Everyone, everyone, everyone, if you are going to San Francisco, you MUST see Alcatraz. The tour is terrific and gets booked up far in advance, so you should get your tickets about a week prior by going to Alcatraz Cruises on line.

Even though people tell you how terrible and awful a prison Alcatraz was, I would kill to live there (no pun intended). It’s private, surrounded by water, has great views and all the seafood you can eat. They say that the cells are small, but I did not find this so by New York standards. And, yes, they are gloomy (no window, cot, chair and toilet), but I’m from the Martha Stewart school so I think anything can be made attractive. Perhaps these murderers were just lazy and didn’t understand how charming “prison chic” can be. The great Americana tradition of scratchy wool blankets and enamel dinnerware just screams Williams-Sonoma! And the prison library, with it’s vaulted – if heavily guarded – ceiling, I would consider an ideal place for an afternoon escape (no pun intended again) from life’s little tribulations.

I fanaticized throughout the whole tour. I pictured myself a young, strong daughter of Sappho killer standing in a chic, orange uniform, belted with a mock-Hermes waist-cincher that my girlfriend made in the machine shop and my “L Word” inspired lesbian shag haircut blowing in the late afternoon breeze in the prison yard. I saw myself leading prison riots and screaming such rally cries as, “Less Bars! More Spas!” and “Death Row! We Won’t Go!”

Everyone talks about prison so negatively, but there are so many positive aspects. You can recover from plastic surgery without anyone being the wiser as everyone looks beaten up. Spending a couple of weeks sorting out your problems in solitary is a lot cheaper than spending $5,000 to go to the Elizabeth Arden Rebirthing Center. And - ATTENTION LADIES – the gym is free. I also love the camaraderie of 22 to a cell. It is sooo sorority. Hail to the ladies of Io Wanna Muncha!

Greetings from Muir Woods! Yes, one can walk among the redwoods in Manolos.

Yesterday I took a break from endless standing ovations and pure adulation to walk among trees that are older than I am. Muir Woods is the last great stand of redwoods in the Bay Area and seeing all of these majestic trees reaching skyward to the heavens for thousands of years has given me new respect for my patio furniture. Boy oh boy, I will really think twice next time I order some folding tables or a lounge chair.

We had lunch at Sam’s Anchor Cafe in Tiburon in Marin County which we were told is the hot, in, trendy place by friends. They forgot to add, “Except on Tuesdays.”

It was just us, twelve pigeons and an angry conservationist who didn’t want us feeding Pina Coladas to the flying rats. I personally think that a drunken pigeon is hilarious. I laugh and laugh when they drunkenly stagger off the pier only to find out that they can’t swim. It makes me think that I could be good friends with Michael Vick.

Review: Joan Rivers rips it up in late-night show at the Plush Room
Steven Winn, Chronicle Arts and Culture Critic

Monday, August 27, 2007

"The Joan Rivers Theatre Project," a play-in-progress workshop at the Magic Theatre through Sept. 2, is not open for reviews. That didn't stop its star and principal creator from offering her own assessment in public Friday night.

"It's s-," she said merrily at the top of an 11 p.m. set at the Empire Plush Room, "which is going nowhere."

As always with Rivers, who has made a career out of high-stakes insult and high-wire cattiness, intention and irony are open questions. How much of Rivers' meanness does she really, or even a little bit, mean, about herself or anything else?

In a rapid-fire hour at the Plush Room, Rivers laid waste to homeless people, stroke victims, Palestinians ("They're so ugly"), lesbian nuns, Angelina Jolie's "pelican lips," Anne Frank, Tom Cruise, crazy people, Hillary Clinton ("She's such a dyke"), Madonna's "homely children" and her own good friend Linda Carter ("that stupid bitch") and "best friend" Julie Andrews.
Andrews and Rivers are best friends? So it would seem, according to the comic, who said the two speak by phone every day. Rivers recalled helping Andrews through the traumatic vocal cord injuries and subsequent surgeries that forced her to stop singing. Like everything else under the sun, her friend's misery was fair game: Rivers proceeded to offer up a cheery burlesque of Andrews croaking out some lines from "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang," still thinking she could sing.

Want to read more ?  Of course you do.  (And I'm sooo thrilled to share.)

Being in San Francisco, I am trying to find out as much about the city's culture as I can, so Naturally, my #1 priority is NOT the Legion of Honor Museum or the San Francisco Symphony, but Alcatraz.  Give me a guy with a gat and you've got me!

We are off to Alcatraz today for a private tour and I can't wait to tell you all about it.  I have been reading up on Alcatraz before the tour and one thing I've already learned is that the Birdman of Alcatraz was a real piece of shit.

Everyone hated him.  Guards used to hand out shivs to the prisoners hoping that someone would get him.

He was weired, peculiar and the only birds that hung around him were real sickos.  Apparently he liked to eat them (this was NOT in the movie).  They claim that once a Robin Redbreast flew through the bars and landed on the floor of his cell and he put mayo on it.

I am sitting at Bella Nails in the Marina District getting a foot massage (a dollar a minute and well worth it as long as Tracey keeps her magic fingers moving as she also gives me a pedicure) while poor Lynn gets the shitty job of rebuilding my finger nails.

I look down the rows of ladies getting mani/pedis and we are out of central casting. The ladies getting the m/p's are all JAPs and the girls doing them are all real Japs. There is one black man sitting to my left and I can't figure out whether he is a straight actor or a gay guy pretending to be a straight actor.

The reason that I am getting my manicure/pedicure is because I have noticed that sometimes during the most dramatic or tender moments in the play, I will look out and find a member of the audience staring and snickering at my corns and bunions. This will show them tonight.

ATTENTION LEPERS: This is one swell salon. I have just found their rate card and they give a discount if you only have four toes.

I love this city!!! If I'm going to die in an earthquake I would rather it were here than L.A., where I have no breasts to stop and bounce back the boulders, or Peru, where I have no facial hair to help scratch my way out.

The cast members of my play have gotten used to the total look of panic in my eyes when I come on stage. They find it amusing - the bastards - to watch a 70 year old woman bumping into scenery and mumbling everybody's lines.

The audiences, God bless them, even the straight ones, really seem to love the piece. But then, I have no respect for the opinions of those that come to see me by choice. I am only interested in the opinions of those who are dragged kicking and screaming. These are easy to spot as they moan, deliberately turn on their cell phones and unwrap candy throughout the show. 

Anita, the friend who sent me the Definitions e-mail, also sent me this “He Said/She Said” e-mail. Well, it made me laugh…you?

He said . . . I don't know why you wear a bra; you've got nothing to put in it.
She said . . . You wear pants don't you?

He said. .. Shall we try swapping positions tonight?
She said.. That's a good idea - you stand by the ironing board while I sit on the sofa and fart!

He said. .. What have you been doing with all the grocery money I gave you?
She said.. Turn sideways and look in the mirror!

He said .. Why don't women blink during foreplay?
She said .. . They don't have time

He said . .. How many men does it take to change a roll of toilet paper?
She said .. . We don't know; it has never happened.

He said . .. Why is it difficult to find men who are sensitive, caring and good-looking?
She said .. . They already have boyfriends.

She said... What do you call a woman who knows where her husband is every night?
He said . . . A widow.

He said . . . Why are married women heavier than single women?
She said .. .. Single women come home, see what's in the fridge and go to bed. Married women come home, see what's in bed and go to the fridge.

Okay, bragging time.

This weekend my life was fabulous. We did the second performance of my play on Friday night at the Magic Theatre. It is really starting to take shape and is getting lots of big laughs. There was only one major mistake that happened when I screwed up the last big "moment" and wanted to kill myself. 

I then took a Red Eye to Fort Myers, Florida for a Saturday afternoon cosmetics meeting with a lot of beauty experts. It is fascinating how these people live and die over wrinkle products, etc. I learned a lot and will put all that information into Joan Rivers Beauty products for QVC.

The hotel where I was staying was filled with children as it’s the last weekend before school begins and every parent seemed to have dragged their little darlings to our place - the kiddy pool ran yellow.

That night I hosted an auction for the Arts for ACT Gallery which is a terrific charity that helps battered women, children and, yes, believe it or not, men. One of their statistics was that one out of every five men is raped in his lifetime!!!!!!!

It was an art auction backed by Robert Rauschenberg and Darryl Pottorf and we raised over three hundred thousand dollars auctioning off pieces that were created mainly by Florida artists.

The big thrill for me was getting to spend time with Rauschenberg. He is one of the icons of American painting; a man who changed the American view of what art is and what it should look like and there he was, sitting and laughing and getting all my asides and jokes. When the evening was over, I floated upstairs to my room.

I woke up in my beautiful, adorable suite on the 23rd floor of the Fairmont Hotel to a total view of…nothing.

It is all fogged in. How romantic is that?

We sat and watched as the fog lifted and the city revealed itself.  It really is gorgeous.

After washing the cement off my hands,  I then went on to a major dinner (there goes my diet!) with the big board of the Magic Theatre and ate with all of the richies who give money. I had to sit there and be charming, but they were all very, very nice. The first question I was asked was, “So why weren’t you the permanent host of The Tonight Show after Johnnie Carson left?” You want to say, “People, this was twenty fucking years ago, who cares!?!” The next question was, “What was Merv Griffin like?” I was dying to tell them that he was gay.

While eating with the richies, the first course (out of a tasting menu of ten courses, repeat, ten) was caviar, cream and eggs.  It is so much fun to eat with rich people because I LOVE my caviar.

 After leaving the dinner – no rest for the weary – we went to meet Raymond at a hospital. On the way to the hospital we must have driven all over San Francisco. We got a late night tour of not just the Chinese, not just the Japanese, not just the gay,  not just the derelict and not just the rich neighborhoods, we got a tour of ALL of San Francisco.

 It turns out that Raymond had a bladder infection that hadn’t passed, so all of this screaming and yelling and wondering what is the matter with him and wondering if he is going to die is insane as Raymond knew all along that he had a bladder infection.

All week long I’ve had this big circle on my arm, so I said to the doctor, “You might as well check me in, take a look at this and take blood,” which I hate! So they checked me in. They did all of the paperwork. They got a nurse. I shut my eyes and went through all the horror of taking blood and then on the way out they said, “By the way, we made a mistake. We sent the blood out to be tested for platelets, not Lyme Disease.” I just walked out, got in the car and went home to the hotel. I was so wiped and so tired between rehearsal and Raymond and the publicity that I fell into bed without a bath. Phew! Phew! Phew!

I’m very, very, very happy though. As rough as it is, I really think that the play is quite good.

Raymond continues to be ill and did not come to work today, so we all just struggled through with my hair as best we could. It turns out that Adele, who has been doing my makeup for 20 years, CAN DO HAIR!  Poor bitch has just screwed herself right into the ground and doesn’t even know it.

 Rehearsals are going better. I now find that, except for about ten different places in the script - which is close to a hundred pages - I don’t have to ask for help. It’s so nice when the dialogue starts to sink in. We are now doing lighting, which truly makes or breaks a play, but for the actors who are waiting around, it is so boooring. 

At night, after an eight hour rehearsal stint, I went out and did publicity for the show. One event was putting my hands in wet cement for a sidewalk they are trying to create outside of the Diva Hotel.

If you want to know what wet cement feels like, it’s like pushing down on soft plastic or a half inflated balloon; very, very weird. For some reason a large crowd turned out. Can you imagine what kind of a life a person has to watch a celebrity get down on their hands and knees and stick their ass in everybody’s face?

After I’d put my hand prints, written my name and drew a happy face in the cement, I was trying to be all warm and fuzzy, so I picked a little girl out of the crowd and said, “Let’s put your hand in also, Sweetheart, so that when you grow up you can find it on the sidewalk.”

It turns out that the little shit was from Italy and didn’t know what the hell she was doing and she will never, ever, come back to San Francisco because she is so fucking ugly that no man is ever going to pay for her trip when she gets older.

(To be continued....)

On Monday, I arrived in the city of cable cars,

cable cars!impossible hills, beautiful views and a million mincing Marys.

My assistant, Jocelyn, and I landed, went to the hotel, threw our bags in our rooms and went right to the theatre to rehearse. There is so much to do and only a few days to get it done before I hit the stage tomorrow for a benefit performance for San Francisco’s Positive Resource Center. I couldn’t be happier!

The only bad spot in this is that my hairdresser, Raymond, is sick. I am worried about him, but hope that some rest will make him better.

I know that many of you were impatient with me and my love of haikus when I put up Jewkus on this blog a few months ago so, to annoy you further, I am giving you some Haikus that a friend sent me about dogs.
       I love my master;
     Thus I perfume myself with
       This long-rotten squirrel.

       I lie belly-up
      In the sunshine, happier than
       You ever will be

       Today I sniffed
     Many dog butts - I celebrate
       By kissing your face.

 I sound the alarm!
                Paperboy - come to kill us all -
                 Look! Look! Look! Look!

       I lift my leg and
     Wiz on each bush. Hello, Spot -
      Sniff this and weep.

      How do I love thee?
     The ways are numberless as
       My hairs on the rug.

       My human is home!
     I am so ecstatic I have
       Made a puddle.

A friend gave me a very funny book called The Worst-Case Scenario Survival Handbook: Dating & Sex and it was so quirky and funny that I read it in one sitting . This book is full of hilarious information to help anyone survive a bad date or relationship mishap and contains such amusing chapter titles as "How to Determine If Your Date is an Axe Murderer, " "How to Determine the Gender of Your Date," "How to Spot Breast Implants" and "How to Fake an Orgasm."

My favorite section was a list of bad pick-up lines and I would like to share a few of my favorites (aka the worst ones) with you:

 “Can I buy you a drink or do you just want the money?”

“Are you okay? It must have been a long fall from heaven.”

 “If you were a burger at McDonald’s, I’d call you McBeautiful.”

“If I could rearrange the alphabet I’d put U and I together.”

“Look at you with all those curves and me with no brakes!”

And my favorite, “My name may not be Fred Flintstone, but I could sure make your bed rock.”                        

 My friend, Anita, sent me a very funny e-mail with a man’s definition and a woman’s definition to the same words. Have a good laugh…

Eight Words with two Meanings

1. THINGY (thing-ee) n.
Female...... Any part under a car's hood.
Male..... The strap fastener on a woman's bra.

2. VULNERABLE (vul-ner-a-bel) adj.
Female.... Fully opening up one's self emotionally to another.
Male.... Playing football without a cup.

3. COMMUNICATION (ko-myoo-ni-kay-shun) n.
Female... The open sharing of thoughts and feelings with one's partner.
Male... Leaving a note before taking off on a fishing trip with the boys.

4. COMMITMENT (ko-mit-ment) n.
Female.... A desire to get married and raise a family.
Male...... Trying not to hit on other women while out with this one.

5. ENTERTAINMENT (en-ter-tayn-ment) n.
Female..... A good movie, concert, play or book.
Male.... . Anything that can be done while drinking beer.

6. FLATULENCE (flach-u-lens) n.
Female.... An embarrassing by product of indigestion.
Male...... A source of entertainment, self-expression, male bonding.

7. MAKING LOVE (may-king luv) n.
Female...... The greatest expression of intimacy a couple can achieve.
Male.. Call it whatever you want, just as long as we do it.

8. REMOTE CONTROL (ri-moht kon-trohl) n.
Female.... A device for changing from one TV channel to another.
Male... A device for scanning through all 375 channels every 5 minutes.

I read the other day that a 94-year-old Australian great-great-grandmother has become the world's oldest person to earn a Masters degree.

She earned it in the Anthropological History of Australia which seems a little unfair since she didn’t have to do any research-she lived it- her life was her crib sheet.

She told the press that it was wonderful getting her degree at 94 because she was the one who made the parchment that her diploma is written on.

I was told that her friends and family surprised her at her graduation party and had a cardiologist pop out of the cake.

I am starting to get very excited about going to San Francisco next week.  I’m doing a workshop of my play at the Magic Theatre as well as stand-up at the Plush Room.

And as a cherry on the cake, I’ll have some free time to go sight seeing.  As everyone knows, San Francisco is one of the most beautiful cities in the world and there are more gay men per square foot than anywhere else on this planet.     Gay men are my most loyal fans and playing San Francisco is like playing their union hall.

Here are some of my favorite jokes about this subject and all, naturally, are politically incorrect:

San Francisco is the only city where the blind gay men have Seeing Eye Poodles.

San Francisco is great because gay criminals there beg to be handcuffed.

In San Francisco you can take a ferry to Alcatraz, but then he’ll expect you to buy him lunch.

You can send friends back home post cards that say, “Wish you were queer.”

There is very little violent crime in San Francisco. The worst thing that happened to me when I was there was that I was gang coiffed.

In San Francisco even the Golden Gate Bridge swings both ways.

And, finally, San Francisco’s city motto pretty much sums it up, “Eat, Drink and be Mary!”

As I’ve already posted, I co-hosted The View this week with my friends Barbara, Joy and Elisabeth  and really had a great time. People are always asking me what kind of preparation it takes to host a national talk show and I’ve got one word for them, gin.

There is no need to make yourself crazy acquainting yourself with a guest’s new book, record, or movie when, instead, you can fix yourself a martini.  What is going on in the newspaper doesn’t seem so important when you are sipping a nice, cold Pimm's.

Faithful reader, please learn from this so that if in the future you don’t feel like preparing for that board meeting or grading your 8th graders multiple choice quiz, or thinking up questions to ask Kelly Clarkson about her latest, shitty CD, just zing up something delicious in your blender and call it a day.

As a wise man once said, “Liquor is the cause of and answer to most of life’s problems.”

Last week on The View we went around the panel asking, “What do you like least about yourself?” and “What do you like most about yourself?”

Both questions were difficult for me as I ran out of paper on the first one and I was embarrassed to have nothing to offer on the second. Try asking this to your co-workers, friends and loved ones – if you have any.

Shalom.

This is a follow up to last week’s blog about my trip to Israel. Well, not really Israel, but Jerusalem. Well, not really Jerusalem as much as Jeru… as I was only there for about 14 hours.

I had originally intended to stay a few days and really get to see the sights, but then everybody got crazy over word of an impending strike and, as I was due in London to appear on television, I had to hightail it out of the Holy Lands ahead of schedule. I got out of there faster than Tina Turner with a fat lip.

What little time I did spend there was jam-packed, but I did manage to see all the major sights (the Stations of the Cross, the Holocaust Museum, Jesus’ tomb, David’s original city, the Dead Sea Scrolls, etc), but my favorite was the Wailing Wall.

Lindsay Lohan – SURPRISE – was there at the same time I was. Lindsay was wailing for her sins and all the rest of the worshipers at the wall were wailing because Lindsay had driven there!

Yesterday I co-hosted 2 episodes of The View. The first aired live yesterday morning and the second one will be seen on August 10th. It was great fun on camera and also behind the scenes. Here is what goes on…

Everyone arrives without hair or makeup and goes directly into the make-up room where the producers and writers are waiting. In theory everyone has already read several newspapers so that they are ready to discuss the news and pick “Hot Topics.”

For example, we decided that we wanted to make mention of Robin Roberts’ announcement that she has breast cancer.

No one else except shallow me wanted to talk about Ivana Trump’s announcement of her pending marriage to Rossano Rubicondi who is 35 (I already had jokes in my head, “He’s so much younger that they’ll spend their honeymoon at Disney World.” “He is so much younger that during sex he calls out, ‘Are we there yet? Are we there yet?’” “He is so much younger that their pre-nup will be written in crayon.”).

Barbara came in a little later – also without hair and makeup, which is very brave for any woman over the age of 50. I don’t even go to the bathroom at night without eyeliner and three hair extensions. Seeing Barbara in action tells you why she is Barbara Walters. She cuts right to the heart of the matter, “This question isn’t pertinent.” “Is this a city, state or federal law?” “Move this further up. This is the heart of the interview.” S-M-A-R-T (not at smart as me of course, but smart).

Joy was a dream.  When two comedians who like each other get together you can tease and play and it becomes a real verbal tennis match.

And, last but not least, Elisabeth.  I don’t know what happened, but she has grown a lot since taking this job and she can hold her own in any debate.  The Rosie fighting has made her very strong and self-confident.

Anyhow, I adored doing The View and, thank God, it’s one of the programs that is still in New York.