Anyway, we set our sights on the next big thing we wanted to cover: the Bob Marley Festival. A two-day event featuring the who’s who of megastars in the world of reggae. Shaggy, who was pretty huge at the time, was headlining, and we wanted to get him badly. Unfortunately, none of the people working the event knew who we were or cared, so we couldn’t get press credentials. Then Kourosh came up with an unorthodox but genius plan. We’d been going back and forth with some execs at BET about doing something together, but they weren’t completely convinced about our capabilities. “Well, show us what you can get,” they had told us. So Kourosh, who saw the challenge as more of an opportunity in disguise, called the festival reps and said, “We’re with BET,” which was not entirely untrue … so to speak … if you know what I mean. And lo and behold, the gates to the kingdom that weed built opened wide and welcomed us in. I have to admit, I was a little worried about how we would pull this off at the event, but Kourosh had a plan for that as well. He printed a BET logo on his color printer, slapped it on the back of a clipboard, and voilà! We had credentials, and our disguise was complete. I remember thinking that “there’s no fucking way this is going to work!” But I loved that we were crazy enough to go for it any way.
Backstage, it was a cavalcade of artists and their people as well as some truly random celebrities. All the Marleys were there, plus the twenty thousand people in their entourage. I remember walking in, out, and around the dressing rooms as we went from interview to interview. At one point we encountered a group of kids ranging from five to sixteen years old, sitting Indian-style on the floor, shelling cigars, cleaning weed, taking out the stems and seeds, and grinding and rolling blunts like pros. It was as if we were looking at a joint assembly line. It was efficient, effortless, and perfect in its execution. It was mind-blowing! Keep in mind this is over a decade before weed was legalized anywhere. Believe me when I tell you that I had never seen so much weed in my entire life. Two things really stuck out from that experience: the baseball bat–sized joint that they were passing around and the sight of Steven Seagal wearing what looked like a muumuu, just strolling around, head and shoulders above everyone else. Good lord, I wish Instagram was around back then.
I couldn’t fuckin’ believe it! It was incredible. Not a single person there ever questioned us, even though our crew had not one person of color and I, blond-haired and pasty as a vampire, was the host. It was so ridiculous. We had the run of the place, and we interviewed everybody, including the entire Marley family and, of course, Shaggy on his tour bus while he ate dinner after his performance. Shaggy had done a tour in the Gulf War, and he liked talking about his military service. I, of course, love to support our troops, so naturally the conversation turned toward the obvious:
Shaggy: Got any Marine in you?
Me: No.
Shaggy: Would you like some?
As short and incredibly tame as it sounds today, this was a pivotal moment for us back then. Here was a global pop superstar at the top of the charts making a straight up sex joke in an interview with a girl. This is something that just wasn’t part of the DNA of TV interviews and press appearances. It got a big laugh on the bus, and it was the first time I thought, Oh, we can go there with these interviews? Okay! This relatively benign comment that sounded like a creeper-joke from Uncle Bad-Touch was a precursor to a whole new world within reach, just a little beyond the horizon. Today, networks clamor to show the latest thong Rihanna’s wearing as an entire outfit to an awards show or the latest giant dildo a birthday-suited Miley Cyrus might be strapping on at the latest teenage hoedown. But even this little burp of a joke would never have seen the light of day on BET or anywhere back then, so we never even bothered sharing it with them.
But thanks to their clout, we ruled the day. And we saw one of the greatest family gatherings anyone should NEVER see. By the way, in defense of the guilty and the innocent, the purple haze we spent the day walking through was as dense as a nimbus cloud. We were so stoned, who knows if any of this even happened.
So, festival-hopping was going fine and we were making great contacts, but to keep me happy, Kourosh knew he had to get bands that I was interested in. God love him, he booked so many has-been metal bands, even though he really didn’t want to. I mean, a lot of the bands we booked at first were pretty low-hanging fruit, and I often would only get an interview with the keyboard player or the bassist, who were at times about as interesting as watching a banana take a nap. I don’t wanna name names, but it rhymes with Linkin Park. But our hard work paid off, and soon enough we’d infiltrated one of the biggest festivals of them all—Coachella.
Up until a few years ago, Coachella had a strict no-video-cameras-allowed policy for the press. Back then, you could barely even get photo passes. Behind the scenes, it was super-exclusive and strictly an all-VIP event. It was their way of protecting the purity and integrity of the artistic experience. Which I always interpreted to mean A-listers could make out with someone else’s girlfriend in the corner without being scooped, and celebrities could get into catfights without being seen, all the while listening to some awesome live music. It was beyond too cool for school and not very media friendly. So Kourosh came up with yet another ingenious way to get us in (MUAHAHAH!). He said we weren’t going to shoot any video; we were just going to take thousands of still photos and create a flip book. Yeah … that’s the ticket! (In my best Jon Lovitz voice.) It was completely fucking absurd, yet utterly brilliant if you really think about it. They fucking went for it.
Once we got there, our plan was to be super stealthy and keep me hidden. But, like all festivals, it was organized chaos, and with so much going on, nobody was really paying much attention to what we were doing. So we set up our own tent and got everybody to come hang with us, including The Crystal Method, Robbie Williams, and Jack Johnson. We had full-on video cameras shooting for two days, and we never got caught. The artists were fully aware of our little scheme and were more than happy to play along. They fucking loved it! Of course, it didn’t hurt that Ken had become the master of subterfuge with the video camera. He had developed a bit of a Spidey sense when it came to shooting without being noticed and knew how to keep it on the down low when necessary. He knocked out the red lights in all the cameras so no one could tell when we were rolling except for the artists we were interviewing, and he would casually place them in odd places or hold them in what appeared to be a nonfunctional way. It was another one of those inspired ideas that helped us create magic!
It was trial by fire and the greatest training period for all of us. We were so grateful to anyone who said yes. Events like Street Scene in San Diego ended up being a really great way to network. The promoters ultimately went on to do other events and invited us. We got to interview all kinds of mainstream acts, from Nickelback to The Black Eyed Peas. In the beginning it was insanity, and we were working our asses off from dusk to dawn, weekends, whatever it took. We were working nonstop, and none of us had time for a social life. Kourosh would be like, “C’mon, we have to be in three different places at the same time!” It was very much run and gun! I’d interview people for five hours straight in fifteen-minute pops, and Ken would put it all together. We complemented each other perfectly, and we trusted each other unequivocally.
Those days of struggle and hustle to get in front of bands people cared about were exhausting but amazing times. But there would come a time when we’d have no trouble getting in front of the biggest artists on the planet and doing far, far more outrageous things than anything we could have ever imagined back then. Case in point: Carrie Keagan vs. Justin Timberlake in a classic verbal combat known as the Game of Bones or the Duel of the Dicks!
The title of this chapter being what it is, I just had to take a minute and jump forward again. This time to my interview with Justin Timberlake in 2008 in support of the Mike Myers movie The Love Guru. The movie didn’t do so well, but my interviews were some of the best ever. Especially the one with Justin, which was destined to become an
instant classic for us. In the film he plays a character called Le Coq who is primarily known for his giant package, which he always kept on display and in everyone’s face during the movie.
Let me just say that there are very few times in your life when you’re going to be able to go toe-to-toe, face-to-face, or tip-to-tip with a superstar of this caliber and have the unfettered license to talk about wang with the cameras rolling. So there was no fucking way I was going to miss out on this cockfight! BTW, JT may play innocent but he loves to joke around, and this little verbal “dick-dodging-duel” was right up his alley. It would turn out to be one of my all-time favorite exchanges. That day was most definitely all about “Le Coq”!
My entire strategy was to immediately deal with the elephant COCK in the room. Making sure I made eye contact and a crotch acknowledgment, I made the first move …
Me: Is IT all in a NAME?
(He catches the crotch nod and responds with a coy, mischievous look on his face.)
Justin: What are you talking about?
Me: Your NAME! (I lean in with a smile that says I know that you know.)
Justin: Where are you going with this? (With a huge grin.)
Me: Nowhere. (Sounding all guilty.) It’s The Love Guru, man.
Justin: You’re a dirty person. (Giving me a suggestive look.)
Me: YOU ARE! (Giving him one right back.)
(My quick return, even more overtly sexual than his, throws him off and, not able to keep his deadpan stare intact, he breaks and smiles all shy at the camera.)
Me: Le Coq! Does IT say it all? Is IT all in the NAME?
Justin: So it’s pretty … (Exhales ’cause it’s such a burden, turns to camera, and says in a low, sexy voice:) I think it’s pretty self-explanatory.
Me: Uh … HUH!
Justin: Somebody could lose an eye!
Me: You have to be careful.
Justin: You do!
Me: And you have skills! (Raising one eyebrow.)
Justin: (Starts laughing then stops to deadpan:) You don’t know me!
Me: Did you get cast … I mean … (I start using my hands to draw his attention to his crotch.) Was this specifically because of you … (using my hands, again to emphasize that this is about his cock) or, you know, was this just a character …
Justin: I’d love to … I’d really … Tell your friends that …
Me: Okay … (I will and I did. I’m a woman of my word; if Justin Timberlake needs me to tell all my friends that he has a huge cock, who am I to argue?)
Justin: I’d love to believe that.
Me: Mike [Myers] said that it was obviously ’cause … you just FIT the part.
Justin: Well, you know … it’s straight from the horse’s mouth.
Me: Hmmm.
Justin: It’s a special CHARACTER … that I really enjoyed playing. (Going all Barry White on me … smoooooooth.)
Me: How come, I wonder?
Justin: HOW CUM … I wonder?
Me: OH!! I didn’t even mean that! Way to go.
Justin: OH MY GOD!
Me: Way to pick that one up so early in the morning. (I make a gesture with my hands like I’m throwing something up in the air. Yeah, he’s my kind of guy.)
Justin: (Looks at the camera with a grin.) I’m QUICK!!
Me: YEAH!!!! (Giggling that he made a cum joke.)
Justin: But not that QUICK! (All serious … oh, he’s really into this.)
When it came time to wrap and promote, I thought I’d do JT a solid and get the ladies, who were watching, really ready:
Me: (To camera:) You’re gonna wanna probably pay extra for this one … (I turn to Justin) ’cause it does CUM with a HAPPY ENDING! (I start laughing.)
Justin: It does! CUM with a HAPPY ENDING. (Grinning to camera.)
Me: So serious this film?
Justin: Really serious! TOUCHES on a lot of ISSUES.
Me: Does it TOUCH on a lot of THINGS?
Justin: Yes. It does TOUCH on a lot of THINGS.
Justin: God! This is the most “in the gutter interview” I’ve ever done!! (Cannot stop smiling. Like he got away with something.)
Me: (Laughing my ass off!!)
Justin: I mean if there could be any more innuendos toward the male anatomy … there can’t!
Me: I don’t think there could be. But YOU brought it! It felt like you were giving me all the ammunition I needed!
Justin: (Very proud of himself.) I’LL BRING IT!!! (Slamming his fist down.)
Me: YEAH!?? Where’s IT gonna be???!!!!
And that’s it for this latest edition of “Dick-Talk” with Mr. “Dick in a Box.” Now back to your originally scheduled programming.
We were building up a business from nothing based on blood, sweat, and tears. It was all trial and error, mostly error. It’s not like I had any training for this. Yes, like every woman with a vagina on this planet, I’d watched Oprah and Barbara Walters, and they were great at what they did, but they didn’t represent a path I thought I’d go on in a million years. I never modeled myself after anyone, and Kourosh didn’t want me to be something I wasn’t anyway. In fact, he’d deter me from ever watching or emulating any of that.
If I had to name some of my influences growing up, they would have to be Joan Rivers, George Carlin, and Howard Stern. They made being dirty a fundamental element of their public persona so gracefully that you were able to see past the subversive and focus on its purpose: to communicate with the language of truth, the language of everyday people. It made them instantly more relatable and funnier than the ocean of bland that they were up against. These were my heroes.
It was the same with Tenacious D, Jack Black, and Kyle Gass’s comedic rock band. Those talented motherfuckers really got into my head in my twenties and fucked me up good with their uncanny ability to turn profanity into poetry. There was so much swearing in their songs, but it was all smooth and organic. It was beautiful. The D treated foul language with respect. There was never anything ambivalent or ambiguous about the way they used it. They never threw a shock-bomb into a crowd only to run away and watch what happened. In fact, it was quite the opposite. They genuflected before its expressive power as if it was high art. They had the power to move you. That’s the shit that mattered. That’s the shit I connected with. Basically, that was the shit! Oh, and by the way, if you haven’t heard their classic DIY/how-to song, “Fuck Her Gently” then you haven’t lived.
I needed to find my groove, my voice, my purpose, and my point of view. The answer came from an unlikely source. I’d become friends with a super-talented comedian named Colin Malone, who used to host a buzzy late-night public access show called Colin’s Sleazy Friends. It was like a filthy Wayne’s World, and if you were in the know, you knew about this show, and if you didn’t know about this show then you didn’t know shit. Colin was like Jack Black on crack and funny as fuck. On his show, he would interview porn stars and get them to do incredible things, like go full-frontal and have in-depth conversations about fisting, because, apparently, there were no rules governing public access at midnight. To this day, I couldn’t tell you how the fuck that show got on the air except for an improbable but genius loophole about public airwaves. The show went from being jerk-off material for fourteen-year-olds to becoming a cult phenomenon. It got so big that stars like Kathy Griffin, Seth Green, Weezer, and Kid Rock, to name a few, would come on and mix it up with the porn stars and his crazy antics. It truly was amazing and groundbreaking TV.
Anyway, flash forward, Colin caused such a splash and made a name for himself that the networks came knockin’. He ultimately scored some sort of deal with Fox and was working on a late-night show. He and I got along great, so he thought it would be fun to try doing some interviews together. So off we went on our little adventure. Next thing I know Colin went ahead and set up an interview with Sully Erna, the lead singer of Godsmack, who were pretty fucking huge at the time. It was all coming together beautifully … except in Kourosh’s mind, of course.
> Kourosh was sort of apoplectic when he heard about it. He was a HUGE fan of Colin’s but was very concerned about me getting caught up in some fucked-up, ass-backward, and compromising position, which was, with all due respect, Colin’s specialty! He was becoming maniacally defensive when it came to me and didn’t want Colin to do anything that might potentially damage my fledgling career. Typically the women in Colin’s segments were porn stars who were there to flash a little under carriage or hypersexualize the interviews in order to illicit a response from the celebrities. Trust me, it was really fucking funny. He’d get these porn stars to do the raunchiest bits, and Kourosh knew that I could be easily swayed when it came to having fun. If someone told me to “Stand on your head!” it’s fairly certain I’d say, “Cool, I knew my keg standing skills would come in handy someday.” Kourosh didn’t want me to be used in that way and be a sexual pawn in someone else’s game. Colin, with his unassuming demeanor and killer instincts, was a master at this, and Kourosh was worried I was going to be fed to the wolves once the cameras started rolling. Little did either of us know that the wolf on set that day was in sheep’s clothing, and not at all the person who anyone thought it was going to be.
On the day of the interview, Kourosh was as tightly wound as an Earth Angel hand-crank vibrator set to stun, especially when I walked in wearing tight black leather pants, a baby-T, and stilettos. The level of anxiety in the room was at a Lamaze-breathing level. Kourosh has this unique way of exuding tension from his stare like radioactive waves that you can feel against your skin. As Tenacious D would say, he had “the power to move you.” He’s an incredibly nice guy, but not one to fuck with. Especially as it related to me. He felt that he’d coerced me into this game and was very protective. Yup, it was like having my very own dadager.
Everybody Curses, I Swear! Page 10
