I'm ashamed to say it, but it's been almost a month since I've read a book. Well, a whole one, anyway. I haven't had the best luck reading fiction so I thought I'd switch to non-fiction for a while. This is the first one I tried:
First thing's first, Joan Rivers is 79 years old.
SEVENTY-NINE YEARS OLD!!
And she's still touring! And booking gigs! Craziness!!
Although she looks like a frozen Skype image, she deserves a little credit for still somewhat resembling a human. After all, I don't think she has any original parts left.
Ooo, Jennie, that was mean.
Was it? Not in comparison to what
old ole Joanie would say. Oh no.
I have to admit that I wasn't prepared for the uncensored and VERY politically-incorrect "comedy" stylings of Ms. Rivers. While the majority of the book was funny, she always ended up going too far, thusly ruining the funny times because I was too busy cringing to remember to laugh.
In terms of the format Joan uses, it's kind of like reading a stand-up routine. The book is divided into sections, including: For the Children, Love Sucks, Road Trip and Screw Mother Nature, and then each chapter describes just what Joan hates about it.
For instance, in the Manners chapter, Joan outlines how she hates people who fart in elevators (who doesn't?):
If you're the owner of the offending tush and you've let loose something more noxious than Zyklon B and you can't ignore the watering eyes of fellow passengers, then at least have the manners to quietly acknowledge the horror. And while there may be nothing you can say to make restitution for their collapsed lungs, you can certainly try to look apologetic and make an excuse. A surefire one for me is. "I had no idea Michelle Obama's recipe for fried chicken gives you gas. I was just trying to be a good Democrat." The goal here is not to deny ownership of the mushroom cloud but to elicit sympathy from the offended parties, which serves two purposes: (1) They will forgive the flatulence, and (2) It gives you license to fart again and again and again.
But then, there's bits like this, from the Love Sucks chapter:
I hate fat brides. A fat girl in a white satin gown doesn't look beautiful; she looks like an avalanche. I went to a fat girl wedding once. First they threw rice and then, in honor of the bride, they threw gravy. She was so fat there was only room on the cake for one. The priest said, "I now pronounce you husband and Pantload." He gave her the wafer, she put Velveeta on it and swallowed.
Not funny, right?
So here's the deal. Remember when I told you that Joan Rivers is almost 80?! Well, I think that has a lot to do with what I didn't like about this book. Getting a laugh at the expense of another person seems like a very old kind of comedy, to me, and it's time for Joan to get with the times. Maybe she's in denial that it's no longer 1976 but continuous jokes about people with disabilities, illnesses, and seniors (including herself, so at least there's that) simply aren't funny. And then there are the cracks she makes about Helen Keller, Stephen Hawking and Jerry Sandusky.
There are so many other talented comediennes out there who find humour in everyday things, without putting others down (except themselves, at times) and that's the kind of stuff I like. Maybe I'm too sensitive but I just don't think that the Holocaust is something to joke about. There are far too many, truly funny topics out there.
So, at the end of the day, I think this one comes out slightly above the "meh," category. Yes, there are some very funny bits but each one was neutralized by the offensive material that followed shortly after.
But the good news is that I actually finished it. So take that how you will.