Can she talk?

Yes, but rant and rave are more like it.

Joan Rivers is at the other end of the receiver, burning up the phone lines and tossing out scorching one-liners with her trademark stinging wit and biting self-effacing humor.

She's coming to town Saturday for a concert benefiting the Lambda Foundation, and what better way to kick off our chat, she decides, than by "outing" Barbra Streisand?

The year was 1959, and Joan Sandra Molinsky, then a struggling actress, was cast in the off-off Broadway play "Driftwood." The director couldn't find a leading man, so Joan suggested they make the characters lesbians. Even back then she got her way; another unknown, high-school student Barbara Joan Streisand -- it would become Barbra later -- was cast opposite Rivers.

"We played lesbian lovers," Rivers recalls. "That was the first thing Barbra did; soon after that she really got going. Let me tell you, Barbra is a great kisser, but no tongue."

Rivers laughs ... and already knows the next question. "No, I don't really see her anymore. I got an invitation from Barbra asking me to please come see her show when she was in New York. I thought, 'This is a joke,' but it wasn't. I wrote her back, 'I can't come because I'm working that night,' which was true. Barbra is so involved in her own life. When I do see her, she always asks, 'So, are you still in the business?' And she's not making a joke. She has no clue what anyone else is doing."

Funny, this girl. I remind Rivers that 30 years have passed since we first met. "Yes, darling, but we do not talk about it," she says earnestly. Those years, as good as many were, still remind her of loss -- losing the Johnny Carson gig, losing her Fox talk show, losing her husband, Edgar, to suicide, losing her relationship with daughter Melissa, battling bankruptcy and bulimia, dealing with all the feuding and fighting and backstage backstabbing before finally, slowly and surely, bouncing back.

"Those were years of great money, then years of no money," she says softly. "But that was then. I don't allow myself the luxury of looking back. I do not 'should' on myself. Why bother? I do lectures on survival, and that's one of the big things: Stop dwelling on the past. Move on. I get through life by laughing at it. After all, we only have today."

Actually, with all that's on her plate, Rivers is guaranteed to have tomorrow. And then some. Her career is as multifaceted as the simulated jewels she hawks on QVC. (She admits she has made more money selling her wares on the small screen than she has ever made during her showbiz career -- one estimate comes in at $500 million.)

Earlier this year, her one-woman show, "Joan Rivers: A Work in Progress by a Life in Progress," got rave reviews during its sold-out run in Los Angeles, and she's taking the show to Scotland and England later this summer. She's writing two books; doing a pilot with her daughter, Melissa, for VH1 and teaming with her and AOL for red carpet coverage; and hosting a series for TVLand and co-starring in another one, "Z Rock," in September. The surgically streamlined grandmother may have turned 75 on June 8, but old age has shifted her career into a high-octane gear yet to be named.

"The only good thing about age is that nothing stops me. Nothing." She has stopped the Liz Taylor jokes ("She had more Chins than a Chinese phone book") years ago and rarely, if ever, asks her copyrighted "Can we talk?" But nothing, she says, is off-limits.

She offers me a sneak peek of what Pittsburgh audiences will hear, and little is printable in a family newspaper. Among those certain to be targeted, and offended, at the Byham will be people with disabilities and the eco-friendly. "My comedy now is so raw, so dangerous," Rivers says, almost as a warning.

She remembers touring The Andy Warhol Museum the last time she was here, loving the art if not the artist: "Bad wigs, oily skin. He looked like an albino. Not a pretty man."

I'm curious why she never sat for him. "Andy wanted to do me, but Cher said, 'Don't. He charges $40,000 a portrait, and he'll always tell you the first one isn't good.' I wasn't going to make an $80,000 commitment. I said, 'Andy, if you want to do it for free, great,' but he picked Elizabeth Taylor instead." She also turned down Robert Mapplethorpe's request: "He wouldn't agree to retouch the photos, so I said no."

Rivers has said yes to cosmetic surgery -- some say too many times; not to be catty, but some of the excessive nips and tucks have sometimes made her look like a Siamese cat.

"Plastic surgery has everything to do with how a person feels about him or herself. There is no such thing as too much."

With all the giggles and guffaws, it's easy to forget this Rivers runs deep. Offstage she's a shrewd and wealthy businesswoman, a collector of antiques and fine art, a woman as comfortable playing golf and wearing jeans as she is discussing the recent "marvelous" Ovation documentary on author David McCullough or her friendship with the late artist Robert Rauschenberg. She's computer savvy; she's even tried meeting a mate on match.com.

She follows politics, and her Republican voice rises even before the discussion heats up. "Hillary and Obama are disgusting. Do you hear me? Disgusting! They spent two years and millions of dollars to try and get nominations. They are the most self-serving people with egos beyond anything I've ever seen. If they are leaders in the country, then why weren't they in the Senate working on oil and gas issues?" Ask nicely and she says she will vote for McCain.

I ask Rivers if she has any regrets. The answer all but shoots from her mouth: "None. I can't live that way."

Pause. Beat.

"I miss not having someone desperately," she adds. "I miss coming home to nobody but my dogs."

Another pause. Another beat.

"And I do wish I had a gay son. What could be better than calling my gay son at 4 in the morning, saying, 'Quick! Turn on Turner Classic Movies -- they're showing 'That Hamilton Woman' with Laurence Olivier and Vivien Leigh'?

"Melissa is wonderful, but she doesn't get it. And she doesn't care. If I had a gay son, I could talk about Van Johnson."