One Year Later

This time last year I was just back from protesting Donald Trump at the RNC in Cleveland. With my comrades at STAT (Stand Together Against Trump), we were clad in our sun colored yellow shirts and Donald J. Tramp was on my arm. We were all young people that were passionate, marching together towards a common cause. That cause was to silence the evil that was Donald Trump. We were changing the world. We were waking America up. As someone passionate about performing and social justice, I was in my glory.

One year later things are different.

Not better.

Not worse.

Different.

Hillary lost and the orange menace is in The White House. While the patronizing name is more akin to a comic book supervillain than real life danger, it still makes my stomach churn as I think of what was supposed to be a victory party that then got a dark pall cast over it.

I marched during The Women’s March and went to a rally here and there, but I have slacked with my protesting. Some of it has been the inclement NYC weather. Then there was the issue of working and travelling. Life took over. And then I just got lazy. Who wants to protest when you have Netflix?

I have recently started climbing out of a depression. Some of it is seasonal. I always get depressed midsummer as shows and other things slow and I am left with my own thoughts. It wasn’t as bad last year as I was protesting in Cleveland, but this year it hit me double.

The spring was brutal. While I took ten steps forward in many ways it felt like I was knocked six steps back. I debuted a one woman show about the election, but was turned down by three booking agents, one of whom sent a runner to my show that skipped out on the tab. I came close to snagging spots on 5 TV shows but then was passed over for someone else for a myriad of reasons. My writing was turned down on a gazillion occasions, and I got turned down for every festival I applied to. I thought I was a shoe in for one because I had history with the producer as I worked for them. Not so much.

At the same time my show has been a hit at every venue and I am constantly invited back. My second book has been released and it is selling like hotcakes. I am the spokesperson for a line of crop tops. On social media I have a few thousand followers. And I am about to do a major headlining set.

Spring was brutal too. I saw the deaths of two people who were good to me from cancer in the same week, and a break up of a friendship that was nearly a decade long. A friend breakup is worse than a romantic breakup in a lot of ways. It like parts of your heart are ripped out that you didn’t even know were there.

The blues hit hard several days ago and it felt like it was dark. I was questioning my life and my decisions. A trip to the DMV left me feeling like I had been hit by a truck and then my bank account was hacked. Just then I got a facebook message from a friend. She was running for office in Yonkers. It was an invite for Donald J. Tramp and I to appear at her fundraiser.

The weather was only adding to my blues, making me feel as if a bullet had pierced by brain. It was hot. It was cold. Why even leave the house? Well it was a gig. That’s why you leave the house.

As I got off the train I was greeted by my friend and her buddy. Gwen was running for office and was so jazzed up about it. As a young Democrat she was putting her message out there and I was oh so proud of her. The backstory to Gwen and I. She is a fellow puppeteer and we met a few years ago through the puppet world.  Gwen quit her engineering job during a Super Bowl commercial with a puppet. She was in the Coast Guard and was activated during 9/11. Gwen also recently graduated from Fordham. To say Gwen fucking rocks is an understatement.

Immediately, we ran to Gwen’s office getting signs and other materials needed for the event. While some of the personalities associated with politics had burnt me out, I missed the excitement and the feeling that I was doing something important. I missed actively engaging in agit prop performance. I missed being with other young people who wanted to change the world. I missed helping others.

We immediately set up at the venue and a patron at the bar was helpful. He admitted he was a Republican but a nice guy. And of course he used it as an excuse to hit on us. HAHAAHAHH!

The event began and people came in. Locals involved in Democratic politics greeted us and I began to talk, making new friends. Some were lawyers and other professionals long since affiliated with the party. Others were running for office or were currently in office offering Gwen their support and love. And some were Young Democrats, active with the party who wanted to shepherd their cause to new lengths and breathe new life into the disorganized party that fell apart as it was divided between the support of Clinton and Sanders. And then there was Gwen’s dad. Yes, he had to come. You always do when your kid is running for office.

It was finally time for me to go on.

I got up and started. I talked about the RNC and the whole room was glued to each word I said. Then I began my schtick. Okay, and then Donald J. Tramp came out.

Blamo!

It was suddenly like I was back in Cleveland. I was having a ton of fun. I remembered that I enjoyed being onstage and loved making people laugh. But more than anything, I also kind of like making fun of the president. As each joke got a laugh, my blues began to melt away like a popsicle that had spent too much time in the sun.

I was going to be alright.

I was going to be okay

Gwen was running for office Gosh darn it and she was going for the gold. I was there for the Democratic party, but more importantly, I was there for my friend. I was also there for a cause I believed in.

After my show, I spoke to the young Dems about the election. A wise man once said there are three levels of conversation. There is the lowest where you discuss others. Then there is the second where you discuss events. Then there is the third where you discuss ideas. I was discussing ideas and making new friends.

Did I mention the mayor of Yonkers liked my set?

Yeah, life is good. Now this September vote Gwen Dean.

And while you are at it Buy My Book 

The Week After: Post Election Let Down

This past year I found myself really involved with politics. Donald J. Tramp, my political puppet, was my nexus that lured me into this latest adventure. The concept came from the fact that Donald Trump is the ventriloquist puppet of the Republican Party, saying all the hateful rhetoric the career politicians wish they could say but wouldn’t because it would cost them elections. And a tramp in old times was a fool or a fop. I invented him when it became clear that he wasn’t going away.

Donald J. Tramp brought me to the RNC. He became the spokespuppet for STAT (Stand Together Against Trump). Along with the brave doctors, nurses (STAT is a medical term meaning right away) and other brave young activists we protested Trump’s candidacy. For days Mr. Tramp and I entertained in the square. Each day, we watched the trainwreck that was the Convention from Scott Baio to the stolen speech. And then we marched. I think I might have been the first ventriloquist on a protest. I dunno.

My protest puppet, Donald J. Tramp, and I in the Cleveland Dispatch

Either way, I met a lot of wonderful young people from all ideologies expressing their First Amendment Right. We were all peaceful. Several young Trumpkins clad in American flags wanted to rub Donald J. Tramp’s head for luck. It was fun. I let them. At the end of the day we are all people and this is America.

A still shot of us in between performances. We literally talked to 200 press people each day, and thousands of pedestrians.

My partner and I then found ourselves outside of Hofstra. Sans STAT, we were simply a ventriloquist and her dummy doing a good old fashioned street performance in the free speech zone. We were true agit prop theatre. Another man showed up with a giant Trump head, and an anti-Hillary supporter even sported a wig and a full body costume nominating HRC for prison.

I also got to see a dark side of the protest circuit. In Cleveland, and even at Hofstra the ones that scared me were never the Trump supporters. If anything, the ones I met in Cleveland were overweight, out of shape, and had their guns irresponsibly strapped to their backs. Or they were young white men who might have been supporting the Donald on a lark.

One of my faves of Donald and I from the march

Marching with STAT

However, the super liberal, third party people were the ones that scared me. In Cleveland, one tried to light a flag on fire. She failed and instead lit herself on fire. The policeman, trying not to break out laughing, screamed, “You idiot, you’re on fire!” Then after he put the fire out told her that she was done for the day and had to head home. Apparently someone in her crew assaulted a cop, and this same group of radicals tried to get a young man from Black Lives Matter to organize a march to the jail to free the prisoner. Needless to say, the constituent of STAT was sensible enough to refuse the invite.

The same held true at Hofstra. Jill Stein and her disciples came and many didn’t have a conversation, only yelled. They also made it clear that they showed up solely to get arrested. Their dreams came true, 26 of them did.

Free speech zone outside of Hofstra, it was colder that day. Oh and it was also my birthday. 

The climax of my adventures was Donald J. Tramp and I, both acting as correspondents, for the Clyde Fitch Report. My puppet partner and I both had official badges, mic flags, and hats. We saw Anderson Cooper napping on the back of a golf cart, and Wolf Blitzer trying to escape attention in a van. I was in the room when Donald Trump uttered the phrases “bad hombres” and “nasty woman.”

I was a part of history as it unfolded. In between Donald and I were on stage nightly in NYC, and also hit a few venues in Las Vegas. We met a lot of Trump people who dug the act. It’s good. A country that laughs together stays together.

On location, Las Vegas

I wish with all my heart the election turned out differently. The night the results came in, I got a ghastly stomach cramp. As HRC gave her concession speech I cried buckets, because the glass ceiling had not been broken. And just as she lost I felt I lost. Not just as an American, but as a woman who has experienced sexism. As a woman who is a domestic violence survivor. As a woman who knows what it’s like when a man torments you and no one believes you.

I was also saddened as I saw Trump supporters gloat, and frightened as my friends who were black, Latino, gay and trans feared losing their rights.

I then became angry at my own party. Angry at the disaffected Bernie people for either voting Stein, writing Bernie in, or not voting at all. Angry that they gave the election to Trump. Angry at my own candidate for her flaws, and angry at her for not understanding technology. Angry at my own candidate for not reaching across the aisle to the Bernie people. Angry at my own candidate for not making Bernie her VP. Angry at my own party for it’s apparent division and not realizing this until it was too late.

I became angry at the Trump people, even flaming out at several. But as I went outside and caught some air, I came to the realization we are all people. I am not angry at the Trump people for voting for Trump. They didn’t do what I wanted them to, but when it came time to vote they voted for who they thought suited their interests. And Trump somehow was able to get the disaffected Cruz people behind him, which is more than I can say for the Democrats. So again, they get an A on the assignment.

Tramp and his campaign manager May Wilson

I even spoke to several Trump people, none by the way who I felt were racist in the least bit. They felt HRC wasn’t trustworthy, and were tired of being screwed over by the government. Many were 2^nd Amendment people who live in an area where a gun is required because cops live far away. Others saw their jobs disappear as a result of Bill Clinton’s legislation. Many, like my ex, were banged up Iraq War Vets who were angry that Obama had undid the work they did in the Middle East, and felt the government was too busy helping illegals and forgot about the vets.

Either way, Republicans in my experience always seek to pretend to help the common man only to get him to vote against their own best interests. Harry Truman said as much. This is no exception. So on November 9 we all lost.

On the other hand, it takes many opinions to make the world go round. Pence got booed at Hamilton and got challenged from the stage by the lead actor. Was it the time or place? Depends on who you ask. But I felt the plea was peaceful and kind. It was also a response to a man who’s positions and party are built on bigotry. The president elect had a meltdown, but Pence took it in stride explaining, “I told my daughters that is what freedom sounds like.”

Better than the president elect, screaming about defeating Isis but unable to defeat the theatre geeks.

As Donald Trump suggests a whole flock of cringeworthy, Southern Poverty Law Watch List alumns as his cabinet picks, like the rest of America, I pray and wait.

But life goes on. There is existence off of twitter and facebook. Thanksgiving is coming up. My sister and brother in law are frying a turkey. My dad also has a birthday tomorrow. He is going to be 64. There will be other elections. There will be other debates. I won’t have my dad forever.

My coverage of the election has brought us closer, and maybe we will discuss it on turkey day. While I have 4 more years worth of material, I need a week off. Actually, I think I would rather discuss football and Heisman picks, two things that have always made America great. 

Just me and my dad

This Is Growing Up (Blink 182)

I am an adult in some ways, and in some ways I am not. Currently I am 32 year old. I live in a house with 2 dudes. One is a talented painter who is never home. The other is my landlord who has funny stories about NYC back in the day and is obsessed with UFOs. His parents live downstairs, and when they need anything they yell up. My home life is like a sit com.

My life outside of home is like a rambling nomad. I live from gig to gig and can live on pocket change if need be. I am working on managing my money better.......kinda......on Mondays. I am living off the snack food my mom sent me. She also has to call me to make sure I eat sometimes because I do forget. Yeah, real adult.

As for my outside life, my comedy and activism with one Donald J. Tramp has been sending me all over the place. First to Cleveland. Then to Las Vegas. After which I went to Long Island. Then I will be at the debates in Vegas again. Life is exciting.

This past July I went to Cleveland during the RNC and marched with Stand Together Against Trump. (STAT). I arrived at the RNC right from my sister's wedding in Pittsburgh. One stressful event to the next. Everyone kept asking me if I was nervous I might get killed.

Truth, as the maid of honor helping to plan her wedding nearly killed me. Everyone kept acting like I should have been jealous or bent out of shape because I'm older. I have had a fiance and 2 boyfriends I talked marriage with. I know full well you kiss a frog and he becomes a price, but alas, that prince becomes a man.

Nonetheless, the wedding weekend was an odd paradox. It was a throwback to my parents' generation, that of the Vietnam War. There was the establishment and the anti-establishment, at the same event. Both well educated. Both able to argue their point.

It was analogous to the time Richard Nixon walked his daughter Pat down the aisle on national television as an example of family values to what he viewed as the disruptive protest generation. My dad is hardly Nixon, but my sister was dressed in white walking down the aisle representing the establishment. Standing next to her on the alter, the one not getting married and heading to the protest after her fun was done, I was a representing the closest thing we had to the protest generation. The blushing bride and the dirty hippie, side by side at the same main event.

Skipper is hardly political, but at the same time she now had purchased a house and had a husband. Boomer had been a Ron Paul delegate years before in 2012. Now they were settling down. I was a rambling wheel, unattached. There would not be much collateral damage if my idyllic values got me killed. My parents would cry. I hadn't much property aside from my puppets or books. Despite the fact I was older......yeah she's the adult.

During the wedding, I steered away from discussing Donald J. Tramp or Cleveland. It was my sister's day. Skipper was decked out in white. If there was going to be drama, I didn't want it to be because a drunken Trump supporter relative and I got into it.

When my dad mentioned it, they wanted to know if I was afraid. I was excited. You see, my sister was marrying Boomer but I was marrying the revolution. For years I had dipped my feet into the activist pool and then ran away. Now I was being pulled back in to stop a man akin to Hitler. The thought of being political scared me at times, that's why I never committed. Now I was fully committing to my destiny of using my gifts for the greater good and I felt complete. So one could say we both got married in a way that weekend.

As for being afraid.......I was afraid when my former fiance's violent temper came my way. I was afraid when he hit me. I was afraid when he tried to choke me. I was afraid when it looked like I was going to be kicked out of college. I was afraid when my drug addict former roommate was stealing from me. I was afraid when I was living off my laundry money because I was so broke. I was afraid when I was stranded in Long Island in the middle of winter. I was afraid when I was stranded late at night on the Jersey Shore and missed the last train. I was afraid the first time I climbed a mountain which was in a rainstorm and slipped. I was afraid when I was handed eviction papers. I was afraid when I had to go to court on my own in front of the judge as the bully boy lawyer taunted me with his straight, male privilege. I was afraid when my former soldier ex boyfriend had a psychotic break when he thought Isis was watching us and Barack Obama was their leader. I was afraid when his sister called me and threatened me after we broke up. I was afraid when my evil landlord tried to burn down my apartment. I was afraid when I tested positive for the virus that gives one cervical cancer. I was also afraid at age 9 when I nearly drowned in the ocean and grabbed my mother's leg. I was afraid when mold and bed bugs overwhelmed my former apartment to the point where my hair was falling out and I couldn't breathe.

Yet each time God appeared and got me through it, and each time there was a rainbow on the other side. If I got shot in Cleveland I had lived through worse. And maybe if I went out saving the world, or at least trying, I could go out saying I did some good. If the hose, the gas, and the dogs were my fate I would gladly go the way of better men and women before me.

My parents were thrilled I was taking this step, but nervous. My dad is a lawyer and has been involved in politics behind the scenes for local candidates in the past. So he was proud when I was carrying on the family political tradition of being a good Democrat.

As for my mom, she was a Second Waver and led a sit in so the female athletes could get letter jackets just like their male counterparts at her Division I University. Apparently, my mom was also the go to person for the administration, and even was able to get the woman athletes special meal times/study halls like their male counterparts had for years and took for granted. Alas, she had hung up her activist stripes long ago as life went on. She was a teacher, wife, mother, and now mother of the bride and mother of a peaceful protester.

I am not saying Skipper twirls her hair, cracks gum, and only wants to be a wife and mother. By all means this is far from the case. In some ways she has done more for feminism than I have. Skipper is an ER doctor and has lectured on genetics in Washington, DC. The sciences are hard pressed for women and Skipper is a trail blazer among many who is helping to correct that problem. Additionally, she is a champion marks woman who more often than not gets a crack shot. Her area of expertise is gun safety and bullet wounds. Heck, she knows as much battlefield history as I do if not more. We are easily Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes, respectively.

Unlike myself, Skipper has always been more traditional and dreamed of being a wife and mother. I have never had the pull the way most women have. Eh....whatever.

My brother Wendell has a fellowship at a hospital and is too busy to care about this election. Sometimes he even sleeps in his lab. Politics are the last of his concerns, seeing sunlight his first.

In any event, the RNC will get several blogs of it's own I promise.

Fast forward to last night.  I did a show with Queerball. Yes, it was an all gay comedy show. An all inclusive safe space for LGBTQ people and allies, it was a wonderfully supportive place to display work. When I got the chance to be a part of this effort, I jumped on it.

Backstage, before showtime, I found several of my fellow performers fired up about the election. Some even took the bus to Philadelphia in order to help local citizens register to vote. Others had phone banked or were planning on doing so.  All were anti-Trump and pro-Hillary.  They were all excited to hear not only that I went to Cleveland, but had protested Donald Trump and had an act that mocked the bigot.

Afterwards, remarked that not only had he enjoyed the satirical jab at the Donald, but liked the fact my act had a message. It made me smile to hear that. This also made me realize that just as Queerball founder Timothy Dunn wanted to create a safe space within the NYC comedy community and the UCB, together, we were using our collective talents to make the world a safer space for all marginalized people.

This extended to safe spaces, LGBTQ friendly improv jams, making videos about things that we felt were unjust, protesting with puppets, phone banking, and signing up people to vote. We were pounding the pavement trying to stop tyranny. We were actively embracing the solution, both artistic and political. We were trying to silence Donald Trump, the scary real life ventriloquist puppet of the Republican party, and push down the crumbling infrastructure of a party built on hate.

"I don't want to just sit at the bar and complain about Trump. I don't just want to vote either. I want to do all I can to stop him." One of my comrades said as he expressed his desire to volunteer for the Hillary campaign.

I will close by saying this. Skipper and I could not lead more different lives currently. Yet my parents raised us both to be leaders. Skipper is leading the charge in the front lines of scientific research, and I am leading the charge with Donald J. Tramp on the front lines of history. We are both trying to leave the world better than how we found it.

 Sure, I am wearing Batman leggings and have yet to shower. Eh, maybe I'm doing better than I thought I was........