen (we won’t). Came home to a long Magna-Tile session with Ben, and we had a moment where Ben was Patty Duke to my Anne Bancroft in The Miracle Worker, when he kept asking me something and there was one word I wasn’t getting. I made him repeat it eight times until finally I was on the floor, in his face, trying to understand. It was garage. He wanted me to build him a garage! We high-fived when I figured it out. It was a moment.
Mid-build, I picked up my phone to see my timeline full of people reacting to the news I’d been fired from CNN—instant diarrhea, even after I saw that it came from Radar Online, which just makes shit up and quotes anonymous sources. The problem is they get picked up by other outlets, and that’s what was happening. I made a flurry of calls and found out I was indeed not fired and that CNN would release a statement saying I’d be back next year. Announced to my parents during their dinnertime FaceTime with Ben that they might see in the news I was fired but it’s not true. My mom didn’t take the fake news lightly.
“WHAT?!?!?! You need to EXPLAIN THIS AGAIN!”
I did and got an “Oh Jesus.” Jeff Zucker called and said I was a dipshit for believing Radar Online (true). The headlines changed by the time I had dinner with Amanda and Grac at La Sirène on Eightieth and Amsterdam, the former space of that ’80s/’90s vintage store Allan & Suzi. (It felt like sacred ground!) We were the only ones in the restaurant. Shaken by my near-firing, I was talking to the girls about my resolution to spend less time on Instagram (that had led to my rant against Zuckerberg), which I think is a complete waste of time yet is an intense addiction. I said if I can do thirty minutes a day then I’m good. Tomorrow, that starts. Since we were the only people in the restaurant, we were doing very inappropriate things at the table that I cannot put into print because I am a father now and expecting a second child. (Okay, maybe there was a little playful flashing at the table.)
TUESDAY, JANUARY 4, 2022
Started the day with an early tea party with Ben. He “makes” me whatever I want, every special order accepted. Didn’t pick up my phone for an hour while we were chilling before breakfast. Felt great! All the news today is that I didn’t get fired. So it was a fake story about getting fired that turned into stories that I wasn’t fired. I called in to Stern. It was a fine appearance. I refused to apologize for being drunk on NYE and having a ball. However, he is worried about my drinking, which is based on me being drunk on NYE and having a bar on WWHL and him seeing me at parties in the Hamptons years ago. I pointed out his flawed receipts. I’m trying to get him to bring Robin’s news back. How do you get rid of the news on that show?
Worked out with Stanny today and taped three WWHLs; we are back to all-virtual guests—which felt very depressing—but still a masked audience of fifteen or so. Covid shows are so efficient, but it takes more to drum up some energy. Barbuto reopened! Now they’re at the end of Horatio Street, where I had dinner with Amanda for her birthday, part deux. Split the brick chicken and carbonara. Unbelievable. (I did nothing inappropriate at the table.) Colbert did a funny thing about NYE on his show. He showed the rant and said usually people get drunk and rage on television then have to explain themselves to Andy Cohen, not the other way around. Ha! Oh, my Instagram usage today was good—maybe twenty minutes total, and I feel like I missed nothing.
WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 5, 2022—NEW YORK CITY TO LOS ANGELES
Today, all the news is that I refuse to apologize for being drunk on NYE. Anderson called and said, do you realize it is five days since we did that show and people seem to still be talking about it? Did radio from home. Ben helped me pack for LA. I took some THC tincture with two hours left in the flight, and it turned my world upside down—in the best way. The only drawback was when I landed, I got paranoid that TMZ was going to be waiting for me at the airport. (See: misunderstood comments about Kathy Griffin in 2017.) I armored myself with AirPods and a double mask, but thankfully there was no camcorder to be found. (And that will be the one and only use of the word “camcorder” in 2022.)
Went straight from LAX to Bruce’s, where we had dinner. We are planning something fun for the night before I get my star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame next month. There was some talk of cancelling due to Omicron, but we are pushing forward given that we’ve been trying to get this on the books since 2019 and my family is more excited about it than anything else I’ve done (besides have Ben), so I just want it to happen while we are all healthy and before Number Two comes. I go to the Sunset Tower where I get a Covid test. Texted Mary M. Cosby to see if she’s coming to the reunion tomorrow, and she said she is “keeping hope alive,” with a smiley emoji. So … what does that mean? That means she isn’t coming. My Instagram use was horrible today—I caved on the plane and was hooked for hours. But I gave myself a pass. I was on a plane! The Fake Journey controversy is still RAGING on Twitter, and now Neal Schon himself is tweeting at me like a madman!
THURSDAY, JANUARY 6, 2022—LOS ANGELES
The woman who knocked at my door at 7:00 a.m. to give me yet another Covid test did not care to hear that I had Covid three weeks ago, thereby making the test useless. Texted with Kelly, who said Seacrest is in Italy and didn’t bring up the clickbait stuff to her. Onward! Got an email from the New York Times who is working on a profile of Kathy Griffin and wants my comments on why my punishment for going off on the outgoing mayor was different from hers for holding an effigy of the president’s head. Joy! (What else can be said?)
Half the production staff got Covid in the last couple days, and it’s incredible the reunion happened at all. I had Lisa Shannon in my ear from home, with a headache and fever, and Nick directed the show by Zoom from home! Mary did not show up, as expected, and by the rules (which I referred to as the “Maloof Code,” and I guess it really is, given she was the first to not show up at a reunion), she’s off the show. Lots of reaction from the SLC women on that.
Considering her trial (for wire fraud! and money laundering!) is in three months and she is potentially facing fifty years (!!!!) in prison, Jen Shah showed up in purple velvet with a showgirl ring of features circling her head and crystal boob embellishments, as easy breezy as I’ve ever seen her. It was a totally different energy from Erika, who has faced no charges but was considered the villain. Jen says she’s innocent (crocodile tears?) and told me it was racist to speculate about where she got her money. The set of the reunion was an ice-fishing environment, with real ice and lots of feathers. It looked like we were in Pixar’s version of a reunion. Since the day was so long, and there were a bunch of delays, I gave myself another pass on Instagram usage. I left the reunion feeling like I didn’t do my best. Did I go hard enough on Jen? Did we talk about any of the fun stuff? Whitney commented that she felt like we hadn’t discussed everything, which got me wondering. We wrapped at eight thirty, and I had a tequila at the Tower and crashed. Oh, and more tweets from Neal Schon—all day long!
FRIDAY, JANUARY 7, 2022—LOS ANGELES TO NEW YORK CITY
The MedMen on Robertson is out of that tincture I like. (I went on the way to the airport.) John Mayer FaceTimed me from his Covid-bed while I was killing time at LAX to report a rumor that he’d bucked his Omicron to hit the San Vicente Bungalows with me for dinner. I told him I was seen having a late one at the Tower, so that’s proof. Neal Schon is still rage-tweeting, and John said to never get in a fight with an ’80s rock star. Their wrath is intense. I guess he’s been through it with Richard Marx and a few others.
Anderson and I somehow agreed to act in a radio play that Patti LuPone is producing. We’re playing a gay couple, and Patti herself is coming over to direct us tomorrow morning. I can’t believe it. I’m a terrible actor. I wonder how Anderson will be. Better than me, is how.
The greatest hugs and euphoric reunion with Ben tonight when I got home. He was in his yellow PJ set and smelled so fresh right out of the bath, hair neatly parted, with his big smile and little teeth. I could just die.
Hickey came over for a nightcap. I don’t believe the nightcap culture exists outside of New York City. People don’t drive to a friend’s house for a nightcap. It’s been a constant part of my life since I got here, in 1990, and having so many West Village pals especially lends itself to the habit. I will never move. I love it here.
Watched the Housewives episode of Project Runway before bed, and it was very fun. I look like I have lipstick on, and crazy makeup. I need to know if other people think I look as crazy as I do. I guess the internet would tell me. Before bed, John FaceTimed to see if I’d be on the return of Current Mood on Sunday night. I said yes. Speaking of Instagram, I once again gave myself a pass today because I was on a flight, with post-reunion brain jelly. That included a long Instagram Q and A in which I shared that my favorite porn star is Steve Hammond, on whom I do as deep a Google dive as I can probably every two years to find out what happened to him. Someday, in my heart of hearts, I’m hoping to hear from “Steve” one way or another. In my imagination, he now lives on a ranch in Montana, where he is a carpenter. He suggests I come visit and see what the quiet life is all about. But the real truth is that I think he was gay for pay and I fear he isn’t alive. Porn stars burn fast and bright.
SATURDAY, JANUARY 8, 2022—NEW YORK CITY
Ben was too deep into Sesame Street to pay the “Queen of Broadway,” Ms. Patti LuPone, any mind this morning when she showed up with her (amazing) son Josh to record Anderson and me for her radio play. We set up shop in my closet, and Patti gave us the full backstory on our characters, our motivations, and the mise-en-scène, though Anderson and I were of the “Let’s just press play—and record—and see what happens” vibe.
I was fine, and Anderson was perfect as my erudite wine connoisseur husband. I told him he is fantastic at playing pompous! Patti had two shows today, and I’ll be holding my breath that she didn’t catch Omi at my house.
Copyright © 2023 by Andy Cohen
