My first job as Joan Rivers’s intern (or as she calls me: her “personal little slave”)  was to catalogue all of the jokes she’s ever written, said, thought about, or dreamt of during her lifetime. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! If she was Dane Cook, maybe I could have this done in an afternoon. But she’s Joan Rivers!

I did my best...categorizing jokes in an easy-to-access database. Some jokes are from 2008, while a good number of them are from when Joan was starting out. (These early ones were difficult to get throough since I don't read hieroglyphics.)   I worked on the jokes for a few days until Jocelyn, Joan’s assistant, asked me to run lines for her play, Joan Rivers: A Work in Progress by a Life in Progress, which was going to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival and then on to London (where it is now). I read the other characters’ parts in different voices, and made sure Joan didn’t ad-lib too much (which, is kinda like telling Picasso, “ease up on the blue, will ya pal?”) .

So, after a few days of running lines, Joan started taking me to rehearsals with her (off leash!) where I watched the fine-tuning of her show. She and the director, Sean Foley, made lots of script changes during this, and so my new task became incorporating them into the new drafts of the script. This process happened very often…very, VERY, VERY often to be exact. Nonetheless, I was excited to be so involved.

Finally, the show was ready to go to Scotland! And I was ready to go back to living my broke-ass, humdrum, mundane and boring life as a student in New York. Little did I know the crazy times that were in store for me next…

Hi readers! Let me introduce myself…my name is Matt and I’m a junior studying theatre arts at Brown University. This summer, however, (and most importantly!) I worked as Joan Rivers’s intern.  Yes, you read correctly, Joan Rivers’s intern.

So, how did it happen? Well, to make a long story very short, I was standing on a street corner in New York City (sheesh...get your minds out of the gutter!) after seeing Passing Strange.  I had just finished up a different internship working for a theatrical production company and I was wondering what else I could do for the summer. Out of the corner of my eye I suddenly spotted Miss Rivers walking toward me. My friend and I asked her for a picture, and afterwards she asked what I was doing for work. 

“I’m an unpaid intern” I said timidly. “Well, would you like to be MY unpaid intern?”  she responded. There was a little more to it, of course, but the next thing I knew I was thrown into the whirlwind day-to-day life of a celebrity. And it’s a f*cking miracle I made it out alive!

Over the next few days, read about my incredible (harrowing) journey of survival from the gritty streets of New York, to the mudsoaked fields of Scotland! And just so you have some reference...this is a picture of the nice, clean-cut Jewish kid I used to be. You won’t believe what the “fast lane” can do to a guy!

Yesterday was my final performance of "Joan Rivers: A Work in Progress by a Life in Progress," for the Edinburgh Fringe Festival and so we're packing up for London's Leicester Square Theater, my home for the next tree weeks! But before I get out of this cold and rainy country (what the hell do you people have against summer?), I wanted to share some of the things I've learned by reading the news.

The Independent thought I had one of the funniest jokes of the festival: "Victoria Beckham? Does this tampon make me look fat?"

So did the London Times: "Grandchildren can be fucking annoying. How many times can you hear: 'And the cow goes moo and the pig goes oink?' It's like talking to a supermodel."

Thursday night, my daughter Melissa, my grandson Cooper, my assistant Jocelyn and I all attended the Edinburgh Military Tattoo. It was a lot of fun despite the torrential downpour.

If you don’t know what it is, the Tattoo is a nightly month-long show set against the backdrop of the breathtaking Edinburgh Castle.  The whole spectacle is something you have to see to believe. There were marching bands, soldiers in full dress and bagpipers galore.  The highlight for us was watching the Vikings arrive on rollerblades and the Norwegians performing an amazing precision march.

I even got in on the fun and received the royal treatment by Regimental Sargeant Major Paul McLaughlan of Scots Guards. His hat provided much needed shelter from the storm.  I almost forgot to mention the snazzy commemorative Tattoo poncho I was given as a gift. We should have come to see the show on the first day we arrived in Edinburgh. That way, we would have had something to protect us from the constant rainstorms this country sees day in and day out. Click here to read more about the Tattoo!

Clan MacRivers is taking over the highlands!

I’m thrilled that my daughter Melissa  and my grandson Cooper will be spending a few days with me here in Edinburgh, Scotland while I perform my play "Joan Rivers: A Work in Progress by a Life in Progress." Scotland's damp, dreary weather will certainly be a change from the balmy summer temperatures they’re both used to, but I’m sure we’ll all have a lot of fun regardless. Melissa, ever the prepared traveler, came armed with her Gucci raincoat and some Jimmy Choo galoshes.

Cooper is very excited to experience everything that Scotland has to offer. He wants to see some plays at the Fringe Festival, explore some spooky castles , catch sight of the Loch Ness Monster, and see some men wearing plaid skirts playing their bagpipes in the streets.

I warned Cooper not to compare these hairy, kilt-clad lads to the smooth drag queens he’s used to seeing around Los Angeles . A Scottish waxing—their version of the Brazilian—is when they lay you down on a table, light a candle, drink some great scotch and do nothing to you whatsoever. I think you actually leave hairier than when you came in.

Here is a very funny opinion piece by Lenore Skenazy that ran in the New York Sun a couple of weeks ago, preparing us all for the tough times ahead. (Click on the link above for the entire article.)

She tells us all how to spot the impending economic doom! A few of my favorites are:

#9 Your Gucci bag is spelled with an extra “c.”

#17 You brag about your new Apple, then go home and eat it.

# 44 Instead of Botox, you experiment with grout.

           Can you think of any more?

A while back, I walked the Great Wall of China with my friend Olivia Newton John and we did it for cancer.

This was very stupid as I didn’t really do anything special. I walk anyway! So, now I’m suggesting we start doing everyday bodily movements and functions in the name of charity, such as:

Eating for diabetes

Sitting for piles

Breathing for TB

                Slouching for osteoporosis

              Farting for diverticulitis

This way, we can all be more charitable in our daily lives. From now on, when I fart, instead of saying, “excuse me,” I’ll say, “that one’s for Make-a-Wish.”

(My wish being that I can eat all of the fried onions I want to!)

OK...while I've been in Scotland I've been writing jokes that I think the Scottish people can understand.  Such as:
 
·       My breasts are like the Loch Ness Monster…

                …no one can prove they exist. 

             …nobody can seem to find them.

 ·       My boobs have dropped so far, I can nurse the Lowlands from the Highlands. 

·       I am the ugliest woman in Scotland.  I put the ‘hag’ into haggis. 

·       Sex?  At my age?  I won’t even blow a set of bagpipes. 

·       I am so fat, Scotland named a town after my thighs.  Flaberdeen.

 ·       Wrinkles?  Before plastic surgery, my face had more lines on it than a clan tartan.
 

·       I have no sex appeal.  The Loch Ness Monster saw me naked and drowned himself. 

The joke is the Scottish people have a great sense of humor and get EVERYTHING and don't need stupid local references.  Go figure-another half day of work gone to waste!!!

I just got a call from my assistant in New York, telling me some unbelievable news.

It seems that Max, my nine-year-old Pekingese, and Samantha, my Havanese puppy, have been (GASP!) getting along.        

Of course, this has all taken place right after I left for Edinburgh, leading me to believe that either A) my assistant is lying to me or B) I was the one standing in the way of my dogs’ peace treaty.

Regardless, Max spent all of yesterday with Sam in the kitchen. She’s going through an annoying barking phase at the moment, but Max just sat there tolerating it and rolling his big eyes at her rather than trying to bite her on the face, shuffling off to sit behind a door or peeing on something very expensive.

Now here’s the part I simply can’t believe I missed: they actually played nicely together!

After their walk outside, Max and Sam were allowed to run around the house. Sam loves to fetch tennis balls while Max usually just sits there and watches her sprint back and forth with one in her mouth, over and over again. This time, however, he got in on the action and went after the ball a couple of times himself. (Someone must have rubbed it with a piece of dark meat turkey.) Max even wrestled with Sam and, with unprecedented dominance and resolve, pinned her down for a few seconds. His doggie diaper even stayed on during the whole thing!

 I always knew my little Max could be a “top” if he put his mind to it.

In yesterday’s blog post I discussed how I hate mimes, which I do with a passion. But let’s not forget what else I hate: clowns and little children.

So I was thinking, maybe I shouldn’t limit my petition to: see six shows and get to kill a mime. You should have a choice. If you pay full price to see six shows here in Edinburgh, you can kill a mime, a clown or a crying child on a plane.

Please check which you think you’d prefer and let me know.

They can call it Scottish pizza all they want, but they’re fucking nuts! It’s not.  We ordered a “Margherita pizza” but it was actually a Muck-a-rita pizza. I love the Scots but there are certain things they should not attempt.

Another lesson is, never stay at a Scottish hotel when they’ve given you a discount rate, because they don’t forget. My room is all right except for one thing: my windows are so high up, I can’t see out of them. I’m beginning to feel like the Birdman of Alcatraz. I don’t know if this is the room where they usually put the crazy people or the prisoners, but whatever it is, it’s nice to at least know you’re in Scotland!

August weather in Edinburgh—which is known as the Athens of the North—is exactly like the August weather of the Athens of the South, except for one difference: it’s rainy, freezing and horrible!

Rehearsals are going fine, but the cast is getting a little cranky as I keep changing my lines. But I feel as my play is called “A Work in Progress,” too bad for them. The director is starting to look exhausted and I consider this a good sign, which means he’s earning his money.

The Fringe Festival is in full swing. Everywhere you look, all around, there are things going on; starting at ten o’clock in the morning and going right through until midnight.

On the street we saw jugglers and a whole troupe of African dancers. And mimes are everywhere! I think there could easily be a mime convention going on here. But how would they know? How do they get in touch with each other to plan it? They can only fake it and pretend to talk to each other on their hands.

One of the big things that I’m trying to promote, and have gotten quite a few people already to sign my petition, is that if you go to see six shows and pay full price, you are allowed to kill a mime. Pure enjoyment.

I Just Arrived in Scotland and I Remember Why I Love it so Much

The city of Edinburgh is so historic. The surroundings are so very lush. The people here are sooooo nice.

I just saw the rate of exchange…they can all fucking drop dead.   

I’m flying out to Edinburgh, Scotland on MacContinental Airlines and the stewardess is trying her best to convince us all to eat haggis and shortbread. She keeps saying how delicious it is. But I have doubts as she’s Chinese.

I will be at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival performing my one woman show, “JOAN RIVERS: A Work in Progress by a Life in Progress” in the Underbelly Cow Barn, from August 7th to August 25th. So, if you’re Catholic, light a candle. If you’re Christian, say a prayer. And if you’re Jewish, eat a bagel.

Some things about Scotland that you might not know are:

- It is the home of the Loch Ness Monster, AKA my cousin Sheila. (I hope none of you ever has to sit with her in a restaurant while she yells at a waiter.)

- Scottish men over 60 are no longer allowed to wear kilts because their balls hang too low, making them look like a bunch of plaid cowbells.

- There is only one other Jew who lives in Scotland and his name is Angus MacGoldberg.

I also happened to read in the Edinburgh tourist brochure that the city is called the “Athens of the North.” I don’t think this is right. To begin with, it’s 137 degrees colder than the Athens of the South. Sophocles would never have been able to write Oedipus Rex here. You can’t think properly when you’re freezing your ass off.

Yesterday, during a rehearsal for my play, “Joan Rivers: A Work In Progress By A Life In Progress,” we choreographed and added a victory dance for me and two other characters to do when everything turns out all right. One of the actors went into a Russian “kick dance” while the other actor (a woman) literally did handstands. Then, they both looked at me with an “OK Joan…top that,” sort of look.

I proceeded to initiate a split, which I was revered for among the football team in high school, and couldn’t even get a quarter of the way down. I finally hit the floor with my legs forming an “M” shape and could not get back up!

The director, Sean Foley, very patiently intervened and said, “Maybe you could do a ‘Lord of the Dance’ celebratory ending.” So, we settled on that.

So, I started  thinking: How do you know when you’re too old to do things you used to do? You know you’re old when:

A Smurf sees your leg and tries to make out with it.

Your social security number is in Roman numerals.

You realize your new bone doctor got his degree in archaeology.

There’s no point in getting a pedicure since you’re breasts are going to cover it up anyway.

You can remember the time Hannibal crossed the Alps to meet you at a motel.