Bombing Brilliantly

Yesterday I made the decision to start getting up with the gusto I had when I was twenty years old. While the whole standup thing made me ill and I had such a terrible parting with the home club I had done so much for-don’t even get me started-I didn’t want to be touch and go forever. Sure, I have a chip on my shoulder about how I have been repeatedly shafted for being a woman and for being as different as I am. Yes, I feel the art form is hypocritical, goading the comedian to be groundbreaking but the second you are the doors close on you. Or better yet, once you have ambition and are a woman there must be something wrong with you. My list of issues goes on.

Anyway, on the other hand I enjoy being onstage. I have a day job where I perform. I have performed on the street and subway too and love it. There is something about stepping out there, the lights on my person. I always request the Apollo spotlight like they did in the movie Ray. When the room is dark, I say my opening line and I hear laughter. Sometimes when things are going well I hear, “Wow, this girl is funny.” Of course, then May Wilson comes out and people are amazed that I can make her talk without moving my lips. They have never seen a ventriloquist. Premise, set up, punchline, I am awesome. They love me. I feel on top of the world. This is my safe place. This is the place where everything goes right when everything is wrong. When I am going through a breakup, running from myself, trying to be an adult, trying to get through the death of a best friend from drugs, trying to deal with being broke this is where everything is fine. This is when I am safe.

That is, when it goes well.

I decided yesterday to go to an open mic. It was my friend Hector Luis’s mic. I love Hector because not only is he a good guy, but he is a student of the art form of standup comedy. As part of the prizes at his mic, I have won several comedy DVDs that he so lovingly burned. I won best set once or twice, and the place is always supportive. It’s fun, laid back, and safe. Something told me get up, go, do it. I also told Hector about my book and he was awesome. So was Maritza. As a matter of fact, Hector invited me to promo the book this Saturday on his radio show Rat Dog Radio. More details to follow.

I of course came with my type written set of jokes and was ready to rock and roll.

I didn’t.

Instead it was sort of the opposite. None of my jokes hit. I was like WTF?!?! I wrote these, I spent time on them, where did this come from? All the jokes I had written weren’t working. What had I done wrong? What was wrong with me?

Immediately I left the stage feeling like I had to fight for all the laughs I got. Then it hit me in a way. Maybe I had lost my ability to make people laugh. I had written my book. Yes, it was funny, but I had lost my stride onstage. Last two weeks, I had been up a few times and did well, but my jokes were tried and true and had worked for sometime. I was also getting sick of them and wanted to work on my new puppet Don Juan.

Still, maybe I had lost my ability to make people laugh. That paranoia shook me.

After I ran out of the mic to get some dinner before meeting my friends on my friend Tony’s yacht, I told myself maybe I had made a mistake. I should just stick to author land. I had been inconsistent as a comedian. When I hit I really hit, and sometimes handled some tough crowds very well when others were eaten alive. On the other hand, at times I should have just held the damn torch I always just dropped it and burnt down the village. It was an either/or situation. At this point I felt things should be better, I should be more crisp when I hit the stage, right?

Then I remembered the immortal words of Chis Murphy, a comedian and comedy coach I have had the pleasure of crossing paths with several times. He once told me that even if you tank, you still got up which means you won. Then it hit me that I still won. I had written new material and didn’t do the same A stuff like some people do at mics. Yes, there are people who do A material at mics. Sometimes it is to workshop a set for a showcase, but sometimes it is because they just aren’t writing anything else. I had put new material on it’s feet and some of the jokes have a future, some need to be shelved for a little bit. Some need to be put in a circular file never to be heard from again. I also have to relax a little onstage, which means getting rid of that diva chip on my shoulder. I need to have fun again with new material, and know that everything happens in it’s own time and this means not always knowing where the punchline comes from right away.

I have had some awesome sets in my life. I have done a lot in my short time on this planet. None of that is going to go away. Yes, I tanked like hell but I took the risks. I also didn’t sit on my ass and wonder what the next move was. For months I have been agonizing over what next. I wrote a damn book that is coming out in a month, I have had songs that charted on the internet, I was a talking head and left that job. I have been wondering, what’s next. The answer is and has always been to get onstage. In a career where there is so much one cannot control the only thing you can control is your output and quality of the work you produce. Sure, if you are funny you can still be denied, but on the other hand it does make life easier.

Yes, I have an attitude about all I have done and the whole comedy thing and again, wont get into it here. I will be the first to cop up to the fact I am a drama queen and a diva. But perhaps it’s time to scrap that, eat humble pie, and just keep getting up no matter how many times I get knocked down. The crazy part is, I want to do it again, and again, and again. I don’t even care if I tank. I just want to do it again.

So to bombing, and doing so brilliantly.

Nagasaki Mutherfucker.

Love,

April

PS. Listen to Rat Dog Radio this Saturday. More details to follow

Moron of the Week

Once a year I deal with a booker or two in my quest for greatness who is just abysmal. This sordid tale of disaster begins with me surfing the CL. While craigslist can be sketchy at times, especially if it is a gig seeking vegetarian females, on the other hand, it has it’s moments where it is awesome and has good stuff. I have gotten some TV and nice private events off of there, as well as interesting stories. When I saw this ad spelling errors were aplenty which is a sign that I should have run. Nonetheless, they promised pay and I figured what did I have to lose?

Instead, I ran into a moron and a bully who I had to tell off just a little. Because it turned out they weren’t promising money. They wanted me to work for free. This is how the convo went down.

April: Hello,

My name is April Brucker. I am a comedian interested in working with you. For more on me please go to www.aprilbrucker.com or www.youtube.com/aprilthestarr to get a better idea of what I do. On my youtube channel I have my various clips from performing live, videos, and snipets from TV appearances. Hope to talk to you soon.

Cheers,

April

Dee: Hi thankx 4 ur reply. Where r u located & what type of gigs r u seekin?

April: I am located in NYC and am focused on any sort of gig that pays.

Now this is someone who promised money so this wasn’t a big deal, right? At least that’s what I would have thought.

Dee: Oh ok so ur focus is only on paying gigs…….

Excuse me, did I miss something?

April: Well rent does need to be paid. Do you have any paying gigs? If you need a headliner let’s talk.

Headliner meaning myself. This person stated that they were offering money in the ad. Now I am very lost.

Dee: i no rent got to be paid but a true artist whos serius about the art u have to perform whereva to get ur talent our there paid or not….. thats the way i see it…….whoz the headliner ur talkin bout

Now I am just annoyed. I have been doing comedy for some time. In addition to being on TV, I have worked the road a great many weekends for as little as a burger just for exposure. I have paid for stage time and brought my own audience. I have performed in the dingiest, smelliest, shitholes. I have gotten in trouble for being who I am and my own expression so many times and this has included but has not been limited to national television. Please do not define a real artist for me you fucking prick. Now it’s time to take the gloves off.

April: I am. Look I don't work for free. I have heard that true artist hype and

 it's just a way to get free slave labor. If you have paying opportunities

 for people with TV creds let’s talk. Otherwise don’t put $ in your ad.

Dee: yea yea since u got a smart azz mouth u can keep it moving then...we

deal with headliners over here not wanna be comics......

I hardly had a smart mouth, when you misrepresent yourself I will call you on it.

April: And I only deal with people who can spell. Not that it's a worry for you, being a scam artist and all. Now to deal with real bookers.

Dee: YEAH AND I DEAL WITH REAL COMICS NOT THAT B.S. U DO....FAKE ASS COMIC..GET A REAL JOB U LAME

Not only is this individual a true idiot and moron, but they are turning into a bully who can’t complete a sentence. In my heart I know they are one of God’s children who went to school on the short bus. However, they are still a bully and I must deal with this mouth breathing mongoloid accordingly. Now it’s time to let that bitch know who is boss.

April: I have a job. Apparently, your job is misrepresenting yourself over the internet. By the way, my advice would be to please get back to whatever fast food counter you work at. You have the education of someone on that track. You have no idea what a real comic is you grammatical nightmare. I realize you probably have a third grade education, and a dishonest streak at that. I dread to see who you would actually book. To tell you the truth, I don't want to work with you.

Please do me a favor, don't write me back again. I wouldn't recommend it you ghetto fabulous food stamp receiving hood rat. You do not want to fight with me. I will beat you because I am smarter, faster, and the real deal. Unfortunately, you are a bully. Bullies do not do very well with me. That is why I am literally wiping the floor with you.

Now let me finish by correcting your grammar. In the business world people must use correct grammar. First off, caps are not appropriate for every word. I realize you wanted to yell. But in order to do so you have to say something authentic. Second, there should be a period at the end of BS. The word choice should be you instead of "u" because "u" is a vowel not a proper noun. Do should have a comma after it, not the random dots that mean nothing that are there for wasted space and dramatic interpretation. Same with your last "sentence. Lame is a describing word that cannot sit by itself, and you have no period at the end. So I am just a lame. You just gave up on the sentence like you should probably just give up on life :)

So your shiteous sentence should actually read: Yeah and I deal with real comics who don't B.S. You do, fake ass comic. Get a real job you lame (then you just quit, just like you should comedy).

I felt I could help because I have a book coming out in a month. You on the other hand are mentally handicapped and barely literate so I don't expect you to read it. Not that you would know anything about what it is to be a successful person.

Anyway, I'm glad I could help.

Love,

April

PS. Write back again and I will really mop the floor with you. I am just getting started.

Well to be continued. Lesson learned, when someone writes back under the email handle tastytreatz01@gmail.com, they are telling you their next stop is either the welfare line or the local bullpen awaiting preliminary hearing pending trial date. This annual of stupidity was just so impressive I had to share with the world. Maybe I should write back and tell this wannabe moron how I hang out with celebrities from time to time.

Oops, I have wasted enough time, and not to mention my dear celebrity friends would be forced to call security if this barely functional moron showed up.

Love,

April

Ice Cream

My swelling from my root canal is starting to settle. I am not taking my pain pills but I miss them. They put me to sleep and took away the aches. My teeth don’t ache anymore, but I had a puss bubble that formed after the procedure was done and popped it. It was filled with just puss and other dirty matter. My mother yelled at me. It was a bad idea because my gums are still sore. My endo kept telling me the bubble was my friend.

I will be on soft foods for the next few days. Not to mention I have to stop grinding my teeth. Maybe I have to stop being so mad at people. But when people don’t do what they are supposed to go, “GRRRRRR!!!!!”

Today I had iced cream for breakfast. It was chocolate chip cookie dough and brownie chunks. My baby cousins would be envious but it was all I could eat with my teeth being the way they are. I still have to be fitted for a cap on my tooth cause I have a temporary. Still, I got to have iced cream for breakfast, how often does that happen?

Working on marketing plan for my book and painting my nails. I am such a woman.

Love,

April

Grown Up

The thing about being an adult is that it has it’s ups an downs, it’s perks and suckage if you will. Sometimes I see my baby cousins rushing the whole adulthood thing. To them adulthood means freedom, your own place, independence. They don’t see the red tape where it also means bills, job, rent and other such responsibilities that give you crow’s feet. Adulthood.

My baby sister graduates next year from medical school. Her goal is to practice emergency room medicine. Next week she goes to Ipswitch to do a wine tasting and have a day in the country with her friends. I am worried about her at the wine tasting. Does she know to eat as she drinks so she doesn’t get trashed too quickly? I hope she isn’t planning on getting trashed. Then I remember she does things like drives. I still see her with her little frame, curly sue perm and lunchbox only going to school half a day. Oops.

Same with my other cousins. One of them had a girlfriend this year. Nevermind he made the Dean’s List at Case Western. He had a girlfriend. I wanted to inform him he was too young to date. He could wait until he was at least one hundred. Women are crazy. Well I guess he learned that lesson because he dumped her because surprise, she was crazy. I know how crazy young women can be at that age because guess what, I was one.

Between the ages of nineteen to twenty one I learned never to lean on a guy. I also learned men have no feelings, deal with it. Of course there was the lesson that to cry over a guy was stupid, and to fight over a man was even stupider. When I see my little cousins learning these lessons I have sort of a sense of humor about it.

When I was home I saw they wrecked my old high school. Sure, those days of my life sucked but when your school is ripped down a part of your history is erased. Going past there I remembered the old days. It seems like yesterday I had these dreams and goals and at the same time was lugging books to third period in building 5. My homework is long done and building five is just a pile of rubble. They taught me plenty in school, they just didn’t teach me how to react when my beloved computer lab was torn down. Did they remember to preserve my essay hung in there?

Eh, probly not.

My uncle of course is an art teacher at the high school. He painted the mural in the new pool. It was just yesterday that we were kids, and as a young buck he would come over my house in between excursions. His hair would be peroxide yellow, and his arms scraped from skateboarding. He would tell my mom about his latest painting, and my mom, being the much older sister, would pawn our leftovers on the starving artist. He would say to my mom, “Microwave the food extra long. I like burnt food.” Now he is a father of two and married. His hair is blonde, but not peroxide. He still skateboards though.

How time flies.

My brother of course is married. That’s an odd one, almost three years. This is someone who’s only loves were science and football. Does his wife know that he was a finalist in the No Bathing Contest at football camp in high school? Either way, that phase is over. He’s still in school, MD. /PhD. He may be in school forever. My dad said he will make a ton of money when he gets out.

But he may never get out until his kids are in school. So maybe they can make a ton of money together.

My high school classmates are marrying off one by one. People get in touch with me and I don’t know who they are because their last names have changed. When I put two and two together it finally clicks. Then they tell me about their children. Most of the time I am happy for them. They were nice people who moved on and did the normal things. However, one or two have made me gasp.

One young women I remember had to carry around the battery operated baby for Life Skills Class. Sick and tired of having to tend to this child, she removed the batteries. Our teacher failed her, citing that in real life you couldn’t take the batteries out of the baby. Now this genius has three children. They seem stable and well cared for.

Maybe they are battery operated.

Some people only seem to get crazier after high school. An old friend of mine who had  problem with lying has only gotten more mentally unstable. After lying about being pregnant several times, she got knocked up in our junior year only to complain that the child was expensive. My mother, sick of her lies informed her real children in fact did cost money. Needless to say, she had two more kids after the first with Baby Daddy who took off never to be heard from again. Now she is married to someone else, and they had a big fight on facebook the other day. It was over plans for her husband’s birthday. Neither can spell. Where is Maury when you need him?

Classy.

Of course we also managed to pass my old elementary school. It made me think of sliding down the slide and fundraisers, when those were my  big worries. Then later I was reminded again when I was at my grandfather’s party. Recently, a classmate of mine from elementary school passed away. A little bit of a troublemaker, his regular place was in the principals’ office.  After an arson charge, he was kicked out of our school and went to a probationary facility for youthful offenders from what I understand. I have gotten close to his brother online, a polar opposite of this young man. That’s how I found out about his passing. Apparently he was in jail and contracted what those who know him believe to be pneumonia and the fluid filled his lungs and blamo.

My Aunt Helen Jones was at my Pop Pop’s party and it turns out the man who lives with her as sort of a caretaker who does prison ministry knows my former classmate and had actually tried to save him. On his quest to save my wayward school chum to redemption, the two became friends. Apparently, my comrade had stayed a night at my aunt’s house which was crazy. Her housemate has wanted to look me up to ask how I knew him since I wrote a note for his family on the memorial book.

Sure, my former classmate was a bit of a bully. It wasn’t just me but everyone. I remember we were all sort of scared of him when we went to school, but if you could take him he sort of respected you. At times I liked him because he tortured a bitchy teacher or two. But in the end, he was fighting everyone and the world and that’s what got him. He didn’t know when to stop fighting and that’s what did him in. Growing up was too much and adulthood killed him. One is tough and one is almost impossible sometimes.

Where am I in this mix?

I live in Manhattan in a shoebox. I am unmarried. I am following my dreams and my heart which means I am perpetually broke. I wonder how the hell time has flown by. I have no children but ten puppets that I am mother to. I just wrote a book that will come out in a month. I have been on TV a bunch of times and still think the guys on America’s Most Wanted are hot.

I start every sentence with I which probably means I am not ready for a husband or children.

I could always move back home to my parent’s house, and my mother could make me breakfast, lunch and dinner daily.

Then I remember she would make me vacuum.

I think I will keep cracking at this adulthood thing.

Love,

April

The Olympics

These past few days I have been watching the Olympics. It has been crazy how talented these young people are. Missy Franklin just flies in that pool. Apparently she is six feet, one inches tall. Wow! So basically she dives in the pool and is already a third of the way down there. She seemed like a nice kid though. It was crazy watching her swim. She just was kicking in that full body suit like wah!

Of course there was Katie Ledecky, who was in the pool swimming and so in the zone that she unknowingly broke a few world records. This fifteen year old kid just looked around when she won like, “Wow, where’s everyone? Oh, I won. This is great!” She seemed like a sweet kid, and she really couldn’t believe she won. This was her first Olympics. I guess this will be a great memory.

Jordyn Wieber may not have been a metal contender but she was a sportswoman. Despite finishing third, she wished her best to her teammates on the mat and also said her big task was to help her team win first. Good job kid. I hope to see her in future Olympics. She is a cute kid and a good kid. A champion is someone who loses as gracefully as they win, and she is the epitome of the word.

The same can be said for Cullen Jones in the pool who often congratulates the competition. It’s nice to see. Plus he is a black swimmer. How often do you see that?

Of course there is Gabby Douglass, the first African-American to win all around gold in gymnastics. The kid was amazing. Her family has sacrificed so much so she could go to the games and she won. Word on the street is that The Flying Squirrel has some sweet endorsements coming her way. I hope it is the case. Her father came home from the Middle East to find out his daughter not only made the team but won trials. More gold on her yellow brick road. Go Gabby go!

Carmelita Jeter was my favorite comeback story on the track. She had pulled her hamstring and kept injuring it and was out of running for several years. Now she is back. Gracious as ever, she said she was blessed to be at the games. Carmie seems like a nice lady, but I would not want to fight her outside of the bar. My kind of girl. Win that gold baby, win that gold!

Cassidy Krug looked good on the springboard. I knew Cassidy back in the day when I attempted a diving career. While I loved the daredevil aspect I wasn’t very good, Cassidy on the otherhand was because now she is at the Olympics. She looked good on the board, sounded good when interviewed, and made me proud. I know how hard she worked and I was cheering for her from my couch so hard that I nearly dropped my dinner. Go Cassidy, go! Make a splash, but not too much, they take off points for that.

Don’t get me wrong, I like the way Michael Phelps swims but he can’t hold a thought to save his life. He slacks off in training and gets in the pool and just does it. It wouldn’t be so bad if it was just trash talk but Phelps admits to this. And when they interview him for too long you just want to smack him because he is so stupid. Luckily the boy can swim and has fins and flippers of sorts, at least his hands and feet look like fins and flippers. Because he is as dumb as a box of rocks. Then again, as I said, he is lucky he can swim otherwise he would be asking me if I wanted fries with that about now.

Still, when I see the athletes and their families, I know how much hard work it took to get there. It was monetary sacrifices from family as well as a lot of heartache and emotional support. All to get to the pool, track, lake, mat, tennis court, or wherever else.

When I see this I scream, “GO USA!”

Root Canal

Just got a root canal. My endodontist was excellent. It was one of those things where I had a bubble on my tooth and a toothache that hurt worse than watching Tori Spelling perform Shakespeare. Okay, nothing could be that bad but it came close. I remember it starting hurting a week ago. A few years previous I had a root canal.

The dentist who had done my root canal had been mentally unstable but skilled. When he had done it, he numbed my mouth but I saw all this blood. It looked like a murder scene in my mollars. I was like, "AHHHH!!!" at one point because he didnt realize my numbing agent was a runnin out. I also opted not to go with the painkiller. While it didnt hurt per se, I had a huge headache for about a week.

This time I got it done by uncle's old partner who's a good doctor. He apparently speaks at conferences worldwide. His nurse recognized me from being on TV with my puppet children. I also had the proof of my book and showed him. My mother was in the office with me. During the entire procedure we were laughing and it barely felt like I was having my teeth drilled.

Until one part I felt a drill in my gums and then remembered-ROOT CANAL.

When I got home I took my pain meds as instructed. They have been sort of weird, leaving me like a paralyzed zombie as I am unable to move but see and hear those around me talking. The side effects are I feel pissed as hell when someone wakes me up. I also get stomach aches and nausea. How the hell do people get hooked.

Then I remember they take the pain away and make me sleep damn good and have pleasant dreams. That's right. No wonder people steal to keep this habit going. Better not take anymore after I am not instructed to do so.

My father had nasal surgery last week. Since then he has been wearing a mustache and sporting Hawaiian shirts. I asked him if this was a new look. He said that it hurt to touch his face, and he hated the Hawiian shirt so much that he didnt care if he got blood on it. This whole week we both have been parked in front of the television, feet propped up, my mother nusing us, and pumped full of pain meds.

In between nodding off and cracking our necks we have been watching the Olympics which has been quite impressive. The last time I watched the Olympics with my family was 1996 and that was a lot of fun. We make fun of the atheletes occasionally, but have tremendous respect for the time, effort, and sacrifice it took to get there.

It all works out. This is my baby sister's last week before she goes back to medical school. She is getting so big. This year she graduates and wants to practice emergency room medicine. It's what she loves and it's good for women who want to have families. As a Virgo she is tied to tradition. But she's a cute kid. She talks about the most disgusting medical procedures with a poker face. I think that makes her awesome alone.

My grandfather celebrates his ninety-fourth birthday tomorrow. We are having a Hawaiian cookout. Should be fun. My mother once called my grandmother asking what it was like the day she was born on her birthday. Of course my grandfather answered the phone and asked, "Who is this?"

My mom asked my grandmother who said, "I have six kids, how am I supposed to remember?"

In between all this madness the Tarzan Marathon is playing. He swings from a vine, is debonaire, but he doesn't have a job or health insurance. I can live with that. Move over Jane, Tarzan is my dream man. Love, April

Sexed to Death

I was reading about a guy who had six wives. He was spending a lot of time with the sixth, and the other five were getting jealous. So they lured him into a bedroom in the house promising the sixth would be there, but instead all just pounced on him and wouldn’t let him stop having sex. The man eventually died.

Scholars and academics would call this rape. They would say a man could be raped and degraded just like a woman can.

Most men, on the other hand, would tell you that this would be their dream. Five women raping them at once and them not being able to leave. Throw in a mansion, a hot tub, a cigar, and some controlled substances and this is just a regular day for the Hef.

They could have killed him in other ways but they sexed him to death. Verdict, creative.

This took place somewhere in Africa I believe. The judge can probably be bribed. Maybe these girls will get off and go to the homes of some sex starved men I know.

Love

April