Comedy Etc.

This weekend was a good weekend. My first night didn't look so good. It was like being at a party where you meet someone who seems nice but as you talk you have nothing in common. When most NYC comics come across this, they figure it's a gig and they get in and get out, happy they are still alive to tell the tale and laugh it off later. After stepping off the stage I figured they were nice at least, but these werent my people.

However, luck would soon change. The club owner who's also a comic, one who has headlined in Vegas, and does so twice a year, had some things to say. One being, "Things better be different tomorrow night."

Usually when a club owner gives feedback one shrugs and says whatever, or it's good. It all depends on the club owner. At first in my mind I was like, "Whatever, I've been on TV." It's a craptacular attitude to have albeit an egotistical one, but it has kept me going as my life has unraveled the last few months.

However, within seconds my attitude changed once it was revealed he had been doing comedy for 25 years, nearly as long as I had been alive. During some of that time, he also taught comedy and mentored comedians quite a bit. Oh, and he had just returned from a headlining engagement in Vegas. During our talk, he mentioned Abbot and Costello, something my mentor always cites as an example of what a vent act should be. And then he also mentioned he liked the Mr. Okay concept and used Defending the Caveman as an example. (The longest running Broadway show on The Las Vegas Strip). Yes, another show my mentor is very heavily involved with. Something in me, that part that sometimes has a good idea, said, "Don't be your asshole self and listen to this man."

He worked with me for quite a while the next day on my act and had some excellent suggestions. I tried them the following night and it was like NIGHT AND DAY. Even the waitstaff of the club was like WTF?!!?!?

I was talking with the headliner who told me it was good I took suggestions, good I listened. In the end I figure why not? The worst that happens is someone's suggestions don't work and I move on. Or they do and I am better because of it. Either way, I was very happy with the second night and now know what to do to go to the next level with my comedy.

Our headliner who was in several movies has been doing comedy since before I was born I think. Actually, yeah he has. Either way, he was what the owner referred to as a 10 on the scale of funny and headlining. The way this man closed out a show was amazing. I'll admit I pale in comparison, but he has made himself so funny that he's impossible to follow as all closers should be.

At the same time, he's been doing comedy longer than I have been alive. It was amazing how he could just make the room do what he wanted, and didn't sweat about being liked. A lot of comedians do that. Yeah, I am trying to do it less, but when the audience doesn't give me what I want I panic. I go for the cheap laugh. The club owner as he was working with me said don't go for the cheap laugh.........but it's so easy when you aren't getting what you want. I think most comics do it out of fear. Actually, we all do it out of fear. But this headliner, it seemed as if that fear was gone. Maybe it was because he didn't care, that's why he just killed it so easily.

Another comic who partners at the club is also a touring headliner, however, he didn't headline that night but rather stepped in because the club owner was doing a spot elsewhere. He revealed he had been doing comedy for a mere 20 years in comparison to the club owner's 25 and the headliner's 32. We had a conversation about wanting to be liked onstage, and he said the most important thing was to have fun. If you had fun the audience would have fun. And the audience, they are on your side. They want you to do well. How hard that is to remember when you are onstage. But they are on your side......and we both agreed yeah, again, it is hard to remember sometimes.

The fellow who booked the gig has also been involved with comedy for sometime. Maybe not as long as I have been alive but since the 80s. While never a comic himself and always on the booking end, he is an eternal student of comedy and has even hung out at clubs just for the hell of it because he likes being around comedy. When he takes notes at a showcase, he goes joke by joke writing everything down. I know because he has done so for me in the past. Very thorough, he tells you what works, what doesn't and why. His feedback has never failed me. Translated, just like the club owner, the headliner, and the other partner in the operation, he knows his shit.

This whole weekend, my mentor in Vegas was there for emotional support. Of course he's managed some top grossing variety acts who have been on every major TV program ever. And he is actively involved in the Vegas scene, and his people play Caesar's Palace among other places. It is safe to say he's been involved in show business longer than I have been around. Mind you he started his life as a magician touring college campuses and evolved into managing. As I was bitching about all that was happening, he says, "It's called growing pains. That's all."

Eh. Growing pains. Eh. Then again, he's probably also thinking that I'm a little over a decade in, oh poor kid, she's only ten years old........

I guess the point is, you are always still learning and growing. And sometimes it is best just to listen to people with more time at something, because they might know something you don't. Actually, most of the time they know something you don't. Bottom line, you only know what you know when you are supposed to know it. Am I a better comic and ventriloquist than I was years ago? Probably. Still, it's amazing how much I still don't know after all this time.

However, I am also learning to embrace the knowledge and experience of those that do know. It's cool to get to work with those people. It's cool that they were so gracious to guide me. The club owner mentioned that others had done the same for him........like Mitch Hedberg (RIP).

My landlord mentioned the same is true with life, you are never an expert and you are always learning something new. Mind you, he always understands where my parents are coming from being one himself. Yeah, he's got more time on this planet which comes in handy sometimes. It's life.

Comedy is about being real. It's about life. It's about telling the truth. It's about reaching people. Fake doesn't sell. How soon we all forget. Or maybe we don't realize until we are supposed to. Shit this was deep.

Either way, my problems are now I need to perfect my act to go to the next level. I need to purchase a stand for my puppets like the one the club had on hand this weekend that MADE ALL THE DIFFERENCE IN THE WORLD and suggested I use. I need to stop saying the f word onstage. I also need to talk slower. Oh, and I got rid of a really hack stupid bit I leaned too heavily on that was just cheap. Go team!

As opposed to a few months ago when I was being eaten alive by bed bugs and the mold in my place made breathing difficult. Not to mention when I complained my landlord retaliated by trying to evict me. My hair was also falling out because of the chemicals, stress, and other issues involving my living situation. I was in court or a lawyer's office at least once a week. Then when my landlord tried to burn down my apartment I was told by the cops to find somewhere safe, and had to move under duress. Once I moved the doctor's thought I might have uterine cancer because of the way my tests came back.

These days my problems are having my act be funny onstage, and how to make that happen, being the headliner who can reach all audiences like a Jeff Dunham. (The booker mentioned he was the most watched Comedy Central Special of all time). Heck, my sister in law and 13 year old cousin both love him. I can focus on what's important, and that's what I do onstage.

Maybe at times I am guilty of becoming embittered and beaten down by the politics, or resting on the laurels of the successes I have gotten so far, refusing to grow. Both are the wrong way to go because they warp your perspective. I can say that for all the hell I have been through in recent months, for the first time in forever I really and truly love comedy again. I love it. I love it. I love it. I will scream it I LOVE IT!!!!!!

(Of course all those I encountered this weekend have probably had similar feelings to mine at times)

And if it took walking through hell to get me to this feeling and a rough first night in the middle of no where complete with pinched nerve in my neck, I will do it again. Watch me, I'm unstoppable. But first I need to take a shower because I don't want to be unstoppable for all the wrong reasons.

I'll be here all week. Try the veal.

My Brand New Place

It has been two whole weeks since I moved into my new digs. The first week was hectic with me getting settled and all. My room was filled with boxes. When we were kids, Skipper, Wendell, and I had a box structure known as Gotham City. Our parents gave it the tongue and cheek nickname because they were remodelling our kitchen, they had leftover boxes, and we made a maze. Of course a groundhog got in there and that was the end of our fun.

These days I do live in Gotham City for real. Well more on the outskirts these days in a sister borough, but I live there nonetheless. My first week there were enough boxes in my new room that I thought of fashioning a new Gotham City. I was bummed there was no groundhog for my mother to chase with a baseball bat, and for Wendell to pretend he wasn't scared of.

One thing I do have in my new digs is a yard with SQUIRRELS. Yes, squirrels. When my mom was in town she saw a black squirrel. Apparently, a black squirrel is a genetic mutation and supposedly attacks the rest of the squirrels. So everything is scared of it. I wasn't aware the animal kingdom was so damn racist. Hack joke. Had to. Make fun of me now.

After all that happened, I was glad to spend this past week going to work and coming home. The 7 train at it's best is like a bullet train. These days I am at work faster than I have ever been when I was living in The Kitchen. In the old days I wanted fireworks all the time. Now I am content with calm and hum drum.

I also bombed this past week onstage, had my first shit fit in my room, and semi-cried myself to sleep on my new mattress. When you have a good cry on a mattress that is how you know a place is becoming home. I would even have a crying corner in my kitchen where I downed cookie dough in times of crisis but that might be just a little weird with my male housemates around.

I had a strange conversation with one this week. He's a good guy, divorced dad of two. It started with, "Not to offend you." We all know they are about to offend the shit outta you when they do that. He told me not to put tampons in the toilet. I feared I might have accidentally, because when I had my follow up at the doc's where they scraped my cervix after my cancer scare, I might have dropped my pad in the toilet after a moment of drained shock. But I didn't. Apparently his niece had flushed a tampon and totally overflowed the toilet. Sigh....a special thank you to the awkward fairy for that moment.

This same housemate saw a special about UFOs and NASA, and a scientist insists that the government is keeping the people in the dark. He says not only are there UFOs, but they created the humans as slaves to do their mining work. And that we are all part UFO. I felt this was a reach but my housemate was fascinated by this and felt that this guy wouldn't lie.

Hmmmmm

My other housemate and I had a chat about it. He informed me that yes, our dear housemate has a fascination with UFOs and conspiracies, but at this point kind of watches way too much TV. Still, maybe there are UFOs. We have some strange acting people on this planet. Who knows? Either way, I like them both and my new living situation much better than the one I left. It's entertaining and most importantly, I am safe.

My UFO obsessed housemate and I have kind of bonded. He is a divorcee with two kids, so sometimes when I chat with him, he sees things from my mom's point of view. While I feel sometimes my parents are crazy, maybe they aren't. Maybe they have some points. Maybe UFOs do exist. Who am I to judge anyone?

This past week I purchased two puppets. My puppet family and I are back to normal, although it has been a rough couple of months for us. I feel more protective of them than ever, and I feel we are all working more as a unit than we ever have. But of course, I left a horrific situation. So if someone believes in UFOs and conspiracies and that's it, I'm game.

No one has broken into my room yet and tried to turn on the gas so I might in fact die. No one has followed me around the neighborhood let alone threatened me. All and all, a better start. Best news ever, none of the rejects I entangled myself with from my old neighborhood know where I am.

Work has gone back to normal as well. Friday I found myself learning "Deep in the Heart of Texas" for a gig. I had it perfect on the train. Then I got there and it was perfect for the most part. One recipient had a weird name that I managed to mangle. Well they all did but this was the weird name I thought I had. But the other weird name was the one I was afraid of messing up but that was perfect. So I got the weirder name perfect but mangled the less weird name. Such is life. The medley was alright. Then the ending worked. It wasn't the way I rehearsed it but I gave them the liquor.

After the gig, I was out on the sidewalk second guessing my work and two people passed me, a man and a woman. The guy says, "That was brutal."

The girl says, "Yeah, a complete disaster. That went real wrong real fast."

The low self-esteem bubble began to run in my head. Did they just come from the party where I was the telegram? I had no idea because the place was so dark. Suddenly, I began to feel like dried dog shit on the sidewalk. A lot had gone wrong in my life and it had been a tricky last few months. I hoped they weren't talking about me. I had no clue, no proof, but the bells began to go off. I began to hope they weren't talking about me. With all that went on, I couldn't lose my most consistent survival job.

At that moment I realized I was tired. Weeks of court dates, harassment, stress, and living in hell had taken it's toll. Yeah, I am in a better situation and look like I am sleeping and eating. I look so good now that people don't gasp when they see me because I am too overwrought to eat. But still, I was freaking drained. Change is exhausting.

I figured the best thing I could do was go to bed. I had no proof they were speaking about me, and if they were fuck them. If they had to endure what I just did they would probably be dead. Actually, there are times I am surprised my life hasn't killed me. Maybe it will someday. It's probably going to be my life, some crazed fan, or the wife of an ex lover.

The client did call the next day with a bitch, but their bitch was legit. It wasn't about my performance, but instead about the fact their ungrateful friends didn't thank them for the expensive liquor. So the bitch was about their ungrateful punkage, not my performance.

My new life has lawn flamingos, Christmas kitsch, and neighbors who own their property. Welcome to life outside of Rental Prison aka New York City. Ten minutes outside the city. What am I talking about? I'm still a renter, what am I talking about, Willis?

Of course there are moments I miss the bustle and hustle of Midtown at this time of year. But when I saw my sister Skipper and her fiance Boomer I suddenly remembered how good it was that I could leave. Yes, I got them matching Christmas cookie cutters and a chew toy for their dog son Cooper. Stepping off the train I only wanted to punch every person in front of me. Yeah, don't miss NYC on a Saturday when everyone and their damn mother has the same idea.

The visit was fun, and made me like Central Park now that I wasn't down the street from it. I hung out with everyone again that night, and bring in an internet friend. We had expensive pizza, and then there was some beer involved. Add in an improv ventriloquist show with Officer E at the same pizza spot. Made me love New York all over again. Made me forget about how beat up and tired I felt living in the pressure cooker known as Manhattan. Made me grateful I could have the city and then travel over the bridge to my home.

I of course made my same prediction about how I might die. We had a laugh. Death is always funny. Sunday I went to my new church which is beautiful but feels impersonal. I need a new church boy crush. Of course I talked to my parents who only managed to stress me out mildly.

Then I saw the wife of an ex of mine, who's only completely unhinged, wrote a tweet about me that was only completely crazy. She called me her psychotic enemy. I mean, that's kind of deep because she's the one who constantly harasses me, and I don't care about her really. So yeah, she's reaching kind of deep. And she was angry I moved into what she called "my borough." Wasn't aware it was yours, sweetheart. Thought you shared it with about a million other people but what do I know?

This woman has been out of control for some time and made me question about whether or not to alert law enforcement because with each passing year she gets more aggressive. Then I decided it was a crush. Now that we are in the same borough, her borough, she can finally just kill me and help the sales of my novel and DVD. But first she's gotta buy me dinner. These days apparently she's in therapy. Maybe she's bitching about me now. Ha ha ha.

At that moment I realized that despite all that happened, I was still on track because someone was jealous of me. LOL. But then I decided to celebrate the actual victory like my new comic book being on the shelf this week. YES, new comic book. And the fact I am going to Vegas to work in January again with May Wilson. And my two new puppets. And the fact I am in a magazine again.

Of course this was after accidentally jogging on Northern Boulevard and watching reruns of Beverly Hills 90210. I like highways and I love cheesy teen trash. New home, old habits die hard.

Silencing the Noise

The past several days I have been steeped in the tizzy of April being April. Sometimes I am so neurotic, self-centered, egocentric, and just plain crazy I should win an award. Seriously. All weekend long I was running around, working. Nothing seemed to be coming together. My buses were late, or when they were on time they were running the milk route or the weekend schedule and I had to schlep and have a mini-adventure. If people were supposed to show up, like our model for our video, they flaked. Even though they screwed themselves because we will never work with them again, in a way we felt like we were being rejected. My friend Marcus and I discussed this. Yes, rejected. On top of that there is so much to be done with promoting my book. So many people to send press packs to. So many people who don't answer my emails when I want them to which is pronto, right after I send them. They must be at their iphones and blackberries. They can't have life, outside work, family, lunch breaks, eight hours of sleep. No wonder I work with puppets. They are always there when I need them, and when I pull their strings they say what I want them to

Monday was the beginning of a nutty two days for me. I felt this panic and anxiety. The last time I felt this was when I was nineteen years old, alone in New York City. I was surrounded by all these people. The girls were so slutty that they were getting action all the time. Meanwhile they were ugly on top of being slutty so I wanted to know how this was happening. The good girls were so nauseatingly fake and could quote scriptures. It seemed everyone was smart and talented and I was just this dirty impostor from Pittsburgh with her puppets. So I broke my back to prove to everyone I belonged. It was painful. I was lonely. Eventually it got easier but damn that was a lonely feeling.

Now here I was feeling it again. Of course the last few weeks have been big and everything with my book. Big steps are scary. Sometimes when you take a big step, you don't know what's at the top of the landing. Will it be a pot of gold or a scary monster? Either way I was like a five year old kid scared of the dark again.

Tuesday felt even worse. I had to talk to a few people about my book and felt so lost. Nevermind Stephen King once had a first book and there was some of this drama. He probably worried that people would embrace him. Finally, after a mini meltdown I walked in the rain. Although I was risking pneumonia, I just needed to clear my head. I ended up meeting a woman who is like a mom to be to give her a duplicate set of my house keys in case of emergency-don't ask. Anyway, I poured my heart out and she laughed and told me to relax. What the hell was she talking about? I was soaking wet, unsure of the next step for my future, HOW THE HELL WAS I SUPPOSED TO RELAX!!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

This morning I woke up feeling no better. Steeped in self-pity, I realized my birthday was next week and I was getting another year older. That I had accomplished nothing. That I wasn't on Conan. Nevermind I was on Entertainment Tonight, TLC and a slew of other shows. Nevermind I wrote a damn book. I just felt this worthlessness. I pictured myself alone with my six cats, three hundred pounds, eating iced cream with my hands at the edge of a cliff with my puppets as my only people to talk to. They would have to be because all at once I realized I was allergic to cats and that they would never work in this nightmare. Yes, nightmare. I was going to die without my dreams ever being realized.

Then something happened this afternoon. A friend of mine and I met and I signed her book. Something about the whole thing made me happy. Maybe it was because the noise in my head was finally quiet. The itty bitty committee had stepped out for lunch. It felt good. She is starting my book after a murder mystery she is currently reading. A murder mystery is a must finish in my opinionation. Then again, being an egomaniac my opinionation is the only thing that matters in my world. This particular friend is one who has come in my path recently and she writes too. I am anxious to see her book when it comes out. Plus she has been ever supportive with all the stalker/fan drama I have had in some of the past weeks.

When I got home I read on facebook a message from a fan in Canada who wanted to buy my book. The fan letter they wrote me made me smile and get teary eyed at the same time. Fan mail always does. At that moment I took a deep breath and decided to tell that chatter in my ever speedy brain to shut the hell up. I wrote the fan back instructing them on how to purchase my book. As I wrote I realized if I wanted people, young and old, to get one thing out of my book it would be that their dreams mattered-that they weren't stupid but in fact counted. That everyone's ideas and dreams were important. And that my hope was that my book inspired people to follow their dream whether it is to move to the city to perform/write, become a teacher, become an engineer, diplomat, whatever. The world needs all kinds of people. If the world were run by performers nothing would ever get done.

Just then my phone rang. Pink gorilla in Greenwich, CT. Okay, can do. The window is a little tight and I will have to run now. I talked to the client. They wanted a bottle of Scotch to go with the present. I have to run to the liquor store. Then they call again, they want me in CT before 9. It is 7. They also wanted me to sing the song Maniac from Dirty Dancing. I have to take a train and then haul the Scotch which isnt as light as you would like to believe and take a cab to some side street because he might not be home. Oh and then they need to give me the message and one is calling from a cell and the other from an office and everyone is making me CAT SHIT CRAZY!!!!!! As my serenity and selflessness I had achieved an hour before went out the window something hit me. I was just a person

I began to lose my mind as I ran to catch the train. It would get me there in time. I pull up my iphone learning Maniac when I see a text from the client. The birthday boy was going to be downtown in NYC. My jaw dropped. They were trying to kill me it seemed. I took a breath. Then another beam of whatever from the universe hit me. I did an om. It was something my boss at the telegram company, who by the way is a certified meditation teacher, taught me to do. During that om, it occurred to me that my job was to be of service. That what I did was a gift. That there were people who would chase my dreams in a second if I didnt want to. Plus the folks in Cali were probably going as crazy as I was, because this was the client's assistant booking this whole thing. Poor thing was probably losing her blessed mind, and if anything probably was ready to kill her boss and if she saw me in person would have been chugging my Scotch. During our texts and phone convo I put her at ease so she could relax and therefore her boss could be happy and that meant everyone could be happy.

When I got to Soho, despite my running around I didnt feel tired. Instead I focused on a huge rose statue. Despite the New York buzz around me I felt a sort of peace. I had put one foot in front of the other, I was going to take a breath, and just do the best job I knew to do. I was going to be okay. Everything with my book was going to be okay. My job was to make this guys night and give him a memory. In a lot of ways, I have the greatest job in the world. Many a day and night I am invited into someone's family or an intimate moment in their world for a wrinkle in time. I give them a smile and we share a memory knowing the world isn't all that big. That we are all connected.

That's exactly what happened tonight. I gave the bday boy the surprise of the night. The whole party joined us on the sidewalk to take photos. Other diners in the cool late summer/early autumn snapped me with their camera phones. We were all smiling, laughing, having a good time. The client in LA was happy. His assistant wanted to know the name of the Scotch I purchased, probably because she wants to polish off a whole bottle after the stress she has been through. Eh, it happens. As the cameras snapped the bday boy said, "Blakey, you da man." For the record, I hit Maniac. On of the members of the delegation even fixed my mask because it was making her crazy. I had a laugh and felt beautiful. This was all good. I think he will remember 40 forever!

After I was done I saw a bunch of lights. Then I realized down the street was the Festival of San Gennaro. I walked it having never been, and dodged a procession for the San or Saint or whatever he calls himself. It was blocks of food and other festivities as well as a mini off season freak show. I ended up getting Buffalo Calimari. I was taken aback at how family orientated and well behaved people were. Going down the street I felt even more of a peace. Sometimes I work myself to death. I am ambitious and hardworking, never missing a beat and this is why people tend to like me and hire me. At the same time, I know I make them nuts but not as nuts as I make myself. That's why I just took the time to enjoy the festivities.

I came across the statue of San Gennaro. The people who worship at the church pray and pin a dollar or two to the little ribbon on it. My great grandmother was into stuff like that, just like my grandma is to some extent. My mother used to bless us with Holy Water from said locales during stressful events. My attitude was, "Eh, whatever makes you feel good." I ended up chatting with the man at the booth and asked if he believed and he said he did and gave me a pamphlet. I pinned a buck and said a prayer. My prayer to whomever is upstairs, assuming they might be named Buster Brown but no one knows, that I would stop being so crazy and be more of service and loving to others. And that I was unsure and scared of the next step in my quest with my book, and could unnamed divine force guide me. Within a moment I heard "Dress You Up in My Love" by Madonna. That song is a song of mine that is lucky. Maybe it means something. Maybe it doesn't.

On my walk back I saw an indie bookstore. I walked in and nervously explained to the clerk who had a buzz cut and nose ring that I had written a book. Immediately without judgement, she gave me the names of the two people that headed the memoir and humor section in order to give a book pitch. While my book is not yet in the store it is an exciting next step. Perhaps San Gennaro answered my prayer. Or maybe he didn't. Either way, that bookstore just happened to fall into my path which was awesome.

As my treat I took a cab ride home. I will burn off the fried food tomorrow in Jeanene's class. Sigh. Life is an adventure. When it is good and you are of love and service you can smile. When it is bad you have a funny story later. My advice is so good and this is so insightful maybe I should follow it next week when life starts happening to screw up my best laid plans.

Love, April

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

877-Buy-Book

www.buybooksontheweb.com