One thing I've very quickly learned is that if you wake up every morning worrying about what's in the press, you would go completely and utterly potty.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
Doing press is like eating at McDonald's: while it's going on it's vaguely enjoyable - you're seduced by your own vanity and taking yourself rather seriously - but immediately afterwards you feel sick.
I've been dealing with the press for 45 years. You need a very long spoon to sup with them. While you are always grateful, they are like badly trained dogs. They smile and wag and bite your arm off.
Wooing the press is an exercise roughly akin to picnicking with a tiger. You might enjoy the meal, but the tiger always eats last.
I have sleepless nights before press days.
I do believe babies are born potty-trained. They're born knowing and are able to give subtle signals that become very prominent if you reinforce them.
I purposefully isolate myself from anything that has to do with any press. I don't read any press about myself.
To be honest, bread constipates me, and I like to have my daily bowel movement.
Press junkets are incredibly annoying. You sit in a chair for three to six hours and have different journalists shuttle in for three minutes at a time, asking cheesy movie questions to get a quick sound bite - and that's their only objective. You can't really move or eat. You're just stuck there. It's pressure, constant pressure.
When I am made fun of in the press I just remember those days when I'd come home to find that the water had been turned off because my mother couldn't afford the bill. Suddenly, everything feels easier.
I never mind doing press; it's never bothered me.