Heat of the Moment (Asia)

The other day I was feeling low. This was after several days of feeling unbelievably good after a rather shitty fall. A clip of mine aired on television. I was a show I filmed as I wasn't feeling particularly good and it seemed everything was imploding around me. It was God throwing me a bone. Then I found out I was receiving an award. More on that later. Both seemed good.

But then there was that one thing I couldn't do. That one thing I haven't gotten.

I have been on television a gazillion times but have never managed to get a reoccurring role let alone have my own show. I have published two books but have never managed to snag a bestseller. I have pitched shows but never sold an idea. I have done modelling assignments but have never had a centerfold. I have done some great sets but I am not a headliner who regularly packs them in. I have known resident acts on the strip and have performed there but have never been a resident act.

I have a whole list of almost but nevers.

It's not good. It's not bad. It just is.

Grad school is going well. I was divided as to go and when as I did undergrad in three years. While I am glad I saved my parents dough I always felt like I rushed through. I also did some college as I did high school and life always seemed like a treadmill to the next place and I could never be where I was and enjoy it. I told myself if I did grad school I wanted to enjoy it and now I am. I wish I would have gone sooner but now I am.

Yet I always feel like I am juggling and sometimes dropping. There are times these last few months where my plate has felt so full I cannot digest what's in front of me. I know I am not the first woman to get a masters and to work. Yet it feel like somehow, there is never enough time or money or this or that.

My advocacy has been keeping me busy. I took part in an event for World AIDS Day, or at least the week of. It was a panel where we talked about Crystal Meth and HIV in the black/Latinx gay community. The panel was rewarding and I felt pumped about the dialogue around recharge.

But I couldn't contribute as much because I was lead editor for a contest, in two plays, staging my show for a festival, and partaking in a project I eventually quit because the director was a dick. But I was working and performing and then there was school. Yet I wasn't there more and I let AIDS down.

I got a job and couldn't march on World AIDS Day, and I had promised I would be there. To me my word is everything. Again I felt like I let AIDS down.

These thoughts raced through my mind today and then I remembered the Asia lyric from the song Heat of the Moment, "Teenage ambitions you remember well......"

The truth is, I had always dreamed of coming to NYU and performing. I wanted to be bicoastal in Vegas and LA and now I am. I am getting the masters I always wanted to. I wanted to write and I wrote two books. RENT was one of my favorite soundtracks and not only did I live in the East Village, but I am an activist as well as an artist and am becoming with ACT UP.

My almosts and nevers could change. There is still time, I am not dead. I am more adult as a grad student, and we have to grow to learn to be where our feet are. I am involved not only with ACT UP, but have marched against Trump. It is in part because I have known people affected by HIV/AIDS and his policies would hurt them as well as women, children, and any other vulnerable population. I didn't fail AIDS. I just had to pay my rent. Did I say RENT......heh......

I also know there are people who never expected me to make it this far. There are some folks who I will not name because they do not matter who wrote me off. As I wake up each day and fight the good fight, I know I haven't failed.

Sure, I am hard on myself, but the important part is that I haven't quit. Did I mention Legally Blonde was a good movie? Yeah, I think I need to watch more comedy.



www.AprilBrucker.TV

Shadows of the Night (Pat Benatar)

Whenever I see a picture of Rosie the Riveter I think of my Mema Ralph. During World War II when the men were away the women worked in the factories. Mema Ralph worked in the mill. It wasn't a matter of gender or the patriarchy. It was Amazon feminism. The men were away at war and the job needed to be done. It was just that simple.

Years later, she found herself a widow with seven kids. Life hands you shit, and it's your job to just deal with it. Maybe that's why she was so cantankerous and ornery at times. She had handled it all and more, what else could you throw her way. Mema Ralph was a fighter. I always gave her that.

I am hardly Rosie the Riveter. Ask me to build something it will fall down. Duct tape is my solution to fixing most things. I am surprised I am still alive most days because my decisions have not killed me. I have tried to open the subway gate with my hands full of luggage and in my weakness a male cop has helped me and gotten a good laugh. I am a total feminist until I have to kill a spider. Yet somehow, I have always managed to do things on my own.

What has been different about this new decade of my life is I don't feel the need to rely on people. While help is at my disposal because my friends are manna from heaven, I know that if I forge ahead I will be alright.

I was always told God never gives you more than you can handle. God must think I am Rosie the Riveter.

My plate has been full these past few months. I am in a master's program for writing, and am in my second project period. Once a week for the past several weeks I have translated several pieces in several different languages. Currently I am in rehearsal for a 9/11 based movement piece, and am also rehearsing my one woman show. I just wrapped an acting class. I am also working on some new videos, new routines, and getting my work published. And I still have a few day jobs on  top of all of this.

And I have a family member having a baby and I am a huge part of planning the shower and events for this little one coming.

To say I have felt overwhelmed is an understatement. Yet people have been looking at me as a leader as of late. I don't get it.

Sunday saw me basically crumble. I don't want to go into it but I have felt like I was walking through darkness. Some of it is I have some intense haters in my life unfortunately. Other darkness is my choice to live as I do and the people who disregard me or treat me as invisible. And third are those who seem never to be pleased. Fourth was fucking broken technology and stubbing my toe.

Sunday saw me crying on the sidewalk of New York. A practice paper redraft hanging over my head. My brain mush from my reading. My muscles weak from constantly being in rehearsal. My arms tired from carrying my heavy luggage of puppets. My head pounding from the goddamn New York subway and the noise. And a green screen that was taunting me because the fucking poles like the goddamn Walls of Jericho came a tumblin down!

Did I mention it's an inferno in NYC and I have no air conditioning?

I googled Rosie the Riveter for inspiration. A related entry was Amelia Earhart. Smiling she was ready for flight. I know under those goggles and behind those takeoffs she loved the sky because it helped her escape a world that was so frustrating, so asinine, and so limiting. Her bullshit was ten fold compared to mine.

I also remembered she crashed her plane in the Pacific. These days there are women pilots. Amelia Earhart didn't fly and crash so they could give up, and she didn't die so women could give up on themselves either.

Rosie the Riveter and Amelia Earhart reminded me I was going to be alright. Sometimes I am stressed and the darkness seems never to end. Just like Amelia Earhart and Rosie the Riveter, I look to my strength. If I give up, I will be giving a lot of people what they want.

And just like my Mema Ralph, life seems daunting. But I am putting one foot in front of the other and just doing it.

There's no other way, right?

Send me a line

Breaking Up With Gel

Last summer I fell in love.

My life had hit the skids. I was on round who knows of a never ending breakup with my former partner, who's mentally ill. My mom and I were fighting a ton. And I was having money problems. So I needed to make myself feel better. That's when I got a gel manicure for the first time.

I instantly became addicted as my nails lasted for upwards of three weeks to a month. They didn't crack. I looked cute. So it was a pleasure to shill out the dough for the powder.

When the gel nails came, it felt like I had come to life in a whole new way. I got off my ass and applied and got into to a grad program I had wanted to attend for years, and found a way to pay for it myself. I began to rehearse and revise my one woman show in a way I never had, and entered The Lady and President Tramp in festivals. I released April Unwrapped, and much to my mother's chagrin began to post sexy pictures. I renewed my health insurance. I began to officially call myself a headlining comedian. I pitched my book to an agent who's shopping it. I returned to legit acting and acting class. I recorded a voiceover demo and am a regular cast member of a radio drama. I became head editor of a genre for my school's lit magazine, the number one student lit magazine in the nation. I became involved in ACT UP and other activism. I mastered full body puppetry. I took my ventriloquism to the next level.

I became more truthful about my labels in my life, too. I began to put up serious boundaries with my mentally ill ex, and told people willing to give me an update on him that none was necessary. I began to cut toxic people out of my life. I began to be a decent friend, sister, and daughter.

I thought these gel nails gave me this super power to be the April I had always wanted to be: tough, powerful, and determined.

I...........

The gel made me feel pretty. Yet my nails were starting to look raggedy as heck. The gel would come lose and particles and dirt got trapped underneath. The gel would crack and it would hurt. The gel would make my fingers feel suffocated and begin to itch and burn. My nails became brittle and frail. All because of my obsession with the feeling this gel gave me.

Overtime the manicures started to work less and less. The nails started to pop off after a week and a half. I went to one lady and she was having a break up with her man and nearly sheered my cuticle off with her machine of death. Then I could never decide on a color. And when I did machine of death lady told me how wrong I was. This was after she scraped my gel off with a metro card and I started to cry because the gel bonded to my nail.

As of this week, gel and I are saying bye for a minute. They are staying on less and costing me more. They crack and it's a freaking medical emergency when they do. They are making my nails brittle. They aren't worth it.

I use I and they like we are two opposing forces.

Really, what made me move forward was myself. It wasn't a stupid manicure but me all along. I know that sounds nuts, but damn it's true.

In stepping away from gel, it makes me realize how much my ex, my health issues, hair loss and other things fucked with my psyche. The nails were the pick me up when I needed them, but I don't need them any more. I thought I was over that bullshit only to pick up more bullshit. I suppose it's the addict or the masochist in me. Hell if I know.

Right now I am back to regular polish. I feel dressed down, humbled, and a little like a crack ho. But I also know this is where I need to be right now with my neuroses, first world entitlement and other nonsense.

I can still move forward and be myself. My vanity just needs to take a rest. I will probably do gel in another few months. But right now, the nails need a break. I need to give myself a break too.

Gel or not, I am good enough gosh darnit!

April Brucker

Time (Culture Club)

It’s insane how time passes. Seems like only yesterday I was starting my journey going to class through those red doors at the Strasberg Institute. Seems like only yesterday I was going to open mics, had never headlined, had never been on TV, and took every bomb to heart. Seems like only yesterday I was doing something stupid. Wait, what was last week…….

Everyone has their different markers in knowing they are getting “old.” For the rest of the world it’s when their friends get married, and news of an arriving child is greeting with a congratulations, not a shotgun visit from good old dad. I still remember my sister Skipper trying on her wedding dress. Suddenly tears streamed down her eyes. She wept, “I look like an adult woman that has a mortgage and pays her own cellphone bill!”

I said, “Look on the bright side. At least Boomer has a job. You are doing better than several women in our family currently.”

In show business you know you are getting old when people you know depart the business. It’s not just one or two but rather a mass exodus of sorts. The other day a buddy of mine and I were talking about a vapid creature known as Starfucker. A beautiful almond haired would be starlette, Starfucker bragged ad nauseum about her celebrity friends she had. These included but were not limited to Mischa Barton, Spencer Pratt, and Paris Hilton. Starfucker, through her friends, even had some high powered agent.

I had seen her act and wasn’t impressed. Sure she was beautiful but not much else going on. Once, I forget where we were, but she was distressed. Screaming, panicked, she said, “My butt is vibrating!”

It was a crisis. Starfucker screamed as she once again said, “MY BUTT IS VIBRATING!”

Then she realized it was her phone. As my friend and I recounted the phone incident, we remembered Starfucker’s on again/off again love Tom. He had a band of some sort and actually seemed like a dufus but a nice one. Tom was always being beaten down by Starfucker and her Lucy Ricardo need for fame and fortune. He actually had talent, he just had a girlfriend who was shortening his life span.

Starfucker announced she was moving to Beverly Hills to be near her friends and fell off the map. My friend and I had wondered what happened to her. So we looked her up. She’s no longer in Beverly Hills but back on Long Island where she is from. She’s married with two kids and sells real estate. Starfucker had that same vacant look in her eyes. We had a laugh. So much for her high powered friends. Maybe she’s smart enough to keep her phone somewhere that it doesn’t make her life embarrassing.

The memory of Starfucker got me thinking of all the people I have known over the years who have come and gone from the entertainment world. Some were cool. Some not so much. Was it an easy decision to give this all up for Starfucker and those like her? Was it not?

Who knows.

This past year I decided to get my MFA in writing. It’s a program that allows me to see LA on my own terms, network, live life, still tour, and be married to my career. It’s what I have chosen instead of a “normal life.”

In pursuing my writing for real, it’s brought a fresh perspective to my acting. I am legit acting more than I have in sometime. Part of the reason acting fell to the wayside was because of the opportunities with my puppets. But the more I brush up on my acting, the stronger I get with my puppets and live comedy.

Honestly though, the truth is, I wish I could take a time machine and speak to my younger self. Help her out a tad.

“Listen to your voice teacher about that breathing. He’s not an idiot. Don’t make him a prophet before his time!”

“Stop fucking breaking the rules stupid ass. You are a rebel without a hall pass. Some of the rules are pretty good. You will figure this out when you play a large crowd!”

“Cigarettes do not relieve anxiety attacks!”

“Alcohol won’t relieve your anxiety attack!”

“Getting drunk and making an ass out of yourself will not impress him! And he’s worthless anyway!”

Yesterday I went to a rehearsal and we talked about internal life. An old acting teacher of mine that I loved made a post about internal life. His post also reconnected me with an old friend. We ended up talking. It was amazing actually.

It also made me realize we don’t get people forever. Time slips by and before we know it, time is gone. It was only yesterday Starfucker was being herself. It was only yesterday she and Tom were the free theater minus the overdone plot. Now they are both adults. He scores films which is awesome, and he has a fiancé who doesn’t seem like she screams at him in public.

Sure, there are days that I beat myself up for not being where I want to be. There are days where it feels like I am climbing rocks and am about to be thrown off. But in those days I realize I am still following my dreams, fighting the good fight. As I completed my weekly checkin for my master’s program, I knew the other women in my group were fighting that same fight with me. Just like the students each term in my section in college. We were running towards our dreams, and hopefully we would run together forever…..

It also made me think of the acting class I took each week that just wrapped, and about how one student burst into the student lounge eager to share that he had found his beats in his scene. His enthusiasm made me think of going to class through those red doors. And it made me realize how much I love my graduate school teachers, and how much I miss some of the wonderful teachers I had in college too.

It made me hunger for a different time, when it was about beats and scene and technique, not about casting directors, producers, writing packets, pitching, auditioning, who was booking what and the shoo shoo sha sha bullshit that goes with having a career. It also made me wonder if the fact that it became about the shoo shoo sha sha bullshit was why I had seen so many of my peers depart.

Sure, there is the shoo shoo sha sha bullshit, but there is love for it and maybe I can marry the two. And maybe I should give myself credit for not throwing in the towel.

With this thought in my mind I decided to write my old acting teacher a note saying hello after reading his post. Time teaches us that we don’t have people forever and they might be taken at any moment.

As I crafted my letter once more I laughed as a memory of Starfucker yelling at the unfortunate Tom raced through my mind. I shook my head. Those were the days. The other part of me now saw that I had been judgmental towards Starfucker even in the nickname. She wasn’t vicious or plotting, just shallow. More comic relief if anything.

As I sent the note off to my teacher I put a thought out to the universe. Time makes you less judgmental because you realize life is indeed short. Instead of condemning Starfucker, I started to hope she was happy in her life in Long Island. After all, people change, and maybe marriage and motherhood have given her more dimensions.

And maybe I should stop calling her Starfucker.

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Taking the Plunge

My climb to headliner status has been a rocky one. This past weekend I headlined my first two nighter for real. I headlined and featured at the same time for the past several years never really knowing the difference. It was an appearance and a chance to make money while making people laugh. Sometimes being a woman was what bumped me ahead. Then it was being a prop act. Wasn't bad that I was on TV a few times.

At the same time being a woman has held me back. I have had bookers tell me I was "funny for a woman." Well Sir, these days not only are my people funny but we go to school, become professionals and even run for president. Really. You should see us. (Asshole). Then there have been men who were resentful that I was billed higher. They would tell me how accomplished they were while bad mouthing me when they felt I wasnt around, bemoaning their fate of having a woman who was higher up than them. At one point it got to me so bad I almost quit comedy. Add in the stupidity from male bookers and club owners who felt it was okay to sexually harass the talent in a skirt.

Then there was the fact I was a prop act. A club owner in Vegas would not give me a guest spot to be seen because of my prop act status. He said headliners didn't like me. He didnt even ask the headliner his opinion. It was just a chance to be a dick and close the door.

Then I was on TV, but it wasnt the right shows. I was a reality star. It wasn't Letterman or Colbert or whatever the newest trend was.

They say try to be so funny you can't  be denied. The nature of the beast is that even if you are funny, you will still be denied. Shit sucks but welcome to show biz.

This past year I have really been working my ass off to get to the next level though. I have been good about not letting the bullshit invade my life too badly. My focus has been on my jokes. I have been hitting open mics like Batman hits the Joker. Several events happened, my eviction and a breakup with a mentally ill partner, to make it so comedy was the very thing that kept me from killing myself.

I have become very conscious of delivery and writing in a way I never have. I did a one woman show, which is not the same as a headliner set but it's an hour of you onstage with no break. It's an hour where you leave swimming in your own sweat. It's an hour where you smash the stereotype that performers are selfish because you are giving your all and then some. It's an hour where you feel like eating lots of sugar afterwards cause you need the simple carbs. It's an hour where the next day you feel like you ran a marathon but don't remember running a road race.

This past weekend I was in Trump country. It was trippy and it wasn;t the easiest room because of the layout. It was sort of baptism by fire for my first headlining set. My first night it was a Green Acres learning curve where it was a love/hate relationship between the audience and I. The second night I was more relaxed and had fun. Both nights the room was tough.

Yet both nights the crowds were appreciative. Afterwards there were photos taken and drinks being bought. I sold some merch on the road, but like a green headliner didn't know to ask for a table to sell it. My first night I was reminded I wasnt in NYC as I have a bit where Kim Jong Un calls and a pipe line worker yelled, "Nuke that little fucker!" Yes, there was audience participation.

The next night, Donald J. Tramp has a joke where he goes to call Hillary Clinton the c word and I stop him. Someone yelled, "Call that bitch cunt what she is. A bitch cunt!" Yes, oh comedy.

(Note, May Wilson killed as usual and Mom was a hit)

One of the best moments though was when I went to the front desk before my second show. The front desk lady said, "Oh, you were the comedian, I heard all about you."

I did a shrug, that could mean anything. I was like wow, and then she said, "Oh, only good things. There was one older gentlemen who was nervous when you stepped onstage. He figured you would just talk about sex all night long. But he was amazed at the creativity and originality of your act and he intends to return tonight."

At first I had a laugh. Yes, women. Some of us have substance to my acts. But you should really see my people. But then I thought of all the women headliners who put up with the same shit I did. The same women headliners who also took time and effort to write an act with depth. And then I thought of all the headliners, male and female, who wrote an act with depth and went the extra mile. I thought of all the people who had helped me this past year and continue to help me.

I also thought of the meltdown my mom had about my life. But she also got me an aqua colored notebook. It's a place to write my new bits down. It's a place to bleed my feelings on the page. It's a place to create more bits that bring people together. It's a place where I can continue to do the work. It's a place where I remember how the rest of the comics wanted to impress me this weekend, and where I can continue to be someone to be looked up to. It's a place where I can write a lot of hack shit and have the bad die in a dark basement out of the sight of anyone important. It's a place where I remember it's a marathon not a sprint.

It's a marathon.

That's why I sweat when I leave the stage.

My mom hates my book but she's happy I am eating more fruit. You should totally buy it. Buy My Book

Different

I was thinking yesterday about life. Everyone talks about where they should be at certain points. I am 32. One of the Academy Award Winning Directors was 32. Eh. Does it make me feel like a loser? Yes and no. Yes, he's my age. No, this might be his first and last Oscar. Life is weird that way. Life is like an hourglass: there are times the sand is on your side. There are times it isn't.

The sand has and hasn't been on my side in the course of a year. In 2015, my story made headlines over the world and it looked like I might tour Europe. Months later, I was forced to move under duress with a broken heart. Point being, is that life changes on a dime for better or for worse for all of us. Granted, my self-esteem took a huge hit and it was like wandering in a dark tunnel. WTF?! Life happened, it just wasn't supposed to happen to me, right?

I am hardly a failure. I have accomplished some of what I wanted. Yet at times I feel like I have fallen short. I think we all feel that way though. Last year I was credentialed press at the debates, a big change from being evicted and having my ex's mentally ill sister threaten me. Then this year began with me showcasing at APAP. I also did my show again, and might be doing a run. I am excited. Big change from last year where I felt burnt out from my ordeal and uninspired.

One thing all this has done is made me more confident. I take the stage in a different way. When I was younger I wanted to be liked. Now I don't give a fuck. It's strange. Then someone has shown interest in repping my show for touring and someone else wants to rep me for other things. Nothing is set is stone yet. Both seem like nice people. Whatever happens happens. I also did some things for some other stuff I am being recruited for. Whatever happens happens. I am not breaking my ass. That's for damn sure. If they want me they know where to find me and if they don't want me they can go fuck themselves. Simple as that.

I am also teaching a ventriloquism class. I am excited. It means I am a master. It means I might be able to teach at conventions. I am excited and honored and love the idea. More on that later.

I am writing another book about my adventures, too.

While sometimes the telegrams are slow, they have been picking up full steam. Rent has been paying itself, God willing. I do not want for much, God willing. Other work will hopefully pick up too, God willing. But whatever I do I will do my best, have fun, and treat each show with dignity and respect.

And as I begin my journey as a Universal Life Minister, I know in some ways the world is ending and we are all fucked because I am Bishop Cardinal Brucker. But I also know I am going to be alright.

I know I am going to be alright

I escaped a bad living situation and a mentally ill partner

I escaped a physically abusive partner and an abusive living situation to boot before all that

I escaped meeting the fate that some of my fellows did.

I was not taken this far to be dropped.

Is life better than I thought it would be at this point? Yes and no. Is life worse? Yes and no. Do I have everything I want? Yes and no. Am I getting what I want? Yes, but no, because it's not as fast as I would like it.

So it's different.

But I am happier and more at peace than I have ever been. No award can put a price on that. Because my mental health is good, I have faith everything else will take care of itself.

Festivus

Lately I have been thinking of the concept of evolution. No, not like Charles Darwin but just evolving in general. I took a seminar this summer with a life coach through the Actors' Fund. It couldn't have come at a more perfect time. Shit was hitting the fan in my life. I was in a living situation that wasn't working. My relationship was like an oddly built European car that sometimes worked but when it broke down it really broke down until it didnt work anymore. And then I had gotten some indication that I might get where I want to go with the career but there was still much work to be done.

During this session, there was a woman who was an opera singer. Big, black, and beautiful, she admitted she had never sang at any major houses in New York. As a matter of fact, she had gotten a Masters in Vocal Performance from Julliard. In Manhattan, she temped and sold real estate, but she had done all the major houses and festivals in Europe. Now she was tired of living overseas, her parents were dying, and she wanted to teach.

So she said, "I am transitioning to acadamia," 

referencing a job she applied for at the MM program at Manhattan School of Music. 

This life coach stopped her and said, "No, transitioning negates what you have done. You are evolving."

I felt good when I heard that, evolving. Evolution. We are always in the process of walking upright and learning to walk upright more.

Lately I have been evolving. For years, before this past summer, I had been focused on my work to a fault. My children and I against the world. Between performing as much as I had and being on the run as much as I was girlfriend never really had much of a life. When I did stop to have a "life" I always found I was tired and grinding my teeth as if I was growling. I never knew why I was so stressed. Then again, my money was all going to rent and I hauled ass up four flights of stairs. That would piss anyone off day in and day out.

Last Monday I got my colposcopy results back. My squanderamous cells or whatever the hell they are called came back benign. When I read the word benign a feeling of calm came through my body. Being told a Pap Smear is abnormal makes your life flash before my eyes. Then the scraping which is two minutes of hell followed by the doctors and nurses chatting away.

All after I faced a retaliatory eviction.

So I was benign. I didnt have cancer. I wasn't being evicted. My baseboards are currently on my wall and I dont have bed bugs, mold, and a psychotic landlord making my life hell. I suppose I am doing better than I thought.

Wednesday was new release day at the comic book store. I got there to find my new release was not on the shelf. They said this was Diamond and because I was with an indie distributor my situation would have been different. I was kind of pissed. There was so much of me that looked forward to seeing my comic on the shelf. As a writer, it never gets old seeing your writing displayed. It's like a look mom, see what I did.

So I called my editor. He didnt get the books. SHIT! I thought about snapping at the people who worked there like I would have once upon a time and they would have whispered about how I was a crazy bitch after I left. But then I said to myself, "April, you don't have cancer. Your comic book will be on the shelf. Just not today. Don't be a dick."

I left and then as I am getting ready to go back home I get a call from my editor. The comic books had come afterwards and he was on his way. This was a Festivus miracle. So back I went to the store and purchased myself several copies. And sure enough they were placed on the shelf. Life was awesome again. But the most important thing was, I had my health. While it was cool to have the comic book in my hand, I still had my sanity and dignity. Most importantly, I didnt look like a nut job.

When I got home I figured I would rest up and get ready for the ventriloquist show I had to do for the special needs people. But then I got a call from my boss. It was a Marilyn Monroe telegram in the Bronx. It wasn't just in the Bronx. It was waaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyy out in the Bronx. 

I told him no. But he had no one else available during this time. Shit. That was going to be a long assed day. I began to plan my day and dreaded what was ahead. But then as I was in the midst of my dread it hit me. I was working and paying the bills again. Yeah, it wasnt the bells and whistles I sometimes got but I was WORKING AND PAYING THE BILLS. There was no high drama. There was no health scare. Life was good. 

My trip to the Bronx was an adventure. The train was getting construction and I had to connect thus taking longer. Dear God. And then I changed in a Dunkin Donuts bathroom and made the Indian dude who owned the place think I was either shooting dope, overdosing, homeless, or possibly having a baby. Either way, he was glad I was alright and even more puzzled as to why I emerged looking like Marilyn Monroe.

The gig was interesting but fun. The dude I was initially supposed to sing to was sent me from his wife, but he has no wife and this woman is a mere girlfriend. She simply aspires to be a wife. But the guy who owned the car lot, well it was his 89 year old dad's birthday. And he wanted to know if it was okay if the old guy got in on the action. I thought, why not?

Turned out the old dude was a hoot and it was one of the most fun jobs I did in sometime. He was 89 years young, literally. I hope I am that cool if I get to live that long. He kind of reminded me of my Pop Pop, just funny and kept going. Never took anything too serious.

The trip back to the city to chill out for a tad before my next gig was interesting. I had to change trains and the ceiling of the train station wasn't just leaking but having a monsoon of rain/sewer water and I nearly stepped in it and probably messed up my hair. Plus the place smelled like yucky pee.

When I finally got on a train this angry woman reading a shelf help book body checked me. And then a black power dude started with his spiel and I just wanted to bang my head against the wall. Not you, not now.
Grand Central was equally as crazy as people were pushing, shoving, and going crazy. Bah humbug. Did I mention I hate Christmas? I mean hate Christmas and all the bullshit that goes with it? Well if I didnt mention it I am mentiong it now.

As I went to my next gig, hoping to get it over with, I could barely find a seat on the train and some psychotic woman who looked like she either missed her Prozac dosage or escaped from hell yelled at me. When I got off the train it was raining and yucky and gross. Gosh I just wanted to go home.

I got to my final gig of the day. It was the home for the people with cerebral palsy. Immediately, I saw the residence out front in their wheel chairs. Some seemed more mobile than others. Nonetheless, each had personality. They were endearing, as one woman had $1 Ask Me Anything on a sign on the back of her chair. It's New York. Rent is expensive.

I got inside and the health aids were going crazy. One agency had organized the party, and the other agencies didn't know about it. Some of the West Indian health aids began to yell at each other and two even looked like they were going to duke it out. They kept asking me like I knew. Dear God did I mention I hate Christmas! 
I HATE CHRISTMAS! PUT THE JESUS CHRIST ON A CRACKER IN CHRISTMAS BECAUSE IT IS A FUCKING PAIN IN MY TUCHAS!

Just then the dude that hired me, an Orthodox Jewish fellow, came to smooth out the situation. Very sweet, he explained everyone was invited. Some stayed, others didnt. Either way, the party began and he introduced me. I began and realized it wasn't the best room to do comedy in. Plus some of my audience members were more mobile than others. Oh this was going to be an interesting hour.

So I decided to go to them. I went from table to table. At first I was met with trepidation as nothing worked. But I just kept going. Puppet after puppet I kept going. Slowly, the residents began to bond with my puppets. Many had questions for them, and others began to hug them. The client who hired me had a 2 year old daughter who was afraid of the puppets but fearlessly looked in my suitcase. It was adorable, very adorable.

After the show, one woman who could barely speak came up to me. She was in a wheelchair and gave me a hug. At first I couldn't understand her, but something told me to slow down and listen. The woman told me she enjoyed my show and wanted to know if I would be coming back. Clutch! The audience liked the show!!!! I told her of course. Of course I would be back. 

Then it hit me. Christmas wasn't about the crazy but instead it was about being a part of, and it was about GIVING. These people were a part of the population that others forget about, or when they see them sometimes they don't know quite what to say for obvious reasons. As a result they make them feel like aliens. I did a show for these people. They laugh like everyone else does. Not so different. So yeah, Christmas is about giving. GIVING!

Then of course that lesson slipped out of my brain as I was back on the train and the 7 was running express because of track work. And it was raining. Gosh the client review would be interesting. 

The next day I read the client review. Five stars. Awesome! Maybe I was one step closer to working corporate. While comedians thumb their noses at the concept, it is where the money is. Plus like people at the comedy clubs, they wanna laugh too. Oh and I am beginning to work consistently as a ventriloquist again after all this drama. Again, life is good. 

Friday was spent delivering all day and managing to battle the insane weather and people traffic. The day ended with a Christmas Marilyn Monroe-esque party crasher at a bad sweater party. While I was exhausted from all that has been going on in my life, I was also happy to have the work. As I came home, I also realized for as much as the universe seemed to take a giant crap on me with one hit after another, for the first time in forever I enjoyed my work again.

I wasnt the girl on TV or the one with all the press or blah, blah, blah, but instead I really was just having fun and that was all that mattered. When I got home I saw my Aunt Lori, Uncle Joe and her sons had sent me a Christmas card. It made me smile. It made my new home feel like home. 

Next time I have a craptacular train ride I will remember the airing of the grievances, and think fondly of the pole I am decorating.
Happy Festivus for the Rest of us!!!!!!!!!!

Puppet Shoes and Other Things

This past weekend, the one before the one coming up, was a whirlwind. Last Friday night I helped contribute to a Guinness Record for Longest Variety Show. I know I keep going on about it, but it still blows my mind that I contributed to a victory that will be in a book I used to hog constantly in my elementary school library. After that, I performed as a part of Little Laughs at Jalopy Theatre that Sunday. Thursday was spent finalizing a writing project, and Saturday preparing for Sunday.

Getting ready for the show Sunday was slightly stressful. This was in part because I was tired from being constantly on the go, but also because an audience of kids is very unpredictable. Sometimes they are with you, but when they turn God Bless America. While this is pretty rare, it does occur. More than anything, the factor that makes me reticent about kids shows are the adults involved. Sometimes the other performers are crazy, and not in a good way. Other times the organizers want you to go through all this red tape and take themselves so seriously. Or the parents are just plain rude and think that as an adult who entertains children you are utterly stupid.

This was not the case at all with the Little Laughs Show at Jalopy. The audience was wonderful, both children and parents. Not only were the young ones engaged, but their parents were as well. The host was an awesome master of ceremonies. Sure, the kids enjoyed the show but the parents laughed as well. When the parents laugh at a kid’s entertainer, that is always, always, always a good sign. The other two acts were amazing. One woman played guitar and had a story coloring book that went along with her song. Then the magician, and a magician can go either way, was both funny and skilled at his craft.

When it came for my turn, the kids were a great audience. They were rambunctious because they were into my show, but they were wonderful. These kids were gentle spirits too. One remarked that one of my puppets seemed “mean.” I never felt Sweetie Pie Kincaid and her prankster sensibilities were mean. Still, it speaks to the fact that there has been outcry against bullying, and perhaps we are headed towards a kinder, gentler generation. I found I really enjoyed these kids, and they really enjoyed the show. Afterwards, the host teasingly told me I had a stalker.

The event made me want to do more with children. I did when I was younger. In my hometown I entertained at pre-schools and such with my children, or my collection as a British journalist recently called it. I also did a show where I read bedtime stories to children called Storytime with April and Friends. Filmed on a shoestring, it aired on public access in 36 states, 6 countries, and the world wide web. During a street performance, I actually met someone who used to label my tapes. It was kind of col actually.

This past year, I have been trying to go less blue. I wasn’t originally even a dirty club comic so to speak. However spots are late at night, plus open mics are just one big, bad filth fest of easy punchlines and then off you go. Nothing against those who work dirty, God only knows I have. Heck, a lot of those folks supported me the most. Still, after a while my act was dark blue. Then again, Otto Petersen who I admired greatly, defined blue. There is nothing wrong with blue.

Yet in a way I feel ready to try for the cleaner set. Some is that I want to do more with kids again. Some is that my career is taking me on television and I don’t want to cost the network money. Some of it is I want a new challenge and am ready for it. Then lastly, some of it is that while my beloved cabaret crowd loves blue, it’s baby blue. When I did the Guinness Show, I found the crowd responded to the better written jokes than they did at the shock humor. Note: The shock humor was used to wake them up because some of them had seen nearly 6 hours of show.

I want to be funny to both kids and adults. Richard Pryor was. While most don’t know this, he had a short lived children’s show that was cancelled. It was a disagreement over money, nothing else. Still, he was good at it. Then again, Richard Pryor defined funny then and still does now.

This past Monday these thoughts poured through my head, as well as finding my chap stick. The temperature was dropping and the new year still quite new. While all the work I did in 2014 is paying off, that year nearly killed me. I can’t do another bipolar 365. While the highs were amazing, the lows were depraved in a way I never imagined. One minute I was in heaven, and then the next wandering in the Valley of the Shadow of Death wondering when I was going to get out if ever. But it gave me humility making heaven even greater than imagined.

Then I got a facebook message. Someone working the event informed me one of May Wilson’s shoes was left at the club. I had been so wiped out that I hadn’t realized our girl had lost her shoe Cinderella style. This person, bless his soul, had been kind enough to leave the shoe in the sound booth. I called the club and they told me to swing by about 5 PM.

The woman working the front, a nice lady, cabaret type, had a good sense of humor about the whole thing. “In all the time I have worked here, you are my first puppet shoe call.” She informed me laughing. There is always a first time for everything I suppose. Only days before we had all broken a world record and now they had a lost puppet shoe. Oh the times, the times…..

As I left the club, I remembered how ten years before I had decided to go for this ventriloquist thing for throttle for the first time. On cold nights like that I went from mic to mic to mic using my food money for stage time and transportation. Sometimes I did homework when others were onstage, because if I flunked out of school I had to go home. It was my mom’s rule.

The year before had the same bipolar spirit, and I remember I had almost left New York. But I didn’t. I kept fighting. This crossed my mind as I fear in a way what 2015 will bring, because the downs of the year past nearly killed me. Then I remember I kept going ten years ago, and didn’t give up. All the hard work that young woman laid down has gotten me to this point. Things are coming together, not so much because I am good at what I do, but because I have always known who I was, worked hard, and stuck to my guns.

I am that puppet girl. My puppets are pranksters but all in good fun. Sometimes they lose their shoes. Like real children I reign them in, and just like any other family, we keep going. 

www.aprilbrucker.com

30 Things I Learned in 30 Years

Yeah I am 30. Yes, the big 3-0. Ought oh. Oh no. Here she goes. Yes, NYC's very own puppet girl is 30!!!

Now here are 30 things I have learned in 30 years. You ready?.....

1. When in a depression, it is amazing how a shower and fresh clothes can make things better.

2. The cooler and sexier you try to be, the most desperate you come across. #truefact

3. Getting fame and recognition for your gifts is a wonderful thing, but don't get hung up on it. There is no substitute for the work.

4. Negative people are like quicksand. They will always try to drag you on down.

5. When in doubt, close the blinds.

6. Some people get lucky for whatever reason. And sometimes they continue to get lucky. But if you work hard, you will pass them up, because luck doesn't last forever.

7. If a guy has a 1-800 number, lose his number fast.

8. If a guy is right out of prison he will be well behaved. Not just because this is his first chance with a lady, but he also needs a place to stay.

9. Always tell someone you love them when you do. And if you fight with someone you love make up with them. It's beyond words when it's too late.

10. People who continually belittle others and cattily gossip about what successful people achieve will never be successful.

11. Ice cream cures the blues

12. Most men believe they are 10's in bed, but most men are mostly 5's.

13. Be yourself. You are the most unique gift the universe has to offer.

14. The only way through the darkness is to keep going.

15. If opportunity does not knock, build your own door.

16. Friends are more important than lovers. They will be there when the loves screw up. And trust me, your lovers will.

17. People will tell you that you have no future or imagination. You must know you have a future and imagination. If you know this, these people will continually eat your dust.

18. Always learn. Always sharpen your tools. You never know what might come in handy.

19. Wear the captain's jacket even if it scares you.

20. If you are betrayed by a friend, write it off as a loss. Know for the one friend lost, ten better friends are out there.

21. Sure, it is a man's world and the paradigm oppresses women. But we all have a strike or two against us and we need to work with it the best we can.

22. Revenge is sweet, but kharma is much sweeter and more creative than you could ever be.

23. If you have a goal, go for it. Don't ask questions and don't think it through too much or you won't do it.

24. Despite what others say, don't settle.

25. When in stress, remember one day what you are stressing about won't matter.

26. You don't need a relationship. Anyone can be married.

27. Alcohol, drugs, food, and copious amounts of cigarettes and caffeine solve nothing.

28. Sometimes the best thing to do is reach out to a friend and talk when you are feeling stressed.

29. If you do your 20s right, you will look back and say, "Jesus, 22 was fun but never again...."

30. Tell your hair dresser all your secrets. They don't work for the CIA and will keep them hidden.


Check me out
www.aprilbrucker.com

Half Full

Two years ago nearly to this day, I had just recently published my book. About a month afterward, I was making the rounds. Many of my comrades in the theatre and comedy community had generously offered me various platforms for my publicity. One came through a show at a well known NYC comedy theatre. 

It was the weekend before Sandy hit decimating New York. I stood with two former Tischies from NYU. Both of them had interned with a well-known theatre company. One girl, Megan, had trained at Experimental Theatre Wing and had SNL dreams. The other, Tilly, had done her training through the Meisner Extension. Both were disillusioned I soon found out as the conversation unfolded.

Megan had given up acting after her experience interning, because she felt burnt out. She also expressed that NYU had been artistically and academically so rigorous that now she was working as a makeup artist. In the next breath, Megan admitted that while she was burned out on acting, she missed performing and wasn’t happy with her work. She grudgingly did it because it paid the bills.

Tilly had been a star at the Meisner Extension and then ended up at the Classical Studio for her advanced training. In between, she did the summer at this theatre company like Megan had. Like Megan, Tilly too was burned out on acting but was somehow still doing it. Since graduating, Tilly had abandoned some of her aspirations in the theatre and was doing plays wherever. She relayed that she was in rehearsal for Sex With Zombies and Aliens: A Space Aged Drama. I could already tell this contrived piece was penned by a writer that was trying to be a comedian but the jokes were probably bathroom humor level. While I did not have a crystal ball, I could tell this painfully desperate piece was a craigslist effort in the making.

As they both spoke, they seemed to cut me out thus I functioned as the middle woman in this boat ride on the River of Broken Dreams and Self-Pity. At this theatre company, they apparently played favorites. Both Tilly and Megan were not on the favorite end for one reason or another. These things happen in the acting world. I know from experience. There have been times I was a favorite, but there have been times I wasn’t. It was like these two were stuck on a snag and resentment based on their experience at this place. I wanted to tell them this wasn’t the only theatre in town. For Goddssakes this is only New York City. I wanted to recommend that they go to where it was warm.

 I did after a hellacious training experience my first year at NYU, and ended up at the Lee Strasberg Institute where I believe I had some of the greatest teachers in the world, hands down. My father petaguagean had a simplistic way to get into character, hence the term The Method. I still speak to my old classmates and teachers and fondly remember those red doors. I rarely think let alone speak about my first studio. So yeah, why the hell were they looking for oranges in the hardware store? Not every theatre or director will like you. It’s what being an artist is.

Then Tilly lamented, “You are either one of the cool kids or you aren’t.”

This is true. However, the cool kids always change on a dime. My first year doing comedy, I saw people who were on Last Comic Standing shine and be lauded as the next big stars. Years later, I see them aimlessly wandering around Brooklyn looking for spots. Then Megan asked Tilly, “Are you frustrated.”

Tilly mentioned she was. Frustrated. It’s a feeling I know all too well as an artist. The phone isn’t ringing and the less deserving are moving ahead. The ideas are popping out but no one is listening. You are well trained but no one knows about you. Yes, as a woman in comedy I know the sensation of getting kicked in the gut when I am bumped by a less talented male headliner because the producer is afraid I will ruffle his feathers by outshining him. I have experienced all these things and more. Add in being passed over for things on a technicality.

Then she mentioned she was. I asked Tilly what she was going to do about it. Only two years earlier I had felt her pain, one of the many comedy cattle in the city of New York. After being sexually harassed by a male booker, I felt discouraged. Male headliners propositioned me for sex over and over. No one wanted to listen to anything a girl carrying puppets had to say. I was being worked to death at a hole in the wall comedy club as an open mic host, and being given the worst spots one could get. The club owner wasn’t giving me what I wanted.

So at my friend Joe Cannava’s urging, I wrote my book. Then I published it. I focused on what made me who I was and stopped feeling so damn sorry for myself. These things were my personality, my puppets, and my ability to create my own work. Basically, I got out of my own way. I had chosen this profession, no one else. It is one where you are told you are likely to fail going in. When I asked the million dollar question, Megan and Tilly looked at me as if I informed them they had a flesh eating virus and only minutes to live. How dare I crash the boat ride on the River of Self-Defeat? Then I excused myself. Nothing new was going to be gained from this conversation.

At that moment it occurred to me that this is why a lot of people don’t make it in my field. It’s not lack of talent or lack of dreams. It’s a terrible attitude. Some of it is a sense of entitlement based on where they trained. Then add in the competition is in fact staggering. Of course it is a thousand mice going for one piece of cheese, and only one can have the cheese. But it is the defeatist mantra where you focus your energy on what you don’t have rather than what you do.

Aside from self-defeat and negative whining, jealousy is another trap performers fall into. I had an acting teacher in a summer theatre program, Jay O’Bierski, who used to tell us not to gossip. He would make a sing a song that went, “I’m going to get, out of the shit, yes, yes, yes.” At the time, this was a crazy concept. We were teenagers. We wanted to gossip. We were at a theatre camp, it’s what you did. Years later though, it all has sunk in and made sense.

Early in my comedy career, in my 50 dollars and a burger road gig phase, I used to go on road trips with other comedians. We would begin talking about say Bob Jones and how someone did a gig with him. For the first two minutes the conversation was nice. Then immediately, it turned into an assault on Bob and his character. Then someone would mention Bob was on TV. Suddenly, Bob wasn’t all that funny. Then it was Tom and we would go down the list. It felt superior to trash others in those days. I was fearful, I was insecure, and I had dreams I wasn’t sure would ever materialize. However, my dreams were not materializing because I was focusing on others and not myself.

When I began creating my own work, my fate changed and so did my outlook. Doors opened because I built them, and people with things to offer began to knock. While I would like to thank talent, it was more or less action that put me in a favorable position. As my luck altered, I found myself on  the other end of the gossip stick. Those who had given me car rides were now spewing venom about me. When word got back to my ears, it hurt. My little heart was shattered. It shouldn’t have surprised me. 

These bottom feeders were just being who they were. In a twist nearly out of the Bible, one young woman I had severely character assassinated came to my defense when my so called friends so badly about me. She mentioned she didn’t know anyone more deserving with more of a work ethic. Over time, the rumor mill has claimed both she and I have had a lot of sex that we weren’t present for. However, maybe she got ahead because she had a good attitude and didn’t associate with “the shit.”

Part of getting out of “the shit” is not letting bottom feeders drag you back down to their level. About a year and a half ago, I had several people insult me at an open mic due to some of my progress. Some were digs at my writing, and others at my ventriloquism. It got me depressed, and I began to lose my passion. After a chance facebook chat with a comedian I looked up to, I lamented my pain. My comedy angel informed me there was only one way to deal with negativity, and that was to starve it. He told me that if I fed into it, this would only make it worse.

Days later, as if in an effort of some flight of angels, I saw a former college classmate of mine on the street. This young woman was on Broadway at the time, and has a voice that is soulful like that of Whitney Houston. As she saw me, she hugged me and complimented me on my progress with my puppet children. It flattered me, because her life was going so well, but also because she was so positive and it seemed no one, anywhere was going to be happy for me. Then it hit, the magic word was me, me, me. And to think, she was the damn singer here. Point being, successful people are able to be happy for and appreciate the gifts of others. They realize that while they might have one gift, someone else can have another and we can all exist peacefully. In case you didn’t realize it, a performer that isn’t catty is more rare than a black diamond in NYC. After that two day universe God shot from the theatre and comedy worlds, I no longer indulged in “the shit” and haven’t been back since.

As a matter of fact, the essence of theatre and film is the collaboration of talents. During my book signing event this summer, it happened due to the fact I wrote a book. My skill as an emcee made the event move smoothly, and May Wilson made an appearance. However, my fellow singing telegram company comrades shined by lending their talents to the cause. Some had superior vocal ranges that I will never have, and belted out a song and musical comedy routine that made the audience applause. Others were daring, dressing in drag or doing burlesque, two things I have yet to master. Then my boss lent his knowledge of the industry as well as his love for both his employees and clients alike. This was the only way this could have ever happened…..appreciation for others.

Then of course sometimes we sell ourselves short. We believe we will always be the bridesmaid and never the bride. That it will never be our turn. I felt that way when my book went into the NYU Bookstore and the Brown University Bookstore. At NYU, my alma mater, I was shelved with a comedienne who had just sold her book rights to a Hollywood studio. At Brown, I was shelved next to a MacArthur Fellow. Both made me feel intimidated. I would never be that successful. Damn them both. Then it hit me, I was sharing shelf space with them. I had written a book. If I kept on my journey, maybe I could sell my book rights to Hollywood. Maybe I could be a MacArthur Fellow. They were winners, and if I kept on course I could be a winner too.

Then I remembered my early days in the city, where I followed people who are now on network television. Or at the time, they were making the rounds on network television. The truth is, while it scared me, I learned a lot. In order to get good, you need to be around good. Heck, Sir Laurence Oliver lamented in his autobiography about his understudy, a bright young actor named Anthony Hopkins who was the bane of his existence because he was daring and talented. While this was true, imagine the dread poor young Tony from Wales must have felt waiting in the wings, ready to replace the genius and legend if something were to happen. Those were big shoes to fill.

This being said, of course we get frustrated. Of course it’s not fair. Of course it is oh so tempting to give up. That is when you have to look at the big picture. If a door is not opening, maybe it is time to build one. That way, knocking can occur. Don’t focus on what isn’t happening, focus on what is. Stuck, feel inspired? Take a class. I took several this summer and one recently that refocused my energies and changed my life. Waiting for the phone to ring? Write. Have a thought or idea, get it on paper before it flies out of your head.

Yes, there is so much that is intangible. Yes, there is a lot you cannot control. No, you should not and cannot be defeated.

There is a difference between powerlessness and helplessness.

Powerless you may be. Helpless you are not.

Remember those words on your journey and walk through a life in art. 

www.aprilbrucker.com

Writing My Own Destiny

I am an artist who creates her own work. Until very recently, when I finally acquired quality management, I was indie. For years, I freelanced with various people and then threw in the towel. I once heard it described as sleeping with someone  and not having  a real commitment. That would be about apt. None stuck for various reasons. Some would just blindly submit me because I was blonde, and therefore for the girl next door roles. I wouldn’t book them because I am a character lead. So I would be an also ran, wasting their time, mine, and the auditioners. Or I would just be lost in the shuffle. Sometimes they would be crazy. Or they wouldn’t know what to do with a client who had a unique skill set, was quirky, and on top of that, was too young to play the roles she was good for.

I still remember that it looked as if 2008 was going to be my year. A green thumb in the audition world, I booked much of what came my way. A lot of it was that I had dumped the manager I had the year before, and began submitting myself. I booked a lot of the stuff I submitted myself for. Not to mention I scored my somewhat well, it was an appearance on Rachael Ray. Not to mention I appeared on Good Day NY and WE TV. I also filmed not one by two pilots. I submitted a third sketch for a pilot to Bravo. Things were taking off.

Then the unthinkable happened. The market popped, and people stopped wanting to pay for extras such as singing telegrams. While Rachael Ray had gotten me some visibility, I had established myself as a niche act and a shock comedian. Quality managers didn’t want to return my calls. The pilots I filmed were not sold. I was back to being another bozo on the bus. Semi-unemployed, I lived on my laundry money and worked promo jobs in the cold. Sometimes they would pay me, and sometimes I had to chase them down for the slimy quarters owed me. Weekends were spent on the road where I was hit and miss, and usually the booker or headliner would try to sleep with me. The hardest piece of humble pie to swallow was when I was forced to hand out fliers in the freezing cold outside a building I had filmed in only a year before.

What was worse was I saw some of my college classmates booking huge roles as guest stars, or commercials. Some graced Broadway. I had nothing. I thought about perhaps going back to school and changing paths. Then when I couldn’t think of anything I would rather do I thought of killing myself. My nights were spent pounding the pavement and being one of a herd of hundreds of comedy cattle. After an unsuccessful weekend on the road, a tour that ended in disaster, I knew things had to change.

There is an old saying. When opportunity knocks, open the door. Opportunity wasn’t knocking, and there was no door to open. However, there is also another old saying that if opportunity doesn’t knock, you can always build a door. The opportunity came for me to enter a contest. I had to make a video. So I used my costumes, puppets, and characters I did. I didn’t win the contest, but I got positive feedback on the video. My fellow comedians in my support network told me to make more videos, and pointed out that this was a strength I had. The video helped me score a hosting gig at an online television network. It also got me the chance to produce my own one woman shows where my following gained from my videos and TV spots here and there attended. For the first time in forever, I didn’t feel beaten down. Perhaps the answer had been in front of me all along, and I just had to stop feeling sorry for myself and take action.

As I took action, it occurred to me that the level of competition in New York was steep. However, there were a hundred of them and only one of me. No one was willing to work like I was. Not to mention I was a ventriloquist and a woman, that made me a rarity. Oh, and I had costumes and was quirky. Not to mention I had produced my own shows as a teenager on public access, and one was even aired worldwide on a shoe string budget on various community stations. This had helped garner interest from NYU, and I ultimately was admitted and attended the Tisch School. It worked then. So why wouldn’t it work again?

The creation of my own shows resulted in spots alongside respected headliners who began to guide me not only as a comedian, but as a person. Although the opportunity as a talking head dried up, it allowed me to write for a now defunct online rag, and do more with my writing. The editors of the online site saw my puppet videos, and encouraged me to put a video with each blog. So basically, my ability to create my own work enabled me to do two things I had always dreamed of doing, writing and puppets. 

From there, I made videos with my puppets as well. These included anything from sketches to interviewing celebrities. I didn’t know what I was doing, I just did it. I emailed drag queens and other LGBTQ luminaries. Sometimes the answer was yes, sometimes no. But I just kept going.

At the urging of my now deceased friend Joe Cannava, I wrote I Came, I Saw, I Sang. I still remember pounding it out in my apartment that had no air conditioning and putting my underwear in the refrigerator. I had no idea what I was doing. Yeah, I wrote blogs and short stories. I never wrote a book. I just kept writing every day, and sometimes into the night. I was on a mission. I knew I had to do this. Again, no idea what I was doing. I stopped acting questions and just did. I knew somehow, I had to get this out into the world.

Once again, showing up for myself and creating my own work opened up more doors. I got some television and radio spots, and these were the same spots I secretly wanted to covet from my college classmates. Instead of being jealous, I was now being positive, proactive, and joining the party. I scored another more lucrative talking head gig, and entertained people all over the world. I also began to dabble in modelling and music. In that time, I also returned to acting and made a horror movie, something I have always wanted to do. So far, Death of a Dummy is in several festivals in Europe. I had always feared I would be nothing more than a niche performer, and there I was acting.

Publishing my book also opened up the doors with my writing. I was asked to submit pieces to The Huffington Post, xoJane, Elite Daily, The Good Men Project, and many others. Not to mention my book and other writings have been front and center on several television show proposals. While none have come to fruition quite yet, I had a way in that many others did not.

I will admit this past year I became complacent and lazy. Some of it was opportunities had come my way as a result of my door building, and I didn’t feel the need to do much else except wait. Yet the waiting made me sicker than anything in the world. I obsessed, agonized, and made myself ill. I spent time over the toilet, and then depressed in bed. I felt powerless and no longer able to control my destiny. Around the end of March, I felt like throwing in the towel again. That is when I knew I had to take action.

I had always wanted to film a DVD. So the opportunity came to film it at the Metropolitan Room. I had also dreamed of headlining a theatre. So the weekend before Memorial Day, I booked two days. Lastly, I wanted a book signing in NYC, and it had been postponed because of Sandy. I booked that at Don’t Tell Mama. The taping was a success, and now Broke and Semi-Famous has not only sold overseas but now sells online. The headlining has put me in a whole new level of comedy, and now I am looking to headline more theatres. The book signing was also a success, and my coworkers from the telegram company performed. Each shined, and my boss was the biggest star of all.

My events were also featured in publications that previously snubbed me. Others who did not know my name now knew who I was. I walked into venues Liza Minelli and Joan Rivers stop into for fun as a paid headliner, and it was all because I took control of my own destiny. What’s more, is now I am beginning to grow into some of the roles I am good for. Directors are scouting me, and are looking at my resume mightily impressed. While I have not booked the roles yet, they are amazed at the level of experience I have. 

That lends itself to my next point. Being an artist who creates her own work has made me better on projects where I am not in the drivers seat. I respect the script in a way I never had, because I know first hand the writer wrote those words for a reason. After all, I picked the words and sentences in my book with great care, right?  I make sure to show up on a timely manner, lines memorized, to save time and money. It also shows my fellow do it yourself creator that I respect their project, and I truly do because I know how hard they worked. I say please and thank you. I take direction well, and try my damnest to do it right on the first try. Again, having been on the other side I know how important these things are. I know the people on the other side of the audition table are on my side, they have a deadline and want you to be the one. I also know editors want positive and fun content, things that are solution oriented. Oh and spell check please.  So basically, this has made me not just a better artist but a better person. 

This summer has been rewarding and good on so many levels, both personally and workwise. Creating my own events nearly killed me, but those who didn’t know about my book did. Those who didn’t know what the telegram company did now are aware we exist. My fans now have a way to watch me via DVD and online. A few weeks ago I was accidentally the poster girl for EBay online. I also booked the other opportunities through my self-starting that were amazing. Yes, my work load was exhausting, but I enjoyed every second of it. It paid off artistically and financially, because this summer the rent paid itself doing what I loved most, making others smile.

My career ebbs and flows, and August is an ebb. While I caught some good news on a puppet project I did this summer, the phone has not been ringing as much. There have been emails informing me that I am under consideration for various projects and they will let me know soon. In a way it is kind they are considering me, yet it is somewhat of a cocktease. Either tell me yes or no. The pit forms in my stomach and I want to vomit all over again. When will this vicious cycle end?

That is when I begin to plan the next group of things I will self-create. For one, there is another book in the works. I am also guiding my own mother as she writes her book on infant swimming. Additionally, I am writing a musical based on my book, and am working with a Julliard trained composer. Add in a photo shoot for my calendar, and a new music video and song premiering. Not to mention I want to film another DVD, this time for children.

So whatever happens next is unknown, and the unknown is scary. Whatever those in charge do is out of my control. However, I will continue to build my own doors. As they open, the rooms they reveal are well beyond my wildest dreams and imagination. Good luck catching up, because so far no one can stop me. 

Love

April

Check out my book I Came, I Saw, I Sang on Amazon and Barnes and Noble

Check out my DVD Broke and Semi Famous on EBay and www.aprilbrucker.com

Some Good, Some Bad

This past week has been up and down as far as everything is concerned. In some ways, I feel like my career is in free fall. The week began with me losing a theatre gig because I asked to be paid a certain amount. I wasn't being greedy. I am doing almost an hour. I have friends who would charge a few grand for that and they haven't been on television and don't have the writing credits I have. I am hardly being greedy. They get their asking price, and don't have to argue. On the other hand, I have to beg people. So after finding out the producer was being paid a decent amount and the sound man was making more than anyone, the producer told me he would "pass on this one." He didn't even try to meet me half way.

Me at the start of last week, poised like a star. 

After that, I was passed over for another gig. Yeah, as in not chosen. Don't have the look. I never really book print stuff anyway. On top of that, I met with a VO Agent. He said I needed tweaking, etc and my voice was better for cartoons. I am up and down about the whole VO thing. Some actors are into it, and some only do it as one of the many things they do. And then to get a demo is such a pain in the ass. Most people producing demos have no business doing it. I hear I would be good in that market, but then again, is it a rainbow I want to chase?

 On top of that, there was an issue with my device so I couldn't cover the World Cup like I wanted to. Basically, last week sucked careerwise.

Me at the end of last week. Oh how things change in the life of an egomaniac

So it makes the fact my refrigerator is broken and there is a small pond under my sink because my sink is leaking all the worse. However, the good news is I am a ventriloquist of note. I was featured in a positive light. They have said some God awful things about me on Vent sites in the past. It is usually Christian Ventriloquists. As if a skill from a horror movie couldn't get any scarier it just did kids. But they said kind things about me. It was a surprise to find I am not a pariah in my own community as some have claimed.

http://www.ventriloquist.org/wp/

When we aren't making diva demands according to some we are quite cute. 

Additionally, we made several cabaret websites that are hard to get onto. People are also telling me how proud they are of my event at Don't Tell Mama. I really did look good that night. I am also amazed that everything turned out so well. However that is when the fatal stomach crap started. No wonder I look so damn skinny in this pic. 

Oh yeahski!!!!

I was sick all weekend, and I couldn't leave the damn toilet. However, I watched every Karate Kid movie there was. I think we should make bracelets that say, What Would Mr. Miyagi Do? (WWMMD?) The man is awesome, especially in the first one when you think he is some humble super. However, he knows karate. And when Daniel-son aka Moron From Jersey gets himself into trouble, it's Miyagi that is like Spider Man and beats the ass of the Cobra-Kai. Mr. Miyagi foreves.

Forever my sensei

Additionally, I watched the World Cup and Germany won!!!! This made me so happy because I thought the Argentinian Team were a bunch of idiots. Oh and the players that I loved looked great. Thomas Muller winked at the camera during the national anthem. And then managed to get more grass stains on his shirt than anyone. Schweinsteiger shined and then got a bloody eye from a dirty Argentinian player. His singing during the national anthem was committed, but however, was off key. Ozil was silent during the anthem, staring off into space with those Lil Bug Eyes of his. On the field he was as strong as ever. Mario Gotze scored the goal. They operated as a unit and additionally are dead sexy. 

FTW-For the win

Don't Mess With Bug Eyes

Basti is gettin nasti. 

You have scored for Germany and scored with me, Hot Stuff

And of course being a woman, these men are the sexifacation of my lonely, overworked, career woman dreams. I don't get out much, and I need things to look forward to. So I am tossing each of these men a teddy bear.

Tossing two at once to see who catches them

Who will catch this and make a lonely woman happy?

And a bear who looks like he can take care of himself. 

And because I watched Karate Kid, I remembered no bear comforts me like Teddy Ruxpin. 

So now I am back to the grind. Maybe this week will be better with the career. I have no other life. In other news, the stomach crap has started and I have been away from the toilet for several hours. The final for my writing class is shaping up. The telegrams have me running around like gang busters which means rent is paying itself. And I will be back on Ranter at the end of this week when my phone is updated.

Also, today is my Grandmother's birthday. She would have been 90. It is also the anniversary of the storming of the Bastille. I miss my Nunni. Somewhere she is making a new friend. They just sold my grandparents house too. Oh well, her spirit is with me. And I know she would love the fact I am about to go to a TV show audition. 

My grandma colorful as ever in the hat

xoxox

April

www.aprilbrucker.com