Growing Pains

I will admit being semi-famous is easy for me. Whenever there is a camera people want to point it in my direction. Whether I am on the street, at some random open call with my puppets, or they scout me cause I am weird. I am the only one like myself and that is making me quite famous in some respects. I also have an ego the size of the country of Canada. I am the best in the world. It is my planet. If you don’t like it get the hell out and while you are at it roll over and die. DIVA. I am diva by every definition of the word.

However, the things like actual talent and skill sometimes allude me. I will say it. There are folks who are much better writers and performers than I am. Granted, they don’t work as hard. But the thing is, maybe I care too much about what I do.

Lately, I have been trying a new puppet Don Juan. We have been hitting the mics lately. Hitting the mics makes me feel like a loser in some respects because I have done so much in my lifetime. I have worked the road and seen money from comedy. I have been on TV. I get fan mail from around the world. Sometimes, being amongst idiots who make inside dick jokes makes me want to hurl. However Don Juan is not fit for combat yet. So open mics are like my chemo. They make me puke, make me sick, make me want to die but at the same time are making the routine better. I know he is in no shape for a paying audience.

Don Juan so far has had a rough climb. The first two weeks I began bringing him around he crashed and burned. Now he is starting to come together. Last Friday I did a set with him at a mic and it actually went half decently. It didn’t kill, it didn’t tank. The transitions were rough but the jokes came together well and actually have a nice future as far as this routine is concerned. I think it will have sea legs soon enough for live shows. Then maybe I can do less mics. Maybe I can stop leaving those dingy basements reminding myself that I have seen money from comedy, have been on TV, have written a book, have had an internet hit song, have been on the radio, have caused waves, you get the picture.

Puffing my ego up saves me from slitting my wrists sometimes because mics suck that badly on occasion. Then again that’s what they call humility and ego reduction.

I have done a few sets with May. Some have killed but the truth is, I am getting tired of my jokes. I feel bored with my set. I wrote a damn book so I havent been writing as many jokes. Actually none. My book is getting published while I am convinced some people I perform with cant even read. Anyway, I have been plugging new jokes in. Last night I did a set at the Producers Club. It wasn’t terrible. I was sort of tired from a long day of singing telegram deliveries. The producer of the show, Jason Ongoco actually saw me in Lyndhurst and gave me a lift and we chatted. It was McCray Cray that way.

Last night’s set was alright. I had a good start, hit a snag, kept going and got my momentum back. A bit that usually kills got a light reaction. Then I got them back with something else. I tried a new bit that fell flat with May, but as usual my saver line killed. Something about me being quick on my feet always saves my ass. Then I tried a new bit that I have been working on that I could never get right. But somehow last night the bit worked for the first time under the lights. It felt awesome.

Actually it felt like beyond awesome. For that wrinkle in time I felt like a comedic genius. My goal is to replace some of my dirtier, dumber, hackier stuff with TV friendly stuff that is smart and well written. This bit did as such. I have been trying to ease one signature bit out but didn’t last night. However, I put it later in the set to save myself from floundering. It killed but I can’t do it on national television. Anyway, the new bit freaking rocked it. I felt awesome. Did I mention I felt awesome? Oh yes I did, McDID!

Then I had a rough ending. I am someone who has never ended a set well. Actually my ending outright sucked. It was weak and stupid. I didn’t leave them wanting more. It sucked.

I found myself then crunching on iced cubes feeling jealous and undertalented. An old friend of mine, Daryl Wright, always says he wants other people to shine as well because he knows he is funny. And that he is always getting funnier. He once told me people would give bad advice because they want to see them fail and see themselves shine. While I wish I were as confident and as noble as Daryl, I, on the otherhand, want to shine no matter what. I am like Tonya Harding that way. I am not confident I am always getting funnier. I wish I could take Daryl’s high road because he is often the funniest one. But it’s not happening anytime soon. I am too much of an egomaniac.

I hate nights when I just do okay. I didn’t kill it, okay. I didn’t tank it which is good too. But I did okay. When I do okay it actually makes me want to jump out a window more than I do when I tank it. Actually, I don’t want to jump out a window but just mope. Because I know what I can do. And when I don’t do it but come close enough that I probably could of it freaking destroys me. Yes, I did okay. But I know I can freaking kill them. I know I can go up in front of a whole room jam packed and perform like a rockstar. I know I can crush an urban room. I know I can manhandle any crowd. I have done it. When I don’t do it but do a passable job I feel like shit on a stick.

Maybe one day. Until then I think I will continue to cash in on the looks and the camera being pointed at my face. I have no idea what the next step is for me. Sure, I could slug it out and get good but I have been around long enough to know talent means nothing in the scheme of things. I could try to get into the clubs again with all my TV credits again but as we all know being a woman is a strike against you in comedy so it would probably be a waste of my time and energy. Plus I want a headliner club, not some rat infested shithole. I have too many TV credits and too much pride. That’s my problem. I am an egomaniac as I said. I don’t deny it.

Maybe I could do the whole acting thing.

Maybe I could move to LA.

Maybe I could move to Europe, especially if Romney becomes president.

Or maybe I could just enjoy my Sunday.

Love,

April