Everyday is Halloween (Ministry)

I have been rocking Halloween kind of hard for the last month working in my haunted house in Sleepy Hollow. Halloween was kind of bittersweet in it's own strange way. It was like the end of a long, strange, magical, and mystical journey of growth.

Although it wasn't official, I was kind of sort of head puppeteer in my tent. Each night they designated me with the walkie. Each night I did wellness checks. Each night I handled the drama if it came my way. I was also head puppeteer in a way by virtue that I was the most experienced when it came to that world. I had a good crew. Yes, they were characters in their own way but I grew to love them. I was aptly nicknamed "Tent Mom" by one.

I ran a tight ship in my own way. I wasn't a tyrant, but because of my skills as a comedy club emcee I squashed any trouble makers who came into my tent. I kept them laughing or let them know bad behavior wasn't going to be tolerated. I also kept my people calm. One night, one young woman had her glasses break as well as her puppet. It was a bad night.

I asked her how she was holding up. She replied, "I feel as if it was something I did to make this happen."

I wanted to lose my damn mind. I wanted a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of diet coke. It's what one of my mom friends confesses gets her through kid troubles at times. But then I remembered something my beloved mentor once told me about leadership. A former army officer, he told me the best way to disagree was to address the problem and not to lose your shit. So I said, "I need you to maintain a positive attitude. Do not let this temporary setback undermine the good work you have been doing all season."

It worked. Help came. But I wanted that damn pack of cigarettes, diet coke and a possible gun to my head as a girl lost her cellphone minutes later. All the while the troops were losing their morale as it was cold and the night was long. It's kind of apt that my mentor was an army officer. Because actors are more or less a platoon in costumes, and in our case we were a platoon with puppets.

My soldiers were all good for the most part. Aside from puppets breaking and other technical difficulties they fought the good fight. We had a lot of good folks come through, and some not so hot at times but their energy never wavered. Even when they had issues with the management, which the management at times was far from perfect, I can still say I was proud of the work we did as a unit. Actually, they were nothing short of delightful and I am proud of each and every one of them.

I have long since admired soldiers. After all, my Pop Pop, a second lieutenant in the Navy, had a can do attitude. My mom was struggling in math and therefore this meant it was time to rattle off addition and subtraction facts in the car on the way to swim practice. My mom, who has always been petite, struggled with upper body strength as a child, and my grandfather remedied this by installing a chin up bar. She had to do 10 coming into her bedroom and 10 going out. Theatre itself is about can do. Perhaps it is no accident my cousins and I have found ourselves in the arts.

I was proud of how I sort of stepped up as a leader during my time on this job. Maybe this makes up for all the times I was a literal trainwreck in the past decade of my life. The run is over and I am grateful. My immune system is wearing down and I am exhausted.

I will miss the opportunity to be paid to learn a new form of puppetry. Yet I will not miss long nights in the cold. I will miss channeling my beloved Crypt Keeper as a character inspiration, but will not miss the long train rides and late nights. I will miss my puppeteers and fellow cast members, but am glad for the rest and to have my weekends back for the time being.

When I think of it, every day is Halloween for me. I dress up in costume for my job. I do funny routines all the time. I am someone else constantly who is secretly an extension of myself. Either way, I am glad for the experience Sleepy Hollow gave me. It made me fall in love with the theatre all over again, as if I wasn't in love with the greatest woman ever.........

Shop At My Store

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........

Tired........

Just got back from Vegas where I was working with my mentor for a week. The first night in Vegas is always about adjustment. You know you should get sleep but you are kind of wired, because once you see Las Vegas and the lights you just wanna PAAAAAAAARRRRRRTTTTTYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!

Then of course when I got to my mentor's pad his Wheaton Terrier came running towards me and I didn't want to sleep. But I knew I had to because I had to be fresh. Therefore, I took a ZZZZZZZ aid. Yeah, sleep aid. Dunno if that was the best idea, but certainly wasn't the worst. Took one of the non-addictive ones and it helped get me back on track. And then off I was to work with my mentor.

We worked and did a lot. I mean, we accomplished  A LOT. So much so that after each day I was literally SPENT. Whether it was working on our new routine, perfecting our new routine, shooting videos, or doing other things to further my brand it was work, WORK, WERQ.

And then playing with his Wheaton Terrier, going to the casino with his mom who is 101 and gambles like a pro, or watching and memorizing parts of Broadway Danny Rose. However, it was mostly work, WORK, WERQ.

I saw one show though. It was Defending the Caveman with comedian Kevin Burke. The show was amazing and I would highly recommend it. My mentor works with Kevin, and a club owner who so generously helped me with my act several weeks ago recommended it as well.

Either way, shows in Vegas are of a different caliber. In NYC, aside from Broadway, theatre is very trial and error as are comedy shows aside from headliner clubs. In Vegas, it's all top notch, pro level, no mistakes, none of this workshop crap. It's show biz.........it's how these people make their dough. No time for error.

Flying back to NYC I planned to sleep on the plane because April Fool's is the busiest day in the telegram business. God had other plans. Sat next to the rudest bitch face on the face of the planet. She gets on the plane, is banging things around like she owns the damn aisle. Then she sits next to me and is eating this bag of gummy bears and dropping them on me and the dude next to me. I so wanted to strangle her.

Then she went to sleep.

However, I was chilly and didn't know why. Then all of a sudden I realized this asshole was BLASTING HER AIR!!!!!!!!!  It was like she had no concept she was on this planet with other people.

Finally at the end of the flight after I got NO SLEEP she stands up, literally tries to run over me to get her bag and has the audacity to say, "You're fine." Everyone is looking at me like they wanna kill her too because she's the bitch blasting the air. But rest assured I had bad gas from some of the tacos I ate so guess who farted freely. See, God is almost on my side.......sometimes. (They were some real stinkers, too).

I would have changed my seat but the flight was full. Anyway, I get off the plane and all I wanna do is sleep, but because I was hours behind and have energy I am too wired. Plus my boss has a gig for me in NJ. So on a plane and bus I go. They were nice people in a plastic surgeon's office and tipped well. Rent is getting paid and I got to prank a cute doctor........

In the meantime, I also engaged in a feud with a total ass clown. To give you an idea, someone I was hired to replace on a show had been baiting me online for weeks. He's a washed up idiot who's day has passed, and he takes it out on everyone else. Plus he bad mouths a very successful friend of his, and I have a feeling he might have also lifted one of this dude's bits.

Anyway, the latest, after he said something to the effect of that I had an STD, was that I stole material. Like this asshole should talk. I jumped down his throat, and then after talking with my mom I blocked him. Still, it upset me because I didnt take the gig from him. He didnt want to do what he was hired to do so he was FIRED. The guy I worked for was SUPER FAIR. I thanked him via social media and it was too much for this moron. Sigh......

However, it all caught up with me yesterday when I was so tired coming home I almost blacked out. After forgetting what day it was, I nearly forgot I had to pay rent. Then I gave my landlord TOO MUCH rent money. You know you are tired when you give your landlord too much rent money. Then I had trouble falling asleep but finally did.

Today I went to work first thing in the AM and sang for some dudes at a Legion Hall in Brooklyn. Stripping to my bikini, one old dude with a cane demanded a lap dance. Mind you, this was all after train delay after train delay. They tipped well.

On the ride home, I nearly fell asleep on the train and knew that was a bad sign, and the trains were screwed up in all directions. But yeah, almost fell asleep which isn't good.

So after some dinner I am lamenting that lately I have been working my ass off. I hurt all over. Maybe shower, already had some dinner. Watching Strictly Ballroom. The Coca Cola can is sparkling in the back of the Scott and Fran. It's one of my favorite movies. Always makes me smile, laugh and cry.

I am doing a show for the kiddies Monday in Bridgewater.

But gotta get some good rest and self-care in first.

Sparkling coca-cola can means everything is right with a rom com, good nap, and caffeine. 

More Than a Woman (Tavares/The Bee Gees)

I have been doing a lot of thinking about back in the day when I was just starting out. Things are different now obviously. At the time I lived on Water Street. In the morning I would jog across the Brooklyn Bridge. The thing about that bridge is that you can always hear the rumble of the trains. As you jog it shakes the bridge a little bit, and there is a part of you that feels the thing will topple into the water killing you. But then you realize this happens every day, and it sort of becomes an ingredient in the whole magic feel of the city you now call home.

One song that always played on my radio with headphones was the song by the Bee Gees or The Tavares, depending on which recording was playing. I found my way to comedy after having my heart broken by a man I was seeing. He was older but had a sweet pad. I wanted love, he wanted the ever eternal sensation of having a much younger girlfriend. To boot, he led me on in a toxic dance for almost the next year. Nevermind, I was going to be strong. My whole life I had been told I was funny. The idea of being a true comedian scare me because you had to be funny. I just wanted to be me. This was scary. Plus if you tanked.....it was like death.

Eventually I bit the bullet and did a bringer show and killed. I did bringers until I exhausted all my friends. As you could imagine many of them lost my phone number and one jokingly claimed she was dead. I was sick of my act too. So I did a lot of open mics and met a lot of characters. Many would probably have been better suited to a therapist's couch than a comedy club open mic but nevermind. We all had a dream. It seemed like it was out of reach to all of us. We were chasing the proverbial dragon, unlike cocaine there was no guaranteed high. However we were willing to risk anything to go after it like a good crack feind.

There was Barry Lawrence, one of my first friends in comedy. An older brother type who was more often than not an angel in disguise, he kept me on track and talked me out of doing my usual stupid stuff. After that was Al Weinstein, a Jewish wannabe comedian who was married for a Puerto Rican woman that he was always on thin ice with. Mostly underemployed, Al chirped about wanting to cheat on his wife. However this was the most cheat free situation ever. Then there was Quinn Harmon, the chain smoking white dude from Texas who said the n word onstage and got away with it. Oh and then there was Rochelle Johnson, the black former beauty queen who was the only person that didn't let Quinn Harmon get away with his crap. In that mix lest we not forget Birdy Douglass, a tough talking hood chick who cussed out a comedy club manager we all hated. And then there was Ella Villa, a Spanish chick who said dirty things and shamelessly slept with headliners for stage time. I cannot forget Ron Santiago, who really used to look down upon my act because he was one of the cool kids. Later he would become a huge supporter. Oh and then there was Don Bosco, a long haired semi-homeless open mic host who used to give me walk on spots on his late show and always had candy laced with something in his pocket. Last but not least, there was Thor Svennson, an overeducated art star who talked down to everyone he met. However, he was the only financially secure one out of the group with his own moving company.

The promoters were even bigger characters. There was Jacob Jankowicz, a gay Jewish booker who sucked the blood out of comedians for his booker showcases. Like a snake he hid at the clubs and looked for fresh blood selling young hopefuls fake dreams. Will Berkley was an old burnt out comic who pressured the young comedians also to do bringer showcases. Quick to critique others, none of us had ever seen the man do anything but bomb. Then there was George King, the eternal middle management of comedy who produced shows but also sucked the life out of the room when he got onstage. Davey McCuen had a messy home life, a dream, and a newborn son. His wife detested his struggling artist attitude, but eventually he dumped her and the kid for a much younger babe. Isaac Greenberg had an open mic where you were graded on professional behavior, and stabbed everyone in the back to operate a room that became a bringer and barker glory hole, only to eventually be fired. Luigi Fiorio booked a dirty room and screamed when he got behind the mic. He dated female comedians who's focus was on getting boob jobs and not writing jokes, but he was always good to me. Last but not least was Terrence Brooks. An urban promoter, he always had big plans and was the master of the smoke screen. A career extra, he often seduced hot girls from his movies into doing his comedy shows. These debuts were a disaster but entertaining to those watching. While a character, he always believed in me too.

It's amazing how many people that I started with are no longer around. To some, standup was too hard. Others got married, had kids, and got a life. They discovered I suppose that there was more to this world than killing or tanking onstage. Many found other ways to express their voice. Some found success writing for television shows, using the standup as a springboard ultimately to another goal. Others found success in acting, using standup for the same thing. Some do voice work and you hear them but don't see them. Others went back to a first love such as music or visual art. One girl became a baker which was random.

I was talking to an old friend of mine who fell out of performing for quite a few years about the people who we used to know that seemingly just disappeared. It's weird. Some were the cats meow and then they were gone. It's also crazy how some awesome things have not just happened for me, but others that I started with. One thing I noticed is that standup is the starting line, but then there are different ways people go. Some continue to do standup. Others write. Some act. Then there are the people who become club owners, producers, and managers. But however, if you finish the race you end up working together which is kind of cool. I am starting to see a little bit of that now. I find myself being called to audition for things because I am recommended by peeps who performed with me once upon a time who now work on the production end. Love and generosity have been coming from peeps who are now club owners too. As for some of my peeps who got Comedy Central Specials, I congratulate them on that, and they give me kudos for my book. When we sit down and talk about the old days, we laugh about all those crazy experiences and the characters we knew. The stage was our school and we grew up together.

I find myself with a lot of those old feelings now as I try to assemble my network friendly set. It's another due I have to pay to get to the next level. I am back to hitting the mics, back with those same characters. While I know what a TV credit and publishing a semi-successful book feels like, I have to do the work. I am back to melting down. I am back to second guessing myself. I am rolling my eyes when they sneak in the drink requirement after robbing me of five dollars. But I am safe here. The public is not ready to see my act. After three days of wanting to kill myself, I went up yesterday. I killed it with my clean set.

Of course, I messaged one of my comedy angels with a crazy message. Then I apologized later. He was a good sport about it. The whole thing feels so mystical and magical, like I am a kid finding her way onstage for the first time with her creepy doll. Sure some of my hard earned dreams have come true, but in that quest it becomes more about your ego and less about the art. The passion is back. Goddamn it, I want to make people laugh.

Luckily I am not stuck on some idiot guy. More to come.

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
www.aprilbrucker.com

Run Through the Jungle (Creedence Clearwater Revival)

Over the years on my job I have had a great many adventures. So much so I wrote a book about them. Since finding out my adopted MIA got buried in Arlington, a coup for him, I have figured perhaps the reason I wore the bracelet as long as I did was that we both had a spirit of adventure. I have been watching lots of Vietnam movies. For instance, I saw this thing on dog fights. My dad used to watch this crap when I was a kid and my mom hated it. Well needless to say I was into it. So much so there were some realizations.

One, I might secretly be a man in a woman's body.

Two, that John James Rambo is my dream man, ear necklace and all.

This morning I found myself in White Plains delivering a chicken. When I do these early morning missions I feel like I am an adventurer. I know how to get lost better than anyone there is. I have hiked across highways and through the forest. Although the government does not know about me, sometimes I feel I am more covert than the CIA when delivering a singing telegram. It was early when I reached my destination.

When I reach a place early I do one of two things.

One, get some Starbucks if there is a such a place.

Second, get my bearings.

This was a beautiful suburban hood and as I walked along, I saw the street sloped down. There was some basic plant life. Some folks had rose bushes. Just then I walked into a parking lot belonging to a set of condos. The rain had stopped and perhaps I could gather my thoughts through a silent meditation practice. Just then I heard this window open. I heard a voice, "HELLO!!!"

I turned around and a toothless woman was peering out. She was like the witch in Hansel and Gretel, but spoke in a very strange accent. I thought it was Spanish or Russian or something in between. Or like the bad guys from many of my recent war flicks, an accent from no where. I looked up in surprise. This was not a private lot.

This is how the exchange went:

Me: Hi

Woman: Can I help you?

Me: No.

Woman: Are you lost?

Me: No, just meeting a friend and I am early.

Woman: Where do you come from?

Ought oh. I can feel the spirit of John James Rambo. When questions like these are posed, it means you have wandered into enemy camp. That is when I did what any smart person would do. I bilked it. This woman had no teeth and an accent from no where. Maybe her house was not made out of candy, but I grew up on the Grimm Brothers. She had a cage and if I was not careful, I would be baked into a cake.

I did my delivery and it went smoothly. With the rain clearing up I decided to hike back to the train station. It was an excuse to get some exercise, fresh air, and not to mention save a few pesos. I ended up getting directions from a hippie type woman who was probably mean to Rambo back in the day. I hiked a bit until I came to a high way. Her directions were strange and there was no way to go without getting killed. So I figured I could risk an adventure or call a cab.

The Amazon Feminist, the part of me that knows men are basically useless, wanted the adventure. I could handle it. In my humble opinion with my wilderness survivor skills plus my sister Skipper's talent as a marksman, if we had to live in the wilderness and fend off fiends we could. But the cars were swerving by and I knew this could be dangerous. Plus I am unsure of whether or not I have health insurance at the moment. And if I do it probably won't cover the majority of my bones getting shattered, or my mother's heart break over her errant child's stupidity.

So I became a woman again and called a cab. Needless to say I felt like a yellow bellied coward. I felt like I could never be Rambo's lady. My POW/MIA would have never surrendered in this fashion. However, they had tactical training. I sing in a chicken suit. There is a big difference. Maybe one day I could make a pipe bomb out of a happy birthday message. Or maybe not.

Either way, I think I did the smarter thing. Maybe I am not equipped for the special forces after all. So much for all those TV specials on dog fights in Vietnam. They taught me nothing about wildness survival. I guess this little chick isnt running through the jungle anytime soon.

My dream man, Rambo. Don't talk about about him or he will shoot you up like Swiss Cheese and wear your ears around his neck

Love

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
Audiobook available on itunes and Audible this Spring
www.youtube.com/aprilthestarr
Portion of proceeds go to Greenpeace

An April and Jessica Adventure

Last night my new comedy buddy Jessica Stern and I went to the Metropolitan Room for the NY Hysterical Society Open Mic. More often than not I opt not to do open mics. I have paid my dues and deplore paying for stage time. Not to mention after some of the things I have done I shouldn't have to. But it would be a chance to hang out with a new friend, see some old friends, and maybe make a connection or two. Plus at this mic there would be people who were serious about the whole comedy thing.

The mic ended up being a lot of fun actually. Everyone was really good. The newbies were even solid. While some may have been green, the jokes were well thought out. As for the vets, well they were excellent. Actually, there really wasn't one weak link the entire night which is rare for a mic. So I recommend this mic fully. My set had been good.

At first I was making the mistake of trying to be funny, the sand trap for any comedian. It's like trying to be cool. When you try you always fail. At the moment I just said fuck it I started to sail smoothly. I think as my dear friend Eddie Brill put it, that I decided to have fun. That is one of the hardest things for me to do. Some of it is my ego. Some of it is that I have been at this a while and have a chip on my shoulder about some things in the business. Of course some is the cynicism that goes with being a New York Comedian, where having fun is great but being funny is indeed serious business. In any event, when I let go of the attitude and just let me be me I was fine. I always am. Either I am stupid or thick headed or just have the self worth of a gnat because that is the continual lesson I seem to learn onstage. I think that is every comedian who has been at it a while.

After me Bucky O'Hare went up. He had some Afrofied name from some mother who was trying to make a Black Panther-like statement in order to make sure her child would either never be employed or be collared for the rape of a white woman. At first I thought he was a decent dude because he seemed relatively supportive. He also brought his girlfriend who seemed very sweet and supportive. Actually she was much too pretty for him. So he gets up and rips on me a little for having a puppet. Fine. I can live with the fact that the puppets are probably the reason I have no man. Who needs a man when you can have puppets? Fo serious.

Well Bucky O'Hare, and I am using this because he had buck teeth that had a huge gap, proceeds to insult my comedy buddy. For those of you that don't know Jessica likes the dark meat. So Bucky tells my friend she is a little too thick for him, and the room laughs nervously. Then he say that Jessica is like pancakes splattered in the middle of the road. WTF?!?!?! Now that is rude. I am thinking, you bucked toothed ugly mutherfucker. Are you bullying another woman to impress your girlfriend? And the nerve of you with those buck teeth with the gap in the front to say something like this to Jessica. Oh maybe Madonna and Jewel have buck teeth but they have these things called TALENT and a CAREER. The room goes silent for a few minutes and he has a hard time winning them back. He deserved it. That's what he gets for being a dickhead.

Bucky O'Hare eventually leaves with his sheepish girlfriend who is probably forced to take the tab everytime they go out because his broke ass has no job. (Note if Bucky were a rapper they would be dining and dashing. Either way they will be making another child he refuses to support). They sneak out because why support the rest of the comedians when your girl can watch you insult another woman for no reason at another mic? Of course you can talk about the career you will never have too, Bucky.

Maybe this whole thing was a "joke" but it hit below the gut because I have struggled with my weight. I did every unhealthy thing imaginable to control it when I was younger. For Bucky O'Hare who was as skinny as a rail, because he was probably a crack baby, he never had this issue. I know how it is to go to school and have people say terrible things about your weight. I know how terrible it is to hear it from a guy that they wouldnt go out with me because I had too many pounds. So yes, Bucky O'Hare has officially made my shit list.

Well Jessica rose to the occasion. Just like the gentlemen his single, illiterate, idiot of a mother did not raise him to be, Bucky did not apologize. Why would a classless human being do such a thing? So Jessica confronted him in the nicest way possible and told Bucky never to make fun of her weight again. Bucky being an utter coward of a man did not know what to say. Of course Bucky's girlfriend, who probably has to ask permission to use the restroom in his presence as well as speak, was speechless. Note she did not defend her man which means he is a PIECE OF SHIT. But I was proud of Jessica for confronting him nicely and like a corporate HR person, probably something foreign to Bucky because he does not WORK.

Well Bucky did eek out an apology. Still what a jerkoff. JESUS!

Jessica and I then went to the train where we discussed Bucky and why again we are DONE WITH DOMINICAN MEN! (McDonski cause they are McMessy with their Machata). And she also told me how it unfolded with Bucky O'Hare and how she handled it like a lady.

I also relayed the story of a then semi-well known comedian who had been on Comedy Central once and ripped on me for being a ventriloquist at a show. The crowd let him know he was an idiot and he dug himself into a hole. Since doing next to nothing, he released a comedy album on itunes that no one cares about. I wrote a book that is on Amazon, Kindle and Nook. I do book talks at Ivy League Colleges. And I have been on TV much more than he has. While my audiobook was being recorded I met both the former sound engineer for Lauryn Hill who has several platinum records (well he was also his studio, brag) and Deborah Harry. I am going places. He will always be eating McDonalds.

As we were having our two girl against the world moment, a homeless man approached us and began singing some mish mash of Michael Jackson songs. To his credit he had a good voice but he was way creepy. He also told us we were pretty. While Jessica probably needed the compliment because Bucky O'Hare had been so vicious, and she needed to believe that a man thought she was beautiful, even if he had no teeth and a possible crack problem. Well the man kept singing and the both of us got freaked out so we decided to leave.

Well the homeless man proceeded to follow us while continuing to sing and we began running. When we finally got to the adjoining corner we thought we were safe. We saw three young men, probably Dominican ironically, and began talking to them cause they were muy guapo. Well it was more Jessica then me because out of the corner of her eye she saw the homeless man. He had no stopped running. Instead he had found us and was continuing to sing. The Dominican strangers Jessica had befriended were doing nothing to help us. As I said previously, I am done with Dominican men. Also, men in general are useless.

At that moment the wisdom of Razor Rob McCullough echoed in my head. He said, "Know how to defend yourself in a fight. But if you can avoid a conflict, 99.9 percent of the time that is the way to go." So I figured I would either be defending the both of us or we just had to continue running. I am not like Razor Rob in the ring so when the light changed I took Jessica's arm and we bolted. The homeless man did not follow. He could not run through traffic and keep perfect pitch.

When we got into the station we laughed about the night. Perhaps one day we will have adventures that don't involve us potentially dying. I hope that day never comes. Cause if it does life will be so boring.

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
Audiobook available on itunes and Audible this Spring
www.youtube.com/aprilthestarr
Portion of proceeds go to Greenpeace

Boogie Nights

Last night was kind of wild. I boarded the train to do a burlesque show in Brooklyn. When I got on the train I found myself minding my own business when my friend Pauly steps on. Pauly and I go way back and well, he is Pauly. In the season of the Aries he just had a birthday. Not to mention Pauly is crazy as hell and is on a permanent fitness kick. It had been forever and a day since I saw him because he moved downtown.

So Pauly is telling me about his life and is showing me a picture of his Filipino girlfriend who is very pretty. She is a nurse and apparently she can cook quite well. I was glad things were working out so well for him. While I will probably be single forever, I can enjoy when guy meets girl and it doesn’t end in a high speed chase.

Just then I hear someone say, “Are you April?”

I look across and it is a young, nice looking black male in a track suit. Very quickly I am thinking, how do I know this young man? “Yes.” I reply. This is very strange. I am telling myself he is probably not a stalker. A stalker wouldn’t be as friendly. And I don’t believe I owe him money. But who is this mysterious stranger is the track suit?

That is when he says, “I am Dorian from Younow.” I am like WTF?!?! How many times have I chatted with this sweetie that graduated from MIT via chatroom on YouNow during my tenure as a host on there? I always found Dorian smart, sweet, and witty. Not to mention he was knowledgeable as heck about a lot of things. My mouth dropped open. This nice looking black man in the track suit was not a stalker or a former boyfriend but someone who I dealt with many a time via chat room, email, and any other online communication. Not to mention when I opened up about some shiteous things that happened in my past he and his friends were mucho supportive. So lets just say it was a pleasant surprise.

I asked how he recognized me. Dorian said, “I saw you through your sunglasses and heard your voice.” Wowsa, I will never be able to prank call anyone ever.

I promptly introduced Pauly and Dorian. Two stops later Pauly departed and Dorian and I caught up. I asked this youngin, who had been but a zygote out of MIT when we met, how life was treating him. Dorian was still hard at work at YouNow and was living in Clinton Hill. Oh and that pretty girlfriend that he had that was working at Google was now his fiancé. My jaw dropped open. Oh how these kids grow up so fast. I asked him how he proposed and apparently Dorian sent her on a scavenger hunt and then the last stop was the first place they met and he proposed. How romantic! Oh and the wedding is this July. A few stops later Dorian departed but it was awesome to finally get to meet him in person. Lesson learned. A mysterious man in a track suit is a friend you should have in your neighborhood.

I finally got to Lucky 13 Saloon in Park Slope. When I walked in the bar TV had Santa Claus Versus The Martians playing. It is one of the best/worst movies ever. As I glanced on the screen I saw Santa had just been kidnapped so the Martian children could have Christmas. Of course the dialogue was less than audible, not that it was really worth hearing, over the heavy metal music. First was Korn, than Slipknot and then a slew of other angry white kid bands that I liked as a teenager. I met one of the people affiliated with the show who told me they were very anxious to see me and to make myself at home. Then I promptly walked over to the bar where several scantily clad go go girls were doing their thing. One was dressed in something skimpy and black and the other in a Catholic school girl outfit. I told myself whatever happened this evening would be memorable.

Just as I got my soda I heard, “You’re April Brucker!” I turned around and standing there was a man in a suit with a red tie. He had on a stylish hat and sported a small chin beard that was a mix of soul patch and goatee. I prayed I hadn’t accidentally dated him or owed him money. However, seeing him after seeing the stranger in the track suit that turned out to be Dorian Dargan was a little crazy.

“Yes.” I said.

“I’m Chad Russell.” He extended his hand and I shook it. Chad Russell! Chad and I had been talking online for God knows how long. He was a fan of mine and online friend who I was quite fond of. Chad had been plotting to come see one of my shows for sometime and it just simply never worked out. But now here he was and I was about to perform with May. Needless to say he hung out at this bar all the time and just happened to walk in. This was a pleasant surprise and beyond wild. I told him about my chance meeting with Dorian and asked if whatever was up there was trying to send me a message. Chad and I talked about whether or not his was an omen. While we both believe that God or whatever higher power runs the universe can send one omens we also think omen is a big word. But maybe this was all an omen. Either way, there were nearly naked women jiggling on the bar top in a biker den. This was how most omen like stories started in my experience. Now I was in one perhaps.

The performers on the show trickled in, and with them was Angry Bob. It had been forever since I had seen Bob who was one of my first friends in comedy. I introduced Bob and Chad and we all caught up. Soon joining the part was Todd Montesi who was also on the show, and then Jessica Stern. Jessica and I had met at Ray Payton’s funeral. To give you an idea, Ray’s cousin wanted to roast Ray at his wake and Jessica started the roasting. She said Ray had hit on her. And then I went next and mentioned Ray hit on me too. This was followed by every woman in the room coming to the realization that Ray Payton had hit on them. We talked about coming to Ray’s grave in lingerie teddy’s just to screw with his dead spirit this summer. All jokes aside he was our friend but still. Jessica and I laughed and were jumping up and down screaming like two school girls on crack. It was fun and the show hadn’t even started.

Finally the show began almost an hour late and the host took the stage. Steve was funny in that dufus absent minded kind of way. I told myself with the biker types at the bar this show could either be sink or swim. The girls were all tattooed, and the guys looked like they could win a prison fight. The entire time before Steve took the stage they had been oogling over the scantily clad women and putting dollar bills in their G-Strings. Hey, you gotta pay the rent, right?

The show began with the burlesque dancer and than more naked women jiggling on the bar top. Angry Bob then took the stage and freaking killed it. I always like seeing my friends kill it no matter where they are killing it. Bob took down the house and sold a few CD’s. Bob’s victory over the crowd felt like a good sign for me. Usually crowds that like Bob are usually crowds that like me. And those crowds are rough and tumble people who ride motorcycles and might be likely to bite off your ear. But hey, they wanna laugh, right?

The burlesque dancer did a few more numbers and then there were more scantily clad women and more comedy. As the night progressed, I found myself floating in and out of the bar. Because there was a lot packed into one night, it was getting very late. During the course of the evening a guy with long, curly hair by the name of Chris entered the bar. He looked slightly like someone who would have worked or partied with Madonna back in the day. He had skin that was a caramel color, sported a leather jacket, and had long hair. During the interlude with heavy metal music I found myself thinking, “You are cute enough to ruin my life with.”

We went outside and talked where he revealed he was a Libra. This was already trouble. A Libra man is a flirt who has a girl in every port, and is most often the lollipop that everyone has licked. Still he was adorable. He revealed he played guitar and that was his only woman. Also that he was a Columbian from Sunset Park. My experience has told me to give up Latin men for Lent. However Lent is over and it has been a terribly long winter. Still I told myself to be careful. That is when the Columbian who introduced himself as Chris took me in his arms and kissed me. I was totally taken aback. Sure I was attracted to him but never expected the instant passion. I kissed him right back. Why not? Then I was interviewed as a part of the video for the show and Chris jumped into frame with me as my man candy.

As the night went on it finally came time for me to perform. After much go go dancing they were ready for what I had to offer. I knew it was going to be a task but I had to wake this crowd up. So I did some crowd work, they laughed. Good sign. As they were hooked I took May out and immediately they were charmed. In a burlesque set I usually do I had a male audience member take off my trench coat in order to reveal a bikini. The audience went wild. Then I invited two of the Go Go Girls to join May and I for a brief dance. Maybe this wasn’t standup per se but this was a wild night. Sometimes the best thing you can do is just roll with shit. The audience loved it and people got photos. May and I finished our set and I put her away. Then I made a hottie who wandered in my human puppet and he totally ate it up as did the audience. Maybe this set was not getting me on Comedy Central but it is what they would call “fun as fuck” in the world of basement comedy.

When I was done I changed into my sweats. It was getting cold wearing no clothing. I wonder how porn stars do it for serious. I ended up hawking a few books and making some new friends. Of course I went outside to get some air, Chris followed, and then he took me in his arms and kissed me again. I kissed back and it is safe to say we made out a little. Believe it or not I am sort of on the shy side so he had to do all the pursuing. But it didn’t last that long. I had to go in for Jessica’s set and girl rocked it out!

We ended up leaving as people were eating the sushi that was put on one of the Go Go girls for edible purposes plus more. Jessica was my ride home, and the entire time we lamented about all the crazy Latin men we had dated. As we were cruising down the high way remembering our jail bird boyfriends in that mix we accidentally almost ran a red light or two. I made a joke about how a high speed chase would have been perfect for an evening such as this.

Well then it was time to take the Easy Pass lane. Jessica tries to find her Easy Pass sticker while driving. We are laughing and she is trying to drive and we almost crash the car. So then I offer to find the sticker. I do as we don’t die, good times. Well then we try to make the sticker work but it doesn’t work, it’s low on funds, McShitstorm. So then there is no one working at the toll booth. That is when Jess decides to back up and pull into the other toll lane. Well then as we are there this mean, nasty cop appears. He tells Jessica that her maneuver is going to cost her two points on her license. As if! Because of the phantom toll booth action going on we had to do whatz we had to do McYo Yo. So Jess starts trying to bargain with the cop because he came out of no where and there was no one in the toll booth. Finally I beg the cop to let her go and not to shave points off of her license. So he lets us go. We learned our lesson.

We got out of there and talked about how if we failed in comedy we could either be traffic cops or toll booth operators. Neither really work it seems. But we almost got our high speed chase. Nonetheless, I think I have a new friends. Actually new friends.

To more adventures with Chad Russell!

To more wild gigs with Angry Bob!

To more run ins with Dorian Dargan and broadcasting online again!

To more fun with my new girlie pal and more adventures with Jessica Stern!

To more ruining my life with long haired guitar players! (Okay maybe not but it sounds fun).

LoveApril
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
Audiobook available on itunes and Audible this Spring
www.youtube.com/aprilthestarr
Portion of proceeds go to Greenpeace

The Skinny Part 2

The day following my comedy show, I returned to the Skinny Bar and Lounge to do a singing telegram. The evening before I had met the owner Sean Jarrell. My boss had booked the telegram that Tuesday, and I when I met Sean the night before I thought, “Is this the guy I am singing to? Oh I better not say anything.”

A little background on the night before. During the show, there was a guy sitting behind me that looked like the overfed twin of Wyclef Jean. He kept tapping me on the shoulder. When I would look back he would deny it. He did this over and over again until eventually I didn’t turn around. I wondered if a note would follow that asked, “Do you like me? Check yes, no, or maybe.” With game like this, I had a feeling the only girlfriend this man had lived on his right hand and went by the name Palmela.

Finally, I was starting to have enough of this moron. When he had the nerve to ask me out by saying he wanted to write a song about my legs, I told him off. Sean Lynch and Sean Jarrell both stepped in and told this man to get a life, and to watch the show. This little school boy was facing off against real men. This moron retreated and left the bar.

Thank God for small miracles.

Sean Jarrell later told me that the irony was, this idiot wanted to produce a show of his own. What was the theme of the evening going to be, Jackass meets Forty Year Old Virgin?

The following night I was booked to return to the Skinny. The telegram I was to deliver was to be a cop. I was to go in pretending that I was preparing to strip for him. Just when Sean thought he was going to get a stripper I would break out into song and totally throw him for a loop. Would Sean remember me? Or would his view be obscured by the cop costume? Hard to tell. Either way, I was still high from the great week I had been having. Sunday I had been a part of the Pride Parade and dance the night away at the Pier Dance as a guest of Eddie Baez. Monday I had sent my book off to print. Tuesday my friend Eduardo and I exchanged friendship bracelets. Wednesday had been a great day of filming with Sean and an awesome night at the Skinny.

What would part 2 bring?

I met Emily the contact and the bouncer showed me to the back to change in my cop costume. I got my hat, gloves, sunglasses, cuffs, and was ready to go. When I came out I saw Sean working behind the bar. Emily and the rest of the crew had their cameras out. I walked up to Sean and said, “Is this Sean Jarrell. You are under arrest for being too old to work behind the bar.”

The whole place gasped. They believed they were going to get a stripper. I removed my hat, my sunglasses, and my gloves and took my hair down and shook out my head. Sean, apparently seeing his wife was only feet away, was having second thoughts about this whole thing. He said, “I don’t know about this..”

That’s when I started singing and the whole place erupted into laughter. In a way, everyone breathed a sigh of relief. While a stripper would have been a birthday surprise, these people weren’t that type of crowd. They were more fun loving, not dollar bill throwing and horny. I sang a few more songs to Sean as the rest of the place was having a good time. That’s the wonderful thing about my job, is not only am I a surprise but I bring smiles to people.

When the telegram was over, I asked Sean, “You thought you were getting a stripper didn’t you?”

That’s when Sean revealed he knew he wasn’t getting a stripper because he had recognized me all along! The truth then came out as Sean and I told his wife Emily about the night before. Not only was I one of the comedians but Sean had been my knight in shining armor against the idiot who kept harassing me.

I had two adventures for the price of one at the Skinny, good times.

As I left I let the moonlight guide my path to the train. While May was filled with career doubt, June was feeling better. A palm reader on the street told me June and July would be better months for me and to take a chill pill.

Perhaps I should listen to women with a bad fashion sense and crystal balls more often.

Love,

April