Cold Turkey

Today I got a call from a booker I haven’t spoken to in forever and a day. It was kind of weird because for the last year and a half, in the midst of my blonde ambition and press coverage, I have vocalized my want to tour, especially internationally. As a kid, I did the road every weekend for no money. Actually I take that back, bad money and rainbow meat hamburgers.

What ended up happening is, the road took me out of the city so I kind of decided to return when I got more television credits under my belt and could demand actual money thus it would make sense to travel out of town for a tad. That being said, the sojourns out of the city were adventures and paid respites, although not well paid respites may I add. Plus I missed the camaraderie and the sometimes harried tales of comedy that brought us all closer together as a community.

Anyway, this booker whom I will call Paul Feinstein and I haven’t spoken forever and a day. Truth, I wasn’t pursuing road work in honest, at least not in the United States. But as I said this past year I vocalized wanting to tour, however the bookers I were pursuing were in Europe. In any event, I got a mentor who advised me to capitalize off of my international press in the US and then work my way to Europe. Since debuting in Vegas, the wheels have been turning that way.

Yes, I still want to go to Europe and plan on it. But my luck has changed in the United States and just as I dealt with some wonderful people abroad I am dealing with some wonderful people here. Bottom line, there are good and bad people everywhere.

Paul and I have kind of a strange history. He and I worked together a few times back in the day but life happens and you lose touch. Plus I think he was breaking up with a business partner which happens from time to time. Nonetheless, Paul has always been in my corner. He also managed one of my heroes before his unfortunate passing nearly two years ago. An eccentric workaholic, the best time to reach Paul is between midnight and 1 AM. It’s true, he told me to call him around that time back in the day and he always picked up. A copious note taker, Paul will go through your act joke by joke and tell you what works and what doesn’t.

Paul’s assistant Jake called me with news of the gig and asked me to close the show. Because the focus has been on the video end, I haven’t been doing as many live shows. However the closer pay was good. Paul then got on the line and asked me if I was closing regularly. I was honest, I wasn’t. Paul lauded me for telling the truth. He was giving me a gig that was going to pay decently for featuring, and plus the club covered hotel. Either way, this was what I needed.

For the past year I had been questioning, despite all the international buzz, whether or not I belonged in the comedy world. An eviction, even when it’s not your fault, will make you question how you conduct your affairs quite a bit. At the same time, I had been thirsting for more reasonable road work, because it pays the bills in between appearances. Also, if all goes well, Paul gives me more gigs and although he is a little crazy as we all are, he pays and is fair.

The conversation that followed is one for the books though.

Booker: Well thank you for being honest with me about everything, that goes a long way.

Me: For sure.

Booker: You see, it’s great you are a vent (ventriloquist) act. They originally wanted to use Mike Jones but apparently he’s no longer doing ventriloquism.

Me: What?! Mike Jones is so known for ventriloquism. It’s what he does.

Booker: Yeah, I know. Tell me about it. He’s no longer doing ventriloquism in his act though. The most insane part is, he isn’t even letting anyone know.

Me: Wow. Really?! That is insane. What’s he doing instead? Regular stand up.

Booker: Yup, and the worst thing is, his regular stand up is not funny enough to stand on it’s own. So he is still being booked as a ventriloquist and just showing up without his puppets.

Me: Wow. That’s nuts.

Booker: Yeah, he didn’t even do it gradually. He did it out of no where. You can’t just go cold turkey like that. It throws people off.

Sigh……this conversation sounds like it was ripped straight out of a Woody Allen movie. I often feel as if my life is a never ending adventure film that continually writes itself. My mom thought this was good, because if I can get consistent work on the road that pays half decent it will fill in the gaps when things get slow. Plus it will be making money. Not bad. As she said, "Honey, this is an open window for you."

Still, the whole situation is only mildly insane because Mike Jones was a friend I made through the ventriloquist circle. He taught ventriloquism. He performed ventriloquism. He was so into ventriloquism he sent me a persnickety note about my lip control. Mike Jones was ventriloquism!

Am I Woody Allen or Mel Brooks right now? Hard to say. As I said, cannot make this stuff up. The club owner even wrote on the website, “Our ventriloquist decided he didn’t want to be a ventriloquist anymore. Can’t make this shit up.”

Wow.

Sigh…….to have a booker saying you quit ventriloquism cold turkey. Granted, I know I am known for being addicted to my puppets and leaving a man so we could have the best life possible. Still, I have heard everything and have never heard this.

This particular ventriloquist was Mr. Ventriloquism too. He was a contemporary of Jeff Dunham as a matter of fact. He was good friends with one of my heroes, the late, great Otto Petersen. He had appeared as a headliner in Vegas and on TV AS A VENTRILOQUIST!

What happened to throw this man over the edge? Why did he put his wooden friends through the proverbial wood chipper? This was so sudden, so odd, so WTF?! The man was one who even sent me a note on my lip control technique. Bottom line, he knew his vent.

It was as if the planets crashed and out of the blue the sky began to fall after a storm of raining pigs. I told my mom this and she suspected something awful had happened in his life. But he was so dedicated, so passionate, even his own son was doing ventriloquism! What became of this poor, unfortunate family?

Either way, as my mom explained this left a headlining door wide open for me and my job was to really perfect my act. (And technically it is a double headline event it seems between me and the other fellow). She also explained that if I could get enough headlining appearances in between being on TV like I am sometimes with my kids, we could sustain ourselves more heartily. Plus I like being onstage so it’s not bad. When you get to the headliner point in comedy you can demand more money, you are the headliner damnit. It’s the way to go.

The strange thing is, I almost quit this past year as I mentioned. My faith in God is something I am proud of and do not hide, although I am not the type to shove it in people’s face. Around the beginning of the year I asked Him to guide me to see if this was what I was supposed to be doing in the first place.

The truth is, He gave me an amazing mentor in Vegas who has been a gift from heaven in every sense of the word. “Stay,” a cover I did a few years back, cracked the top 40 on a New York Dance Chart on Reverbnation. Usually you have to pay for it to crack the top 100, meaning you are independently wealthy or have a label behind you. I had neither, it just did it on it’s own. My publishing house sent me a royalty check, aka “surprise money” as writers call it. This caught me off guard, but right before my first eviction court date I found out my book had been selling overseas. Then someone was interested in an idea I have held close to my heart.

And then out of no where I get a call to do this gig. I suppose He is answering my question.

Maybe whatever is up there has been answering my question all along. (I like to call it God but who knows what it is if there is anything). Last year, as I lost two well paid campaigns to others for a myriad of reasons, none having to do with talent, I struggled to keep the faith within myself. Yet the news about my family and I hit the web. It went viral. One press agency thought I had hired a publicist. I wanted to tell them, “Silly rabbits, when you are facing eviction you can’t even pay your rent…….a publicist is out of the question.”

In the midst of the bed bugs, mold, and other drama I found my story somewhere new in the world daily it seemed. Yes, I was on my way to being homeless in America but damnit they were singing my praises in Albania. I also got onstage religiously and was putting away some awesome sets. For the first time in forever I was enjoying comedy. Maybe this was whatever was upstairs guiding me to keep my head on straight because sometimes I lose sight of what’s important. We all do. Bottom line, we get what we want just not in the way we think we will get it, and everything happens in it’s own time.

Maybe Mike Jones went through a difficult phase like I did. I know he wasn’t the same after his massive heart attack and might be losing his mind. Maybe, just maybe, during those difficult times he had idiots like my ex friend whispering their negativity in his ear. And maybe he didn’t have the strength or awareness to tune them out. Whatever the case is, I hope he finds some peace. Mike is a nice guy.

Either way, this whole thing is playing out like a comedy melodrama online. Mike has written a scathing post in regards to this club owner whom he refers to as an egomaniac, and says the man is in violation of contract. As Mike has aired his grievance, many of his supporters have rallied around him. He insists, “No club owner can tell me how to do my act.”

Mike has gone so far as to encourage other headliners not to work with this particular man.

On the same token, the club owner has fired back as I explained earlier by writing, "You can't make this shit up."

He further blasted Mike on the comedy club's website without using his name, but referred to me as a “better, more talented entertainer” that they got to replace him. Mike was an excellent ventriloquist, so if I am better or more talented remains to be seen. I get wanting to grow as a comedian and do other things, but you have to ease people into them. And I get where the club owner is coming from, it's like going to a diner, ordering scrambled eggs, and them bringing you chili. I know I will probably get the full story this weekend, and I will say it's none of my business.......although the industry gossip in me will be all ears, interested to know how this thing went down and I got in the middle. 

 I get to do this weekend with an old open mic friend I haven’t seen in years who is doing quite well. At the very least this will be a good story. I am excited because of the opportunity, but scared so that means it’s time to work on my act.

I feel like I am living the movie Broadway Danny Rose. It’s one of my mentor’s favorite films. Maybe I will watch it later today. 

Check out the club's website http://www.myclubcomedy.com/show-schedule-and-tickets.html

Perfectly Perfect

Lately, I have been coming off of a chaotic streak. Okay, between facing eviction, a move under duress, and spinkle in a bad breakup with a liar things have been crazy. Did I forget my cancer scare?

Yeah.

Slowly and surely things have been returning to normal. Monday and Tuesday I open miced it. The mic on Monday was at The Unicorn, and it was fun because I got to go with an old friend. It was nice to be onstage again.

Last night I went to an open mic at the Metropolitan Room. Usually the open mic is a blast in the basement of the carbaret theatre. Upstairs is show tunes, downstairs is dick jokes. It's always fun and supportive, but nothing dramatic usually happens. Anyway, last night this comic starts dropping the "n word." Mind you he's white and usually a nice dude but it's a part of a joke. He says it's a "soft n" which is kinda stupid because there is no such thing. So this black dude jumps out of the shadows kinda and says, "What you say mutherfucka!"

Anyway, the dude dukes the white comic. And the mic stand got bent! Oh, and they had to break it up. The sucky thing is, I missed the whole thing. DAMN! Been a minute since I saw a good open mic fight.

Open mics and I, and I am free to admit it, have a weird relationship. At this point in my career I am kind of "famous." So to be seen at an open mic is like a cool kid in high school being seen shopping at an outlet. At the same time, it is a necessary evil. Also, to me the open mic is like the ex who you break up with, and remains friends with because you like them but dont love them. But at times you see them and remember why the relationship didn't work. Or you also see them and remember why they always make you smile. Yeah, the relationship is weird.

Tomorrow is going to be busy because I have a cake girl in the morning and a puppet show in the noon. How the hell am I going to do it? I am already dreading tomorrow. I booked the puppet show at the last minute yesterday and my boss has a cake girl today. One is in the Bronx. The other is in Brooklyn. I am secretly hoping tomorrow isn't going to kill me, although it is great to be working this much again.

Today my comic book drops at Forbidden Planet.

My new toilet bottom is kind of yellow and still looks like someone peed in it even when you flush.
My man hate issues

Grasshopper Guidepost: Back to Basics

In my previous post, I talked about a near nervous breakdown I had that I am only coming out of. To say this place wasn’t dark and scary is a lie. I began to hate the very thing I loved, entertaining others and making them laugh. On top of that, I got so into my work, that I neglected to spend time with my friends. I was less like a ventriloquist, comedian and writer and more like a mad scientist.

In my line of work, they always talk about chronic unemployment. There is the actor/waiter cliché, or the comedian/doorman, the lesser known one but more or less understood here in New York. Sure, everyone talks about how fabulous it is when the phone starts to ring, the calendar fills up, and things start to happen. You are the party guest everyone wants to suck up to.  They always talk about the good stuff. Don’t get me wrong. Being a working performer is a gift from God. Being able to make others laugh is also a gift as well. I am lucky to have been able to put both together this year.

However, they never talk about what happens when things get busy. Yes, when the work comes in faster than you can handle it. Or when you rip up your closet looking for a wardrobe piece and stub your toe. The worst part is, you have no clue where the wardrobe piece is and you need it with the greatest of urgency. They never talk about the crazy hours and how they don’t cease. Then here you are, successful. Everyone is congratulating you. As your bathroom looks like a drag queen vandalized the place because there is so much damn glitter, you realize again, yes, you are working. Yet no one ever told you that you would be too tired to enjoy your success, because you are constantly moving and running like you are in a never ending marathon where you are forced to sprint. 

An opera singer friend of mine from high school, Deborah, who is a soprano that tours the world currently, read my blog. She told me she was at the same place, feeling the same way. This was good to know, because truth, I felt like a huge brat for even feeling tired. Studying her whole life, Deborah got her BM from Eastman School of Music and her MM from University of Texas. Each year, she sings with the Wagner Festival in Germany. Yes, she too has chased her goals, is reaping the reward, and is too tired to enjoy it. I felt like I wasn’t isolated and terminally unique, but it is an odd place to be that no one ever talks about.

Perspective is the key. I remember as the meltdown was happening, I actually started weeping on the phone to my mother. She told me that yes, she has always wanted a pool and now that she has one, she can hardly enjoy it because she is so busy having to maintain it. My folks also remodeled a rental property in South Carolina. While the renovations are beautiful and the view is beach front, my mother more or less has to deal with the upkeep, renter drama, and real estate agency. She reminded me of this too. Every rose has it’s thorn I suppose.

A year and a half ago, I was having the same type of meltdown but on a much smaller scale. I was in the midst of a project in a recording studio, and the telegrams were picking up. Of course I was scheduled to be Marilyn Monroe, had to curl my hair, and was crippled without my hairspray, and I was on a tight schedule. I went to the pharmacy, and there was my former dance teacher from college, Madison Kahn, having a meltdown because they couldn’t find her son’s much needed asthma medicine in the computer.

To give you an idea, Madison is a former Rockette who is still beautiful even in her 40s. She has also been Anita in West Side Story on Broadway. I still remember having her for class. Point blank Madison explained, “I was a Rockette, then I was on Broadway, now I am a mom.” Some found her mean, probably because she wanted people to take the class seriously. I, on the other hand, was always inspired by her love for teaching and the generosity that she so freely gave the knowledge she had. Madison wanted these young actors to know that her class was just as important as their four hour Method Acting Seminar that they attended twice weekly, and it was. You never know when being able to dance might get you the job.

Madison recognized me, and we began to talk. I told her I was losing my mind too, because my work schedule was crazy. Without missing a beat, she reminded me, “Never complain about working.” Now I remembered why I loved this woman. #RESPECT.

Recently, I have found myself thinking of her and all my teachers from college. I realized history unfortunately repeated itself in a way. When I was 18, I had a similar meltdown where I had moved to New York and felt overwhelmed by the demands of my classes. The city was big, I knew no one, and all my school mates were trying to make their mark. Stressed, I was losing my mind. After a diet of coffee and nothing caused a neurotic fit in dance class with the notorious Joelle Edwards, I was sent to talk to someone at my college because they were "concerned."

I still remember Sarah Bowman. She had been adjunct at Yale and taught at Howard where she was dean of drama for a bit. Sarah said to me, “You got in here, you are talented. Let’s get that out of the way. That being said, you want what you want and you want it now. It’s a process. You need to trust the process.”

Sarah Bowman me pegged. And as I was melting down, screaming that my hard work was never going to pay off her words echoed through my head. I still saw the shaking, crying basketcase so eager to please. I thought time and some self-esteem sent her packing. Guess not. Guess she was living here rent free the entire time. Guess she was waiting to come out as this past year saw me working like a dog to advance to the next level, seeing some almosts that were not meant and crying every step of the way. Not being able to let go of anything that came my way, but rather having my bloody claw marks on every little thing. Oh and not only was coffee becoming a food group, but I also think at this point it might have been my blood type. 

After remembering my dance teacher Madison’s words, and Sarah’s frank talking to, something told me the answer to my problems was just at my finger tips. In my apartment, I still have the notes from all my old college acting classes. They were written in my crazy 20 year old short hand. Some were notes on how to take care of my voice. There was a lot about breathing from the diaphragm that I thought to be useless at the time but did anyway. Oh and then it was breathing, breathing, breathing. At the time, breathing was the Goddamn bane of my existence.

Then further along were notes from movement teachers on how to relax, slow down, and take care of my body. After which were notes from my singing teacher, more breathing. Not to mention notes from my acting teachers about relaxing my devil brow, the thing I inherited from my father. Lastly was a note from my dear playwrighting teacher about trimming the fat in my well written script. A little bit of a wake up from the past call since the blogs I write have been verbose as of late.

At that stage in my life, I had loved the Strasberg Method. However, my mind raced like that of every BFA student with the question, “When the hell am I going to use this? When will I get to the good stuff like Shakespeare?”

Add in the young attitude iconoclastic mantra about breaking all the rules because they were old and useless. Truth, one must know the rules before they break them. And why fix something that is actually pretty good? More truth, when people tell say that theatre school does not teach you how to be a working performer, they are wrong. Actually, they are goons. While you cannot control how you look or what mood the casting director is in, technique is the one thing you can control. If you shine as you show up, eventually you will be noticed. Technique also gives you the ability to shine during a long run or film shoot. 

Then I remembered my vocal production teacher Aaron, a Broadway vet who also toured the world with several operas, that in order to be a working performer one had to be in good physical shape, eat sensibly, and take care of their bodies. This too was in my notes. Yes, it was there in black and white under some more notes about breathing and not using my throat I had from a midterm jury. Now I knew why I was flipping out, feeling lousy, and losing my voice. Aaron’s class could be cumbersome to be at sometimes, the bane of my young performer existence. Yet here he was digging me out of my current quandary.

Of course in between class notes were jokes I had written. Some were on the bus or subway between classes. Others were scribbles of ideas that came into my head as others did scene work and I kept myself occupied. Most young actors doze off in general when others are working on scenes, which isn’t good. Still, I was off task in a constructive way. A lot of what I wrote was terrible, but some were gems that I still use.

Then I realized something very important. All these notebooks were before my puppet children and I got on television for any reason. This was before I had fans and fan contests. These scribbles were from the days where I inhabited mildew filled basements in New York by night earning my wings. I didn’t have an ego, I knew I hadn’t earned one. Rather, my only aim was to be funny onstage, a good actor all around, and a heck of a writer.

Since that time I had been on television, acted on stage and screen, and even wrote a book. Yet I felt like I had no steam and if everyone who supported me knew, they would be so disappointed. I was so drained, cynical and jaded. I had nothing left to give, and wasn’t going to get where I needed to go. Why keep going? There was always someone doing better than me. That is when it clicked, if I wanted to get out of my black hole I had to go back to basics.

To inspire myself, I am reading plays again by playwrights who inspire me. When I have downtime, I am taking webinars and watching films that inspire me. I am also leaning on my network of performer and writer friends, who gently remind me that I am not alone and that there is help getting to the next level. With me, I have notebooks where my ideas are jotted down. I am getting onstage again. When I am not onstage, I am in front of my mirror perfecting my ventriloquism and puppet work. While it’s good, I have developed some terrible habits over the years that need to be killed in their tracks. Through my notoriety, I have used that, resting on my laurels, and have developed some very bad habits. So I am fixing them.

I wanted to take my new found zeal somewhere. As if there was an answer to my prayers, someone messaged me with a spot. Excited, I went down, had fun, and made people laugh.

As I graced the stage, there was a part of me that was nervous because during my semi-nervous breakdown I was not getting up early as much, and didn’t feel as sharp. Stepping behind the mic, I heard the voice of my old friend Barry Lawrence, the one who had literally been my big brother from a different mother. Yes, poor Barry. The one who should have been on Letterman but drank and coked his way out of a promising comedy career. Calling me from the past, Barry’s voice whispered, “Just be yourself and the jokes will come, April.”

Yes the memo to be myself again. Yes, myself. Not the girl on TV, the one fans recognized with her puppets, or the too smart feminist who somehow published a book. Yes, myself, not this idiotic persona I had adopted as I saw some success. Yes, myself, not this desperate neurotic who had to prove to the world she deserved to be a working performer. They didn’t hire me because they made a mistake. My audiences didn’t laugh just to be nice. I deserved what I was getting because I was hard working and talented. At that moment, I decided I didn’t have to prove anything to anyone anymore. And I began to riff and got a laugh. The rest of the set rocked, and so did all my fellow comedians.

When I got offstage, I was greeted by my comedy peers. I felt like I was a part of a community again, and not some outsider. Sure, the jealousy and politics had poisoned what I loved, but I had let it. When I got offstage, I spoke to some friends of mine. We had all done a talking head video shoot for a television program the week before. One friend, Sarafina, told me they had spoken about how funny I was after I left. This was a feather in my cap and made my night. Mind you this was after finding out I had a surprise royalty check in the mail that morning from my book.

Yes, this video shoot was last Friday when I had stumbled across my old college notes. My teacher Laura Steinberg was right. It’s amazing what happens when you breathe, relax your brow, and don’t mug at the audience. When you are where your feet are, anything is possible.

As I thought of Laura I thought of Michael Roy, my movement teacher from Australia and an ex-Merce Cunningham dancer. He had told me during my school days I would do well because I was both “gorgeous and hysterical.” Michael had reminded us that we only got one body, and so it was our job to take care of it. The man had always given me “A’s,” but if he could see me now he would give me a big old “F” for fail on that basic life test.

After Michael Roy came the thought of my actor ex, Ben. Before doing New York, Ben had done Chicago. While a spoiled trust fund idiot, Ben said one thing that stuck with me, “You picked the hardest profession there is. You have enough against you. Don’t give yourself anymore problems.”

Here I was, thinking I had come so far when really I wasn’t so far from the same mess I was when I was a little fireball starting her journey. Maybe the little fireball wasn’t all bad, she got me this far and she proved a lot of dissenters wrong. That same little fireball grew into a working performer and published novelist. Not many of her naysayers have the same bragging rights. Not to mention a lot of her old teachers are proud when she tells them she is a working performer. They might question why she speaks in third person, but she knows she had a lot of people cheering for her and still does.

Being a working artist is a gift, and so was turning 30. I know I am finally hitting my stride after an arduous climb and a lot of hard work. To keep on track, I am becoming educated about nutrition and am painstakingly eating sensibly. I am accepting things don’t happen when I want. Maybe it’s why I am a puppeteer and writer, it gives me my control fix. However, when one receives a gift they should say thank you. So I thank the universe by eating well, getting plenty of rest, and taking care of my body.

Somewhere, an old studio teacher of mine, probably Rob who taught Thai Chi, is laughing and saying, “Ahhhh grasshopper.” 

www.aprilbrucker.com

The Live Comedy Conundrum

This past week, I have been flirting with the idea of possibly producing a live event. Without getting into detail, I have my pick of spaces. One is a cabaret venue, a legendary one, that I have a longstanding relationship with. The other is an Off-Broadway Theatre on restaurant row, one in which show that begin there end up on Broadway at some point, or are critical favorites. I have earned the right to consort with both. Dealing with which one I should pick is six of one and half dozen of another.

In the end, it is the same storm of bullshit and the same red tape. The question is, in the end which storm of bullshit and red tape do I want to deal with? Well kids, what I am trying to say is welcome to the wonderful world of live theatre in any capacity.

There is nothing like live performance, whether it is comedy, cabaret, or theatre. You are in the moment, and anything can happen. Applause is like an orgasmic response or a drug, and sometimes both at the same time. It is a high when a show goes well, and like a heroin addict you only want more. The actors are feet away, and then your scene partner forgets a line. You make it work, and together your effort almost makes it better than what you rehearsed as the audience is glued. You get a heckler, and your one the mark comeback is better than any joke you ever wrote as you get a round of applause……There’s no business like show business.

When I started in New York, I did a lot of live performing. For most Saturdays, I performed as a part of a children’s show at an Obie Award winning theatre, both legendary for it’s talent and the eccentric members that lived there. I also performed for a short while doing improv, but improv is not my gift. Then was my stint in a weekly Off-Broadway dinner theatre show where I played a meaty, fun character role and moved up to a lead. Add in my Saturdays with a puppet show at Green Acres Mall for the children where I was head puppeteer and voice artist. I also did a few variety shows and play readings during my NYU days. So I do appreciate the lore of live theatre.

Then in addition, I spent my younger years performing comedy, and quite a bit of it. I spent most nights in basements either soaring or dying for various crowds, and then my food money on subway fair. Sometimes, I would be up onstage six times a night. Comedy at it’s core is in the moment. Like acting, it is based on the truth we are all trying to get to. The audience can tell if you are so full of shit you can’t see straight. Comedy makes a performer real honest real quick, because comedy comes from that place of being uncool. This is why a comedy club is so magical. Right there, in front of a crowd of strangers watching, you can make a discovery that is not only funny, but the root of who you are as a person.

While acting was what my degree was in, and I did both acting and comedy in college, standup was where the doors ultimately opened after I graduated. I found myself on the road most weekends, and became rather good at hosting and middling. When I got the chance, I started hosting my own weekly mic in the basement of a taco joint. The ceiling leaked and most of the time the stage made out of something akin to plywood was a safety hazard, and the mic almost never worked. We got crowds of tourists to watch us, and we all were baptized by fire. After that, I hosted another mic and produced show wherever they would let me.

And then slowly, I began to burn out.

Around my mid-twenties, I found myself on the road most weekends. While the audiences were sometimes good, the money was awful and was eaten up by gas price. Sure, I was getting experience, but burning my paycheck was getting old, especially if they paid me shit for ten hours up and ten hours back. I made comedian friends, but most of the time they weren’t going anywhere except gigs that were 50 bucks and a burger. I also ran the open mic circuit, but as each mic had inside jokes and I found myself consistently performing for the sick fucks that are comedians, I didn’t find myself getting better let alone funnier. Then I hosted and produced for one club and it’s sister, and the manager I worked under was an abusive, tired, embittered frustrated actor who had never risen above student films. Most of the time, I did check spots, being bumped for male comedians or those who somehow were just luckier than I was in that setting.

Then in order to get stage time, it became a rat race that made me ill to run. It was like a thousand rats, literally, going for the same tired ass piece of cheese. What, a spot in some basement for three people because the producer won a shit award? Bitch please.

On top of that, the combination late nights, long mileage from travel, stress, and poor eating habits were making me sick. Sometimes I would vomit because I ate bad food. Sometimes I would vomit because I was so exhausted. Sometimes I would be too sick to vomit, I would just collapse at random times in my apartment. My body was tired and I couldn't feel it because I just kept going. Yet the more I kept going, the more I felt like a rat in the same rat race on the rat wheel going crazy. 

Frustrated and unfulfilled, I began making my own puppet videos. May Wilson and I interviewed celebrities or just did skits, sometimes with other puppeteers, but sometimes on our own. When I made my videos I found I had more fun, and I found I wasn’t as bitter, angry, or tired. I also found more opportunities opened for me with my writing in conjunction with my videos. As I was getting money to blog and make videos, I began to question why I was even still pursuing standup comedy, an art form on life support. 

I produced shows several more times before hanging up that towel for a few years. During that point, I went through lowered attendance, possibly because my videos were getting all my energy. I started to haggle with the space and then didn’t care. In the end, when as one producer, a small time comic who I will not name, aggressively tried to steal my people for his audience. That is when I knew I had to go in a new direction. So I made more videos, helped pitch a possible television idea, and drafted my book.

A few months later, my puppet children and I got a television opportunity that changed our lives forever. I put the club I had done so much work for on television, giving them more exposure than they had gotten elsewhere. They thanked me by firing me from my job. I figured a flagship club would scoop me up. Didn’t happen. So I was back to square one with no home.

Other doors opened. Because of my video making, I got a job as a talking head and other talking head gigs followed, sometimes online and sometimes various apps. While they weren’t perfect, they all paid. Not to mention my night wasn’t dependent on whether or not people showed up. If no one showed up, I could still do my rant or whatever else. On one site I could be booted off if I wasn’t liked, but at the same time I could perform for up to a few thousand at a time. Question: Why the hell was I worrying about a shit comedy spot for three fucking people?

Then there were more doors that opened. I had not only the opportunity to write my book, but to publish it. I also have blogged for some hoity toity blogs and magazines. In my simple days of being one of a herd of cattle, I never had these opportunities not would I have sought them out.

I also was able to do some things with acting, and was even in a television show, commercial, and movie. Not only did I realize how much I missed my first love, but more than anything, I discovered how much I liked doing film. I was able to go, do my job, and make a new discovery on each take. After filming a pilot for IFC, I came to believe there was more to be done in this area for myself not only as an artist, but as a person.

Of course, I was also able to do more with puppetry. I not only got to work as a ventriloquist, but also a hand and rod puppeteer. I did a weekly show for children, and served as head puppeteer in a short film winning accolades in festivals.

Lastly of course, not only did I start to record music, but also had a song that was number one on the internet charts for five weeks. Making the videos for these was fun, and recording was a blast. It seemed like putting standup on the back burner and exiting the club opened up a whole new world full of possibilities, creativity, and not so much tired ass bullshit. Getting fired from that club may have actually been one of the best artistic and personal accomplishments ever.

I told myself that if I were to return with the gusto I once had, it would be on my terms. So this past year, I figured I had gotten notoriety and was somewhat visible, I might as well. This past April, I produced and starred in my DVD taping. For two months I ran my set in my apartment, did publicity, and harassed anyone who would listen about the event. Day of the event, success. However, had a Rocky-esque meltdown afterwards. My friend, a fellow puppeteer, impersonator, and opening act assured me that it was all going to be okay pre-show. It was, but it almost killed me. 

Then I remembered that while TV appearances and such got me fans, there was a reason my live appearances were limited. It was because the planning, drama beforehand, and everything else leading up to it could kill a person. Sure, the payoff was wonderful, but was it worth all the shit? 

After that, I started to do more comedy again and remembered what had attracted me in the first place. And in what seemed like a call back to an era gone, I wasn’t tired. I wasn’t bitter that I wasn’t born a man. I was actually energized to get onstage, and had a tablet full of jokes. About a month later, I headlined a theatre for not one but two nights. I managed to kill both nights, and made a crowd of new fans. The first night the crowd was cute, but the second night the house was packed. Both shows made me remember why I pursued comedy in the first place. It was because I loved making others laugh. 

However, I also found myself frustrated with the promoter. He promised me my opener would pack the house first night, and my opener failed to do that. Second night, the promoter overbooked the show with every friend and comedian he felt sorry for. Thus it made my job harder because instead of a headliner show, it could well turn into a situation where the audience was tired of comedy and there was no way in hell I was having that. I let my grievance be known and was accomodated, but it was some frustration, and again, remembered why my appearances were limited. It is the before show drama that we must all face, novice to headliner alike. Sure, the show turned out well, but I hate having to turn into a diva on people. He was a good dude, but I know what works. I have been around too long. 

About a month afterwards, I did other spots and readied myself for a book signing event at a well known cabaret theatre. My dance card was full, and I did not anticipate this as I got the event date. Not to mention it was a holiday weekend, and the only time I could get my performers together. My boss Bruce’s assistant Laila helped me plan the event, and it ended up being a success. But there was some drama with the venue and confusion over the guest list and other details that nearly made me lost my mind. Actually, I think I was screaming in a bar restroom during one of my meltdowns. The event ended up being a success as I said. My coworkers were superb, my boss fabulous, and everyone enjoyed the show and my book. Yet it was another reminder why I stepped back from live performing and producing both.

For the last several months, I have done an open mic here and there and a show or two but nothing real serious. Organizing a DVD taping and a book release event will kick a person’s ass. Plus I hate having to pay for stage time. Call me a bitch but I am above it. Yes, I am above it. Not to mention the last month and a half I have been more on the broke end of things anyway.

It is also making me question which way I should go with my career. I love being onstage, but hate the bullshit that come with live events. Should I stick with film, go back to acting class, and run that way? Maybe it’s time I knock on that door again. I am finally old enough to start playing some of the roles I am good for. Plus I have comedic timing, life experience, and other skills I can bring to the table. If anything, I am ten times the actor I was ten years ago.

Or maybe I should do the whole writing thing. I love writing, and have enjoyed writing my blog and for other publications. Heck, I even wrote a book. Maybe I should get a steady freelancer or staffer position somewhere. After all, I can write in any and all styles. Plus like the whole acting things, I have comedic timing, life experience, and loads of other skills I bring to the table. I am ten times the writer I was ten years ago, when I first started blogging.

Then there is the pure puppet route. This year I ended up doing some hand and rod work, and becoming a student of the craft of puppetry, and not just ventriloquism. I want to do more and learn more, not to mention there aren't very many women who are good puppeteers to begin with. 

For some people, stand up comedy is the springboard. For others, it is the destination to film/television/radio, writing, producing, club management and every other goal. Maybe standup was just the mere springboard for me. If that is the case I accept it.

Should I swallow the sexism, bullshit, politics, and tired ass drama of live performance to chase a laugh? Should I concentrate my energies elsewhere as the doors continue to open there? I dunno, I’ll sleep on it. 

www.aprilbrucker.com

Broke and Semi-Famous: The Backstory

I just finally released my first DVD, a huge step in the comedy world. It is something I have been actively working for. Yes, it has taken me the better part of a decade to have the skills to do. Now that I am getting a bit of a name for myself, here I am doing it. Go Team Superfoxxx.

The concept of doing a DVD came after wanting to do it for sometime. It was winter, and I was living the Charles Dickens, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” Fan mail was coming in, but I was wondering how and if I was going to feed myself. I remember two fans recognized me after a show, and then knew there would be no laundry money because I was spending my spare change getting home. Then fans recognized me on the street, but then I got a friendly email from my bank. My rent check had bounced, so that meant running to make sure there were funds.

I kept telling myself it would get better. But all it did was rain shit. People would write me to book me for gigs that seemed exciting. Buttering up my ego, they would tell me what big fans they were. I would ask them if the opportunity was paid. They would give me the run around. Some promised me a partnership. Which means working for free a lot and then not seeing a dime ever. Others promised me 50 bucks and a burger if I would schlep to hell and back to perform. I would map quest the locale only to find out I was losing money, which doesn’t help when your rent check has already bounced. Or they would offer me exposure. Yes, that is great when you are starting out. However, I had paid my dues. After all, mountain climbers die of exposure.

When I would demand to be paid fairly for my time and skill set, I would be told it wasn’t in their budget. Okay, fair, whatever. But why did you write me in the first place? Others would inform me I should be flattered that I was getting a gig at their shithole establishment. I have done enough 50 bucks and a burger shows to know most of the time they are hellacious nights that aren’t even worth me showing up at this point in my life. Then there were those who informed me I had a serious attitude problem and needed to “get experience.” Read my resume lately, dickhead? I have done things you will never do. Now let me wash my clothes in my sink because I have ten years of experience and no money in my pocked for laundry.

What pissed me off even more was some of these fuckers acted as if I was asking for an extra limb. 

Meanwhile I have comedian friends who do not have my television credits or visibility. But we can both successfully do close to an hour. They have been around twice as long as me, but I have more of a draw.

 How is it that I have to pull teeth to be treated fairly, but they get paid 2 grand for the same theatre show? It’s nothing against them. Truth: They sided with me and told me I was doing the right thing, standing my ground and putting up the boundary. They are actually guiding me on how to have the conversation successfully and from a place of truth and love.

The bottom descended in March. It was the month from hell. I auditioned for a network show, and while I got close to making the cut I did not get the job. Another idea I had almost got picked up by another network, but then was put in the circular file for other reasons that had nothing to do with me. I applied for a grant to do children’s programming, and while they liked the idea they passed on me as well. I also came close to landing three major writing jobs but was passed over. As for the singing telegrams, the phone was not ringing either. Who in my last life had I pissed off?

As if shit wasn’t hitting the fan enough in my professional life, I was hitting another rock bottom in my personal life. Familial drama was at an all time high. There was a lot going on, and I found myself oscillating between anger and concern for some of my relations. Also, because of the nature of this drama, I found old wounds were not only being opened, but a bag of salt being poured on them. I also thought I had finally found the man of my dreams, only to find out he was using me for both a green card and a place to live. So my heart was broken. On top of that, I had the wife of an ex of mine stalking me. When she wasn’t harassing me online, she was calling me up to thirty times a day. Oh, and she would tell anyone that would listen about how I wouldn’t leave her alone.

Yes, I wasn’t getting a break. I would pray to God or whoever is up there asking for relief. All I got was more shit storm. I still remember calling a friend of mine for comfort. She was someone I had taken in when she had no where to live. Instead, I got a scathing response where she told me I deserved every piece of bad luck I was getting and more. At that moment, it occurred to me my friend was not happy for the success I had been getting, and it made her more happy than anything in the world that I was down. When I hung up the phone with her, I had an anxiety attack so terrible I thought I was actually having a heart attack. While I wrote her off and swore never to speak to her again, it was just one more shingle falling off of the roof of the house I didn’t even have.

I tried applying for other forms of employment. Each time I was rejected. It wasn’t my education or experience. Some rejected me because they had seen me on TV, and was afraid I was going to be a distraction. Others told me that they would give me a job, but feared I would leave when gigs picked up. (They were right, I would). So after this happened five times, I was at a dead end.

Broke and at the end of my rope, I was forced to take a craigslist flyering job. Yes, bitch work. A force feeding of humble pie of you will. It was flyering for some shiteous art fair. I remember talking to the guy Robert on the phone. He took himself so seriously. I felt like Job, cursed and plagued because for some reason God and the devil were making a bet on my ass. I wanted to tell them both to fuck off. They both sucked and would lose.

The next day I went to the gig in front of his antique store. I already hated myself and my life, but was trying to think positive in this shit storm my existence had become. I looked around for the condescending smirker I met on the phone, but instead saw no one. This voice echoed from the black van in the morning darkness, “You must be April.” I looked and saw a sadistic looking Santa Claus figure in the van.

“Hi.” I said unexcited.

“Come in.” He chimed arrogantly.

“That is a risky tact for New York City.” I snapped. I didn’t like him. This was bitch work. There was no reason I had to be pleasant.

 In the few minutes we chatted I already could tell I didn’t like him, and this was going to be a long day. I was trying my damnest to hide it, but was failing like a quadruple amputee climbing Mount Everest. “It’s amazing how many people applied for this job. One guy sent me the pictures of all the trade shows he did. It’s amazing how many people are unemployed and looking for work. You are very lucky to have this job.” Robert said. Yes me, NYU grad who had gotten a flowery fan letter the day before and was set to film her big DVD in three weeks at the Metropolitan Room. I was lucky to be working for an asshole such as himself.

The rest of the half-hearted crew came. Like me, they were trying to disguise the fact they would much rather not be there and were failing worse than I was. We rode in the car to the art fair. Sitting in the front, I chatted with Robert trying to make friendly conversation. He mentioned he wanted me to use my puppet Don Juan. Perhaps this would be an okay day, and I was just letting my ego dampen things. I had known cast members of big shows who still worked as cater waiters when things were slow. Maybe I just had to put on my big girl pants and shut up.

As Robert and I spoke, I mentioned being in Art Forum. I wanted to let this moron know I knew my shit. It had only been a few months earlier, and the whos who of the art world got featured. My puppets and I got a nice mention. Robert had never heard of Art Forum. Then we began talking about art. I mentioned my favorite was Damien Hurst. Robert didn’t know who he was. Anyone who knows art knows Damien Hurst. I took a breath and ground my teeth. Not only was this man an arrogant assweed but he was also a tremendous poser. I just wanted to die at that moment and go to heaven. Why? Because I was already in hell.

As if things were not bad enough, Robert asked “How is the career going?”

He knew the answer to that question. After all, I was working for him. No, I was not there by choice. At that moment, I wanted to cry. Everyone had warned me about this when I decided on this career. I told them they were all wrong. However, I worked hard and sacrificed most of my twenties. Maybe I had wasted my time after all. Sure I had been on TV. Sure I had written a book. Sure I had worked with some of my heroes. I thought things would be different to say the least. Maybe I had done everything I was supposed to do with comedy and writing. Maybe it was time to go back to school, get another degree, and get a real job. Theatre students come in handy all the time in non-performance related fields. This was just a nightmare, and I didn’t have it in me to continue.

Then I mentioned my writing, blogging for the Huffington Post. That is when Robert asked me if I wanted to do some art blogging. I lied and said yes just because my head hurt and I wanted him to shut the fuck up. I had no intention of art blogging for him. I wanted the fucking day to be over. Then he said, “You have all these skills. You need to transform them into an actual living.” Shit, this was like talking to my family. I felt the pins and needles being shoved into my heart and soul. I had entered the darkness and saw no way out.

When I got to the destination, I was partnered with a girl who was trying to be an actress. She was a gorgeous black girl named Gina. Living in the city for nearly ten years, student films were the most experience she had. It was a shame, because she had a great look. For the most part, she made her bread and butter from promo gigs. I remembered the days when promos paid a lot of my rent too, and thought I was past that. Her boyfriend, who was a standup comedian I never heard of, obtained some agent and got a callback for a national commercial of some sort but didn’t book it. Robert told me my job was to perform with Don Juan, and told Gina she was to wear a sandwich board. When the sandwich board comes out, it’s a job that is going to be bad. Illegals are forced to wear them. They can’t protest because they can’t work on the books. So yeah, it was starting to suck more and more.

The day was sucktacular. Within minutes of us being out there, the wind picked up and the temperature dropped like it typically does in the bipolar New York spring. I was worried. Despite being someone who layers, it had been super warm in the morning. My Obamacare had yet to kick in, so I knew I was risking my health. To top it off, the snotty art fair people did not take our flyers, and yelled at us because we were a rival art fair and that was a no no. Robert was not only an awful human being and an idiot, he was an art world pariah. AWESOME!!!

Gina and I began to talk. She said Robert had told her he would pay her at the end of the day Sunday. He told me we were getting paid at the end of the day Saturday and then same Sunday. I was hoping at the end of the day Saturday. I had no intention of returning for more fun Sunday. I told Gina my feeling was he was trying to rip us off. Gina pointed out he was an old man.

I began to grumble. It was cold and this whole thing sucked. Gina and I decided to move up the block. No one was taking our flyers and it was warmer. Sure, I had done all these things. I was forced into servitude at the hands of a fucktard. Bills had to be paid though. And in three hours I would be out of there. Maybe there was a silver lining.

We broke for pizza. I took my time eating. It was cold and only getting colder. While I was trying to be optimistic, I knew I wasn’t going to last the whole day. When I got back outside, I got an angry phone call from Robert. The old bastard claimed to be looking for us for an hour. I explained we had moved up the block. No one was taking our fliers and we were cold. So Robert said, “I DIDN’T PAY YOU TO COME UNPREPARED!!!!!!!”

At that moment I knew my instincts were right. We weren’t seeing the money, and I wasn’t lasting the entire day. Additionally, I wasn’t like those other flyer people. I had done things and didn’t have to take his shit. What landed me there was fear I wouldn’t have enough money. Fear was also keeping me in self-pity. This was why things weren’t getting any better. At that moment, I stopped being afraid. Calmly, I said, “Sorry, I don’t think this is working out.” Then I hung up the phone.

“Where are you going?” Gina asked.

“Home.”

“Was he mad?”

“Yeah, and you are probably never going to see that money. So you should leave to. And here are his flyers.” I said dropping them on the ground. I then hailed a cab, heading home. I didn’t have the money to pay for it, and was living on credit cards anyway. But I wasn’t afraid. I knew whatever happened next was going to be okay. I just had to keep moving.

From there, I spent every waking minute preparing for my DVD taping. I hit the open mics, bar shows, and then practiced in my room. I sent invites and terrorized everyone I crossed paths with until they agreed to come. I also began to talk to myself more positively. Each day, I woke up and told myself I was going to do this. I had paid my dues, I had earned my fans, and now it was time I stopped working for shit money and for free. I was not being a diva. I was being reasonable. To prepare for my event, I also watched Rocky every night for the next two and a half weeks. Not only did it make me feel good, but it made me believe anything was possible, especially getting out of my own quicksand.

Slowly things got better as I stopped feeling so sorry for myself, and the event at the Metropolitan Room was a success. My show went before Annie Ross, and that evening I found for years I had been using an Annie Ross line without even being aware. Some say this was coincidence. I believe it was fate. For as tired as I was at the end of the big night, I felt things beginning to shift for me.

The months of May, June, and July proved to be busy. So much so the rent has basically paid itself and I have not longed for anything. Also, I now work with a manager, who not only helped me secure a job that paid well and that I liked doing, but now helps me have those difficult conversations about money. Additionally, I inform people I will not work for free, and now they no longer ask. But as I said, things have been so busy in a good way that now I am finally releasing my DVD. Also, I am starting to learn how to save money for when the inevitable shit storm comes again.

In a bittersweet salute to the terrible, long, cold, brutal winter and the events leading up to my taping, I decided to name my DVD Broke and Semi-Famous. When people around me heard the title, they thought it was very funny and they laughed. That is when I knew in my heart the hellacious last few months were really a gift in disguise. Without them, I wouldn’t graciously be able to receive what is in front of me, but also wouldn’t have busted my ass to make the event the success it was. I have already sold a few. Click here to check it out. http://aprilbrucker.com/buy-broke-and-semi-famous-dvd/

Also, if you are reading this, please don’t quit five minutes before the miracle. Sometimes you just have to keep going. Sometimes for as tough as if is, you need to stop being afraid. Fear is the devil/negative/whatever. Fear wants you to give up and go home. Fear wants you to settle in self-pity. 

Someday I will be on HBO and will play Carnegie Hall. No, I am not giving up and going home. Yes, someday I will be rich and totally famous. Yes, I am bringing my damn spooky freaky puppet children with me. 

Superstar (The Carpenters)

The other night at my show we were talking about some of the telegrammers past and present. Some were women who were shining stars while they were under my boss’s esteemed tutelage, and then decided for whatever reason to make the great exit. Yes, they decided to kill their dreams.

One was an assistant of my boss Bruce who was leaving as I was starting the job. Colette was a gorgeous triple threat and former pageant queen. Aspiring to Broadway, she worked for Bruce and was his resident Marilyn Monroe, naughty nurse, and sexy character gal. Basically me before there was a me at my job. However, she was good on the phones aka selling the product and I sucked during my short stint. Anyway, she was leaving the job because she was having a baby.

Now instead of being a triple threat in musical theatre, she is a triple threat in Westchester. She is a wife, mother, and has a job in real estate. Is she happy? I can’t answer that question because I have only spoken to her a total of three times in my life. But one thing is for sure, if she ever goes for a job interview they won’t ask her, “Headshot, resume, and best 16 bars.”

Another was Shoshanna, a nice Jewish girl from Long Island. A semi-successful Streisand impersonator, she had some high profile gigs in addition to assisting Bruce. Shoshanna was always searching for that nice Jewish husband. I remember her dating several men that I met, all whom I felt were beneath her that could only squawk about themselves and their small time show biz careers. However, she met one that wasn’t in show business. He was a civil servant of some sort. Basically Prince Semi-Charming told Shoshanna that she wasn’t making enough money as an actress, and had to get a more stable career. Not that he was rolling in bank. Shoshanna tried to go to school for Physical Therapy. That didn’t work. She talked about breaking up with him.

I remember telling Shoshanna that a man who wanted her to give up her career wasn’t worth it. Nonetheless she did, and married him. I think she wanted to be married and have a house more than she wanted to be the next Barbra Streisand. Some people are like that. Not everyone is a workaholic like me I suppose. Either way, she is married, has a house, and does some office thing. It’s all business without the show.

I have met a lot of brilliant and talented people who left show business for various reasons. Hell, a lot of the people I went to Tisch with are no longer doing theatre or in show business in any capacity. One girl I went to college with, who has a body I would die for, decided to change course and become a doctor. After spending the better part of a decade as an actress in LA, she’s doing a post bacc program and getting ready for medical school. Others have decided to become school teachers. That way they can use their creativity, change the world, and not worry about living in poverty. Some got an MBA, and others used their oratory gifts in different ways by becoming lawyers. Then there were those who started families, and live the boring 9-5 office life.

I understand why people would want to leave this career. It’s a life that is 99 percent rejection. Sometimes you will lose a role because you don’t have a look, aren’t sleeping with someone, etc. Sometimes you are denied spots because of politics, race, or some shitty booker doesn’t like women. Money is never consistent. If you want a family life, well nine times out of ten you can kiss that wish goodbye. This is a career where opportunity knocks once, and that means dropping everything to run for it. Partners and children don’t always understand it. Plus it is feast or famine. The workload is ridiculous when it is feast, which means no time for a personal life. Nine times out of ten you are the asshole friend or forgetful family member when this happens. I know, I’ve been there.

This past week I found myself tired and contemplating my life. For the better part of my twenties, I treaded the poverty line and fought hard for the career I have now. I showed up for a very long time. Often it was with no result. Often I was denied for being a woman, a ventriloquist, a loud mouth, having bad makeup, you name it.

However, as of late, the showing up has been paying off. The last three months have been nonstop work that I have loved, mannah from heaven in many ways. Additionally, the people I have worked with have all been wonderful, talented, dedicated, and kind. Money has not been an issue, and the rent has paid itself. Basically, I have been getting paid to do what I love. I filmed my DVD after a hellacious winter and everything has gone uphill from there. Also, my skills from my telegrammer past have made me able to handle any audience there is. Life is good.

The only downside is I am tired. I began to feel this way shortly before my big event Thursday. The night went off swimmingly, but then I felt like scrambled eggs afterwards, and thank God for my assistant. Shortly before my event, I was on the phone with my mother. Lately, she has been telling me how proud she is of me, and all the work I have been doing. In meltdown mode, I confessed to my mother that I was tired and started crying. My body hurt, my bones hurt, everything hurt. Not to mention I wanted to vomit that is how tired I was from how hard I had been working. In my little fussy fit, I told my mother all I had ever wanted was this career and now I was too tired to enjoy it.

My mom, being awesome, mentioned her whole life she had wanted a pool. A champion breast stroker, my mom had captained her Division I college squad and coached. My father however is not a swimmer at all. After years of begging and through the pains of empty nesting, my father gave in. After having the pool built and walking through the drama that was construction, she only got to use the pool at the end of last summer. Now this year, she confessed, she spends so much time with the cleaning and up keep that there are days when she is too tired to use it.

Then it hit me. There was another less obvious reason why people, talented people, drop the ball on this career. You spent so much time lusting for the spotlight and applause. You give up everything to get it. It wears you out. Then once you book the gig, your time is spent looking for the next gig and preparing for the next gig. And you barely can be where your feet are. Much energy is expended looking and preparing for what might not happen. And when it does happen, it happens at once and you have no time for yourself or a personal life. Madonna and Prince dedication is rare. Many people want a spouse, family, and friends. The demands and sacrifice become too much and they become drained. They have nothing left to give, and therefore they stop giving.

The day before my show I met a fan of mine in the salon. A young man from Texas, my friend Wyatt called me and said this dude had seen me on TV. I went to the salon, barely able to string together a sentence because my mind was so scattered from all the sleep I wasn’t getting. The man said I was incredibly gifted. I wanted to say, “Yes, but also incredibly tired.”

The day after my show, my boss called me to do a rapping chicken. I was indignant at the request. So tired I was getting migraine headaches and vomit was coming up my throat, I asked myself why I even said yes. It must be the German in me. While I basically failed the language the lone quarter I had it in 6^th grade, the genes are in my blood. Sure, I havent gone on a racist rant ever and don’t plan on it. But I am  a hard worker. Even my critics cannot detract from that no matter how many times they slander me. Germans work, and we don’t complain about it. We say yes to work.

I went and was a rapping chicken in Korea Town. Going to the gig, I felt a little better. The dude I did the gig for was a little resistant, and it took every ounce of energy to make him do what I wanted. My hat fell off, and the kindly Korean woman operating the restaurant got it for me. The people were nice enough to tip. I was praying they wouldn’t tell my boss I looked cracked out or that they hated me. But I got a nice applause afterwards. I gave it my best. I showed up despite my condition. I gave it my best. When I get tired, I like to beat myself up. I like to tell myself I am not enough and will never get where I want to go. If they tell my boss I sucked, great. I still did my best. Did I mention the German gives me my Type A personality, and at times I never feel I am enough?

Yesterday I was a complete disaster. I tried to do my Ranter job, and as my brain was shutting down I thought Brazil was playing again. Not to mention I was so sick I forgot I had a gig in Long Island because my body was cramping, vomiting, shitting and all that happy shit. They were nice enough to let me reschedule. My Ranter device was being crazy. It was God telling me to take a nap. In my dizziness I told myself perhaps it was time to throw in the towel. I had done what I needed/wanted to do in a way. Maybe it was time to move to Westchester, find a husband, and have a few babies. Sure, I have success and fans. But most of the time, I have no life.

Then I decided it was time to get some sleep.

I went to church this morning, my spiritual home. Being Catholic is like a crack habit, you never quite get rid of it. Then I remembered how miserable I was when my fiancé made me give up my puppet children, and how self destructive I was during that time. I also realized for as tired as I am, I am the happiest when I am working. Yeah, I was one tired bird in Korea Town, but when the people started laughing and clapping the tired went away. There is no better feeling than making someone laugh and smile, whether it is in a silly costume or behind a mic. In this ever maz’ed world where I feel like an awkward outsider, it’s where I feel most at home.

I also thought of my Nunni and Pop Pop. My Nunni had acted in local theatre, and was very proud of me for going to New York to chase rainbows. Pop Pop passed Thanksgiving Day, but his last big outing was my book signing in Pittsburgh. He was so proud of me for writing that book, and would brag every time I was on television. I also thought of my great-grandfather Brucker, a man I have never met. His whole life he had never been more than a roll turner in the steel mill of Pittsburgh. However, he had been a sports nut who listened to several games at once on different radios in each room of his house. He would be so stoked about my job at Ranter, just as he was proud every time he saw my dad sing a solo in his church choir.

In my mind entered Joe and Chacho, my dearly departed friends. Joe got me to write again, and convinced me I had the talent to make people laugh at a time my spirit was crushed. Chacho always wanted to be someone, and would talk about his “famous friend” whenever I was on TV.

Then I thought of my fans, and how much they mean to me. Yeah, I am only starting to get a following, but it’s pretty sweet I must admit. I also thought of the young people who write to me telling me about how they dream of being like me someday. And then my father’s words echoed through my mind, “It is your job to hoist the next generation on your shoulders and bring them to another level.”

I also thought of how, despite being tired, this was only temporary. I always felt good again when I stepped onstage and heard the laughter. Sleep and some me time could cure tired. Nothing could scratch the itch that the spotlight and applause cures. As I go to the next level, I am bringing those around me with me on my journey, whether they are coworkers, friends, or family. I love what I do, and am blessed to do it in the greatest city in the world. My journey is not only mine but their’s as well, and I have to remember that.

It’s easy to contemplate life in suburbia when I am tired with a husband who will less than sexually satisfy me. However, it is just a passing thought.

Truth: I will run towards my dreams even if my legs fall off in the process. I will run towards my dreams even if it kills me. And if the journey kills me, they will have to pry the stars out of my cold, dead fingers. 

A Summer Place (Percy Faith)

When I was starting comedy, the big emphasis was on headlining. To headline it meant you were a star. It was your night.It meant you worked hard and were good at what you did. When they brought you up, your television credits were announced. The crowd cheered. You blew them away. Meanwhile the rest of us neophytes looked at you with admiration and idolized you. We were envious of your talent and television credits, but dreamed we would get there someday.

My big dream has always been to headline theatres. My act is one that is different. Club owners and bookers either want to grab me up or slam the door on my fingers. Casting directors want me because I am unique, or want nothing to do with me for the same exact reason. It is a two sided coin, a boobie prize sometimes but a prize in other ways.

A year and a half ago, I was ready to quit standup all together. I had just released a book, and wasn't hitting the stage as much. My focus was changing from comedy to just writing and I thought perhaps that was the path I wanted to take. Sure, I was making videos and stuff, and getting on TV had become "easy" for me. I thought standup was something I did when I was young and going through hell, and it had gotten me through.I had become sick and tired of the politics, and how I was always seemingly on the wrong end of the debate. It seemed being unique and being visible were the worst things to happen to me. No one wanted me. Male headliners were quick to remind me that they were men, and therefore I should make room for them for this reason. Not to mention I was reminded of how I was simply getting things because I was a "cute girl with puppets." Male bookers were something else too. Women were no help, telling me I pandered to men when they were more guilty than I was. I had paid my dues and was getting shafted. It wasn't fair. I was done.

After one terrible night, I had a cigar with a headliner I looked up to who had always supported me. He told me that being unique wasn't terrible, and that a lot of people who make it are a one and only. My headliner friend also informed me my act was different, and this was good. He pointed out that my best bet would be theatres, and that when people like Dimitri Martin discovered this they took off. Instead of being an oddball, suddenly I felt like perhaps I was in good company after all. A dream I had since the beginning of comedy echoed through my mind. I wasn't quitting standup. I was going to pound it harder than ever. I had a growing fan base and a bizarre skill, there was a market for me and I wasn't going to let people tell me otherwise.

For the next year, I made an effort to develop more of my puppets. The inspiration for the long set had been a DVD of Taylor Mason I saw as a teenager. He did a headliner set in a theatre with multiple puppets. While he is more of a Christian comedian, he was still incredible and I walked away knowing that was the way to go. Still, I was not sure how I could put them in my act. Yeah, I was on TV and all, but I just didn't want to be the proverbial blonde. I wanted to show people I was good at what I did, and cared about being funny.

The dream of being a headliner had gotten me through some of the darkest times in my life. It got me through a lot knowing that in my heart believing I was destined to do things with the weird little talking doll skill I had acquired. This past winter had been particularly brutal. Money was tight, and I was more broke than I had been in some time. There was a lot of uncertainty with my career. Familial drama was at an absolute high, and there were a lot of distressing events on that front. So I did what I always do when shit hits the fan, I threw myself into my work.

In the words of Winston Churchill, "The only way out of hell is to keep going."

So I made it my business to record a DVD and got an offer to headline a theatre. These were two big things I dreamed of doing since I started comedy. The DVD taping was a few weeks ago, and this weekend I headlined my first theatre. Night one the crowd was a little light but they were good. Night two the house was packed and the crowd was amazing. The energy was off the wall and fantastic. Both nights all of the comedians who proceeded me onstage were amazing. The level of professionalism was top notch as well. I was blessed, humbled, and gifted to enjoy such a wonderful weekend.

The thing I have to get used to is the nerves. I always am a jumbled set of nerves before I get onstage. It's the perfectionist in me coming out. As the emcee, you are the sacrificial lamb, and they either eat you up or eat you. As the middler, you are hoping the emcee isn't the sandman so you don't have the wake the crowd up, but also that they don't eat you alive too. Oh and sometimes they forget the middle man. Headliner though, you are the main event. So it can feel like forever before you get onstage. The nerves are like, "AHHHHHH!!!!"

But then as always when you get up there, everything is fine. And then when you hear the audience laugh at your first joke time flies cause you are having fun.

 Of course, after the show an audience member did recognize me from television. She confessed my voice and look were familiar, but when I pulled out May Wilson, it all came together. The whole thing was pretty funny. After all this hard work and effort, I am outshined by a damn puppet still. But the gift of this situation was that I got to be the main event at a packed house, got paid, and love comedy more than I have in some time. Thank goodness for my friend who not only talked me into soldiering on, but convinced me theatres were the way to go. As my hard work is starting to pay off, I am grateful I didn't quit five minutes before the miracle.

Now I am no longer the emcee or the middler, those days are gone. Now I am the main event, and the one everyone has come to see. Before I step onstage they announce my television credits, and everyone expects me to be good, and in my heart I know I earned this slot. I step onstage to deafening applause.

Yes, I am the headliner.

Yes, I will be here all week.

Next stop Carnegie Hall.

Shit, that's my alarm clock. One step at a time Ventriloquistdolly.

Love 

April

www.aprilbrucker.com

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

Check out my DVD Broke and Semi-Famous coming soon

This 'n' That

I filmed my big DVD Tuesday and am still coming down from the high. Wednesday saw me tired and barely able to move. Thursday I was kind of back. Friday night I went to bed and just didn't move. It is kind of a weird sensation. Friday morning on my jog Bill Evans did buy me coffee though. On Friday he buys everyone coffee. It was good that he did that. The post show withdrawl and depression was starting to set in.

Yeah, the withdrawl has been strange. I walk down the street and don't hand post cards to people I know. My hands are free which is bizarre. I also have these feelings of depression that come out of no where. It hits me that I am broke ass broke, and am not as far along as I thought I would be. Granted, I have done a lot in my career. I have done things I never thought I would do. I was on TV Thursday. It was awesome. Still, I thought....I dunno.....Being on TV would mean my bank account would know about it too sometimes. I thought it would mean I would have to hustle for work less and not worry about money. Neither one of these things were true. Hell, when I was on Rachael Ray and they were showing my reruns I was handing out fliers in the cold, paying my breakfast with my laundry money, and having club owners dodge my phone calls.

On the other hand, I am thrilled. Since I was a kid I wanted to make a DVD of my live show. Taylor Mason did it. I was sixteen when I saw it. The men who fixed my mom's car were huge ventriloquist fans, and followed Taylor Mason. In my opinion, he is the most underrated man in comedy as well as the vent world. Yeah, they respect him, but he doesn't get as much tout as Fator and Dunham. Probably because he sticks with churches and such. Still, he's funny. Now I made a DVD. Granted, the process almost killed me. Still,it's been a dream of mine and it is something comedy fans buy. I had a good night, too. Afterwards, I felt like Rocky after a big fight, bloodied and bedraggled but somehow I came out a winner. Yeah, Apollo Creed didn't win this time.

I am in transition right now and am scared, excited, frustrated, but happy. I am starting a new sports broadcasting job via internet. This is awesome because I like sports. I am also releasing my DVD which is cool. I am hoping my fans buy it and it gets me better bookings. Also, I am starting a teaching job. Like the broadcasting job, it's not bukoo bucks but it's steady money and that's what I want and need. I also do a theatre the weekend after Memorial Day. I have always wanted to do that as well. So these are four things I have always wanted to do. I have always wanted to do sports broadcasting, be a community activist, release a DVD and tour theatres. My act is more suited to that. Additionally, I did well in a second interview for something. Hopefully I get it.

I am just waiting for the next big thing in my life. I have come so close and have never gotten it. People know who I am and what I do, but I am ready for that next jolt. The scary thing about being in transition though is that the money is not coming in quite yet. I will see some when my DVD is released. I will see some when the sports job starts. I will see some when the teaching job starts. I will see some when I do my theatre and start booking others. So it's going to come. Granted, I am not fixated on money but there is no worse feeling than being recognized by a fan and having your rent check bounce. Hashtag uncool.

On top of that, I was almost rolled by a green card seeking prick. I feel hurt because there was a part of me that liked him as a person, and knows my friendship was real on my end. He never saw me as a friend, only an opportunity to get what he wanted. I just feel angry and hurt. On top of that he mentioned he thought I was rich because I had been on TV. Ha ha! Jokes on him. On top of that he knew I had a hard time in my past when it came to men and viewed me as an easy target. I wasn't easy enough not to open my eyes.

 Everytime I believe there are good men out there, they prove me wrong. I am okay with being alone, not being used. I blocked his ass online, and hopefully now he has found a new woman to scam with his tricks. He believes in magic, right? I do too. Watch his ass become a puppet.

I know it's gonna get better and something is gonna click. It has to. I'm working too hard.
Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
www.aprilbrucker.com

Hey Jealousy (Gin Blossoms)

Last night I did my show at the Metropolitan Room. It was a success. I had a decent crowd, and everything went well. Yeah, it almost killed me. I felt like Rocky Balboa after a fight. My DVD is going to be good. One of the oldest friends I have in comedy, Eric Alexander, filmed it. Ron Barba opened for me. Matt Bailey did some magic. Choomassi serenaded us. And of course Steve Ryan was Pot Roast, Meatloaf's disinfranchized brother. I did well. There were some spots where looking back I could have done things differently, but I did very well. This has been a dream of mine for ten years. I did it.

However, after the show I was speaking to the sound man at the Metropolitan Room and we had a very insightful conversation. A gentlemen from France, he is a jazz guitarist and married the sister of the famous singer he played for. They now have a thirteen year old daughter. Anyway, the conversation turned to comedians. He said, "Comedians are weird cats. The comedians who come in for the open mic sometimes come with their heads down and are angry. They are negative." He hit the nail on the head, comedians are not positive creatures by habit.

And then he said it best, "They make excuses for why they don't have the career they want."

So many times I have heard comedians crap on someone else who is making it. If it is a woman, she must have slept with a lot of people. I can't tell you how many people it is rumored I slept with. Hell, if I got Kathy Griffin, Chelsea Handler, and Rosie O'Donnell in the same room they probably slept with more nonexistent people than I have. (Rosie's nonexistent people are men too btw). If it is a dude, the other male comedians slam him as a douche bag. Maybe this is true, but he is a hard working douche bag which is more than I can say for your ass. In comedy everyone has a strike or two against them. The only thing you can control is being funny. Why not concentrate on that instead of what everyone else is doing?

One comedian mentioned in a post that when a comedian does well onstage and the next comic afterwards rips on their act, they lose the audience. She pointed out that they do this out of sheer jealousy. She's correct. Instead of being themselves, doing their act, and focusing on themselves, they blame everyone else. I have seen this several times in my comedy career and it is eekworthy to watch. Once May and I did well, and this idiot who was on Letterman once and has been washed up ever since followed. He ripped on us and the audience went silent. He had a hell of a time winning them back. I thought he was going to apologize afterwards, but he didn't. Of course, he only does certain shows and released a comedy album no one cares about. He wanders the scene looking for the meaning of life. I am garnering a following and filmed a DVD people already want to buy. He can rip on me all he wants, I am not only funnier but now I have the better career.

Yeah, it is easy to blame others when you don't get what you want. Maybe you aren't working hard enough. Or maybe you don't have the skills. Melissa Robinette, a wonderful actress and President of Actor's Equity of the East Coast and founder of The Biz of Show is from a circus family. She explained when actors find out they lost the job because they wanted a tap dancing leading lady, they put down the the other actor. Melissa said that circus folks learn how to tap dance so now they have that skill, and they can never lose that opportunity again. Bottom line, losers make excuses. Winners dont.

Also, every opportunity is not for you. A college chum scored a role in a Tyler Perry movie. As a black actress, that was her gig. Another was in Spiderman on Broadway, and she has a voice I could only hope to have in the next life. Same with my other college classmates in Hair, Wicked, etc. At the same time, if a horror movie with the lead being a female ventriloquist is casting, it probably won't be something they are up for. You get the picture. If it is yours, it will be yours. If not, their loss.

Tomorrow I am doing a test run for a sports app. My passions are football, boxing, UFC fighting, and sometimes baseball. Tomorrow will focus on basketball. I follow it,  but not as closely as the other sports. However, I am asking questions and getting informed. No one wants a stupid woman in the chat, right? Also, I referred my sports nut man comic friends. Why? Because they are passionate, funny, and I am everyone deserves a shot.

When I have worked with celebrities, they were positive. When I saw Alicia Keys interview, she was positive. A friend of mine on Broadway saw me on the street, gave me a hug and mentioned she saw me on TV with my puppets and was so proud. The sound man at the Met Room told me that the people he met that were the most successful were the most generous and had the biggest hearts. They also helped their friends out, too. It's because they don't have that insecurity and fear.

Bottom line, these people are positive. The fact they are successful is no accident. They are able to be happy for others because they are not focusing on what others have. Instead, they know what they have and don't have, therefore they can enjoy someone with a different skill or talent. They also have self-worth and that means they can be happy for others. Once you get that, you find there is no reason to be jealous.

If you are experiencing jealousy, why? Not everyone has everything. You don't know what someone has been through. Also, if you are on the receiving end, it sucks. However, know the universe might be teaching you a lesson on how not to act towards others. Yes, some muscle memory the next time you feel jealous because you are only human, right?

And if you want to give a jealous hater some shade, don't fight with them. It will only make you nasty, and that will piss people off that could help you. Instead, do you. Be good at what you do. Concentrate on your own game. That will make you rise above more bullshit than you could ever imagine.

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