Happy Birthday Yusef Hawkins

Yusef was killed in 1989 in Brooklyn. His cause of death was not only racial profiling and jealousy, but also gun violence. Unfortunately since that time nothing has changed and the conflicts and conversations keep repeating themselves. While his name has faded from memory the issues are still the same. Today Yusef would have been 45. Honor him today by becoming more compassionate, educated on gun violence, and vowing to end racial profiling.

Unplugging

I have been extremely involved since the start of election season. Donald J. Tramp was a spokespuppet for an anti-Trump group. We marched in Cleveland. Then we covered the debates in Las Vegas. When things didn't go our way, we marched with NYCLU.

Then there is The Lady and President Tramp. It got into it's first festival. I am excited.

However, as of late I have been feeling some activist burn out. A friend of mine who has been involved in ACT UP for over two decades cautioned me to pace myself. He has been arrested a bunch of times and more. He even admits he takes breaks.

The whole kneeling thing has made me crazy. I have never met more obnoxious people and have seen more nasty mud slinging on both sides. There have been people on the left saying more cops should die. People on the right have been insisting on violence against the kneelers. I just wanted to tell them that if they care so much, why don't they march or volunteer?

Oh no. That would take work.

My mom was a Title IX activist in college. It was the 1970s and the women's team wanted letter jackets for their winning season. The men got them and their season was not as successful. As the captain, my mom acted as media spokeswoman, not only speaking to the press but ultimately requesting they had special meal times and study halls like the men.

I am proud of my mom for her activism, but like many Second Wavers she had enough of the infighting in the movement. Plus it takes a lot of time and energy to be an activist. So when she graduated from college my mom taught, coached, married, had kids, and enjoyed her life. Her contributions helped many other women, but the sun had set on her time as an activist and she was moving on.

Then again, that is the thing about activism, the freaking infighting. There have been events I have been at where Black Lives Matter shows up. The middle class white activists cringe each time fearing they will get violent. Meanwhile BLM are allies in the movement. I have never had anything but wonderful experiences with the vibrant, fresh energy of BLM. They have always been positive in my encounters with them. But the racism and.....dont even get me started.....

And then of course in the LGBTQ there are so many cisgender queer people who are transphobic. I have seen this too at political marches and have played den mother. I want to scream, "STOP IT! FUCKING STOP IT!"

Then among women there is the sex positive thing, but the shaming of Hugh Hefner. Then there is the argument burlesque is feminist and then there is the argument that it is stripping. There is the believing the victim, but also not encouraging the victim to take responsibility to see their patterns and perhaps learn so they don't forever become a victim. When I bring this up, and I qualify myself as a DV person, I get shit. I want abusive men punished, but codependency is a two way street. Both partners are sick in an instance of DV. Yet it seems none of these people, many who have never experienced it, do not want to hear me.

I want to say that if we want to be strong we can take responsibility. We can not buy things that offend us. Change the channel. Anything but the whiny stupidity.

And then who can be considered a woman. I have been to feminist events where trans people have been barred. If someone wants to take a paycut and be cat called come on in. If someone wants to identify as nonbinary I am not stopping you. But there are people who disagree with me violently.

I just can't with any of you anymore.

To top it off, the weekly fights with right wing nuts have been too much with their grammar errors and other hate flinging on the internet.

The straw that broke the camel's back was Las Vegas yesterday. A man who is mentor and means quite a bit to me lives there. He was safe in bed during the shooting as he has been hard at work on an event, plus he is 70. While he is very active in the entertainment business, like many Las Vegas locals he has no use for the free concerts on The Strip.

However, my worry was his daughter would have been there with her boyfriend or cousin. They are 22, free concert age. But luckily they weren't there. None of my LV peeps were there. However, the daughter of my mentor had a friend who was critically wounded. I was sick for that young man and his family.

Still, the talk of the event made me sick as people wouldnt shut the fuck up about it. And then they want gun control. And then they want to talk about mental illness. Having had a mentally ill partner I can educate people on the subject. I tried a few times to tell people how we need to talk about BOTH. It was like talking to a wall.

Especially since my ex, a mentally disturbed Iraq War vet, fired his service weapon at the wall during a psychotic break in which he believed the ghost of the soldier that tried to kill him came back to get him. Needless to say, there was no ghost. However, there were neighbors who had children. The cops were called and there was a lesser charge he plead down to in exchange for some information on another crime. The firearm was taken away obviously. No one was hurt thank God.

Still, my ex withheld this information from me when we got together. I found this out after we broke up. The fact my ex and people like him can get a weapon frightens the living fuck out of me. Either way, when people began to deny Sandy Hook I had to log off. This shit was waaaaaayyyyyyyy too fucking much.

Last night, I was talking with two kiddos who identify as nonbinary at the haunted house I am doing full body puppets at. The election came up. Tensions flashed. Both were quick to remind me as a cisgender white woman I would be fine. I wanted to tell them how involved I had been and how my life and political experience eclipsed theirs. We were all politically opinionated positioned in our perspective corners.

Then one said, "No more talk of politics, it's too stressful."

No wiser words had ever been uttered in the last several months. The tension bubble was burst. They were like me. They couldn't do it anymore. They had burnt out. They put up a boundary and I more than accepted it. I wanted to borrow it for my own use.

Another one of the kiddos, a nonbinary person who went to Smith, admitted that they had been knee deep in activism marching quite a bit themselves. However, like myself they were taking a much needed break. At that moment, we connected. We showed up. We made our statements. Now we just couldnt........

This is why the haunted house was such a stress release. And we are operating full body puppets. I have done ventriloquism obviously, hand and rod, bunraku, Balinese shadow puppets and even marionettes but never full body. While they are heavy at times it pays alright and I look forward to the challenge. Plus people seem relatively nice and chill. I need the laugh. I need the break. But most importantly, this is a chance to learn and grow as a puppeteer.

This young kiddo from also told me she is set to attend a South Asian family wedding this next weekend. I learned they were practicing the dance of the single cousins, aka their version of the bouquet toss. It would be two days of fun, and henna tattoos. That was so much more interesting, informative, and fulfilling than any political conversation I have had in some time.

And a week before, as I was leaning towards taking a break, I met from guys going to the Mets game who were middle of the road Trump supporters. They saw my trunk and I did a show with Donny. They laughed. They weren't evil and didn't have fangs. They just voted the lesser of two evils.

Monday I went to an acting class and did a fun monologue with an amazing teacher. I return next week. Days before, I applied to graduate school for my writing and am awaiting a response. (GULP). I have also been accepted into an Onion writing workshop that I look forward to, and am set to do more modelling and release a calendar.

As for my show, it will be at SOLOCOM in November at the PIT Loft.

I intend to be back to fight for the rights of people who are HIV/AIDS positive, abused women, LGBTQ, mental health/addicts, and others who suffer under abuse of those in power.

However, I need a break to stretch and grow. I need to take a breath and get my brains back before I shave my head, open my window and throw out my computer. You have your right to your opinion, I have my right to mine.

But we are both currently assholes.

Now for my nightly mango.

April Unwrapped

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........

Appearances and Assumptions

Saturday George Zimmerman was found not guilty. I am not writing about how that disgusted me, although it did. I am not writing about how a kid died because he wore a hoodie and had a bag of Skittles, although we all know he did. Hell, I could go on all day about the overzealous Neighborhood Watch cop wannabe now afraid of vigilantes. But the truth of the matter is, that’s not what I want to write about. I want to write about how assumptions based upon stereotype cripple people not only as individuals but as a whole, and how they are crippling us as a nation.

When I first moved to New York City I really didn’t have black friends. Actually I had one growing up, but she did the stereotypical thing of having a child in high school. She was one of five black people in our school, and they were all related. After she had her kid we drifted apart, but we were still friends. I had a friend who dated one of her cousins in high school, and immediately this young woman was labeled. Of course we were told growing up that as white women we should never date black men. Be friends yes, date no. Oh and it was understood that he would be lazy, he would beat us, and leave us stranded with his child. Then I moved to New York and met black women who didn’t have children in high school but went to college. I met black men who didn’t beat their girlfriends, didn’t go to jail, and didn’t leave their women stranded to care for their children alone. Yes, there are trashy black people. There are trashy white people. There are trashy people of every freaking race.

Ironically I became fast friends with a lot of black people. Believe it or not, I was raised more like them than the white prep school kids I went to classes with. Whenever we misbehaved growing up, they got beaten by their dad or mom. So did I. They went to church every Sunday. So did I. As a matter of fact their parents made sure they knew their Bible. Mine did too. More often than not I found them easier to relate to than a lot of the white kids around. Oh, and I voted for Obama. Not because he is black you racist, but because he is a friend to women.

When I moved to the city as well, I had never been around so many damn people who spoke Spanish. Like every high school kid in America, I was forced to grin and bear the language. Every class, there would be people making some joke about deporting Pablo. I’ll admit, I am guilty of laughing. To us people who spoke Spanish were usually illegals. Why did we have to learn what one of my classmates called “the language of restaurant works?” Upon moving to the city, I remember getting on the wrong train in a Spanish neighborhood and having a run in with a dude who had a grill, skin missing, and looking back was probably either schizophrenic or high on crack (both make you sexually rabid). Needless to say after chasing me around the train station and telling me he was going to rape me, I ended up throwing a box of cookies at him and getting on the train. After that, I was not a big fan of anyone who spoke Spanish for sometime.

But that was an unfortunate human error on my part, and a power greater than myself straightened that out. Friends were put in my life who were not only wonderful people, but spoke Spanish as a first language. There are my friends at Vibe West. Then there is my talented friend Carlos. Oh and then Eduardo, or Tio Ude who is the most fantabulous costume designer ever. My dearly departed friend Chacho, who I would have trusted with my life and I know who’s spirit still is around me. Derek and Fernando who are Mexican and legal, and the list goes on. Oh and yes, some of the Spanish folks who work in my hood are illegal, but so what? They are working. They aren’t bothering anyone. They are living quietly. Leave them alone. And they are working which is more than I can say for some people I know. Bottom line, there are shitty people who speak every language in the world. However, there are also good people. For instance Pat Robertson speaks English and he is a dreadful human being. Also, one does not represent all. Thank goodness I figured that out otherwise I would be watching The 700 Club.

Then of course where I grew up there was the belief Muslims were terrorists who were all worshipping Allah is the guise of Satan. When 9/11 happened, several of my male classmates joined the army to “blow up towel heads.” Upon getting ready to move to New York, I was told by several former classmates to stay away from Arabs as well as adults.

Well I moved to the city and found out the opposite was true. A lot of Arab Americans are good Americans. They work and own stores in my neighborhood for the most part. In my experience, they are friendly hardworking people who care about their business, their customers, and their families. Every Halloween they give out candy and put up decorations because they want to fit in the place they now call home. Oh and their children aren’t making bombs because they are working in the stores on weekends and during summer break.

But these hurtful stereotypes set us back. It’s like saying gay people seek to recruit children and are child molesters. Most of the LGBTQ people I have come into contact with would never dream of hurting a child, and they would jump in front of a mac truck before they did. And while there are some gay pedophiles, there are a lot of straight ones too that are equally disgusting and we never hear about them recruiting our children for the straight world. It’s like saying all Jews are cheap. While some may be, I have met generous Jewish people in my lifetime. It’s like saying all Catholics are insane and intolerant, I have met some that are but many more that are wonderful people of faith. I could go on all day.

I had a disturbing encounter with a young woman the other day in a store. Basically she was on the big girl side. She marched up to me, and unprompted told me I was too skinny and needed to eat more. I was really angry because I have struggled with my weight and know how it feels when people are awful to you. I remember mouthing off to her and flipping her the bird, said “this is what a size two looks like, bitch” and walking off. I took my anger to facebook like a mature woman of dignity and grace. However, the truth was, this young woman was spiritually sick. She probably has been tormented her entire life by people who are size two. Meanwhile she assumes my life has been easy which was arrogant of her. Not to mention I used to be forty pounds heavier so I know how nasty people are. However, she was so lost in her despair that she didn’t realize that looks can be deceiving, and perhaps I can identify with her more than a lot of people. While I made the mistake of feeding into it, this addresses a much bigger problem.

That people are guilty of judging on the basis of appearance. We all do it. We all group and generalize because as people, that is what we can go on. What is the first thing we attack in an argument, a person’s looks because it is right there on the surface. Often times it is not the issue. Yes, criminals can be black, but I have white cousins who have tested the system. Yes, creepy men can be Spanish, but I have met some white creepy men as well. Yes, Arabs can be terrorists but did we forget about the white Army of God or the white NRA? I could go on but I am just repeating myself.

Bottom line, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr said not to “Judge a person by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.” This also means not jumping to conclusions when someone looks a certain way. That means not to assume someone is a criminal because of their outward appearance. That means not to assume someone is a pedophile because of their orientation. That means thinking before you make assumptions. That means don’t fill your heart with unjustified, uninformed hate. Rather think and investigate before you assume, because when you assume you make an ass out of u and me.

Otherwise, unfortunately, someone else will have to bury their teenage son because they were carrying a bag of Skittles and wearing a hoodie in the rain.

Love 

April

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

www.aprilbrucker.com 

Thomas Paine's Nightmare

A close up of a disaster in progress

"These are the times that try men's souls. That the summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, sink from the service of their country...." Words said by Thomas Paine. One of the greatest orators of his time, Thomas Paine was quite revolutionary for a revolutionary. During an era where people relied on religion out of fear, he questioned God. In a time when women were regarded as simple breeding machines, he addressed them in his speeches. When the forefathers wanted freedom despite owning slaves, he chastised them. Then he continued his mission to the French Revolution where he served in their government despite knowing no French. Sure, he was declared an enemy of the Republic later. But yes, he was an activist. As a matter of fact rumor has it that the Constitution was ghost written by Tommy Paine.

So on the Fourth of July my friend Kelly and I decided to protest. It was a last minute thing really. Our friend Vips was just as surprised as we were. In our fury, we wanted to stop illegal search and seizure. We wanted to yell and scream about how the Fourth Amendment was being broken and abused. Our friend Vips however, was protesting the protest. He said this was a surprise to him and he was hungry. So he wanted to eat. Kelly was more fired up than I was. And then Vips argued that he was really hungry. So I proposed we would protest and then eat. We agreed it was a good idea.

Tommy Paine's soul has been tried and he is slitting his wrists in the afterlife

We took a train to Union Square. When we got there the protest had already left. The march went down to Wall Street. How had we missed everyone? Kelly was misinformed and said it had started two hours earlier. So we went to search for the march. We walked along and saw no one. Desperate to get her point across, Kelly held her sign. We went to find a bus and found none. Kelly then went on a rant about Bloomberg cutting the buses. Vips, tired and hungry, decided he was taking matters into his own hands. That is when he hailed a cab and off to Foley Square we went.

Our cab driver decided to take the long way. Partly out of stupidity and partly out of construction. Vips questioned his driving and Kelly began to yell at the cab driver. I told her to save her energy for the protest.

When we got to Foley Square the protest had ended. However some people had left their signs. Kelly suggested we continued protesting. At this point I was so over it. Vips was way over it. Kelly said there were two of us into it, and I was like, "Yeah, one and a half." That is when Kelly decided to smoke a cigarette and had me hold her sign for five minutes. I was like, WTF! It's your sign. Don't have me do your protest. And then she took her sign back. I picked up a leftover sign and we stood there for a few minutes. Instead of being angry, the cops laughed. Then Vips, thinking this was so funny, took our photos.

We then decided to screw the protest and party.

In 1774, the minutemen who had no experience and lots of heart took on the British army. Yes, they were massacred and had no idea what they were doing but knew they were mad as hell. Kelly's sign asked, "Are you a true liberal. Do you like liberty or tyranny? And all these years later, America still doesn't know what it is doing. If Thomas Paine could have seen us he would have rolled around in his grave. However, his grave was moved and his bones were lost so that adds more insult to injury. I think when he wrote Common Sense Thomas Paine saw a utopia. Instead, what he got were two crazy women who were yelling and screaming and ended up missing the protest.

"These are the times that try men's souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot, will in crisis, sink from the service of their country...."

All dressed up and no protest to go to

xoxoxo
April
www.aprilbrucker.com
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback available on Amazon and 877-Buy-Book
E-Book available on Kindle and Nook, also through Brown and NYU Books
Audiobook available on itunes and Audible this Summer
www.youtube.com/aprilthestarr
Portion of proceeds go to Ali Fornay Center

All Apologies (Nirvana)

A few days ago I wrote a blog post about how I not only had been in an abusive relationship, but also survived and turned my life around. I didn’t do this to speak the victimese many writers and women’s activists do, but rather to make myself visible to a young woman, any young woman, who needed to hear that it was possible to have a life after dating violence. That they didn’t deserve to be belittled by anyone, man or woman (domestic violence happens in lesbian relationships as well). My reason for telling my story was to let people know that they were responsible for how they let others treat them. That also, we pick our partners, etc.

In my journey as an activist, I have gotten lots of responses in my sharing about my past as a dating violence survivor. The comedy has gotten laughs, which is the goal. But also, it has made me visible. It has gotten other young women to speak to me about their experiences. Of course there have been the gamut of male bookers who have accused me of being bitter. I laugh and give a shout out to the good dudes. How does that make me bitter? Of course there are those insistent that because I speak out on behalf of women I am either a man hater or a lesbian, or a lesbian man hater. Contrary to what those Neanderthals believe, most lesbians don’t hate men. It’s those of us forced to date them that despise them most. Finally there are those dudes who say, “Get over it.” Translated, I struck a nerve. Believe it or not that is the goal of every activist. So when I hear, “Get over it,” I know someone was made to look at his own behavior and didn’t like it. Note, never in any of my exchanges do I say I hate men. This is just a classic example of uninformed idiots putting words in the mouth of a woman with opinions.

The disturbing response I got this week was from some rando who felt the need to hijack my fan page. He told me I made some “accusations” against my ex, and technically if I could not back this up he could sue me for libel. And that I better play it safe and take the blog down and never again blog about my experience. Wait a minute…Why do I have to stand accused? Why do I have to prove my ex did these terrible things to me? Why are they even being called accusations? Oh and here is the best part, I didn’t use his name. So there is no law suit. I am a lawyer’s kid, I know about the law. This moron, on the other hand, was just a man who wanted to hear himself talk.

This feedback in particular upset me because I have no reason to lie about surviving dating violence. I have no pathological reason to make up a story about being stalked unless I am just that desperate to get back at him which I am not. I am also not that desperate for attention. A stalker is not a fiend of convience let me tell you. If anything, they threaten your safety to the point you have to change your routine. An abusive ex is not something you make up either. Instead, when you are with them you make up excuses about why you continue to stay and feed into the codependent cycle you have created together. Yes, a shit relationship is not an I project but a we project.

 That is not what made me most pissed. What a comment like this does as it not just puts me in a place that I have to be an apologist but it does this to all victims. It puts us in a place where we are standing with our backs against the wall and the proverbial gun to our heads. It puts us in a place of blame. Then when we dare speak out it makes us as if we are the architects of our misery. Of course it is basically telling us that we are bitter. Bitter is the wrong word. We are honest. It tells us we are at fault. Yes, we picked our partners. Yes, we chose to stay whether it was eight months or eight years. But eventually we chose to leave.

What was most outrageous, aside from the fact this obvious chauvinist put me in a place where I had to defend myself, was he suggested I take the blog down as not to cause anymore trouble. I endured a year of hell and two more years of a stalker who terrorized me, stalked me by-proxy, and harassed the men I dated. I invested in a separate mailing address just to keep myself safe. My mother had his name on the refrigerator in case I disappeared. Even during the stalking I was nothing but a lady. I didn’t respond to the behavior. While I didn’t feed into him, it killed me inside. Despite the fact he was a master manipulator, I did love the man at one point. So yes I have been to hell thank you very much!

I thought about ripping into that moron for his feedback about my “accusations,” as if I were making them up. For putting me on trial, as if I would be breaking my ass doing all the activism I do because apparently I just have mental problems, the ability to lie, and too much time on my hands. Of course then there is my activism, I only do that because I have nothing else to do as well and just want something to whine about. So I guess what I have really wasted page space saying was, “Go to hell, asshole.”

I thought about how to rip up this idiot with nothing to say. But instead I blocked him. So I will say this. I will speak out when it comes to violence against women. On the matter of dating violence, I will continue to tell people about the psychological and physical dangers. In addition, I will also continue to speak out on behalf of stalking victims and the enforcement of stalking laws. As well, I will continue to champion victim’s rights because they have none. I will also continue to be open, honest, and willing to be visible.  Yes, if you haven’t figured it out I will continue….

I am sorry if my identity causes some people discomfort. I am sorry if some men don’t like the fact I came through hell at the hands of one of their own and am doing amazingly well as a feminist and independent woman. I am sorry if some women who have been married to the only man I ever dated forever think I just need to lighten up. I am sorry my presence is such an abhoration to some people. I am sorry that I have been successful despite the fact so many people wrote me off because some guy was busy beating my head in. I am sorry….

But on that note if this is the way you feel please do not watch me on TV, I am afraid I will turn to stone. Please don’t buy my books, I don’t need your money laced with prejudice and sexism. While you are at it, please don’t support me in any way. Really, many more who want to support me will. Many more who need to see me and hear me will. I don’t need you, so please don’t….

I said my peace. Some will agree. Some will disagree. At the end of the day not much has changed since Amelia Earhardt. How incredibly sad….

 

xoxoxo
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback available on Amazon and 877-Buy-Book
E-Book available on Kindle and Nook, also through Brown and NYU Books
Audiobook available on itunes and Audible this Summer
www.youtube.com/aprilthestarr
Portion of proceeds go to Ali Fornay Center

Memory Lane

This is how asshole men make me feel, ready for blood and ready to kill. 

I was walking along, ready to get some food, after a rather chaotic day. Everything was crazy, and I was already in a hell of a mood. I walked quite a bit to calm my nerves. The crazy thing is, I was starting to feel a little better. After snacking on some mangos I told myself it was time to get some real food. I was on my way to do so, when I walk into a shop and there are a guy and a girl. The guy is real good looking and the girl is as mousy as hell.

This is how the exchange went.

Guy: Hey good looking, do you want to go to the movies, maybe see Hunger Games and then get some drinks with us?

Me: Me?

Guy: Yeah good looking.

Me: What does your girlfriend right there have to say about this?

Guy: Oh her? She doesn’t matter. She’s fine with it.

Me: Why don’t I ask her?

Girl: Me, I’m not fine with it. I didn’t say anything.

Me: You are a real asshole. And I hope she wises up and dumps you. Go get fucked. Stay the fuck away from me. The next time I see you I hope to stab you.

If stabbing you meant getting a glamorized mug shot, this would be it. 

I walked away and as I did I could hear his mousy girlfriend get her voice and start yelling at him. The whole thing was just an ugly flashback to my time with my ex fiancé. I remember one time I was out with him and his friends and a girl arrived. Later I found out that this girl, who actually turned out to be quite nice, had slept with my ex back in the day. My ex, seeing that his former flame got implants, told me to ask who her surgeon was because I could “benefit.”

Later I found out this SOB was sleeping with an old girlfriend who gave him money. In between that, I found out he was messaging other women online, remarking on their photos and suggesting they get together because I was “boring.” At the end of my rope, I remember my ex was dating a stripper before me. He sought her out for a romantic weekend. She rebuffed him and said, “It would be disrespectful to April. No.”

So when I see crap like that I view it as more than disrespectful, I view it as fucking vile. I view it as someone who needs his ass beat. I know that it feels like a knife has been put to this girl’s heart and she is kicked around. I know how it feels to have the self-esteem of a doormat.

I know how it feels to be on the other side. I know how it feels to be with an asshole who gets his jollies off of making you feel less than, feeling he asserting his masculinity. After all, I almost married mine. This is why I feel my activism and work with young women is so important. It makes these ladies feel that they are worthwhile, letting them know that anyone who treats them like junk has no place in their lives.

On the other hand, I know that this girl has to grow a pair and let this guy go. However, I won’t lie. It was hard not to stab him with the sharpest object. It was hard not to kill him in broad day light. It was hard not to rid the world of scum that it would be better without.

I look innocent, ready to use and abuse in the eyes of some. Do not be fooled, the bottom of this rose is a metal shank, ready to pierce your jugular. 

There are people who will call me angry. They will call me a bitter man-hater because I see something wrong with this exchange. They will make me and any decent woman apologize for the fact that we don’t come with a Laura Croft leather suit, a pole, and Lucite shoes. But I have to speak up. I have to speak out. I have to be a voice for women, because such a voice doesn’t exist.

Instead of murdering a man, which hell this one deserves to have something bad happen to him, I will take a bath. Ted Hughes was responsible for the end of Sylvia Plath. His dicking around made her kill herself. He got cancer and angry lesbians scraping Hughes off of her tombstone that read Sylvia Plath Hughes. Sylvia also go acclaim. We know the Colossus, we know the Bell Jar. We know nothing that he has done.

Maybe I am so angry not because I know how much it hurts. I also know how damaged you are when you leave that relationship. I also know my mother can’t bring his name up because I just get angry. We both get angry. I also know it is hard as hell to trust again, and once you are damaged you are always sort of damaged.

On the flipside I also know guys like that don’t speak for all men. My father is very good to my mom, and my brother would never dream of treating his wife that way ever. Same with my uncles. My fan boys, if they knew where to find this guy would beat the shit out of him themselves.

The difference is now I don’t act mousy and go off on someone afterward. I don’t submit to bullshit. I am not a victim. I take my hits in the boxing ring, standing like a man. Sure, it makes me scary in the eyes of some men. But those men are cowards. Real men aren’t afraid of a road warrior.

Love

April

I am an angry woman, ready to strike and ready to fight. I am ready to give a voice to women who suffer.

Video Killed The Radio Star (The Buggles)

A beautiful picture to start this blog. Now  that I wasted your time, decide if you want to read my diatribe. 

This past year I have really gotten into making videos. It started when I was on TLC a year ago. In order to keep my fans intrigued I started shooting little puppet webisodes with semi-famous for famous people. Then from there I did other little things. I was touch and go at first. Originally I expected the flood gates to open with the standup. It didnt happen. There were attitudes about who I was and what I did. There were adjectives like "fame whore" being tossed my way. Mostly, it was people angry I was getting TV time they weren't.

Anyway, I started working as a talking head for YouNow and many of the kids on there either watched youtube or made youtube videos. Some of the other talking heads were youtube celebrities. These talking heads and I sort of bonded. One in particular was Eddie Lawshea, or elawshea on youtube, who much like me used his platform not just to entertain but to be an activist. Standup was not the platform for social activism but rather almost the opposite. The videos gave us the forum to speak out, give an opinion. Eddie was especially inspirational, because not only did he care about his fans but he always had something to say. Not to mention he was very supportive of me.

As a result I found myself regularly on Eddie's show preaching. I found myself speaking out against domestic violence, homophobia, cyberbullying, and generalized hate. I also found myself using my puppets to help me deliver my messages. Whenever I would do my thing many of the fans would ask, "Do you have a youtube?"

I just started throwing videos up. Some were of my ventriloquism. Some were of me singing because I did it so often on younow. Some were of me just giving advice because as younow grew to an international audience I was poised as an aunt of sorts to these youngins. Many of these youngsters, from the UK, immediately subscribed to my youtube and began posting my videos everywhere. That's when my videos started to have more of a point. That's when my videos began to preach.

While I consider my videos entertaining, I also want people to think. My videos have given me a way to do that in a way standup hasn't. In standup if I address women's issues I am a "man hater." On video I could be labeled the same thing, however, there are young women who reach out to me to tell me that having someone like me in their corner comforts them. They know I am not just another woman but a friend, a friend who understands that feminism is the radical notion that women are people and not just objects.

In my videos I can address homophobia and generalized hatred. I can preach that all people are people regardless of what they look like or who they may date. As a result of those messages there have been gay kids who have reached out to me, telling me they were thankful someone understood. One young man wrote me telling me how he was beat up for being gay, and it was wonderful someone got it. I can't get this political in standup. My audience will go silent.

In my videos I can address dating violence. I do it in some extent in my standup, but it's not as in depth as I want it to be. When I do this I get letters from all sorts of people letting me know their horror stories from small to large.

I want my work to challenge and it does. Moreso, I want my work to encourage young people that they have a choice, that they matter.

On the other hand, I make videos that are fun and people seem to like them. My youtube fan base is growing. It is a good feeling everytime I get a new subscriber. I have also gone on to make holiday videos and birthday greeting cards via youtube.

Hey, why not?

On the flipside my videos have gotten me work. One is the poster girl for Panic Girl, a new series coming out. Todd Hollers saw my angry videos and decided I would be the perfect face for the new aged love child of Esther Greenwood and Holden Caulfield. Another was a role in a project on anti-bullying, where I talked about how my gifts as a comedian and ventriloquist gave me self-worth. Then of course there is the new agent I am sort of working with, Marcia, who fell in love with me in a way as a result of my videos. The beautiful thing about the videos is that my fans don't have to shove into some basement or club or schlepp. They can turn on the computer and see me ranting with a smile.

Ironically, my videos are also the thing opening the doors to the comedy clubs for me. Several comedy bookers have messaged me online, telling me they love my videos and offering me feature and headliner spots. Although standup hasn't been the focus for sometime, and at one point I thought about giving it up altogether, plans are changing. The strange thing is that it is all because of the videos. One booker called me today and informed me that I needed to make happier videos.

Done deal. No more dead beat daddies.

On the flipside when I walk into clubs comedians will tell me how they saw my videos. They will tell me how proud they am of me for doing well. And when I get home I see fan mail from some far reach of the globe from some young fan telling me how I either make them laugh or how my videos have changed their life.

So I will continue with the standup, awing and amazing crowds with laughter. However, my Poppyseeds have let me know my responsibility is bigger. Therefore, I must continue with my videos. My journey to superstardom has not ended but only just begun.

To be continued.....

Love, April

Making a video

Not A Pretty Girl (Ani DiFranco)

Lately I have been steamed up about women's issues. When I was in college I wasn't apathetic per se, but rather I could have taken them or left them but still cared. There was a women's collective, where they seemed to want to eat brownies and whine which scared me. Conversely, there were the Women's Studies Classes that I enjoyed. My teachers were inspirational women who were proud of my courage not just to express my voice as an artist but also as a woman. On the flip side, I was awfully giggly about boys and all I wanted was a man and never could find one. Yet at the same time, my mom was a Title IX Crusader and did a sit in with her teammates in college so that she and the rest of the women swimmers could have letter jackets like the guys. But at the same time, I did and still do giggle about the guys I date with my mom.

However, a few years ago after the end to a disasterous and abusive engagement my opinion changed. I had been so eager to get a boyfriend that I snagged the first guy who would talk to me. My ex cheated on me, occasionally hit me, was verbally abusive and made me choose between him and the puppets. When we broke up, I put everything that had happened to me in the act. I talked about how he threatened to kidnap me, how he had justified his post-breakup whoring while I was not allowed to see other men, and not to mention how he had attempted suicide to get my attention. I got two reactions from male comedians:
1. Wow, that is funny shit Brucker! I had a chick that was just as crazy.
2. Why are you so bitter? Maybe if you weren't so bitter he wouldn't have treated you the way he did.

Needless to say, those bozos are the same ones who use domestic violence as a regular punchline, no pun intended. So I never took it too personally. I know it scared off a booker or two. But then again, it was worth it in some way. Anytime you have to censor who you are for anyone it not only takes the life out of you, but the life out of your art.

This past year, with the advent of my TLC appearance I have been talking more about everything that I have been through. I got letters from lots of young women telling me how the men they were with made them choose between them or a career or passion. It was as if it was 1950s to some of these guys and these women should have been chained at the stove making them vittles and popping out babies. Other women wrote to me telling me about how they escaped an abusive relationship with an utter whacko and how they were glad to see someone like myself visable. Around this time, I was thinking of disguarding the routine about the ex. Then I changed my mind. There are young people who need to hear me.

Then when I was a talking head on YouNow I spoke about it more, making dating violence one of my many platforms. I spoke about it not just as a women's issue but as an everyone issue. I said that when the relationship reached a boiling point it was everyone's responsibility to end it. The kids liked hearing me and talking to me. I encouraged young people, especially young women to respect themselves and their bodies. Not to treat themselves as sex objects trained to swing off a pole, but rather as people who were smart and informed. I know that sounds so bizarre and weird but so many young women are eager to shed the clothes, jump into bed, and please a boy throwing away everything for him. And by the way he's never worth it. I told them to have pride in themselves, their opinions, women's issues and politics.

On young Scotswoman even called me an ardent example of feminism.

A lot of the young girls liked having me around. I was sort of a watch dog when some young male trolls encouraged them to shed their clothing, or used sexist language. Many of these young women also wrote to me pouring their hearts about love problems, both men and women. I told these young people not to get too caught up and to focus on their futures and careers. These young people began to look up to me, and it became clear why I was being given the platforms I was.

When I left YouNow, I found myself doing less activism. Actually, I sort of took a rest. I got tired of yelling. However, I made a music video for my single "Stay." In the video, the way I portray myself is as a Calypso, the cave witch who seduced and kept Odysseus as her captive in the Odyssey. Yes, she kept him prisoner, using her sexuality and making him essentially her slave. If that is not a feminist icon in classic literature I do not know what is.

Recently though, I have found myself back in the saddle as far as the activism is concerned. A few weeks back there was a post online where a "comedian" said something terrible about women letting it be known he thought it was okay to wantonly abuse them. I spent almost four hours arguing why such language was okay. He told me Sinatra referred to women as broads. But we also referred to black people as the n word way back when on the regular. Needless to say, a very angry, undereducated woman jumped on to defend her master and dispensed the c word and the b word too easily. I told them language like this led to attitudes of indifference towards womens issues, prompting law changes detrimental to women's rights. Not to mention encouraging attitudes of domestic violence. I also said if women allow themselves to be treated as second class citizens casually, the law will see it that way too. I was so angry I even made a youtube video.

A few days later I was called back into action when a "producer" called me for a meeting, crossing understood business boundaries. When I raised by voice letting this nobody know he had no business in my life, there were people who treated me as if I was the bad guy. If this were years ago, I would have taken his crap and cried. But instead I used my voice. He didn't like it but then again, by the way he treats women and speaks about women who sleep with other women as if they were put on this Earth to please him, his only gal pal is his right hand.

Since the making of my youtube video called "There's Something Wrong-Reasons I Hate Men Who Objetify Women" I have gotten letters from young women telling me how much they like the video, how much they agree with me, and how it helps to know that there is someone like myself to back them up. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fw8Wz5DUtTE&list=UU1XhN3fj2pUzvXj7UX-heng&index=2&feature=plcp. It helps to know that I am helping young women realize their full potential in this world riddled with men who see them as nothing more than a potential for a hot night. The tragic thing is, some young women only think that they are only good enough for that purpose and that purpose alone.

I guess me being independent is the reason I am alone but I don't mind it. I had a fling I wrote about and this past Saturday he called me giving me some excuse about where he was. It's not because he was anywhere. Probably his much sluttier Saturday option had fallen through. Rather it was because I wasn't by the phone waiting for his beckon call like a slave should be. Either way it's over. But the thing is, he was way too chauvanistic anyway. Our world's would have collided, and eventually I would have had no choice but to verbally castrate him.

In many ways I am an Amazon Feminist, someone who is forced to take on a male gender role because of a lack of men in my surroundings. I live alone therefore I do my own home repairs, kill my own mice, and even installed my own air conditioner. All and all, I am stronger for having done it.

A comedian friend of mine said a few weeks ago that there was no good feminist icon of this era. I want to be that feminist icon, filling that void and serving as a power of example to young women. When I think of other examples of powerful women I think of my mom of course, my sister and sister in law who are both a doc to be and a doctor, my aunts and cousins in pharmacy and denistry etc. So I am in good company.

What can I say, "I am not a pretty girl/I'm no damsel in distress/so put me down punk, I am not a maiden faire."

Love,
April