It’s not even December and I am already in the mood to kill. New York has been totally decorated for Christmas since Halloween and everyone, like Pavlov’s dog, is getting nervous and tense about seeing red and green. Unfortunately, I’m only seeing red. People are already punching each other out for taxis. The gridlock, now that the tree is up in Rockefeller Center, is the worst ever.

Con Edison, in their infinite wisdom, has decided that this would be a good time to start tearing up streets and, if I hear one more Salvation Army bell ringing, I will personally strangle the Salvation Army ladies with the bows on their fucking bonnets.

And, speaking of Salvation Army, when are they going to realize that if the movie actress Jean Simmons (in Guys and Dolls) didn’t look good in their uniform, then no one could. A cape with a big, brass button – unless you are Dracula – just doesn’t make it in 2007.

I’m also sick of all the homeless people trying to be cheerful. I walked past someone sucking on a shoe. He looked up at me and said, “Merry Christmas.” I screamed, “One, you’re stupid because it’s still November. Two, if you weren’t so stupid you’d have a house. And three, I’m a JEW!!!! So you’re not getting a penny out of me unless you let me have a little bite of that shoe…it looks really delicious.”

As you can see, the holiday spirit hasn’t gripped me yet.

How would you decorate the Holland Tunnel? I am sitting in a car, stuck in traffic in the Holland Tunnel and am very nervous as I am about half-way through the tube and know, if the terrorists blow this up, there is no way in hell I’d be able to swim out before it fills with water and drowns us all. To settle my anxiety I am thinking how, if by some chance Mayor Bloomberg would rent it to me as a domicile, I would decorate the Holland Tunnel.

The first thought that occurred to me is that a tunnel of this magnitude can definitely take big art. I would want to give it a formality and yet keep it cozy and I think that could be achieved with nubby, beige sectionals which I would use to create hundreds of intimate conversation pits. I would try to have the kitchen closer to the Jersey side and my bedroom nearer to Manhattan so that even on a lazy day I would still get in at least a two mile walk to the fridge and back.

Picture windows at either end would bring in just enough light to stop depression and vampire bats.

Would I take in a roommate? I don’t think so. I like the idea of knowing that when I’ve vacuumed my mile long runner, I won’t find strange footprints ruining the shag effect.

The best thing about it is that the Hudson River would be my swimming pool, Manhattan would be my playground and Hoboken would be my toilet.

As my mother always said, “Anything can be made charming.”

I recently played two nigthts in Halifax at the Casino Nova Scotia and, except for the fact that the dollar sucks even in Canada,  I had a wonderful time.  Canadians are soooo nice.

I spent an entire day touring the city and no matter where we went everybody was accomodating, pleasant, helpful and wore a smile (looking at you, America).  The only little glitch was that while I was in Halifax, enjoying Canadian hospitality, their police did manage to kill an immigrant at Vancouver Airport by shocking him with 50,000 volts from a stun gun, but I say, "Anyone who don't speak proper English could use a good shock."

It's funny how certain events mark a city forever.  Halifax, which is a very beautiful, modern, bustling, intellectual (5 colleges and an art school), wonderfully situated and historic city, is still haunted by two tragic historical events that EVERY citizen knows about.

The first is that both the survivors and the victims of the Titanic were brought into their port and many of the dead were buried in their graveyards.  The Maritime Museum in Halifax has a large collection of items salvaged from the wreckage of the Titanic including a deck chair.

And the second is a huge explosion - second only to the atomic bombs that leveled Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945 - which wiped out the entire north end of Halifax on December 6, 1917.  The Mont Blanc, a munitions ship, collided with another ship, the Imo, in the narrows of Halifax harbor and exploded. When it did the blast vaporized, killed, burned and maimed over 2,000 people.  The city of Boston was the first to send help in the form of two trainloads of doctors, nurses and medical supplies.  To this day, as a thank you, the citizens of Halifax - led by their mayor and provincial governor - deliver a Christmas tree to the city of Boston every year.

We were told many stories about the explosion while in Halifax, the best of which was told to me by my hairdresser.  It involved an infant girl who, when the explosion occurred, was thrown into an ash bucket that overturned and saved her life.  From then on she was known as Ash Can Annie.  Ash Can Annie lived, prospered and went to see my hairdresser once a week for a set, manicure and pedicure until the day she died at the age of 90. And the nicest thing was that she was a good tipper!

Everybody watch PBS. They ran a very SERIOUS documentary on how a group of young women were competing to become Miss Navajo Indian. They talked to the contestants and all I can say is that you’ve got to give credit to the cameramen for not jiggling their cameras while shaking with laughter at some of the answers. You see, my friends, it’s not just about wearing a buckskin bikini and stiletto moccasins, there are many categories of competition within this pageant. The winner made corn bread which, after listening to her talk for an hour, I started to suspect was out of a box of instant Jiffy Cornmeal.

One competition involved tribal knowledge, unfortunately all of the Indian girls turned out to be just like our Miss America contestants – stupid. This competition – which was called The Navajo Know – should really have been called The Navajo Don’t Know. For example, when asked about the Lady and the Twins (which is the Navajo equivalent to the Virgin Mary with two children) one girl thought they were referring to Mrs. Olsen, Mary-Kate and Ashley.

When asked what the Navajo official symbol represented, another lovely said, “I…uh…uh…wait…uh…let me gather my thoughts…uh.” Silence.

When another was complimented on the fact that she had gone to a terrific boarding school and was given a superb education on a scholarship she lamented, “It was terrible. They made me speak in English.” Thank God they did because nobody in the cafeteria would have understood when she asked them to pass the maize.

My favorite part of the whole pageant was the finale when the girls did a politically incorrect dance segment to the “Pale Face Polka”, the “Disease Ridden Blanket Bop” and “The Conestoga Choo-Choo”

The winner got Manhattan back.

Actually the holiday started on Thanksgiving Eve when I took my grandson, Cooper, to see the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade balloons being inflated. This takes place at 81st Street and Columbus Avenue and it is AMAZING to see these huge balloons being blown up and coming to life.

Cooper’s favorite was Shrek. I kept trying to stand somewhere that a balloon might hit me and I could sue, but it didn’t happen.

After that we went to Joe Allen’s on West 46th Street where we had our traditional “Eat Dessert First” pre- Thanksgiving meal.

Thursday morning I took Cooper with me to deliver Thanksgiving meals for God’s Love We Deliver. It was wonderful to see because he really got the idea of how nice it is to bring gifts of food and cheer to people in need.

Thursday evening I had 32 people to dinner and, truly, when I looked down the table I realized how lucky I am – that I didn’t have 36. After the last guest had left we all piled into the car – dogs, Nanny, Cooper, Melissa, Joanie and three guests and drove up to Connecticut. What could be nicer than waking up in the country on Friday? I hope you all had as great a Thanksgiving as I did.

P.S. Do you think I should have let my assistants have the day off? They didn’t look to happy sitting at their desks as I put up my Thanksgiving decorations and taunted them with turkey.

Happy Thanksgiving everybody! Though I am having 32 friends and relatives to dinner Melissa is not allowing me to cook this year. Apparently she can only deal with one tough, old bird at a time, so here is what my wonderful houseman, Kevin, and his amazing wife Debbie are serving:

Hors d’Oeuvres

Seared Tuna Topped with a Tropical Salsa on a Plantain Chip
Petite Caramelized Onion & Goat Cheese Tart
Pigs in a Blanket
Roasted Corn Wild Mushroom & Boursin Quesadillas

First Course

Butternut Squash Soup

Main Course

Roasted Free Range Turkey with Sage Rub and Pan Gravy
Calvados Apple Glazed Smoked Pork Loin with Spiced Cider Sauce
Haricot Vert with Roasted Pallet of Autumn Vegetables
Whipped Sweet Potato & Marshmallow Tart
Challah Bread Stuffing
Assorted Whole Grain Dinner Rolls & Corn Bread

Desserts

Apple Medley Crisp with Oat & Brown Sugar Topping
Bite Size Flourless Chocolate Cakes
Lemon Curd Tartlets with Raspberries
Pumpkin Pie
Chocolate Cinnamon & Vanilla Ice Cream
Candy Mini Apples & Carmel Mini Pears
Assorted Cookies and Biscotti

Here are some cooking mistakes that I’ve made over the years that I do not plan to repeat, for example:

Before putting the turkey in the oven make sure it is dead. It’s very annoying when you are trying to nap before your guests arrive and all you can hear is the turkey beating its head against the oven door.

There is nothing worse than dried out white meat, so DO NOT invite Donatella Versace.

Always buy a free-range turkey. Last year’s turkey had more chemicals in it than the corpse of Anna Nicole Smith.

Do not use any recipe that says to rub rosemary and thyme on the breasts. My friend tried this and it chafed her nipples something awful.

I will be a guest tomorrow morning on the "CW-11 Morning Show" (at 8:45 a.m.) and, hold on to your stomachs, I will be cooking.  It is a recipe that my houseman, Kevin Brennan perfected for me so that I'll sort of look like I know what I'm doing in the kitchen.  I've got to tell you that it's pretty tasty, so I wanted to share the recipe with all my bloggers.  Enjoy!

Joan Rivers' Sweet Potato Pudding

4 Pounds of Sweet Potatoes

1 Teaspoon Ground Cinnamon

1/2 Teaspoon Salt

Ground Pepper to taste

1/2 Teaspon of Ground Nutmeg

1/2 Teaspoon of Ground Cloves

2 Tablespoons of Maple Syrup

2 Cups of Mini-Marshmallows

Bake the Sweet Potatoes in their skins at 375 degrees for 1 1/2 hours or until tender.

Let  Sweet Potatoes cool.  Peel and mash with a fork.

Add Cinnamon, Salt, Pepper, Nutmeg, Clo9ve and Maple Syrup.  Mix.

Pour mixture into an ovenproof dish and top with Marshmallows.

Bake in a 375 degree oven for 30 minutes.

Ingredients can be prepared ahead of time and then baked and served.

Serves 6 -8 people

If you are in New York City tomorrow (Sunday, November 18th) and near Central Park, come cheer my team in the 14th Annual God’s Love We Deliver’s Race to Deliver. We are starting at 10:00am at the 72nd Street Transverse near the Bethesda Fountain and will walk/run four miles.

(FYI: Registration begins at 8:30 a.m.; warmups start at 9:30 a.m.; the race, starts at 10:00 a.m.)

As team captain I am very proud to say that none of us have practiced, trained or even bent over to pick something up off of the floor in the last six weeks, so if we win it truly will be a testament to the fact that there is a God.

All proceeds go to God’s Love We Deliver which supplies healthy meals to homebound clients affected by AIDS and other life-threatening illnesses.

I first knew that I was going to do very well in life when I worked in the jewelry department of Franklin Simon, a department store, as my first summer job. “It isn’t,” as I told my mother, “that I’m so smart, but that everyone around me is so dumb.” And through the years I think this is why I’ve been successful.

Here is a list of some dumb things that people I know have done over the last several months:

1. Retired friends who are living in northern Florida bought a snowblower because they got it cheaply and when I asked them why they said, “You never know.”

2. A friend of mine bought a lot of shoes that were on sale two sizes too small as she plans to lose weight .(How thin can a toe get?)

3. Friends of mine kept going into their dark attic for three months, tripping and stumbling. It never occurred to them to replace the burned out bulbs till one of them fell down the stairs. My sympathy card was very sarcastic.

4. For Halloween, a stupid, lazy friend decorated his house – and not as a joke – with baskets of colored eggs and bunnies.

5. When a woman I know had the lock/unlock button on her car keys stop working she stood outside of her locked car for 20 minutes before a passer-by suggested that she try the actual key. Duh.

6. A friend was reading Sir Edmund Hillary’s book about his first ascent of Mt. Everest. “Do you think he’ll make it or do you think he’ll die?” she asked. I wanted to tell her, “Look at the author photo on the back and you figure it out.”

Now, please write in your stupid people stories.

Since the insane murder of New York realtor Linda Stein has been solved and the murderess turned out to be her 26 year old assistant, Natavia Lowery and since Linda was bludgeoned to death in her home with her own Yoga sticks and since the assistant is blaming it on the fact that Linda Stein blew pot smoke in her face and called her “nigger”, I have decided to make a list of rules so that no one with an assistant will ever have this happen to them again.

1. Always wear a hard hat.

2. So that no assistant can ever call you a racist, on your job application form ask, “Are you a Chink, Kike, Polack, Nigger, Wop, Fairy, Frog, Canuck, Indian with a dot, Indian with a feather or Oklahoman? Please check one or any combination of the above.”

3. Never share your drugs with an assistant. Even if they beg you to just blow some their way, learn from Linda - DON’T.

4. Only hire assistants shorter than you so they can never bludgeon you on the head and, if they are starting to look angry and climb on to a stool, get out of there fast.

5. Only choose an assistant weaker than you. The ideal assistant would be Daniel Day Lewis in My Left Foot. He’d do a brilliant job on dictation, but don’t expect him to answer the phone or get you coffee.

6. One of the most sure-fire ways to guarantee your safety is to have an assistant who is an indentured servant or illegal alien. Their English may not be so good, but as long as they think you have mafia connections back in their homeland or are friendly with someone in the Immigration Office, they wouldn’t dare lift a finger against you.

7. When hiring an assistant check their weight. Warning: A fat assistant can be a dangerous assistant as when you throw something at them it may bounce off and strike you.

8. And NEVER forget that the best assistant to hire (when concerned for your personal safety) is someone who used to work for Naomi Campbell. No matter how badly you treat her it will seem like a step up.

I got up early today and went to see my Dermatologist who is the skin and Botox doctor to the rich and famous, Dr. Pat Wexler. I was scheduled for a 9:00am appointment and, when I arrived, was escorted into an examination room where I was asked to sit and wait…and wait…and wait…and wait until finally at 10:00am I put my coat on and, as I walked by the reception desk, was told that they were sorry that I had waited so long, but there had been a dermatological emergency. As I headed back uptown I started to really think about what a dermatological emergency might be and here are a few things that I came up with:

EMS workers brought Claire Daines in screaming and crying with the Heartbreak of Psoriasis.

Meryl Streep crawled into the office dragging what looked like a 300 pound mole behind her which turned out to be Kathy Bates.

Sarah Jessica Parker came in with an itchy rash that she had gotten from borrowing Kim Catrall’s bra.

Angelina Jolie came in demanding a refund because one of her over-collegened lips, while kissing Brad, had exploded and ruined his $5,000 Armani suit and drowned three African orphans in slime.

Some photos from opening night at "Young Frankenstein." 

Roll over them with your mouse for captions. --xxx Joan

This is why I love living in New York. I just spent one of the most glamorous evenings of the last two years going to the opening of Mel Brooks’ Young Frankenstein. It’s in a huge space, the Hilton Theatre (which holds a little over 1800 people) and it was packed with “first nighters” – women in long gowns and men in dinner jackets and everyone was looking absolutely wonderful and glamorous.

The show itself is so much fun.  It follows the movie very closely, so if you’re a fan of the movie – which I am – it’s like seeing an old friend dressed up in gorgeous costumes by William Ivey Long, wonderful dancers, terrific scenery and special effect and a great book and score by Mel Brooks himself.

The audience was very enthused and well they should be. Megan Mullally is outstanding as Elizabeth, the part originally played by Madeline Kahn.

Andrea Martin took the role of Frau Blucher and made it her own.

Roger Bart was a wonderful Dr. Frederick Frankenstein and how hard that must have been, knowing that Gene Wilder was in the audience last night watching him. Sutton Foster as Inga, the love interest, was charming and hilarious.

Christopher Fitzgerald played Igor to perfection and Shuler Hensley was a magnificent monster.

There wasn’t one weak member of the cast. It was nice to watch all of the dancing and when the applause came all of the chorus kids were beaming and smiling and obviously having fun.

During intermission I stood and talked with Elaine Stritch and Billy Crystal – Wow! Wow! Wow! – and I kept thinking to myself, “Where is my mother and why isn’t she alive to see all of these amazing people that I now know?”

The party that followed was star-studded: Rosie O’Donnell, Regis Philbin, Joy Behar and Tommy Tune were just a few of the theatre and television personalities I stopped and talked to who also loved it. Young Frankenstein’s only message is “have fun.” It is bright, it moves and the audience totally gets their money’s worth.

The best, best, best thing of all is how nice and helpful the NYPD officers were helping everyone get in and out of their cars and taxis. They kept things moving while being polite and lovely. They really helped to create the ambiance that we are all on the same side – proud of living in New York City.

What does one wear to the opening of Mel Brooks’ Young Frankenstein?

I’ll let you know tomorrow.

These comments and responses were excerpted from my "Rosie O'Donnell and Brian Linehan" blog.

Liz wrote: Brian had the typical self-contained Cnadian personality, and Rosie is a typical New Yorker.  Rosie's not afraid to express her anger.  Wonder if Brian was ever able to express anger?

Dear Liz - Except for the few dozen times Brian threw blunt objects at my head on air, I'd say that Brian had a difficult time expressing anger. -- xxx Joan

Liz wrote: I once saw Brian Linehan on the subway in Toronto, and was impressed with the way he maintained his personal space.

Dear Liz - If you are the Liz from the last question, you seem a little obsessed with Brian.  Who are you stalking now? -- xxx Joan

Liz wrote: What was Brian's reputation in Hollywood, Joan?  Was he respected? Considered too buttoned-down?

Dear Liz - All I can say to you on this, your third comment/question about Brian is:  Brian and Liz, sitting on a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G!  --xxx Joan

Christine wrote: Joan...thank you for a shout out about George Anthony's bio of Brian Linahan.  I always admired B.L. and have purchased the book and begun reading it.  Your forward is beautifully set down and I can tell you were a true friend.  Keep shining, Joan.

Dear Christine - This is Liz, isn't it!?!  No, really...I know it's you, Liz.  Move on!  --xxx Joan

Comments and responses excerpted from my archived  "Geico," "Parades," and "Michael Clayton Screening" blogs.

Pamela wrote: OK Geico.  But when the hell are we going to get a video release of your performances!?? I have Joan Rivers and Friends Salute Heidi Abromowitz...but it's been 20 years and I don't think she needs anymore saluting.  Well, not from women anyway. Btw, salutations from the ghetto known as Scarsdale.

Word, Master P -- Workin' on the DVD release of my comedy specials, so sit tight in the hood. Yo, yo, yo. --Joanie from the Block

Jane wrote: Dear Joan, You're a most classic elegant woman.  I'll never understand why you have to lower your comic standards to filthy words and jokes.  Many people enjoy witty humorous people like yourself.  Why would you not want your elegance to carry over into your comedy?

Dear Jane -- What the fuck are you talking about?   I never lower my goddamn standards and always try to act like a fucking elegant lady.  Happy Fucking Holiday!  P.S. When was the last time you saw an elegant comic? --xxx Joan

Shelly Carney wrote: You're so funny.  It's 11 pm Tuesday night.  The husband is at work and I was on the internet and ordered your hand cream on QVC (my personal store) I received some earrings today that I ordered from QVC and noticed your website address, so I looked it up.  Keep up the good work. Love ya.

Dear Shelly -- Nice to hear from you and glad to see tht you are sneaking around and buying yourself jewelry on QVC when your husband isn't at home.  Our little secret. --xxx Joan

Tupper Ware wrote: Tell me about it...If I hear the great melting pot one more time. I'd like to smash the son of bitch over the head with pot!

Dear T.W. --Feeling a little anti-immigration?  The only melting pot I really love is a bubbly, cheese fondue. --xxx Joan

Kiver wrote: Dear Joan; I had the pleasure of meeting you in Calgary.  I feel you should take all of these trashy starlets under your wing and give them some lessons on how to act in public.  You have always been so gracious.  I appreciate your wit and intelligence.  Forget Hillary for President.  Kind regards, Kiver.

Dear Kiver -- If I were to take them under my wing, they would die of the odor...or maybe that was exactly what you had in mind. --xxx Joan

Attention drinkers, there is a new scam at the bar at the Bowery Hotel in New York City, they are adding a surcharge – for ice – WITHOUT TELLING YOU, so when you order a $14.00 Dewar’s and soda, it costs you $16.00. This happened to three friends of mine who were very offended, especially since one is an Eskimo and could have very easily brought her own. Is this a trend? Will people start having B.Y.O.I parties?

What if you are a party for the Ice Capades, what would that cost? What if you are drinking with Nancy Kerrigan (with her broken shin)? Even in the seediest of flophouses there is a FREE ice machine on every floor and I know this well because I conduct my “indiscretions” at these establishments (but never on the ground floor – thank you Connie Francis).

To all of my Christian blog readers: start bringing your own ice to communion because word around the pulpit is that they are going to start charging if you want your communion wine chilled.

Also, please tell me how Noah kept that ark ice cold and those penguins happy?  Yes, the ark that held two of EVERYTHING (as my Jewish grandmother would say, “That must have been some big ark.”)

P.S. If you do find yourself at the bar at the Bowery Hotel settling your tab, ask for your ice to go in a doggie bag.