The director proceeded to lead the kids in a rousing rendition of the song “Apologize” by One Republic. You know, the one with the chorus: It’s too late to apologize … Too laaaaate! This seemed like a bitchy way to “accept” my apology. At least as bitchy as my comments, if you ask me—but thankfully, nobody did. There is such a thing as bad publicity, and I was happy to be ignored for the first time in weeks.
Still, the story would not die. The press posted and re-posted the video, but it wasn’t just to gush about how great the kids were. Some said what I was thinking, that this song didn’t seem like the adult way to accept an apology. Then people at home started posting comments online saying that the choir director should be ashamed of how he’d handled the apology in front of the kids and maybe what he really cared about was being in the spotlight himself. (I know what you’re thinking, and none of the comments were from me. And to the best of my knowledge, my mom does not have a YouTube account.)
Was I happy? Not really. If anyone can understand doing something dumb in the heat of the moment, it’s me. We’d all learned valuable lessons, but the last thing I wanted was for this guy to go through anything even remotely similar to what I’d just put myself through, especially at the expense of these kids, so I was happy when I heard that he’d apparently pulled the clip down from YouTube. But you know what’s still up there, though? Diana Ross singing “Over the Rainbow.” I know because I just watched it fifteen more times.
LIFE LESSONS FROM THE GUY WHO PUBLICLY INSULTS SINGING SCHOOLKIDS
Never say never—I am the king of proclamations that I later retract. “I will NEVER tweet.” “I will NEVER wear one of those polo shirts with a huge polo logo.” “I will never write a book.”
Don’t poo at work. If you absolutely have to, go to another floor to do it. Or a restaurant nearby!
Listen to people when they speak to you, especially if you’re interviewing them. Then you can ask a follow-up question.
Try to remember people. I’m the very worst at this, so maybe I’m writing this here as a reminder to myself.
Don’t fuck with kangaroos. I was in Australia for 48 Hours and a nasty—but cute—piece of work knocked one of my contact lenses right out of my eye! Same goes for swans—nasty in a pretty package.
My foolproof overnight flight combo is an Ambien with a glass or two of wine. Works like a charm. Speaking of flying, the overnight to London isn’t long enough for a good sleep—the day flight is the way to go. Leave New York at 9 a.m., work the whole flight, and land at 8 p.m., just in time for a late dinner with heavy cocktails and you’ll be ready for bed and on GMT without any hassle.
Keep your sense of wonder, always remember where you’re from, and appreciate moments as they happen. I can’t tell you how many benefits I’ve attended featuring amazing performers singing their heart out while the audience is engrossed in their phones.
This is the most urgently important piece of wisdom I can give you: Be aware of your breath at all times! Bad breath strikes us all, no matter how rich or famous you are—it can and will happen to anyone! There’s nothing worse than getting a big whiff of someone’s rotten sulfurmouth at a party. You will never forget that person, for all the wrong reasons!
ALL MY LUCCIS
Here’s what: I’m ending this book right where I began, with Susan Lucci.
Over the course of the early nineties, a pop culture seismic shift occurred in my life as I slowly weaned myself off my ten-year addiction to All My Children. I know what you’re asking right now: “WHY!? HOW DID THIS HAPPEN, ANDY?” Well, let’s get you a nice cup of herbal tea to sip while I explain it to you.
It was a combination of things. First, AMC started to get boring. I can only imagine how hard it must be to write incredible amounts of dialogue and drama every day, but nonetheless, the plot kinda ran out of gas. At the same time, I was producing stories at CBS This Morning about a topic that had once been odious to me: CBS soaps. Specifically, The Young and the Restless, which had always seemed repellent to me because of its glacial pace and dark atmosphere. But apparently, I was alone in my assessment, because Y&R had been the number one soap for eternity.
And that’s when the unthinkable happened: I got hooked on The Young and the Restless. (Are you FREAKING OUT from that news?) Maybe it was network loyalty, maybe I’d matured, but somehow this show that I’d always considered languid and boring now felt moody, enigmatic, and fascinating. The stories had a slow build that made their climaxes all the more powerful. It was a new way to look at soaps, and after having criticized the show for years, I embraced it. This kind of thing happens to me constantly. Call it self-contradiction, call it flip-flopping, call it bloviating opinionated gasbaggery without foundation that will soon crumble. I prefer to call it growth.
I didn’t advertise my switch to CBS daytime, I just quietly started taping The Young and the Restless. Which was all well and good, except Y&R shared a time slot with … All My Children. If DVRs had existed back then, I probably could have gone
