“How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.” —Elizabeth Barrett Browning, 1850
“How do I hate thee? How much time do you have?” —Joan Rivers, today, about two-ish
Joan Rivers, comedienne, actress, jewelry monger, and an award-winning international star (she can sneer in eight different languages) lives by the golden rule: Do unto others before they do unto you—and for God’s sakes, do it funny! Her career in comedy may have begun with self-loathing, but, after looking at the decrepitude around her, she figured, “Why stop here when there are so many other things to hate?” With all of her experiences, Joan has looked down at, turned away from, and thrown up over a lot of hateful things, deplorable places, and despicable people. Thank God she took notes.
Here—uncensored and uninhibited—Joan says exactly what’s on her mind…And HER mind is a terrible thing to waste. She proudly kicks the crap out of ugly children, dating rituals, funerals, and lousy restaurants. She nails First Ladies, closet cases, and hypocrites to the wall. She shows no mercy towards doctors and feminists, and even goes after Anne Frank and Stephen Hawking. Joan lets everyone—including herself—have it in this one hundred percent honest and unabashedly hilarious love letter to the hater in all of us.
This is absolute Joan Rivers. You gotta love her. Even if she hates you.
Includes new material!
About everything. And everyone, God help them.
The result? A no-holds-barred, delightfully vicious and always hilarious look at the everyday life of the ultimate diva. Follow Joan on a family vacation in Mexico and on trips between New York and Los Angeles where she mingles with the stars, never missing a beat as she delivers blistering critiques on current events, and excoriating insights about life, pop culture, and celebrities (from A to D list), all in her relentlessly funny signature style.
This is the Diary of a Mad Diva. Forget about Anais Nin, Anne Frank, and that whiner Sylvia Plath. For the first time in a century, a diary by someone that’s actually worth reading.
Whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger. And always remember: Surviving is the best revenge Look at Alexander Graham Bell, who did 22,000 experiments before he hit on the telephone. Just a few more and he would have had call waiting. Whenever I hit bottom, the only thing I think of was set down by Jerome Kern: Pick myself up, dust myself off and start all over again. Dr. Kevorkian will get no call from me, unless I think he'd look good in a brooch.
A fiercely honest and moving story of how Joan Rivers, one of comedy's greatest stars, survived the worst that life could throw at her, how she hit bottom and then made it back to the top.
Joan Rivers' abiding life philosophy is simple: in the appearance-centric society of the twenty-first century, beauty is key -- especially where men are concerned. Men like pretty women. And so, getting something lifted, tightened, adjusted, or removed is as fundamental as wearing makeup or using hair conditioner; it's become something we do to make ourselves look better. Now, for any woman considering her options, Joan Rivers takes the mystery out of cosmetic surgery with a practical overview, aided and informed by the country's top plastic surgeons, of almost every single cosmetic procedure legally performed in America today. She takes readers step-by-step through these entire processes, from fi nding the right doctor to the bruising truth about recovery and the facts about cosmetic surgery's very real risks.
But don't worry -- there's dish, too. Filled with Rivers' personal anecdotes about life under the knife, Men Are Stupid...And They Like Big Boobs is also rife with Hollywood gossip about who's done what and how often. Part comic musing, part bitch-fest, and part hands-on advice, this is a bracingly funny, wildly frank, and genuinely passionate argument for a woman's right to do whatever it takes to be beautiful, to feel better about herself, and most of all to be happy -- not only with who she is, but who she wants to be. Throughout the book, Joan Rivers is right there, guiding and encouraging with no apologies, no excuses, and absolutely no shame. Take it from the woman who enjoys having it all -- done.
The Academy Awards®. It's Hollywood's biggest night, and there's no star better equipped than the tart-tongued Max Taylor to hold court on the glamorous Red Carpet. Sharing the dish with her daughter, Drew, the calls-it-as-she-sees-it entertainer has parlayed this star-studded annual gig into television's most-watched pre-show event. And tonight, Max has landed a real coup -- an exclusive interview with Halsey Hamilton, a fabulous, young, paparazzi-trailed Oscar nominee. But not even Max, who's seen her share of celebrity train wrecks, is prepared for an incoherent Halsey, straight out of rehab, to stumble up to the mic, slur a few cryptic words, and drop dead at the hem of Max's stunning Michael Kors gown.
To Hollywood, the starlet's demise was tragic but inevitable. To Max, it looks more like a perfectly calculated crime. After all, she alone heard Halsey's final whisper -- a clue that leads Max to the pricey rehab clinic Wonders. With a weakness for nothing more disturbing than artificial sweeteners, Max nonetheless goes undercover and embarks on a twelve-step investigation into murder. Once inside the luxury clinic, Max's list of suspicious players expands faster than the Jolie-Pitt family: Burke Norris, a professional cad and Drew's ex-fiancé; Halsey's father, who is still making money off his dead daughter's fame; Halsey's jealous younger sister; and Rojo Bernstein, a tattooed karate hipster who knew the troubled fallen star much better than anyone suspected.
Now it's left to Max to unravel the sordid motives and find Halsey's killer while upstaging an over-the-top Hollywood memorial service and funeral where the ill-fated actress was buried in, of all things, a tacky designer knockoff! And you thought the Oscars were all swag bags and Jimmy Choos? Hah! Honey, it's murder.
In Murder at the Academy Awards®, Joan Rivers delivers a very smart, bracingly funny, and pitch-perfect reflection of a Hollywood only she would dare to reveal -- all seen through the eyes of an indomitable, high-end amateur sleuth who isn't asking "Who are you wearing?" but rather "Whodunit?"