#FlashbackFriday

It was July 2012. I was all about being a reality star. This was a strange time in my life. I was spotted on the street by fans and thought I had arrived. I had and I hadn't. I had because I wanted to be on TV and be recognized, plus the world knew about my puppet babies. I hadn't because it had all become about the wrong thing.

Prior to this picture being taken, I felt rather stunted and depressed. I wanted to jump out my window and didn't know why. I wasn't sincerely suicidal. More like uninspired and depressed like a Smith's song. Then I applied to do The Coney Island Talent Show. It was a long way away from where I lived and I almost didn't go. The trains were crap that day. But something told me to go.

I got there and it was another snag. There were kids. NO ONE TOLD ME THIS WAS A FAMILY SHOW. FUUUUUCCCCKKKK!!!!

Except I couldn't say FUUUCCCCCCKKKKK!!!!!

So I literally had to rewrite my act on the spot. Bob Greenberg was so supportive and told me I could do it. He was one true friend as I sweated under my arm pits. For so long May Wilson and I had done the late spots at the clubs. We had been dirty. We had been raunchy. We had been as bad as can. Now we had to be good.

It felt like the longest time before we got onstage. When we did, we did our clean routine we had put together on the spot. We actually did surprisingly well. Everyone, adults and children, laughed. There was something so wonderful about being on the boardwalk entertaining people of all ages. So often in NYC comedy becomes about being angry and deep that we forget it's about making people laugh. And also, so often do we get deep into our depression of not getting what we want because the business isn't fair that we forget the root word to funny is FUN.

I didn't win, but I did a good clean set. Bob and Joe Bev rocked it as Abbot and Costello. The World Famous BOB was so cool and sometimes I sweat she is a totum animal of mine. Maybe I didn't win the cash money, but I made people happy that day. And I walked away feeling inspired. That under all my insecurity, maybe I could make this a career after all. Note, I left feeling awesome and loving comedy. And when I saw my window that night, I saw the stars to my dreams instead of a bottom where I wanted to jump and escape.

April Unwrapped: My Naked Dreams Revealed

Interview with Nicola McEldowney: Puppet Master and Genius Behind Creative Block

• 
  

• 

  Nicola McEldowney

  
  
• 
  
• 1. What inspired the creation of Creative Block? 
  
  
  I was thinking about creativity and the loss of it, and how that can change a life. The two main characters, Claire and Thibaut, are artists in two very different fields who deal with having their creative pursuits blocked. They don't face it the same way and they don't share the same resilience.
  
  
  The story started out as a much longer screenplay which was quite realistic. As a short, it evolved into something more surreal, involving balloons and music and magical realism, maybe even some silliness. But it's still the same story of creativity lost.
  
  
  The other direct inspiration was the first movement of Francis Poulenc's Piano Concerto, which doesn't appear in the final film, but some of his other pieces do.

• 2. You address the subject of depression in Creative Block. What made you decide to tackle this issue in particular? 
  
  
  I've dealt with depression on and off since I was 18 and it's a huge creative killjoy, so one way to combat that is to create stuff about it. Paradoxical but true.
  
  
  Also, it turns out A LOT of people are glad when you depict depression in the arts. When I was doing my initial fundraising and publicity to make this film, I posted videos where I talked about having depression and how it informed the film, and I heard from quite a number of people who were touched and could relate. I was really pleased - not that they could relate, of course, but that I had struck a chord with them. 
  
  

Photo credit: Arnaud Galy

• 3. Before Creative Block, you had a webseries called Callie and Izzy. Where can we see that and when will it be back?  
  
  
  Ah yes, and now for something completely different! Callie & Izzy is a very silly webseries about a girl with Puppetitis B, a rare disease that makes an evil puppet grow out of her arm. I love it very much and you can watch all 24 episodes at http://callieandizzy.weebly.com. They're very short. Go watch them. 

Callie and Izzy 

• 4. What inspired you to follow the career path of puppeteer? 
  
  
  Watching the PBS shows "Storytime" and "Lamb Chop's Play-Along" as a kid, and going to France to study puppetry as an adult. In Paris I met my friend, the late Marion Chesnais, who was the daughter of Paris puppeteer Jacques Chesnais. Marion's puppet collection and her stories of touring the world in the 1940s with her parents' troupe made me want to be a puppeteer. 

• 5. In addition to being a puppeteer, you are a writer and lyricist. Tell us about some of the musicals you have written. 
  
  
  I wrote a musical comedy called "Aisle Six" about a supermarket with a curse on it. It was produced at the San Diego Fringe Festival in 2013 - in fact I think it was the first musical they produced - and then later in the NYC Fringe, where it was produced in an Off-Broadway theatre, the Lynn Redgrave Theater.
  
  
  I also collaborated on another wacky musical, "Barber from Outer Space," with my friend, the singer and writer Rachel Gambiza.

• 6. Where can we see Creative Block? 
  
  
  You can't, for awhile, I'm afraid!  Not easily, anyway. For the next year or so it will be in film festival competition, which means I can't show it publicly online. However, it will be appearing in festivals if all goes as planned. It's already been a 
• semifinalist in the Los Angeles CineFest and a selection of the Mindfield Film Festival, also in LA. 
  
  

Photo credit Elizabeth R. Mealy

• 7. What is your astrological sign? 
  
  
  Aries. According to my knowledge of astrology, which comes entirely from Cosmo, this means sparks will fly in the bedroom this month but I may have a catfight with a coworker.

• 8. What do you eat for breakfast? 
  
  
  This is the truth: a multi grain bagel with one egg white and a slice of tomato. I've inferred from various reactions I get that this makes me a boring and vaguely disturbed person.  I'm not sure why but I've come to terms with it. It's cool. 

April Unwrapped: My Naked Dreams Revealed

Summertime Sadness (Lana Del Rey)

The last few weeks have been difficult. Seasonal depression hit like a ton of bricks. Typically I get depressed in the middle of the summer. Work slows and I have more time on my hands to think. There's an old saying. The most dangerous neighborhood is the one in your mind.

Last year I seemed to avoid the seasonal depression I got. I had battled it for several years and thought I finally had it beat. However, it was delayed until August. This was because my sister got married in July and then I went from her wedding to the RNC. I had things to do so the depression didn't have time to sink in. And then I was on Cloud 9 because May Wilson and I were on national tv the following week. I was an activist, an artist, a TV personality. I felt great about life. 

This year has been a lot of ups and downs. A lot of career let downs followed by a lot of ups. But each up and down has been followed by rehearsals, auditions, tapings, meetings, traveling, and other footwork. And even when there was a down there wasnt much resting as there was much more to be done. 

Plus a lot of personal problems hit me like a ton of bricks. A friend breakup that has been slowly happening for two years reached it's final conclusion. And one thing about a friend breakup is you lose a part of your heart that you never knew was there. A lover you know will screw ya, but a friend, you never see it until it's there.

As of last week, things started to get better. In part because I decided to stop paying attention to the facebook reminders of where I was a year ago. I also know I don't have the capability to do the things I am doing now a year ago. I am stronger than I was a year ago. And did I mention I rocked my friend's political fundraiser?

Hell ya. And that got  me back out there mixing activism with art. 

The depression is being lifted. Work is picking up. I had an international order for an autographed book this week to a gentlemen in Northern Ireland. I got out of myself and was there for a friend who had to go to the ER with severe poison ivy. I got out of myself and was there for another friend who's boyfriend is struggling with alcohol. I got out of myself and was there for another friend who is transitioning from female to male and needed a hug.

I also am looking forward to the aspects of my work that I like. I like making people laugh and smile, and I love each audience I perform for. All people do is want to laugh and I am allotted the opportunity to do that. I am also looking forward to doing a headlining set in my home state. 

Apparently this is a real thing. Seasonal Affective Disorder or SAD is a real thing. Yes, SAD is a real thing. So if you are experiencing this you are not alone. SAD. Sad. sad. Yes, it's SAD because it's real. It's Sad because you feel sad. And it is sad because here I am blogging about a first world stupid white bitch problem. Sigh mcsigh sigh

Buy my book

One Year Later

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

One year later things are different.

Not better.

Not worse.

Different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was finally time for me to go on.

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

Blamo!

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

I was going to be alright.

I was going to be okay

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

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

Did I mention the mayor of Yonkers liked my set?

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

And while you are at it Buy My Book 

Open Letter To Michelle Carter

Dear Michelle,

I read your story. I read about your conviction. I wish I could say I was sorry you were found guilty but I am not. Actually, I am relieved you will be punished to some degree because I find you repulsive and disgusting on so many levels. Worthless is more of what I was shooting for. Conrad Roy III was a person who had his whole future ahead of him and you manipulated and coaxed him to throw it away. Shame on you. What gives you the power to do that?

Looking at you, I wonder what kind of power you had over the poor boy anyway. You are marginal looking at best. Your eyes have this dead, soulless look. When you walk by you don't strike me as someone who has one bit of remorse, other than that this might interfere with your life and quest to be popular. Your eyebrows are hideous. Oh, and you look like you escaped from the TV series Girls, but they probably cut you because you weren't the least bit interesting. Just another whiny white troubled teenager with problems.

I will be the first to defend free speech. You cannot make someone do something unless a gun is put to their head. Then again, even in that instance one can choose to die. No one can make you feel any way. I get that. But this young man wanted to kill himself. It was no secret he was struggling with suicidal depression. You didn't call 911. You told him to get back in the car. Night after night he talked about wanting to die. You didn't tell an adult about Conrad's plans. Instead, you told him to stop talking about it and take action.

There is no word to describe your egoism, hubris and outright evil.

You listened with glee as he died.

I get that at times he wasn't the best company. People with psych issues who are not properly medicated never are. But if you called 911 maybe he could have finally gotten the help he needed. Maybe Roy's family would have taken it seriously. Maybe Conrad would have gotten the meds he needed along with the therapy.

MAYBE IF YOU DECIDED YOU WEREN'T THE BOATMAN ON THE RIVER STYX WHO TOOK MATTERS INTO HER OWN HANDS YOU TRIFLING BITCH!

Oh and you even told him how much carbon monoxide would kill him. With friends like you along with a severe mental illness, Conrad Roy III had no need for enemies.

FYI, I know how it is to be in a relationship with someone who's mentally ill. I get how painful it is when they won't get help let alone be medicated. I can tell you first hand how incredibly draining the experience is, managing their symptoms on your own and defending your partner to a world that can't let alone won't understand.

I have been in instances where my former partner was not only a danger to himself but me. His breaks with reality were getting worse. To add to the cocktail, he self medicated with drugs and alcohol. Instead of coaxing him to relapse or take his own life, I walked away. It wasn't an easy decision, but it was between him and my peace of mind. If Conrad got to be too much you should have walked away.

Let me tell you, I am no fan of my former partner. Mentally ill people do things that aren't kind. They lie. They steal. They cause chaos and conflict. Unfortunately their sickness is one where they not only bring down themselves but others. While my ex cannot safely be a part of my life, if I found out he was about to kill himself I would still call 911.

It's not because I love him or cherish him. But he is a father. A brother. An uncle. A friend. While he might not be in my life, his life is still worth something. And my hope still is, even as he is homeless and back on drugs, that he gets the help he needs and is properly medicated someday.

On a more personal note, a friend of mine helped me get the nerve to write again after a rough time in my life. He battled bipolar disorder and ultimately took his own life. I am about to release a second book, and my friend is not here with me which makes me sick. You talked Conrad Roy III into taking his own life, and if I could take a time machine I would have talked my friend out of taking his.

My friend meant a great deal and helped a lot of people. Yet he could not help himself. His sister's, years later, are not over the loss of someone who was a baby brother and uncle. Conrad Roy III's family will never be over his loss. They will not forget about it. And now the world will not forget about him either.

Was your sentence fair? On an ethical level yes. On a free speech level, that is still murky. Ironically you wanted to be popular. Well now you are the most hated woman on the internet. We all hate you. Trust me, no one likes you. No one.

There will be plenty of parties in prison where you will be going that you will not be invited to. You're the most hated woman in America. At least they had the nerve to murder people for real there. You were so pathetic you had to do it over the phone. Conrad Roy was sick and desperate, and in you he met evil.

I would tell you to kill yourself because you are worthless. Yet that would be stooping to your level. And if you wanted to kill yourself I would talk you out of it. Not because it would make me feel important or that the world would be lesser without you, but because it is the right thing to do.

It's because I am a semi-decent human being who does the right thing. A lot of us are out there. Hopefully your sentence, however long or short that is, will transform you into one too.

Love
April


The Lady and President Tramp
Wednesday June 21, 7pm
The Duplex
61 Christopher Street

Beating the Blues

The winter has been bitchin to say the least. While the weather has been depressing, it seems that death has been in the air. I lost a friend earlier this year, actually two. One was a hair dresser buddy shortly after New Year’s. The other was someone I had lost touch with, a young man whom I quite liked that had gotten cancer that progressed quickly. Oh and then there was an acquaintance I met once known as Phil. You have been reading quite a bit lately. He talked me down from a literal ledge I was in during the hot New York July where it seemed the heat sweltered to the point where dogs could talk.

On top of that work has been slow. It always is in January. Translated, the demon of financial insecurity has come to April’s home. On top of that, people have been approaching me for shows and jobs. When I ask if they pay they skirt the question. Turns out they want me to work for shit or work for free. I am not being greedy, I want to eat and pay my rent. Or people act like they are doing me a freaking favor all the time by paying me shit or having me work for free. It’s fucking torture to be recognized on the street or to get a fan letter and know that your rent check may have bounced. On top of that, I would say fuck it and get a good day job but I have two problems. One is that people know who I am and I will have jealous coworkers harass me. Or better yet, I won’t get hired because they know that I will leave once I get a TV show. I like the telegram thing, but in January I sweat.

On top of that there has been some career angst. Someone who was supposed to get me paperwork took their time. When this happens it means the project has been shelved or you have been dumped. They got it to me, but waiting was making me ill. On top of that, a literary agent rejected my book. Basically, I did what he could do for me on my own, and he didn’t feel the sales were robust enough for a bigger publisher to nab me up. Translated, I had done his job and he didn’t have the juice to further me. I should have been somewhat flattered because he wrote the letter of rejection keeping the door open. But I was like fuck being a capable, smart, intelligent, woman. Fuck it all. Being a smart woman sucks sometimes it really does. Then I submitted a few pieces to some magazines. I have been writing more because most of my show dates have been cancelled. One chick mag rejected me flat out. What, I didn’t bitch and moan enough? Mcseriously.

Monday as I debated killing The Ground Hog I had a show. I was stopped by a man on the street. He had looked at my calendar and my shows weren’t listed. He asked why. I didn’t want to tell him I was wallowing in self-pity and depression. That would make me look crazy. At that moment it clicked. It was selfish to be depressed. The show ended up rocking. I felt better. The next day I still felt good, high from the show. Wednesday it started to hail and I thought, “The only thing stopping me from killing myself is that I don’t have the perfect outfit to die in.” Then I had a thought. January was over. The ugly sister of all the months was leaving the party. I could press restart.

And so I did. My rent somehow got paid. I also had a novel idea to improve my surroundings, clean my house. In addition, I am also taking a different approach to my writing and going a different route. While I don’t know the result yet I am letting go. Instead of asking God for answers I am letting Him direct me. I am also not letting self-pity fester in my veins by living in inaction. I am taking action. While the results might not be instant I know that they will come. There is a temptation to rest in that I don’t know the outcome so why bother? The answer is sometimes in life, you aren’t supposed to know, that’s what makes it so spectacular. That is what makes a surprise so special. That is why when I enter someone’s office or home as a singing telegram people are happy. No one expected it. And if a crystal ball predicted it, the experience wouldn’t be so exciting and amazing on both ends.

The future is uncertain and dark, but that doesn’t mean it’s bad. It is uncertain and dark because we do not know. I have been the fledgling starving artist. I have been the reality star. I wrote a book. In the fear based gut that I was given because I am a woman there is the part of me that says it’s over. My fame is fading. My fans will forget me. I will die a fat, ugly, cat lover eating ice cream with her bare hands in government housing. Truth is, I am not fading. I am just getting started. Maybe I am temporarily down from my mountain top. However, it is because I am getting ready to climb another one.

When I am angry and depressed, I cannot spread my message of peace, love, tolerance, and equality. When I yell and scream, people do not hear me. No one wants to listen. Anger is bad for you. I wish I could remember my own advice.

The other comfort is that everyone is tired of the winter. We all can’t wait for it to be over. Maybe I can’t control the weather. However, I am responsible for how I feel. I am sick and tired of being sick and tired. So therefore, I must feel grateful.

Love

April

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

www.aprilbrucker.com

Roasting Punxsutawney Phil

I hate winter more and more every day. It is turning into a canker sore on my soul. I hate this season. January sucks, February is better because work picks up but still sucks. Either way, when I think of winter, I think of death. Sometimes it gets so depressing why not die?

There is nothing like dying in the winter. Then again, a lot of people do it so the notion is kind of hack. Of course in the winter you are more likely to be alone so death is more likely to occur. However, death never comes when you need it to or want it to. So you are suck in your bed looking like a miserable fool. Then there is the thought of killing yourself. Yes, one could use the Sylvia Plath method but they made gas ovens in those days. We have electronic now, so scrap that. As for the overdose, everyone's done that too. Jumping out the window, so tempting but useless if you have the wrong outfit. Truth is, while winter sucks you are better off living.

Still, the little fat bastard Phil has sentenced us to six more weeks. So far this winter has been very dark for me. I am sitting in a lot of career uncertainty. Basically, I don't know what's next for me. Hey, with death at least you know you're gonna die. With uncertainty it's this dark tunnel. The outcome might well be wonderful, but then it might end in a barren desert. Of course, when you try to relay this to people they try their best/worst to help.

"You had a good run April, but it's a time for spiritual growth."

"You know, you could always do my project. You've gained exposure. I mean, I can't pay you but...."

"You're young, you have time."

I wish I could point to some path that looks like there is light at the end of my tunnel it feels like I am travelling in only the darkness. The fall/winter was kind of dark. Things got busy with work and I found myself poised to save Christmas. My grandfather died, too. It seemed all I did was work my fingers to the bone. As for this winter I was hoping to get a break but no. It's the slow time of year for my job. Money is tight. It's cold. My writing has been rejected from a few places. As a smart, ambitious, capable woman I am once again kicked in the face and forced to settle for crumbs.

Then those around me cannot wait to take cheap shots at me now that my chest is open. Whether it's washed up women showing uterus pictures on facebook or men seeking to oppress me because I have opinions, I feel as if I can't win. Oh and Phillip Seymour Hoffman died. We met once when I was having a bad day, but I needed a friend and he comforted me. I didn't know it was him until he rode off on his bike. What hurts the most is that he didn't realize how wonderful he was when we had him. Oh, and the Broncos sucked. While Bruno Mars did rock out a good half time show, it is proof America celebrates men who hate women, and women in this country don't have a voice. The only good thing is Amanda Knox might be going back to jail.

The only thing I have on my side is that it has to get better because it can't get any worse. Winter sucks for everyone. I have six more weeks of this cursed shit and so does everyone. Instead of dying I think I will just find the nearest groundhog and make groundhog burgers.

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

Dancing In the Dark (Bruce Springsteen)

This has been a surreal week for me. Last night I got news my grandfather, Pop Pop, had emerged from death's door. The man was amazing. Twenty years ago he had a blood clot and was gonna die. He beat that. After that he had skin cancer and prostrate cancer. He beat that too. In that mix he also had some heart stuff. He beat that too. I think he survived World War II in Japan. A lot had happened. Then this morning I got news my grandfather passed away in his sleep. My grandmother, Nunni, a mercurial white haired woman who passed this spring, probably greeted him when he woke up in heaven. I got a call from my mother that things got so bad she begged my grandmother to come fetch my grandfather. Nunni answered.

The night before had been crazy. I had a mini meltdown when I received some disappointing news about a project pertaining to my book. I tried to tell myself that these weren't the people to help me. All week things had been hard. Another project had difficulties. Two weeks before were spent prepping for a network audition. I was sick and thought at one point I had some form of whatever. And then there is the usual he said she said bullshit of my line of work. I thought maybe I would get a break.

On the flipside, my Pop Pop is no longer in pain. He is happy and playing tennis. He is with his brothers and sisters who love him. He went out of this world knowing he was cared for and loved. He was ninety-five when he made his great exit. Fred Wallisch had six kids who grew up to be champion swimmers, coaches, teachers, lawyers, dentists, actors, and artists. His grandchildren were artists who had their work shown internationally, ballet dancers who danced with city ballet, professors, athletes currently prepping for Olympic trials, doctors, writers, and comedians. My Pop Pop lived to see me be on national TV and was the first to buy my book. He was so jealous when I got to go to the US Open because he was a huge tennis fan.

All day I have been in a weird limbo. While I know my Pop Pop is at peace I feel a weird sensation like it has been hard as hell to focus. This morning I delivered a singing chicken to the son of a Saudi Royal in Trump Towers. In a strange LSD like trip I ran across Sixth Avenue to get there and all along the way were these floats. Huge balloon floats. My beloved Pop Pop is dead and I am seeing huge balloon floats. Then I figured I would take some photos. People were pretty okay. Not bad. Plus my Pop Pop was someone who always looked at the bright side. The bright side was I found myself smack dab in the middle of the Macy's Day Parade. Who can be sad when you see an inflatable Papa Smurf?

The son of the Saudi Royal was not happy about seeing me, but his cousin tipped me $100. Makes up for having a death in the family I suppose. My brain felt like it was unraveling at a furious speed.

My second delivery was to Long Island. This was also kind of surreal. The family saw me as the cab was dropping me off and invited me in. I said I was a friend of Judy's, the contact. Anyway Judy wasnt there. I thought this was her house. It was almost two. Apparently people arrive late. I was supposed to call Judy first. Anyway I changed and the mother was nice but she wanted me the fuck out of her house. The rest of the family was warm and talked to me in the turkey costume, waiting for everyone else to show up. As I was waiting to sing, Judy arrived with some kids. The mother pulled Judy in the kitchen. There was something wrong. There was some yelling. WTF...Okay.

I sang and the family seemed to enjoy it, but there was this feeling in the room that was odd, and there was dead silence after I read the message. Finally I read the message. The mother angrily said, "Let me see it." She looked at it and ripped it up. "This is nonsense! Their nerve!" She screamed and stormed into the kitchen

The grandmother asked me kindly to pick it up as she reassembled the message. Clearly I had missed something. I apologized several times to the family who all assured me I was just doing my job and I had no way of knowing I walked into a land mine. They were quite nice, especially when they helped me out the back quietly as the mother was swearing her head off. What the hell had happened? This was a stunning strange dream. Grandpa was dead. I had run across the Macy's parade where a giant elf had greeted me. A Saudi Royal hates me forever for waking him, and his family tipped me generously. Oh and I accidentally poured salt on a festering wound for a bunch of strangers. All is costume.

The train ride home had me reevaluating my day as well as my life. What would be next? Did I know where I was going? Maybe it was time to move home. This had been a hellacious month that was just not getting any better. Just then I remembered when my grandfather found out I was performing comedy. He cut out a bunch of jokes from Reader's Digest and sent them to me. He also cut out his favorite Bob Hope jokes. A lot of family members tried to steer me away from the stage but Pop Pop always supported me and believed in me. The man was always telling funny stories. Always encouraging me.Always making someone laugh.

I found myself hoping maybe I could heal the familial pain these strangers felt. Because when you lose someone, it's too late.

I also found myself in a dark hole. Then I remembered the words of a veteran comedian who gave me a pep talk during another dark time in my life. A big black man, he said in a booming voice, "Sweetheart, when times get tough and you think you might never laugh again, you reach for God and you reach for the punchline."

So I did what I have always done during hard times. I took out a piece of paper and began to write. My Pop Pop lived as long as he did and conquered cancer all the times in a row for a reason. The man never let anything get him down. So as the jokes poured out of my veins, some may be gold some may be mold, I knew one thing was for sure. I wasn't just gonna be fine. When I was done climbing out of this dark hole there might be a new half hour set at the end.

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

Eight of Swords

Sometimes in life you feel stuck and you don't know why. That is what they say the Eight of Swords is. This card is appropos because lately I have felt stuck and uncertain. I felt after all this time I should be further along, know more, have more money, be more successful you know the whole kitten caboodle. Not to mention the direction of my career has changed quite a bit. Years ago it was looking like standup was the way I was going to go and I was actually pretty good at it. There were some events that happened that I won't go into and I got tired. But other things happened. I got on TV and then hosted online and then made music that got on internet radio and then wrote a book and then elected to use a shitload of bad grammar.

I always feel that this time of year. I felt it back in 2009 especially when I had been on Rachael Ray and we all know how that turned out. It was a TV appearance people give me street cred for but I was a mino swimming with the sharks on that one. Anyway I just remember relentlessly touring that summer and all the shitty hotel rooms I stayed in, one even had a blood covered blanket. That fall I just got tired of the grind and began to melt down. So I began producing my one woman shows. That lead to others and than videos.

I remember I was resting on my laurels quite a bit though. At the time, 2010, I was hosting a mic at a club that was working me to death. While I was being short ended I didnt care. It gave me a chance to do my own thing, get stage time, get other spots. Sure I could have done better. But everything changed when Chacho died. I always cite his death with just changing everything. When he passed I suddenly realized how incredibly stuck I was. I had been comfortable dwelling on the bottom, spending my time in basements with dreams going nowhere. Chacho's whole life he had dressed in clothing that cost as much as a Manhattan studio despite being homeless. He had gotten blackmarket plastic surgery to look beautiful. While his antics made me chuckle when he lived whether it was sex with the nearest stranger, his attempts to score a rich boyfriend, or letting me know the various places he had done the nasty. But when he passed Chacho made me realize something. He made me realize he did the things he did because he desperately wanted to be someone. Sure, Chacho was dead, but I was still here. Therefore I had a shot. Chacho would have wanted me to take that shot.

Right after Chacho died I remember talking with one of the managers at my former club. He told me sometimes I had to settle. I remembered Chacho who would never carry a Chinatown ripoff. Chacho would do whatever he had to do to get the Louis Vuitton even if he didnt eat for a few days. Then it occurred to me for as crazy as my buddy was, he never settled. Despite his faults, and trust me he had many, my buddy was very strong in one area that I had no strength at all in. Whether it was the rich boyfriend, the look, or the attitude he never went less than all the way. I realized that I was settling and I was going to die if I stayed where I was.

Chacho and I didnt part on good terms. Some of it was his fault, actually most of it, because he was a drug user. While Chacho made his choices there was a part of me that felt maybe if I was a better friend he would have finally gotten clean. That's not the way it works though. I loved him just not what he was doing. So I decided because I never got to tell him I loved him and not what he was doing to himself, I would dance as fast as I could twisting in the wind. Unlike my deceased friend it wouldn't be towards drugs or unhealthy men but rather towards a positive goal. I know if I were to see Chacho now we would be cool. But if I wanted to make an amends to my boy this was how to do it.

Shortly thereafter my puppet children and I got on TV and the the flood gates started to open to more and more TV time. I always say these things were Chacho's passing gifts to me. I don't know if they were for sure but hey, it's what I like to believe in my twisted head. In that year I did more than I had in the past several. I got on TV once, twice, three, four, like eight times and then two more times. I was on a highly trafficked web series. I made music. I also took some of the first steps to publish. The world was my oyster it seemed. Did I mention I dated a celebrity? Werq it girl as they would say in the balls.

Over time things got better. Last year I got a hit on the internet with "Stay." Then I published my book which Joe prodded me to write but that is a different blog altogether. It seemed like I was a wrecking ball with all this momentum. Britney Spears plugged my book on her site. Mensa said it was a must read. Brown decided to carry it in their bookstore. It is available on Amazon, Kindle, Nook, and BarnesandNoble.com. And in between I recorded an audiobook that will be available shortly and met Deborah Harry. I also believe my sound engineers are the best. And I shot a TV pilot.

But then I got into this rut where I got stuck. There has just been a lot going on lately as you know if you have been reading my blog.

I remember just feeling depressed for almost these past two weeks. Where to go next? What to do? Do I try to get an acting agent? Do I pursue the standup with the vigor I did as a younger person, battling out like a scorpion for spots? Do I try to sell my book to be a screenplay? Do I webcast? Do I record an album? I had no idea where I was going. Despite my TV time, my book, and my other accomplishments I felt lost as ever.

Sunday was especially hard. I went to the studio and had a hard time focusing cause I was just spinning so fast. Some of it was that I was antsy because I just wanted to get this done and the self-centered fear that my sound engineers are sick of me. Plus it was literally the hot dude parade in the studio Sunday. I found myself chuckling because Chacho would have been going crazy too. There is this hottie with a bunch of tattoos and piercings that always hangs out. Luckily he wasnt there otherwise I would have totally been bouncing off the wall. Archie and Anthony, who havent slept in days and are probably quite tired not just of my bizarre Mae West/Minnie Mouse/Cyndi Lauper sounding voice as well as tired in general and in no way would have been equipped to handle April in heat but I digress. Actually Chacho and I would have been fighting over the hot new intern.....

Sunday I found myself speaking of Chacho for the first time in quite a while. A friend of mine mentioned he carried two phones and told some story about how even though Chacho had stopped selling drugs when I knew him he still carried three phones. The story was cute and funny. And then I realized that again, we would be fighting over the same guy.

Then Monday night I found myself back at an old haunt of mine, Jimmy's No. 43. I got to see Jimmy Carbone again, who owns the bar and gave me a chance when I was just a nubling starting out. Jimmy was one of the few people who was kind to me when no one was. I caught up with Jimmy which was fun and made me feel good. Plus Jimmy bought a copy of my book and told me about the summer reading series he was hosting as well as his beer podcast. Love my Jimmy. Also took part in Pop Culture Fondue, a cool new show. It wasnt just fun but I loved the people, and it made me realize how much I really just love making people laugh and smile. While I get caught up in the shit called standup comedy politics and the stupidity involved in the business of show, I sometimes forget I live like a pauper in a house of squalor cause I love what I do.

Yesterday I chucked my pride and ego and did an open mic. While I deplore paying for stage time it was a friend's mic and plus it is always fun when I go, and you do get supportive and honest feedback. When I went I saw my buddy and had a great time onstage. Sure I didnt kill it like I had the night before but I just talked about my uber-dysfunctional family. I had fun and have some good new things there. Afterwards I spoke to my buddy who is folding his mic and passing it on to a promising new comedian who is not only very funny but very hardworking. During our convo, this friend who has always supported me told me he found himself doing more producing than performing, and decided that was not why he got into comedy. He had done it long enough, paid his dues, did his thing, and now it was time to get on TV. He deserves it. I found myself talking about what happened after Chacho died for the first time in forever.

On my walk to the subway I saw someone who looked familiar. His head was shaved and he was dapper. Behind his ears were three blue Russian stars. I would have known that tattoo anywhere, the blue stars outlined with a bizarre mix of fire engine red and Halloween orange. I found myself mouthing, "Chacho." But then I realized it couldnt be. Chacho is kinda cold and dead. And the guy turned around and I saw it was not my boy. However, it hit me. My friend was sending me a message from the after life. There was a reason he has been on my mind as much as he has been lately. My friend's spirit is around me and he is letting me know it. I have been stuck and depressed. Chacho is letting me know to keep dancing, keep daring, and not to settle. And for Godssakes to throw some shade. While we are there, I have a feeling he gave me a little attitude because I found myself wanting to strut down the street suddenly. Or maybe it was a hot day and guys were cat calling me.

Actually, that might not be true and I might be totally out of my mind. Wait, I am a ventriloquist, that has already been established. The intellectual in me says there is no evidence of an afterlife or soul. It is the thing humans lean on in times of need. It is the opium of the people. But the artist and dreamer inside of me would like to believe it though. Either way, it made me feel good and I don't feel so stuck anymore.

Love
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 RAINN

The Sun Always Shines on TV (A-ha)

I am feeling that post-turkey blues. In the vein of Thanksgiving there is much to be thankful for. My book is available overseas. One of my articles is being published on a highly trafficked website. I am making contacts to further my book. More on that later. Not to mention my whole family seems to be doing well. Still, there is this blues.

It is cold outside and I am beginning to hate the Northeast Winters. There is a part of me that loves New York and this place has become home. Some of me is not sure though. I hate the cold like no one else. There is a part of me that really wants to move to LA. I hate the cold. I know I have said it before. Plus I just have this feeling that I have done everything I am supposed to do in New York.

While I could do stage and Broadway, I am not a so-called stage actress. Not to mention Broadway wants a true triple threat. I act, sing well but not like some of my competition, and can tumble but don't dance. As for the standup, that used to be the focus. Then some things went down that I just won't get into because they still make me angry. The art form has been dead for years anyway. Plus I am a pariah amongst my so called peers for being an ambitious woman, shame on me for having goals and being pretty. Not to mention the smaller club owners don't like me because I don't fit in the imaginationless mold known as woman, on her knees pleasing them. The bigger club owners don't want me either because while I get on television like a hood girl pops out babies, easy, I am not a "big enough name." But the male comedian who has not done shit in years apparently is. And most bookers either like me or hate me. For everyone one that likes me three hate me. Again it's because I don't fit into this mold known as woman that they created in their male minds. Not to mention sometimes they just don't know what to do with me. I like to travel, meeting good audiences. But some audiences want to give me shit right away because I am a woman, a woman with a doll. It's a nice reminder that while the world is changing it is still a giant boys club.

 I still perform if I like the venue, like the people producing, or am getting paid. All three are ideal. Otherwise, I am probably wasting my time with this so called "art form." Actually to call comedy an art form is generous. But I'll call it whatever it wants to be called as long as they let me sell my book. I am a whore that way.

These days the focus is my book of course as well as my videos and music. LA could be the perfect destination. But life would be different out there. For one I would have to learn how to drive and I have never gotten a license because I am atrocious behind a wheel. In between my road rage and too cautious around the turns I know I am terrible. What can I say? I'm a mess. Not to mention I would have to get bi-coastal management. I have been without a manager for years. I had one when I was younger but when I fired him I got on TV. Ironic. I freelanced with one guy who did not know how to send me out and place me at all. Then I still sort of freelance with one lady. She's nice but really doesn't have the connections. Having a manager means nothing in New York. I know plenty of friends who have them but are still bartending and having their headshots sit on shelves collecting dust never being called. In LA I hear it's essential. Still, they could waste more of my time. I actually do my own best work as my own booker, businessperson, and product.

Who needs a manager when you have you? Hence manager, the first three letters being m-a-n and in my experience they are u-s-e-l-e-s-s.

I am plotting my next move. Part of me wants to move to Europe, get big over there. I have had enough exposure and have fans in the UK. But I don't want to make the move unless I am sure.

There is a lot of thought going on, McRandom. The excess of turkey makes me have strange dreams. I had a dream last night that I was interviewing at Smith College and Diane Sawyer burst into my interview drunk and declared there was no way I was going to be accepted. The interviewer said they were split down the middle. Diane said I had no woman friends. I didn't know what this all meant. But I woke up relieved that it was nearly ten years later.

After that I went back to sleep and had a second dream where I was being seduced by a booker I once worked with who looks like a rat. We went on a romantic weekend. It was weird because in real time I think he is a weasel and so unattractive. Maybe it is this holiday madness getting to me. Not to mention being associated with this person would be career suicide. He's got a drug problem and claims to book people who don't even know him. Must be the turkey eating away at my brain.

Either way I can't wait for the holidays to be over. Christmas music will be playing in the stores annoying everyone. New Years Eve will be a reminder that I am getting older and that my goals are being reached and may never. Then we will be hit with winter. Okay, I am being a downer. Bring me my slut dresses and sunshine please. I miss them.

Maybe I  need love. I know I am no prize. My ex fiance was a psycho stalker and I dated a compulsive liar. Oh and then there were the ex cons and the fugitive. I know a decent dude won't want me. Perhaps I am damned to the ex cons. But they dine and dash at the best places and steal the best presents.

Sigh.....

That's all for today.

Die Santa Die!

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
www.buybooksontheweb.com
877-Buy-Book
Available on Amazon

Book signing
December 27, 2012 @ 7pm
Bethel Park Library
5100 W. Library Ave
Bethel Park PA

Serotonin

A Happy picture of me and my Bo. Yesterday when he was late I thought he stood me up. Then I said, "oops, only  a straight boy would do that."

My sad and depressed pic. 

Lately I have been feeling depressed. Actually it started Wednesday when a callback I had for a job that is sort of in the bag but not really got moved. Part of me fears they are looking for someone better and giving me the runaround. The other part of me knows I am a good ventriloquist, but it’s like that little devil is on my shoulder. It’s weird because up to this point it had been a good week. I am part of a project where we are currently in touch with a hip hop legend. Then of course there were my not one but two press interviews I just did. Oh and then the pilot I was up for, they went in a different direction and won’t be using me.

Sure, when I signed on for  a career in show biz I accepted disappointments. Sometimes I am used to them. It’s a part of the game. Yet sometimes I just feel like a mess.

I know I am not one of the darlings. You know, the ones who live on easy street. Either way I am in a ton of physical pain. My life feels that it is falling apart. I am fucking dejected as all hell. I tried calling my mom yesterday and she told me she felt the pilot would be a reach because I dealt with the network before and they are flaky. But I was looking forward. My parade has been rained on. Why don’t we just add a hailstorm?

Then as if my life isn’t already falling apart Holden and I are over for good I think. It’s for the best but I still loved him. It sucks to lose the one you love. None of the other guys are like him. They are either too freaking pathetic, or they are just plain liars. I don’t care that he’s a fugitive from justice but perhaps he will have to face the law alone. But this fugitive stole my heart. I penned a country song. Lyrics to come later. The thing is though, I loved him and always will in a way. I know, I am a mess because he told me I was beautiful and smart. No guy has ever done that before :(

What’s next? Broken heart, no pilot, potentially no new show, potentially no celebrity interview, and broken heart already? Maybe I will get fired from the jobs I already have and be unemployed and then worse yet, get shot. Get shot? Could I really be that lucky? No, if I got shot I wouldn’t die. I would just be an annoying cripple and would have something else to bitch about.

Me and my gay husband Hassan. He doesn't get in trouble with the law, lie to me, or let me down. 

Maybe I should take my hits lying down like a woman. It works for the rest of the girls. When I say girls I use the term to apply to both genders because many resign themselves and accept being in the middle. They try to drag me to loser land with them, partially because they are so miserable that they want my esteemed company and partially because they are pissed I have had as much TV time as I have. Either way, I swing like a freaking man and am unafraid to fight one.

I think I have to stop blogging about my ex-fiance. He’s not a happy topic for me. My mother doesn’t bring him up because she knows it upsets me. I have been thinking about my time with him lately, partially because of my writing and video activism, and it doesn’t make me feel good. Actually, it has made me feel raw. I think it’s better that I ended it with Kindred Spirit because in a way he reminded me of the ex-fiance. Aside from being a judgmental mongoloid who couldn’t spell, like my ex he wouldn’t think before he spoke and was rather hurtfully blunt and played moral high ground when he had no place doing so. And the rules were different for him because he was a man. Unlike my ex, I don’t think his intent was to be hurtful for abusive.

But, like my ex, Kindred likes his bitches tattooed and trashy. What am I even doing calling these women bitches? I know many tattooed women that are so called trashy that are quite nice. And I don’t think again, that Kindred meant to be hurtful and abusive when he shot from the hip. Actually he wasn’t at all. It’s probably the South Brooklyn coming out of the boy. Either way, it was becoming all too familiar and I found myself lashing out at him for all the ex’s wrongs. So perhaps it was better that we parted ways before he became my whipping boy. Still I won’t be blogging about my ex anymore. It just makes me sick.

On top of that, with the weird weather my old injuries have been acting badly like Eric Roberts. Between my flagging career, my broken heart over Holden and my physical injuries I feel like getting a bottle of Jack Daniels and handful of perks and just calling it a day as I slip under my blanket.

Actually, that would all be a sucky idea because that would make me fat. Plus if I overdosed my beautiful puppet children would be without a mother. Still, think of what an OD could do for my career. Or maybe not. Scratch that. I wouldn’t leave a very pretty corpse if I were fat and bloated. My gay friends wouldn’t show up to the funeral on principal alone.

I have to focus on positive goals like finding an editor for my book and being grateful. Plus my mom invited me to the beach with she and my dad in two weeks. I think I am going to go, sun myself, get out of the smog.

Alas, time to start my day. Time to sing upbeat showtunes. Time to change my outlook. Time to get those brain chemicals in a happy place.

Love

April

PS. I saw a picture of a girl I hate and she got fat. Already smiling. 

May Wilson and I being happy. Thinking of this picture and smiling. 

Nice looking chocolate love bucket Trends Locario likes me but will be dating other women. I can live with that. He always counters my feminist rhetoric by saying something completely offensive. 

Performing at the benefit for Tom Finland. I picked that outfit out. It  makes me happy. 

One of my favorite photos of myself. That makes me happy.