Kathy Griffin breaks her silence just once during the hourlong flight. “So far,” the redhead whispers, “it’s just a lot about food.”

Earbuds back in, she returns to the source of her frustration: hour 23 of Barbra Streisand’s 48-hour audiobook memoir. The comedian enters a semi-meditative state, eyes closed and left hand on Elliot Stabler, the vibrating chihuahua mutt who’s as much her emotional support animal as she is his. Griffin has a few reasons for wanting quiet on our June trip from Los Angeles to her San Jose tour stop, but the one that matters most right now is that she footed the bill for this chartered jet. The five other passengers, all but two of us on her payroll, oblige her wish. My first time flying private is at the behest of a self-identifying fourth-tier celebrity who spent two months of 2017 on the No Fly List.