Here's an interesting article about late-in-life career transition.  Of course, I know all about those.  When Ronnie finished being President, I transitioned from being First Lady/Queen of America to being just a beloved celebrity icon.

In OTHER news, I'm staying active and trying to keep in touch with friends, including President Obama (I found a picture of us standing in front of a picture of me -- the college beatniks of today would call this postmodern).  He's about to get inaugurated for the second time, so I called him with some advice -- DON'T TRUST ANYONE EXCEPT MICHELLE!

I feel sorry for those two, because they were never in show business, and I'm not really sure how people can be President and First Lady/American Royalty without any training in show business.

When I was in the White House, every day I would use my show business training -- once in show biz, always in show biz.  I remember one day when a charming troupe of Girl Scouts came to visit me so I could teach them not to do crack cocaine.  One of the poor girls threw up all over the silk upholstery on the chairs in the blue room.  I leaned over to her and said, "Don't worry, Rossalyn Carter picked out that fabric -- I never liked it, and now I get to change it!"

That's called comic timing!  Everyone laughed, the little Girl Scout was put at ease, and not one of the members of her troupe became addicted to crack cocaine or anything else except for achievement!

So, there you go -- good luck, Barack and Michelle.  If you ever need any show business advice, you know my number!

Well, this was sent to me by my dear friend, Cherry Jones. You people will know Cherry from her years on the television show 24 Hours -- she played the President opposite bad-boy Kiefer Sutherland. I first met Cherry when she was on Broadway in a play called "The Heiress." I was in New York at the time exploring the possibility of a broadway engagement playing Aunt Eller in a re-mount of "Oklahoma!" That sort of fizzled because while Aunt Eller is a sort of plain prairie homebody, I'm a very glamorous former First Lady/Queen of America. I would have loved to have done Broadway, but you know -- type casting.

Anyway, the Miles Davis article. I remember that night well. I really didn't know much about Miles, as Ronnie and I weren't big jazz fans. We liked to keep up with the times, so we were more into the wonderful new stadium concert rock music of the 1980's. It had been forever since I had even listened to my favorite Dizzy Gillespie albums, so it made total sense that I didn't recognize Miles and asked him what he had done.

When he said to me, "Well, I've changed the course of music five or six times. What have you done except fuck the president?" I of course did what any First Lady would do -- I smiled and pretended he had said, "I'm flattered to be here," and I said, "Of course you are!"

Miles looked very confused and was at a loss for rejoinder, and so I took the opportunity to move on to say hello to the very lovely Shirley Jones (pictured above).

I learned this non-sequitur defense from Judith Martin, Miss Manners of the Washington Post. It certainly worked on Miles who, after writing me a lovely 3 page apology on his personal stationary, was later invited to play his jazz trumpet at a private party for Ron Jr's very next birthday.

I like to win!

Poor Catherine Zeta!

Well, I only read People Magazine when I'm visiting my dear friend Kathy Griffin -- usually, I try to read Backstage or Variety so I can keep up with the showbiz news. Or, I'll plow through the Economist so that when one of my political friends calls me to get an endorsement or advice on dresses, I can be up on the issues.

But with Kathy, it's People and US Weekly and all the other trashy tabloid star magazines. She has such a wicked sense of humor -- luckily, we have an agreement that I won't ever be in her act, and in return, I won't have my Secret Service agents kill her! (ha ha, of course they won't do that -- they're such nice boys! But, what Kathy doesn't know. . .)

Anyhow, we're over at Kathy's house, and she's reading US Weekly, and I'm paging through People, and my goodness if I don't see that poor Catherine Zeta Jones has checked herself into a lunatic asylum, or whatever they're calling them these days.

Well, it was inevitable. You don't take a dirty little Welsh peasant and turn her into a movie star without there being some sort of consequences. I think we proved that with Vivian Leigh!

I'm rooting for Catherine. I had a cocktail party for her and Michael when they got married -- just a small affair, although I remember that Shannon Doherty and Bob Dole got into an argument about NAFTA, and I had to send them out to the garage with Larry King, who is wonderful at getting people to apologize to one another.

Anyhow, even then Catherine Zeta seemed wounded, but up for anything. Catherine, if you're reading this, remember -- being famous is better than being crazy, so get well and get back to work on the studio lot!

RIP Liz Taylor

I just had to post about the death of my dearest friend, Liz Taylor. We grew apart in later years, mostly because she was getting so fat. It's hard for fat women to be friends with attractive women like me. I remember watching Liz at the wrap party for "Whose Afraid of Virginia Wolf," downing one velvety ham sandwich after another, drinking a milkshake out of Rock Hudson's shoe, and pretending like the world would love her forever. That was 1966, the year that Ronnie was elected Governor of California. I remember looking at Liz and thinking, "This may be the peak of your showbiz career, Liz, but it's just the beginning of mine!"

Ronnie and Liz stopped talking because of the whole AIDS business. I like to think that despite that, Liz and I stayed friends to the end. Every year, on her birthday, I had a gallon of Haagen Daz shipped to her in dry ice. Because I loved her, I would always include a note: "Eat just a little bit at a time, Liz! There's LOTS of servings in here!! NO NEED TO EAT THE WHOLE GALLON ALL At ONCE!!!"

I like the picture I have here. It reminds me that even as Liz was getting fat, people still didn't mind being around her and showing her a good time.

Well, here it is November and I haven't posted anything since I made my New Year's Resolution to post more. Well, you can guess the kind of year I've been having! It all started when JD Salinger died in late January. He and I were, as you can guess, close friends. During my White House years I would often sneak away to his home in Cornish, New Hampshire to talk about books and Hinduism. JD had been such a student of celebrity, and it was always interesting to get his take on fame -- famous people often need to talk to other famous people about being famous -- to make sense of it all.

After JD died, I felt just an inch closer to being all alone in the world. So, I did what show business people always do when we feel lonely -- I started working on a show! Of course, I can't really ever doing anything for the public -- Once you've been Queen of America, there isn't really an act that can follow that. But, every once in a while, I get together with some of my Hollywood friends and we put on a little review for some of the seniors at the old folks home. We sing songs, we tell funny homosexual stories about Rock Hudson, and we do a really cute little thing where we get one of the nurses to do a blood pressure test on Don Rickles -- it kills every time!

The cast is always changing. This year, I was able to convince Joan Rivers to take over for Phyllis Diller. Phyllis was never Jewish, but you always thought of her as Jewish, because she was funny and sort of different looking. Joan actually is Jewish, so it's kind of an improvement!

Don was in it again, and his sort of mean humor was complimented by Jennifer Hudson's singing.

Of course, as usual, I was the skinniest and everyone's favorite. This year, the show was so popular that we just kept touring it all over California at different old folks homes -- we even bought an RV!

While we were going around, I got to see all of the different people campaigning in California, especially for the Senate and the Governor's office. Meg Whitman and Carly Fiorina were always asking me for advice and help. I never gave it to them! I know, they were the Republicans, but I just couldn't see either of them winning in California. Californians want their Republicans to be the fun kind of Republicans, like Ronnie and I. Ronnie wanted to cut the budget, but he also wanted to go swimming in our pool in Los Angeles. Could you see Meg or Carly going swimming on their days off? No, you couldn't. It would be easier to imagine getting a jump start on balancing their checkbook, and that's not the kind of Republican that California likes!

And now we've got Jerry Brown. My lord, he was always throwing himself at me, trying to get me in bed. For years, he would corner me at Hollywood parties and tell me that I was the most beautiful woman in California, even when he was dating Linda Rondstadt. Poor Linda -- I am prettier than she is, but she can sing, and that sort of makes up for it.

Here's a picture of me as First Lady of California!

Is it too late to make a new year's resolution about my blog?

Well, I'm making a resolution to blog more. Just like last year, it's one of my two resolutions -- the other one is, as usual, to loose 10 pounds!

Haven't been up to much lately -- just the usual rounds of Hollywood parties with Hollywood people. I also joined a book club -- we're reading that new biography of Warren Beatty. Here's a picture of him at the White House. He brought Diane Keaton -- she's a weird one! I asked Warren to bring a girl, though, because I didn't want his visit to the White House to occasion any rumors about us -- Ronny did get jealous, even though he was always the only one for me!!!

It was funny, though, because right after this picture got taken of us talking, Warren put his arm around my waist. He was trying to make a move! But I said to him, "Warren, this is Washington, not Hollywood, and I'm married to the President. Now let's go look at the gingerbread White House in the State Dining Room! Come on, Diane!"

Summer Barbecue with All My Sister Friends!

Yikes! I haven't posted in quite a while. That's what happens in the summer, with all the attendant social commitments, mostly barbecues, most of them requiring you to get on a private jet to Lake Tahoe.

Now, I'm not a huge flying fan. Haven't been one since I was on my dear friend John Travolta's private jet and my dear friend Elizabeth Taylor got stuck in the doorway to the restroom. John heroically pried her out of the door frame, and she went flying across the cabin, hit the wall, and caused the jet to drop two hundred feet in a rush that was not unlike what Barbara Bush must have felt like the moment she realized poor George wouldn't win a second term.

Nonetheless, I've enjoyed the parties, especially the one I just returned from held by my dear friend Martina Navratilova. Every year, Martina throws a for-girls-only cookout/spa weekend in a secret location somewhere in the Bay Area. And I mean secret! She makes all of us girls meet at the airport, where we are greeted and shown on board a bus without windows -- very comfortably outfitted, but I always get a little stomach-upset because I can't see where we're going. It takes us to a private estate I don't know where. But boy, it's worth it! We all sit around in bathrobes laughing and chatting and eating spinach omelets, and then we go horseback riding! And the cast of characters is just wonderfully odd and fun -- Rosie O'Donnell, Billie Jean King, Ellen DeGeneres. . . . She used to bring that peculiar young woman, Anne Heche, but then the two of them had a falling out over something -- if I had to guess, I would guess it was over a man -- it always is! Anyway, we all chose Ellen over Anne. But then, didn't everyone?

Don't Worry About Me!

Don't worry, I'm ok! I've just been spending a lot of time over at Jennifer Aniston's house, and haven't been updating because she doesn't have the internet -- something about sunspots. Jen's been going through a tough time ever since Brad left her for that minx, Angelina Jolie (with whom I am dear friends).

Hang in there, Jen!

Ronnie Did It With Style!

Today, with my head in the clear after recovering from yesterday's hangover (my, how we think we leave such childish things behind with every succeeding decade, and how wrong we are!), I read this wonderful article. It's about all the colorful characters running for California governor. Several times, it mentions that so many people think California is "ungovernable."

Well, I'll tell you what. Ronnie governed the heck out of this state! By the time we left California, everyone here was just thrilled with the job that Ronnie did. I know my Hollywood friends today still talk about what a wonderful Governor Ronnie was. Why, my dear friend Isaac Hayes used to say, before he died, "Nancy, your Ronnie was the best Governor I ever saw." And my dear friend Redd Foxx, before he died, used to say, "Nancy, you know who knew how to govern? Ronnie knew how to govern. He was just a great governor." And then my dear friend Esther Rolle of television's Good Times once said to me, "Nancy, honey -- Ronnie was the best governor." That was before she died.

If I had to guess who is going to be the next Governor based on the article, I would go with Gavin Newsom. Let's be honest -- sex appeal can be pretty useful in politics! Thank heavens Ronnie was so competent -- it would be terrifying if someone with so much sex appeal didn't have the competence to back it up! (arah-SA alin-PA!!!!!)

Don't call me on the telephone!

Well, one cosmo turned into two, and then Drew convinced me that you have to chase cosmos with cheap margaritas, and so we went for greasey quesadillas at this little hole in the wall that hasn't seen the patronage of a health inspector since Ronnie was the Governor of California. Can I tell you? Before it was all over, Cameryn had me in a corner trying to convince me to be in her next movie -- she's directing a re-make of "Year of Living Dangerously," and she thinks I would be great in the Linda Hunt role -- not sure how to take that, but boy is Cameryn aggressive!

Anyway, my brain hasn't felt this achey since the summer of 1978, the morning after I went to a party at Tom Selleck's house. Everyone was there, of course -- the Hustons, Lucille Ball, Chuck Woolery, Diane Keaton, one of the Kennedys, Princess Margaret, Maureen O'Hara, Althea Gibbs, Omar, Wayne Newton, Donna Summer, Betty Ford (not Gerald), Eva Gabor, Zsa Zsa, Sammy Davis, Henry Kissinger, etc., etc. -- you know, the crowd. And there were little cubes of jello, and it was just incredibly hot that summer, and I thought, well isn't this the most refreshing idea I've ever heard of! And so I just kept popping them into my mouth, trying to cool off, and before I knew it I was waking up in John Wayne's bungalow on the Paramount lot. That was the year before he died.

And for those of you with dirty minds, don't even go there! I woke up next to Florence Henderson, Anne B. Davis and Charles Nelson Reilly. How Charles Nelson Reilly had a key to John Wayne's bungalow, I will never know. But let me tell you, Florence can make an omlette! Over omlettes, they told me horrifying stories about my behaviour the night before, something having to do with Tom Selleck's luggage and Linda Blaire's brazier. God, Hollywood isn't what it used to be.

Last Woman Standing

You know, I'm not going to write about Michael anymore. I was thinking about it yesterday, and I realized that Michael, Ronnie and I were the three 1980's icons who really mattered. And now there's only one of us left. And you know, it makes me lonely.

But I'm a Hollywood person, so I don't just sit and stew in my grief. I get out there and mix it up! That's why this afternoon, I'm going to go out with some young show business people. Drew Berrymore and Cameryn Manheim are on their way over right now and we're going to go see that new movie, Away With Me, and then go get cosmos!

Black People Loved Michael

At the public pool where I swim my laps, Michael's music was playing this morning and because it's a public pool most of the people there are black and a lot of them are children. And even though these children probably didn't grow up with Michael's music -- they probably grew up with rap and roll, not rock and roll like Michael sang -- the music seemed to mean so much to them -- they danced and sang along, and they seemed like such happy black children, which you don't always see, although you see it more nowadays thanks in small part to my Stop the Madness Say No To Drugs Campaign -- I'm sorry, I hate to brag, but all the studies say it's true.

Now, of course, the music meant a lot to me, but that's because I'm a famous person so I knew Michael. But that's not true for all white poeple, and it made me wonder. It really made me wonder.

(PS: a commenter asked if that picture of me with Michael was real. Of course it was real! I know I make a lot of collages, but I'm not that good! Michael came to the White House in 1984. . . I think Michael Deaver invited him so the young people would vote for Ronnie. It must have worked, because we won! Maybe Barbara Bush should have thought of something like that!)

(PPS: In case you are wondering, the photo in this post is real, too!)

Michael

Well, I guess you were all waiting for me to write something about Michael Jackson.

At first I didn't want to pile on, but. . . well, I did know Michael, and I'm also a Hollywood person, so I think I know a little bit about who he really was behind all of his celebrity.

I always thought of Michael as a mix of Judy Garland, Liberace and Sidney Poitier. Judy because they were both vulnerable and damaged, Liberace because they both wore such fabulous outfits, and Sidney because they were both black. But then Michael became less like Sidney Poitier and more like Omar Sharif. Sort of like a person who you look at and say, Oh, I remember you being browner than you are. I always said that about Omar, because I knew he was an Arab. I would go to dinner parties, thinking of Omar as probably three or four shades darker than he was, and I'd get there and he'd be white, just like Michael.

Anyway, Michael came to visit Ronnie and I in the White House. He was so nice and friendly, and we had lots of things in common. For instance, we were all Hollywood people, so we could talk about being famous stars. And Michael and Ronnie talked about monkeys, because after all Ronnie had been in a movie with a monkey, and Michael was already thinking about getting a monkey for a pet. Ronnie told him to go with it, because Bonzo had been such wonderful company, certainly a better co-star than Doris Day ever was*. It was only a year later that Michael adopted Bubbles.

I was always glad that Ronnie started getting forgetful around the same time when Michael was being accused of all those terrible things -- Ronnie would have been so angry, just like he got angry when the world made Mickey Rooney fat.

Well, goodbye Michael. Now I'm going to have to call my dear friend Liz Taylor. She is devastated I'm sure and probably knee deep in a gallon of ice cream.

* Doris was just about as smart as you would have thought! Let's put it this way, you never had to paint a line on the floor from the dressing room to the set so Bonzo could find his way around the studio!

(PS: I was going to make another photo collage because there are so many pictures of me and Michael, but then this one seemed appropriate because it's just the two of us and we both sort of look wistful and sort of like we're thinking, "We're both mega-celebrities I wonder what the future holds for us both?" I guess they're right, less can be more.)

Grocery Shopping

Well, Trader Joe's was hell, once again.

When this place used to be the Southern California that I romped all over with Ginger Rogers, whom we all used to call Troll before she gained all that weight and it became not so funny. . . anyway, during the golden years of Hollywood, big magical grapefruits and ham sandwiches so luscious you could use them to bribe a sultan just carpeted the tables and you could eat like a Maharani without even thinking twice about it. Of course, I never ate anything but the grapefruits, but even they were just as glorious and glamorous and red and sweet as anything you could ever hope would pass over your tongue. I remember a party at Mr. Mayer's house -- he had hired 75 young Oriental girls in Geisha dress to stand behind our chairs and spoon feed us the most incredible meal -- wild duck soup, imported Elephant steaks, something that Clark Gable told me was made of monkey -- all of it served on china that once belonged to a Tsar.

And now we have to just fight our way through the aisles of dirty little specialty groceries for a tiny crock of Greek yoghurt and a bag of turkey jurkey.

Of course, I blame myself, and I blame Ronnie. I think that when we left for Washington in 1980, we just up and took all the glamour with us, and it didn't survive in Washington, try as we might to keep it going.

(PS: That's a picture of me with the China I bought for the White House. They gave me hell for the expense even though what I found when I got there was a bunch of ticky-tacky-mismatch, and that'll give you an idea of how hard it was to live glamourously in Washington. It was like being given all the orchids in the hot house and being told to use them to decorate the ice-skating pond and keep them alive out there! I just thought of that metaphor, and boy, it is apt!)

Why Ronnie Never Slept Around

Well, I should think the answer is obvious! I never let myself get fat! We were Hollywood people, and so self-discipline was second nature to us. There was an unspoken agreement -- I didn't turn into a blimp like my dear friend Debbie Reynolds, and he didn't wander sexually. Sure, this meant that I've lived hungry for more than half my life, but Ronnie was worth every minute of it! I bet you Debbie would trade all those lonely nights snuggled up with a pint of Hagen Daz for the experience of having been first lady for the most stunningly attractive President this country has ever had!

I wish I could find the wife of this Governor Sanders and tell her what Billie Holiday once told me: "Lose some weight! You're a white woman, for God's sakes!"

(ps: look how BIG Debbie is!!!)

It was good being queen!

Well, Michelle Obama must be taking my advice! Here's a lovely story about her becoming friends with Queen Elizabeth. Now, Ronnie was always such good friends with Margaret Thatcher. Well, I thought Margaret Thatcher was about as charming as a mouthfull of Shirley McClain's bathwater, but it didn't really matter, because when we would go to England, I would just spend my time with her Majesty. I told Michelle that she had better do the same, because let me tell you, the Queen has been there and done that! She can tell you everything you need to know about being first lady, because let's face it, the first lady is the Queen of America. I've always thought that, but it's only now that no one pays attention to me that I can actually say it. Queen queen queen, I was the queen! If I could peel you like a grape, god himself would call it just -- that's from a movie about Eleanor of Aquataine. . . she wasn't a queen, but Katherine Hepburn played here in the film, and Katherine Hepburn was every bit as much of a queen as anyone else I ever knew. You know, I'm just a show biz person at heart!

So anyway, good job, Michelle!

(By the way, I made another collage! That's not really Ronnie and it's not really Mrs. Thatcher -- I found a picture of their wax statues! Isn't that a stitch!)

Going to a Hollywood Party

Well, tonight I'm going to a Hollywood party. You know, with people like Milton Berle, although he's dead. So he won't be there, But people like him will be. The person hosting it is Meg Ryan. I vaguely remember her from some frothy little film where she falls in and out of love with that nice Jewish comedian -- Billy something. I couldn't really follow the movie because it was the first year after Ronnie's presidency and I was absolutely obsessed with co-authoring my memoirs, "My Turn: The Memoirs of Nancy Reagan." Everything in every movie that I saw just made me think of something else I didn't want to leave out! Like when Meg Ryan did that scene where she pretended to have the orgasm in the ethnic deli, all I could think was, "Oh, Nancy, don't forget to write about the air traffic controllers' strike.

That's a picture of me with Cher. Maybe she'll be at the Party!

Ronnie Knew How to Pick Them!

Here's a wonderful article about how crabby Supreme Court justices can be! Oh, how true that can be. . . I'm a show biz person, so I guess I naturally gravitated to the show biz guests at our parties, like John Travolta and Princess Diana -- oh, if she hadn't crashed into that tunnel wall in Paris and he hadn't been so homosexual, I really think they might have hit it off and become a lovely couple!

Anyway, all of the justices would just stand in the corner at our parties, giving everyone else dirty looks. And I was always so proud of Ronnie for picking Sandra O'Connor, because even though she was a bit rough around the edges -- she once told Ron Jr. that he should man up and work a ranch for a while -- she knew how to have a good time. She once told me her hand felt empty without a glass of scotch!

I couldn't find a picture of the three of us, so I just sort of made a collage!

Just Say No To Smoking

Well, this is lovely. So many of my Hollywood friends died from lung diseases. And of course, my dear friend and clothier Bill Blass died of throat cancer. How many more dress makers have to die before we take smoking prevention seriously?

You're Right, Maureen!

Maureen Dowd is a former burlesque performer who now writes witty little flourishes for the New York Times. Ronnie would always complain about the New York Times, and said that it didn't like us. But I always said, if it weren't for the New York Times, where would Bill Blass be, and if it weren't for Bill Blass, I would be naked!

Anyway, here is Maureen writing about President Obama and his going to Broadway plays and museums in Paris. It looks like all these people are upset because they think that it's too expensive for the President to do things like take his wife to a depressing August Wilson play (I met August Wilson once -- he was lovely, not at all like Tennessee Williams).

Well, you know, I think that's just silly, and I agree with Maureen. We're America, and first of all when I was in the White House it cost taxpayers a small mint if I sneezed in the wrong direction, so it really can't be avoided. And secondly, what is our president supposed to do? Sit at home and watch reruns of "Highway to Heaven?"

Of course, I did know Michael Landon rather well -- I thought he was about as attractive as you could be when he was on Bonanza -- but apparently the fame went to his head, which is something you've got to really guard against.