April E. Brucker's Blog, page 42
November 11, 2013
Discomfort
This past week I have been trying to go up as much as I can to prepare. I have returned to some of the haunts of my youth in the Village, in the days before I knew what it was to have fans let alone be on national television. In the days where my ideas were on loose scraps of paper before I wrote an actual book. While I only have started to make some real progress I am a long way from where I once was. The return has been good and once again they are becoming my old homes. Same with my former home club and other places. However I know the game there. I know the crowd. I know the comics. So I debated journeying out of my comfort zone.
I have long since heard about The Creek and The Cave. There was a part of me that was curious about the place. Certain comedian friends of mine raved about it. Others insisted it was cliquish. I never had been, but already I was judging. I didn't have a weird beard or weird glasses. Although I have a doll, I am hardly alt. I don't strive to be ironic. So basically I wrote the place off. Contempt prior to investigation as they say.
Finally today I told myself I had to go. I just needed to do something different. Because the same places had become my practicing grounds I was getting bored of them, getting bored of my act, and the chip on my shoulder that I have been trying to get rid of was reemerging. After showering and putting on fresh clothes, a spiritual shift in case you have never tried it, I decided to pose the question on facebook. Everyone said shake it up. So on the 7 train I went. I got there early of course and ordered some chili. As I downed my tasty dinner I saw a couple wander in. They were theatre people talking theatre talk and using the SAT words my mother claims I threw out with the bath water as a basement comic. I wasn't sure how I felt. I am not that kind of "smart person." Yes, I write books. But I am not a shit head who corrects people's grammar. I knew this could go either way.
The comedians rolled in and I chatted it up with two newbies. They were new to the game and nervous about the whole standup world. I told them talent doesnt depend on how long someone has been doing it, and that someone could be good or bad at any level. Everyone though seemed really stoked about comedy which was a good thing. I saw some people I hadnt seen in ages which was sweet. Suddenly, as the chili settled in my stomach I had a feeling I made the right decision by venturing out of my comfort zone.
The mic began with the host, a girl named Peggy, doing a few minutes. She was very sweet, warm, and funny. Immediately, she made everyone feel welcome and creative a supportive atmosphere in the room where everyone was safe to be themselves. One by one the comedians took the mic. Each had varying levels of experience, talent, and preparedness of course, but each was passionate about comedy. Each was hunting in their own way for the perfect punchline. Each felt the love and support from their fellow comedians. Making a comedian laugh is like making a mime talk, it's hard work. However, these people did laugh and gave good feedback. I felt a love, comfort, and gentleness here that is a foreign concept in most city rooms. Here I felt a lightness, a passion not only for performing but an art of comedy itself. I felt like I could crash and burn without getting bruised if things didn't go well.
I also garnered a whole new respect for alt comedy. Sure, some of it is hard to take. However, there are also some talented alt people who are good writers and good performers. All comedy does not have to be dick jokes. As I have been crafting this clean set I have gotten a whole new respect for people who are smart and clever. Yes, it might not work in some of the basements but not every show has to be in the basement. When I speak to kids about writing I tell them everyone has their own voice and there is room for everyone's voice. Same goes for comedy. Usually I am guilty of thinking of my own set as well. However, I was busy watching my fellows do their thing which was very exciting. It felt like I was learning and growing in a way I hadn't in some time.
I was amazed by what a family this group was. One of the cohosts had a birthday and the other cohost got her a cupcake and we sang. This cohost also somehow had gotten two ventriloquist figures for her birthday. And when I came up with a real ventriloquist act she thought it was amazing. When my turn came, I did something that has been hard for me for sometime in comedy. I HAD FUN.
As time goes on, all comedians, myself included, take themselves oh so seriously. We start to see money from comedy and it becomes serious business-ironic when you think of it. And then we develop chips on our shoulders and attitudes about the politics. Soon it becomes more about who we think we are and less about the art. Suddenly, we start writing less and get sick of our acts. We never get sick of hearing ourselves talk about ourselves or others talk about how great we are. We are sick creatures like that.
I had a lot of fun though. The room was also very kind to me. Some of it was that they like comedy. Some of it was that I have been working hard on the set I am preparing. Some of it is that they were supportive. However, a portion was due to the fact I let go and felt comfortable doing so. Afterwards people told me I did well and asked if I would be back. The answer is yes I will. My experience at The Creek and the Cave was a good one. It left me more stoked about performing and more excited about writing than I have been in YEARS. Comedy has a good home and every comedian, old and new, has a safe place to perform, experiment, and grow in whatever way they need to.
This winter I wrote a blog about stepping up my standup and not being sure how I could do that. The answer is to be around people passionate about comedy, writing, and go to out of your comfort zone. And maybe this place has it's little circles but so does every place. Whenever I focus on being funny and don't focus on the politics, I don't feel that sting. I am there to perform, not pass notes. When I do that I get along with every comedian and do decently with every audience, no matter where I am.
So yes, I will be going back to the Creek and the Cave, I will be eating more of that delicious chili. I will be chasing the perfect punchline. I will be wandering out of my comfort zone. Just like the twenty year old kid who dreamed of being on national television and carried her ideas on loose pieces of paper, I won't stop until I get the perfect punchline.
Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
www.aprilbrucker.com
I have long since heard about The Creek and The Cave. There was a part of me that was curious about the place. Certain comedian friends of mine raved about it. Others insisted it was cliquish. I never had been, but already I was judging. I didn't have a weird beard or weird glasses. Although I have a doll, I am hardly alt. I don't strive to be ironic. So basically I wrote the place off. Contempt prior to investigation as they say.
Finally today I told myself I had to go. I just needed to do something different. Because the same places had become my practicing grounds I was getting bored of them, getting bored of my act, and the chip on my shoulder that I have been trying to get rid of was reemerging. After showering and putting on fresh clothes, a spiritual shift in case you have never tried it, I decided to pose the question on facebook. Everyone said shake it up. So on the 7 train I went. I got there early of course and ordered some chili. As I downed my tasty dinner I saw a couple wander in. They were theatre people talking theatre talk and using the SAT words my mother claims I threw out with the bath water as a basement comic. I wasn't sure how I felt. I am not that kind of "smart person." Yes, I write books. But I am not a shit head who corrects people's grammar. I knew this could go either way.
The comedians rolled in and I chatted it up with two newbies. They were new to the game and nervous about the whole standup world. I told them talent doesnt depend on how long someone has been doing it, and that someone could be good or bad at any level. Everyone though seemed really stoked about comedy which was a good thing. I saw some people I hadnt seen in ages which was sweet. Suddenly, as the chili settled in my stomach I had a feeling I made the right decision by venturing out of my comfort zone.
The mic began with the host, a girl named Peggy, doing a few minutes. She was very sweet, warm, and funny. Immediately, she made everyone feel welcome and creative a supportive atmosphere in the room where everyone was safe to be themselves. One by one the comedians took the mic. Each had varying levels of experience, talent, and preparedness of course, but each was passionate about comedy. Each was hunting in their own way for the perfect punchline. Each felt the love and support from their fellow comedians. Making a comedian laugh is like making a mime talk, it's hard work. However, these people did laugh and gave good feedback. I felt a love, comfort, and gentleness here that is a foreign concept in most city rooms. Here I felt a lightness, a passion not only for performing but an art of comedy itself. I felt like I could crash and burn without getting bruised if things didn't go well.
I also garnered a whole new respect for alt comedy. Sure, some of it is hard to take. However, there are also some talented alt people who are good writers and good performers. All comedy does not have to be dick jokes. As I have been crafting this clean set I have gotten a whole new respect for people who are smart and clever. Yes, it might not work in some of the basements but not every show has to be in the basement. When I speak to kids about writing I tell them everyone has their own voice and there is room for everyone's voice. Same goes for comedy. Usually I am guilty of thinking of my own set as well. However, I was busy watching my fellows do their thing which was very exciting. It felt like I was learning and growing in a way I hadn't in some time.
I was amazed by what a family this group was. One of the cohosts had a birthday and the other cohost got her a cupcake and we sang. This cohost also somehow had gotten two ventriloquist figures for her birthday. And when I came up with a real ventriloquist act she thought it was amazing. When my turn came, I did something that has been hard for me for sometime in comedy. I HAD FUN.
As time goes on, all comedians, myself included, take themselves oh so seriously. We start to see money from comedy and it becomes serious business-ironic when you think of it. And then we develop chips on our shoulders and attitudes about the politics. Soon it becomes more about who we think we are and less about the art. Suddenly, we start writing less and get sick of our acts. We never get sick of hearing ourselves talk about ourselves or others talk about how great we are. We are sick creatures like that.
I had a lot of fun though. The room was also very kind to me. Some of it was that they like comedy. Some of it was that I have been working hard on the set I am preparing. Some of it is that they were supportive. However, a portion was due to the fact I let go and felt comfortable doing so. Afterwards people told me I did well and asked if I would be back. The answer is yes I will. My experience at The Creek and the Cave was a good one. It left me more stoked about performing and more excited about writing than I have been in YEARS. Comedy has a good home and every comedian, old and new, has a safe place to perform, experiment, and grow in whatever way they need to.
This winter I wrote a blog about stepping up my standup and not being sure how I could do that. The answer is to be around people passionate about comedy, writing, and go to out of your comfort zone. And maybe this place has it's little circles but so does every place. Whenever I focus on being funny and don't focus on the politics, I don't feel that sting. I am there to perform, not pass notes. When I do that I get along with every comedian and do decently with every audience, no matter where I am.
So yes, I will be going back to the Creek and the Cave, I will be eating more of that delicious chili. I will be chasing the perfect punchline. I will be wandering out of my comfort zone. Just like the twenty year old kid who dreamed of being on national television and carried her ideas on loose pieces of paper, I won't stop until I get the perfect punchline.
Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
www.aprilbrucker.com
Chasing Pavement (Adele)
I have been doing a lot of open mics again. It is to prep for an audition showcase. I need a super clean network friendly set. There is something about paying for stage time that makes me want to slit my fucking wrists. For one, I have been on TV A LOT. I will say it in case you forget. I am an egomaniac who thinks highly of herself but really is insecure and needs validation from others. I am in an abusive relationship with comedy and myself. I also wrote a book. Translated, I have technically written more so called joked and published them than my comedic peers. It is conceited Hell fuck it. I am at the end of my rope.
Lately being onstage at these open mics has produced a variety of emotions. It is humiliating having to pay for stage time. I hate it. I could walk into the clubs demanding shit but being an ambitious woman sometimes makes you a pariah in a world where people have no goals. Plus I am not a guy. I have a huge chip on my shoulder sometimes about not being a man. It is also refreshing because now I have a goal and task everytime I step onstage. I am doing a new set which is exciting. When I do the same set over and over I get bored, and I was starting to get bored of my act. Yeah, they pay me to do it and shit but it doesn't mean I don't get bored. It's also a bizarre time warp because some of the places I am going up at were where I initially did my growing up. One place, once Sals, then the Ma, and now the Grisly Pear was where I did my first nonbringer guest spot. Then how many Goddamn times did I perform at the Broadway as a guest headliner for an indie show in the big room or producing or performing in the cafe? It is also fun in some ways too. The other comics don't bully me now that I am hanging out at places where they don't know me. they did when I was initially getting TV time which made it hard. Even if they do fuck them. I don't care.
Yesterday was real, lets just say interesting. I was talking to this kid at one mic and he was asking me all about comedy. Apparently he is a huge comedy fan and watches standup shows whenever he gets a chance which is good. He was asking me about myself whether I had been on TV. I felt weird answering the question. Yes I have. No it doesn't mean shit especially if you are a woman. I didn't say that though. Instead he asked what I had been doing instead of doing mics. Writing. Yes, writing books. Writing treatments. Writing screenplays. Writing. The whole thing felt weird. Actually, I felt like I was trapped in hell.
I did a second mic where I was just tired and some idiot tried to pitch the new talent program to me. Please, I have been on TV. Apparently you don't own one. I published a book. Apparently you don't read. I am getting ready to a special showcase. Something that will never happen to you so don't worry. When I got onstage I literally had enough. I ran through my shit and didn't care that no one laughed. Later I left and the dude running the mic asked me if I would be back next week. I was tempted to tell him this, "No, I will be busy doing things like writing and getting paid for it. Or maybe I will be filming a new and exciting project that will perhaps be on TV. Not that you and your fucking all star lineup would know what a career looks like shithead."
But I didnt. Instead I went home and debated drinking cyanide.
I ended up skipping on the cyanide because they don't sell it on the internet and you can't get it from a drug dealer. One of my comedy angels told me I have to remember not to over rehearse and have fun. I suppose I do. Maybe I need to do that more this week as I am sentenced to this hellacious ego demolition. Then when this week is over and I hopefully ace my showcase I will do one of the following things:
1. Slit my wrists and then jump out of the window
2. Return to my diet of paid gigs, booked shows, and blogging on high profile websites just like I deserve.
3. Gain 50 pounds out of despair and make World Record Fat Show
4. Get a sex change to become male. That way shit will be just handed to me
Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
www.aprilbrucker.com
Lately being onstage at these open mics has produced a variety of emotions. It is humiliating having to pay for stage time. I hate it. I could walk into the clubs demanding shit but being an ambitious woman sometimes makes you a pariah in a world where people have no goals. Plus I am not a guy. I have a huge chip on my shoulder sometimes about not being a man. It is also refreshing because now I have a goal and task everytime I step onstage. I am doing a new set which is exciting. When I do the same set over and over I get bored, and I was starting to get bored of my act. Yeah, they pay me to do it and shit but it doesn't mean I don't get bored. It's also a bizarre time warp because some of the places I am going up at were where I initially did my growing up. One place, once Sals, then the Ma, and now the Grisly Pear was where I did my first nonbringer guest spot. Then how many Goddamn times did I perform at the Broadway as a guest headliner for an indie show in the big room or producing or performing in the cafe? It is also fun in some ways too. The other comics don't bully me now that I am hanging out at places where they don't know me. they did when I was initially getting TV time which made it hard. Even if they do fuck them. I don't care.
Yesterday was real, lets just say interesting. I was talking to this kid at one mic and he was asking me all about comedy. Apparently he is a huge comedy fan and watches standup shows whenever he gets a chance which is good. He was asking me about myself whether I had been on TV. I felt weird answering the question. Yes I have. No it doesn't mean shit especially if you are a woman. I didn't say that though. Instead he asked what I had been doing instead of doing mics. Writing. Yes, writing books. Writing treatments. Writing screenplays. Writing. The whole thing felt weird. Actually, I felt like I was trapped in hell.
I did a second mic where I was just tired and some idiot tried to pitch the new talent program to me. Please, I have been on TV. Apparently you don't own one. I published a book. Apparently you don't read. I am getting ready to a special showcase. Something that will never happen to you so don't worry. When I got onstage I literally had enough. I ran through my shit and didn't care that no one laughed. Later I left and the dude running the mic asked me if I would be back next week. I was tempted to tell him this, "No, I will be busy doing things like writing and getting paid for it. Or maybe I will be filming a new and exciting project that will perhaps be on TV. Not that you and your fucking all star lineup would know what a career looks like shithead."
But I didnt. Instead I went home and debated drinking cyanide.
I ended up skipping on the cyanide because they don't sell it on the internet and you can't get it from a drug dealer. One of my comedy angels told me I have to remember not to over rehearse and have fun. I suppose I do. Maybe I need to do that more this week as I am sentenced to this hellacious ego demolition. Then when this week is over and I hopefully ace my showcase I will do one of the following things:
1. Slit my wrists and then jump out of the window
2. Return to my diet of paid gigs, booked shows, and blogging on high profile websites just like I deserve.
3. Gain 50 pounds out of despair and make World Record Fat Show
4. Get a sex change to become male. That way shit will be just handed to me
Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
www.aprilbrucker.com
November 10, 2013
Fear and Loathing
Comedians are like bitchy scorpions. There are only so many spots at any club, only so many people who can be on any show, etc. It's like we all can't have nice things. This is most apparent on car trips. It starts by bringing up one comic and then it is a trash fest. Some of it is out of jealousy that they got the spot we wanted. Some of it is out of fear that we might never get what we want. Some of it is out of insecurity because we must trash people we feel are lesser. Deep down, it is more fear. More fear that we will be forever trapped doing shit open mics, shit bar gigs, shit check spots, and at the end of the day we will languish in obscurity only to die unknown.
Early in my comedy career I saw people floating around who had been at it for years. One woman had been doing open mics for fifteen years and still sucked. I deeply hoped that wasn't going to be me. However, I was afraid it was going to be. I saw others seemingly never move from the bringer system, damned forever to be comedy cattle running and feeding off of dream grass only never to get the nutrients. At other venues I saw people bark for what seemed to be forever never to move up. And then I saw some people do the same terrible set for years with the same lackluster jokes. Running the open mic marathon it seemed as though the lanes were clogged like a bad LA traffic jam and I would never get the red light. As for the road, I did that as a feature. I opened up for guys who were either really funny and would never have their talent recognized, or incredible hacks that killed for audiences that didnt know better. For a while it felt like there was no way to make it.
As a comedian I never believe my fans or the audiences that love me. In the initial early stages of my career, I very well knew I wasn't very good. When I would have a bad set, it followed me for sometime in my mind. When I had a good set, I bragged about it. Some of it was that I was proud of my work. Most of it was because I thought it would never happen to begin with therefore feared it would never happen again. I was accused of having no humility. It was true. I was deeply insecure and not the biggest April fan. But humility is not thinking less of onesself but thinking of onesself less. I was thinking of April all the live long day.
Time went on and I accomplished some things. It wasn't so much talent but hard work. I will admit, there is always someone funnier, prettier, and a better writer than I could be at any given moment. However, none have pounded the pavement like I have. Even my enemies have to high five me for my work ethic. In order to accomplish that fear and loathing, I became even more bragadocious. I don't think it was an accident that I found myself more depressed than ever deep down. Yes I was releasing a book but why did I secretly feel like dog shit run over by a mac truck? Answer, I was chasing the wrong solution. I thought ranting about being a woman in comedy was the solution. If I were a man I wouldn't have to fight so hard. I had fans writing me letters. Fuck open mics. Let me tell you how successful I am. Want to read a copy of my book?........
This past winter, I found myself unsure of how to step up my comedy. How to grow. The answer was to drop the fear and loathing and to do the work. This past week I did a show where the audience was slower to warm up to a ventriloquist act. However they got into me and I ultimately ended up doing well. After I stepped offstage I didn't hear the congratulations from the audience or felt the love I received from my fellow comedians. Instead I could only focus on the fact they didn't dig me at the beginning of my set. I was talking to a fellow comedian about this and how I always focused on the weak part. The audience members who didn't like me. My comedian friend concurred that she did that too. We all did.
On my walk home I worried that I was never going to go where I wanted to go. I also worried that I was going to settle again. Then I realized no. That wasn't going to happen. The mistake I made was falling victim to the fear and loathing. My ego seduced me into taking April the Reality TV Queen and April the Author into comedy clubs. That person doesn't always belong. Instead, when I go to a club I am just another name on the lineup. My job isn't to primp my feathers and remind people of who I think I am. It's to make the audience laugh. Also, there is something to be learned from every comedian on the lineup whether they are a household name or whether they are unknown. When that is my attitude there is always something gained.
These days when I step onstage I take the twenty year old kid who was awkward and had a weird looking, antiquated puppet. She wasn't afraid to fail, and was humble enough to do the work. She took tanking hard only to keep doing more of it until she got good. The beautiful thing was she wasn't so egotistical she wouldn't take a suggestion. As a result, the Comedy God's smiled upon her again and again. She was a good kid, sometimes taking things too hard but always chasing the perfect set. She always knew she could do better and the secret was more stage time. These days I bring her to the clubs. Not April the Reality TV star or April the Author. Those two idiots wouldn't have been possible without that weird, determined, and tough kid blindly chasing a dream.
Good things have always happened when she has been around. Sure she succumbs to the fear and loathing, but only to get up and try it again.
Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
www.aprilbrucker.com
Early in my comedy career I saw people floating around who had been at it for years. One woman had been doing open mics for fifteen years and still sucked. I deeply hoped that wasn't going to be me. However, I was afraid it was going to be. I saw others seemingly never move from the bringer system, damned forever to be comedy cattle running and feeding off of dream grass only never to get the nutrients. At other venues I saw people bark for what seemed to be forever never to move up. And then I saw some people do the same terrible set for years with the same lackluster jokes. Running the open mic marathon it seemed as though the lanes were clogged like a bad LA traffic jam and I would never get the red light. As for the road, I did that as a feature. I opened up for guys who were either really funny and would never have their talent recognized, or incredible hacks that killed for audiences that didnt know better. For a while it felt like there was no way to make it.
As a comedian I never believe my fans or the audiences that love me. In the initial early stages of my career, I very well knew I wasn't very good. When I would have a bad set, it followed me for sometime in my mind. When I had a good set, I bragged about it. Some of it was that I was proud of my work. Most of it was because I thought it would never happen to begin with therefore feared it would never happen again. I was accused of having no humility. It was true. I was deeply insecure and not the biggest April fan. But humility is not thinking less of onesself but thinking of onesself less. I was thinking of April all the live long day.
Time went on and I accomplished some things. It wasn't so much talent but hard work. I will admit, there is always someone funnier, prettier, and a better writer than I could be at any given moment. However, none have pounded the pavement like I have. Even my enemies have to high five me for my work ethic. In order to accomplish that fear and loathing, I became even more bragadocious. I don't think it was an accident that I found myself more depressed than ever deep down. Yes I was releasing a book but why did I secretly feel like dog shit run over by a mac truck? Answer, I was chasing the wrong solution. I thought ranting about being a woman in comedy was the solution. If I were a man I wouldn't have to fight so hard. I had fans writing me letters. Fuck open mics. Let me tell you how successful I am. Want to read a copy of my book?........
This past winter, I found myself unsure of how to step up my comedy. How to grow. The answer was to drop the fear and loathing and to do the work. This past week I did a show where the audience was slower to warm up to a ventriloquist act. However they got into me and I ultimately ended up doing well. After I stepped offstage I didn't hear the congratulations from the audience or felt the love I received from my fellow comedians. Instead I could only focus on the fact they didn't dig me at the beginning of my set. I was talking to a fellow comedian about this and how I always focused on the weak part. The audience members who didn't like me. My comedian friend concurred that she did that too. We all did.
On my walk home I worried that I was never going to go where I wanted to go. I also worried that I was going to settle again. Then I realized no. That wasn't going to happen. The mistake I made was falling victim to the fear and loathing. My ego seduced me into taking April the Reality TV Queen and April the Author into comedy clubs. That person doesn't always belong. Instead, when I go to a club I am just another name on the lineup. My job isn't to primp my feathers and remind people of who I think I am. It's to make the audience laugh. Also, there is something to be learned from every comedian on the lineup whether they are a household name or whether they are unknown. When that is my attitude there is always something gained.
These days when I step onstage I take the twenty year old kid who was awkward and had a weird looking, antiquated puppet. She wasn't afraid to fail, and was humble enough to do the work. She took tanking hard only to keep doing more of it until she got good. The beautiful thing was she wasn't so egotistical she wouldn't take a suggestion. As a result, the Comedy God's smiled upon her again and again. She was a good kid, sometimes taking things too hard but always chasing the perfect set. She always knew she could do better and the secret was more stage time. These days I bring her to the clubs. Not April the Reality TV star or April the Author. Those two idiots wouldn't have been possible without that weird, determined, and tough kid blindly chasing a dream.
Good things have always happened when she has been around. Sure she succumbs to the fear and loathing, but only to get up and try it again.
Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
www.aprilbrucker.com
November 9, 2013
Bitches Be Cray Cray
I am always astounded at how I find myself on the wrong side of some women. Usually it is the current girlfriend of an ex or the current wife of a fan or former high school classmate. I don't get it. And they are so psychotic about it too. Wowsa.
Two years ago I had just been on national television a bunch and everyone from my childhood and beyond came out of the woodwork to congratulate me. Some were classmates, some were old friends, some were original fans from back home. One was a former neighbor of mine who played football with my brother. Although he was older than I was, I always got on with the dude. Anyway, I was making videos and doing well and posted one on her dude's wall. She writes me a scathing message. I was like WTF?!?! I don't want your man. We don't even live in the same city. I don't even know you lady. Well he got smart and dumped her like the fat bag of wet laundry that she is. Oh and he got full custody of their kid. Now he raises his young son as a single dad and is doing well. We were talking about Miss X and it turns out that she is bipolar and refused to take her meds. How lovely. You did the smart thing by getting away. I should know.
After her was this baby mama of a fan of mine who wrote me a profanity laden email threatening to kill me. Then when I basically told this breeding lump with a bad tan that all she ever did was push children out of her vagina that probably is so loose that it swings like a kiddie tire swing I blocked her. Then she got her red neck friends who are probably so inbred that they are their own grandpa to write me nasty notes. After I blocked all of them she started an I Hate April Group. I was like wow, you must really have no time on your hands. God forbid you catch your husband reading Playboy or watching Baywatch. Eek! She had some redneck name too. I mean, I saw her mother's wedding pictures and they all had that white trash ink. Who knows? Maybe her man had to look elsewhere. Dreaming is free
Lest we not forget the former girlfriend of my psychotic ex fiance. He was nuts and she was even nuttier. She basically was a childhood sweetheart of his that reconnected with him in the myspace days. Our relationship ended and this trouble maker started sending me nasty messages. As if it was even her freaking business. Then when my ex was stalking me, she starts stalking me biproxy leaving nasty messages too and doing some of his dirty work. When he posted drawings of someone that looked like me being gored, the cunt (I dont use the word lightly but when the shoe fits wear it) was the first to like them and claimed she wanted more art work. She too had a hobby of making babies with numerous men. An obese semi-shut in, she coached cheerleading and liked the same music her children did such as Z100. Note, when you are in your thirties listening to that music and putting hearts next to Justin Beiber end your life now. Then when I got on TV she starts posting shit on every forum there is about how I slandered my ex, stalked her, and how I had so many mental problems she needed to block me. No you big fat cow. I had to block you and as I recall I was working with myspace at one point who limited the things you could do on your page and blocked my ex from using again because I had proven my case. WOW. Anyway, she has moved on to taking one of her baby daddy's to court. So I don't have to worry about her. Maybe she will die of a heart attack.
Of and then there is the current girlfriend of my ex. A wannabe singer, comedian, and half assed poet this big, fat, heap of a woman who gains more weight the longer she stays with my ex made my winter/spring quite interesting. A true wannabe, this wench began copying my look. When I put up a video, so did she. When I announced the release of a book, suddenly guess who starts writing poetry and she had never written poetry before. Guess who keeps a blog and guess who announces she is working on a book? I would have dismissed that nonsense except she began prank calling me. Oh and then she and her friends made a video where a girl named April got her head beaten in. After that, she insisted I was harassing her and spread her filthy lies about me like AIDS. Meanwhile bitch is copying my look and career and doesn't have the talent. Oh and she wrote a nasty poem about me and plagiarized a line from one of mine. Couldn't even diss me with her own words. From the looks of things she does drugs and drinks all day and doesn't have a job. I have done nothing to this woman except I once dated her boyfriend and now am doing well with her life. She no longer bothers me either. Now she plays shows with her shitty rock band for three people who can tolerate the out of tune nonsense she calls a voice. But according to my friends she still alludes to me on twitter. Let her talk. She's got a good subject.
Last but not least is the wife of a former classmate of mine. The dude who I will call Johnny went to school with me from elementary school to the end of high school. We were always friends actually. Anyway when I graduated I went to NYC and lost contact. I guess in the meantime he met this beast creature that he married. Johnny always liked pretty girls, but this one could crack a mirror. Anyway she looks like a weed whacker cut her hair and is heroin chic skinny, probably from shooting up. So this spawn of Norman Bates writes me a nasty letter about how she wants me to "stay the fuck away from her husband." Wow. We don't even live in the same state and you live in a shitty white trash part of my former city. No problem. And then the freaking internet tough girl blocked me so I couldn't reply back. Nice to see my former grade school chum has found himself in a codependent power struggle with a woman who is cat shit crazy. Then I looked on her page to see who she was. This nutcase kept posting videos of her smoking, getting trashed, and then her statuses were about how she hadn't slept. I saw a photo of her and my former classmate and they both had pock marks on their faces, circles under their eyes, and looked like they were either coming or going to their neighborhood crack house. How sweet, two addicts who found love. Tell Flaco and the rest of the crew at the crack house I said hola. Hope it works out for you both. Until then, know your husband does in fact secretly dream of me. It's not because I am pretty. It's because I am not you, you crazy bitch.
Still, this makes me not want to get married ever. All marries seems like is an exercise in codependency. If anything it makes me glad I am single. The older I get the less I want to be married with kids. Some feel the need, after the shit I have seen I don't. If your marriage or relationship is that much of a power struggle get out. You don't need a man to complete you. You can make it on your own. You were a person before you started sucking his dick and you will be a person afterwards. No man is worth wearing prison orange over. Good riddance.
Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
www.aprilbrucker.com
Two years ago I had just been on national television a bunch and everyone from my childhood and beyond came out of the woodwork to congratulate me. Some were classmates, some were old friends, some were original fans from back home. One was a former neighbor of mine who played football with my brother. Although he was older than I was, I always got on with the dude. Anyway, I was making videos and doing well and posted one on her dude's wall. She writes me a scathing message. I was like WTF?!?! I don't want your man. We don't even live in the same city. I don't even know you lady. Well he got smart and dumped her like the fat bag of wet laundry that she is. Oh and he got full custody of their kid. Now he raises his young son as a single dad and is doing well. We were talking about Miss X and it turns out that she is bipolar and refused to take her meds. How lovely. You did the smart thing by getting away. I should know.
After her was this baby mama of a fan of mine who wrote me a profanity laden email threatening to kill me. Then when I basically told this breeding lump with a bad tan that all she ever did was push children out of her vagina that probably is so loose that it swings like a kiddie tire swing I blocked her. Then she got her red neck friends who are probably so inbred that they are their own grandpa to write me nasty notes. After I blocked all of them she started an I Hate April Group. I was like wow, you must really have no time on your hands. God forbid you catch your husband reading Playboy or watching Baywatch. Eek! She had some redneck name too. I mean, I saw her mother's wedding pictures and they all had that white trash ink. Who knows? Maybe her man had to look elsewhere. Dreaming is free
Lest we not forget the former girlfriend of my psychotic ex fiance. He was nuts and she was even nuttier. She basically was a childhood sweetheart of his that reconnected with him in the myspace days. Our relationship ended and this trouble maker started sending me nasty messages. As if it was even her freaking business. Then when my ex was stalking me, she starts stalking me biproxy leaving nasty messages too and doing some of his dirty work. When he posted drawings of someone that looked like me being gored, the cunt (I dont use the word lightly but when the shoe fits wear it) was the first to like them and claimed she wanted more art work. She too had a hobby of making babies with numerous men. An obese semi-shut in, she coached cheerleading and liked the same music her children did such as Z100. Note, when you are in your thirties listening to that music and putting hearts next to Justin Beiber end your life now. Then when I got on TV she starts posting shit on every forum there is about how I slandered my ex, stalked her, and how I had so many mental problems she needed to block me. No you big fat cow. I had to block you and as I recall I was working with myspace at one point who limited the things you could do on your page and blocked my ex from using again because I had proven my case. WOW. Anyway, she has moved on to taking one of her baby daddy's to court. So I don't have to worry about her. Maybe she will die of a heart attack.
Of and then there is the current girlfriend of my ex. A wannabe singer, comedian, and half assed poet this big, fat, heap of a woman who gains more weight the longer she stays with my ex made my winter/spring quite interesting. A true wannabe, this wench began copying my look. When I put up a video, so did she. When I announced the release of a book, suddenly guess who starts writing poetry and she had never written poetry before. Guess who keeps a blog and guess who announces she is working on a book? I would have dismissed that nonsense except she began prank calling me. Oh and then she and her friends made a video where a girl named April got her head beaten in. After that, she insisted I was harassing her and spread her filthy lies about me like AIDS. Meanwhile bitch is copying my look and career and doesn't have the talent. Oh and she wrote a nasty poem about me and plagiarized a line from one of mine. Couldn't even diss me with her own words. From the looks of things she does drugs and drinks all day and doesn't have a job. I have done nothing to this woman except I once dated her boyfriend and now am doing well with her life. She no longer bothers me either. Now she plays shows with her shitty rock band for three people who can tolerate the out of tune nonsense she calls a voice. But according to my friends she still alludes to me on twitter. Let her talk. She's got a good subject.
Last but not least is the wife of a former classmate of mine. The dude who I will call Johnny went to school with me from elementary school to the end of high school. We were always friends actually. Anyway when I graduated I went to NYC and lost contact. I guess in the meantime he met this beast creature that he married. Johnny always liked pretty girls, but this one could crack a mirror. Anyway she looks like a weed whacker cut her hair and is heroin chic skinny, probably from shooting up. So this spawn of Norman Bates writes me a nasty letter about how she wants me to "stay the fuck away from her husband." Wow. We don't even live in the same state and you live in a shitty white trash part of my former city. No problem. And then the freaking internet tough girl blocked me so I couldn't reply back. Nice to see my former grade school chum has found himself in a codependent power struggle with a woman who is cat shit crazy. Then I looked on her page to see who she was. This nutcase kept posting videos of her smoking, getting trashed, and then her statuses were about how she hadn't slept. I saw a photo of her and my former classmate and they both had pock marks on their faces, circles under their eyes, and looked like they were either coming or going to their neighborhood crack house. How sweet, two addicts who found love. Tell Flaco and the rest of the crew at the crack house I said hola. Hope it works out for you both. Until then, know your husband does in fact secretly dream of me. It's not because I am pretty. It's because I am not you, you crazy bitch.
Still, this makes me not want to get married ever. All marries seems like is an exercise in codependency. If anything it makes me glad I am single. The older I get the less I want to be married with kids. Some feel the need, after the shit I have seen I don't. If your marriage or relationship is that much of a power struggle get out. You don't need a man to complete you. You can make it on your own. You were a person before you started sucking his dick and you will be a person afterwards. No man is worth wearing prison orange over. Good riddance.
Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
www.aprilbrucker.com
November 8, 2013
Sludge Hammer (Peter Gabriel)
Every comedian has had a hell gig. Some of us have had many. It's part of being in the game. Several years ago, I had the mother of all hell gigs. Curtain up and enter the Moose Lodge. A buddy of mine named Jimmy McCaffrey who was a sometimes comedian and in full time conflict with his ex wife had booked it. The show had a mix of folks still in the incubation stages of comedy like myself, seasoned comedians, and of course headliners. I figured the show could have gone either way when I got there. After all, this was Jersey. These were all white people. I had done well in a black room only the week before. This would be a breeze, right?
WRONG!
The show began and my friend did a minute and a half up front. The rest of us were looking at each other like "what?" The first comedian went up. He was a slight fellow named Paul Mazeroff who's gift was the business side, but as for material, he had a solid minute and a half. Paul wasn't even onstage for a minute and he was already being heckled. I was supposed to go next. OH SHIT!
After three minutes of this nonsense Jimmy gave Paul the light. The next comedian was Howard Feller, who killed it. This was an awesome experience and even more awesome to watch. Okay, maybe they weren't going to eat us alive after all. After Howard I went up. I brought May out. Some of the room was into me. Some wasnt. Actually, they were divided down the middle. I didn't care. I just wanted to survive. Some drunken white racist idiot said, "This isn't standup comedy. She has a puppet." No shit Sherlock. I have a puppet.
The next comedian, who's name escapes me, was a blur. After him they interrupted the comedy show so this weird looking Napoleon Dynamite kid could say a prayer. In a surreal blur the comedy show continued. Some of the comedians battled with these bizarre angry white hecklers. One lady, a mom comic who's name escapes me that kept talking about her kids, gave one guy a t shirt. They were silent during her set, which meant they were paying attention but not laughing is the most brutal form of bullying in comedy. The show finally ended with Danny McDermott taking down and ultimately verbally killing a heckler.
After the show, one of the worst hecklers said, "I felt bad for the comedians. No one would even give them a chance." Yeah asshole, you heckled. A bunch of folks gave me and the rest of the comedians backhanded compliments. One tattooed dude said he really dug me.
They say from every hell gig you learn something. One of the weirdo hecklers said he saw my jokes on my hand cause in those days I wrote my set list on my hand. I stopped doing that and just memorized it.
Years later, when I was on TV the tattooed dude who liked me dropped me a fan note.
Last night Chris DiFate and I saw each other after a number of years. While it was good to see an old friend, it was even better to laugh about the shared shiteous experience we had together. I had forgotten about the horrid prayer. Chris reminded me. The beautiful thing about comedy is everyone pays their dues. As you move up the ladder, you laugh with others about the same harrowing experiences.
There is no business like show business
Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
www.aprilbrucker.com
WRONG!
The show began and my friend did a minute and a half up front. The rest of us were looking at each other like "what?" The first comedian went up. He was a slight fellow named Paul Mazeroff who's gift was the business side, but as for material, he had a solid minute and a half. Paul wasn't even onstage for a minute and he was already being heckled. I was supposed to go next. OH SHIT!
After three minutes of this nonsense Jimmy gave Paul the light. The next comedian was Howard Feller, who killed it. This was an awesome experience and even more awesome to watch. Okay, maybe they weren't going to eat us alive after all. After Howard I went up. I brought May out. Some of the room was into me. Some wasnt. Actually, they were divided down the middle. I didn't care. I just wanted to survive. Some drunken white racist idiot said, "This isn't standup comedy. She has a puppet." No shit Sherlock. I have a puppet.
The next comedian, who's name escapes me, was a blur. After him they interrupted the comedy show so this weird looking Napoleon Dynamite kid could say a prayer. In a surreal blur the comedy show continued. Some of the comedians battled with these bizarre angry white hecklers. One lady, a mom comic who's name escapes me that kept talking about her kids, gave one guy a t shirt. They were silent during her set, which meant they were paying attention but not laughing is the most brutal form of bullying in comedy. The show finally ended with Danny McDermott taking down and ultimately verbally killing a heckler.
After the show, one of the worst hecklers said, "I felt bad for the comedians. No one would even give them a chance." Yeah asshole, you heckled. A bunch of folks gave me and the rest of the comedians backhanded compliments. One tattooed dude said he really dug me.
They say from every hell gig you learn something. One of the weirdo hecklers said he saw my jokes on my hand cause in those days I wrote my set list on my hand. I stopped doing that and just memorized it.
Years later, when I was on TV the tattooed dude who liked me dropped me a fan note.
Last night Chris DiFate and I saw each other after a number of years. While it was good to see an old friend, it was even better to laugh about the shared shiteous experience we had together. I had forgotten about the horrid prayer. Chris reminded me. The beautiful thing about comedy is everyone pays their dues. As you move up the ladder, you laugh with others about the same harrowing experiences.
There is no business like show business
Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
www.aprilbrucker.com
November 7, 2013
All Dicked Up
A few years ago I was invited to audition for Puppetry of the Penis. I thought it was a dirty puppet show. Being a comedian and puppeteer, I thought this touring show would take me out of my career rut. I hadn't booked anything in months. So I figured, why not? They sent me pictures of different shapes one could make with said organ, and I just thought they were going to be lifesized puppets.
I arrived and was greeted and given paperwork. However, I was also given an odd look by all the guys who showed up to audition. That is when the director emerged and asked what I was doing there. I told him I had come to audition, and even bought May Wilson. In those days we were waaaaaayyyyyyy dirty. Anyway, that is when someone told me that this perhaps wouldn't be the job for me. And that is when I found out that it truly was puppetry of the penis. The director and producer met as to decide what to do. So before the show began, and they invited me to stay and watch, they had me do my act for everyone. It went well. After that the pants came on and the dicks came out.
The director, an Australian, said, "Okay, time to warm up." That is when he dropped his pants, rubbed his dick and made it pliable and flexible. The rest of the men in the group did the same. Suddenly I was looking at ten random dicks. I felt like I wandered into a gay bath house and forgot my crystal meth. Despite the fact that a woman's presence could be intimidating, these guys were not floored. We all felt awkward. Penis tricks include wrist watch, propeller, pretzel, and many others. Some of the guys were less penis savvy than others. One dude was real good. Apparently he was dropping his draws and doing all his penis puppetry at the theatre arts parties at Pittsburgh's own Point Park University.
After being struck speechless I saw a fellow comedian I only met once or twice at the mics. I introduced myself and we both laughed about what happened, cause how could you not? He shook my hand and said, "From now on, you can always call me Max."
I said, "And you can call me April. I saw your dick and therefore we will always be bonded." Max laughed. He agreed. I suppose while awkward keeps being the choice word, it was the beginning of a long and beautiful friendship.
"This is the most interesting lunch break I ever had." Max said.
We laughed. How could we not? Afterwards I ran into church and said a few prayers. While I am not terribly religious I kind of had to after that.
Since that time Max has gone on to appear with me on Wendy Williams. Today I saw his girlfriend Vicky at the health club. We were talking about Vicky's film, her new book, and I found out Max was her boyfriend. I asked her if he ever told her about our infamous audition at Puppetry of the Penis. Apparently he had. Truth is, we have both seen her boyfriend's penis. She wanted to, I did by accident. Does that make us tied for life? I dunno. It's just something else that we laugh about as New York Comedians climbing the ladder and following our dreams.
Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
www.aprilbrucker.com
I arrived and was greeted and given paperwork. However, I was also given an odd look by all the guys who showed up to audition. That is when the director emerged and asked what I was doing there. I told him I had come to audition, and even bought May Wilson. In those days we were waaaaaayyyyyyy dirty. Anyway, that is when someone told me that this perhaps wouldn't be the job for me. And that is when I found out that it truly was puppetry of the penis. The director and producer met as to decide what to do. So before the show began, and they invited me to stay and watch, they had me do my act for everyone. It went well. After that the pants came on and the dicks came out.
The director, an Australian, said, "Okay, time to warm up." That is when he dropped his pants, rubbed his dick and made it pliable and flexible. The rest of the men in the group did the same. Suddenly I was looking at ten random dicks. I felt like I wandered into a gay bath house and forgot my crystal meth. Despite the fact that a woman's presence could be intimidating, these guys were not floored. We all felt awkward. Penis tricks include wrist watch, propeller, pretzel, and many others. Some of the guys were less penis savvy than others. One dude was real good. Apparently he was dropping his draws and doing all his penis puppetry at the theatre arts parties at Pittsburgh's own Point Park University.
After being struck speechless I saw a fellow comedian I only met once or twice at the mics. I introduced myself and we both laughed about what happened, cause how could you not? He shook my hand and said, "From now on, you can always call me Max."
I said, "And you can call me April. I saw your dick and therefore we will always be bonded." Max laughed. He agreed. I suppose while awkward keeps being the choice word, it was the beginning of a long and beautiful friendship.
"This is the most interesting lunch break I ever had." Max said.
We laughed. How could we not? Afterwards I ran into church and said a few prayers. While I am not terribly religious I kind of had to after that.
Since that time Max has gone on to appear with me on Wendy Williams. Today I saw his girlfriend Vicky at the health club. We were talking about Vicky's film, her new book, and I found out Max was her boyfriend. I asked her if he ever told her about our infamous audition at Puppetry of the Penis. Apparently he had. Truth is, we have both seen her boyfriend's penis. She wanted to, I did by accident. Does that make us tied for life? I dunno. It's just something else that we laugh about as New York Comedians climbing the ladder and following our dreams.
Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
www.aprilbrucker.com
November 6, 2013
Starving the Devil
When I first started comedy, the only thing I had were my dreams. I was a kid from Pittsburgh. Having no idea what it really took to be a New York City comedian, I chased my dreams running on the hard pavement like Hussein Bolt. Of course I made friends with other young people chasing theirs as well. We saw each other at mics, grabbed pizza, and talked about how one day we wanted to be on TV in some capacity. We also traded punchlines and sob stories as we journeyed towards our pipe dream. We were going to be friends forever, right?
Time passes, and comedy is a vicious game. Being funny is part of the equation, along with the business and being at the right place at the right time. There were times I was acid tongued because I believed someone less talented advanced for no reason whatsoever. Of course there were other occasions where I was just bitter in general. We were all mice going for the same three pieces of cheese. There was going to be a little resentment over the fact there were so many spots, right?
Finally two and a half years ago my comedy luck began to turn. It seemed I was getting on TV quite a bit. Granted, I had a niche skill and was working for it. Not to mention that I branched out into music and was on my way to publishing a book. It looked like spending my twenties as a poor bohemian were finally starting to pay off. Sure, my high school and college mates were getting married, having kids, and starting their lives. I lived in a cramped apartment with no man and no money and a shitload of puppets and costumes most of the time. Yes, my bathroom looked like a drag queen vandalized it. However, I was also getting fans around the world. I was getting my music to chart on internet radio. My job as a talking head was fun and exposed me to even more folks in different reaches who saw me on TV. Oh and I published my book. My friends were going to be happy for me, right?
WRONG!
Suddenly it seemed I was public enemy number one. I was dissed on several blogs, and my so called friends from back in the day were the first to take shots at me. Some accused me of sleeping my way to TV time. Others said I lied and cheated my way to get things. Then there were those who called me an open mic hack. Meanwhile I was featuring and sometimes headlining. When they saw me in person they would be fake after slandering me online, which was even more painful because one idiot even left his name. Then there were some who decided to shun me all together. It was like we were friends who talked about our comedy dreams and then they couldn't say two words to me. Of course there were the brave idiots who took shots at me whether it was something backhanded or outright fought with me. Translated, I was being bullied and paying the price for seeing success. I couldn't get a break.
For a while I tried to tune it out, but it's hard to when people are nasty for no reason other than the fact they are jealous. I tried to keep in mind I earned these things: living off my laundry money and being so poor that sometimes I washed my clothes in my bathtub with my own shampoo. Soon I became nasty to counteract these people. Fighting back is the only thing a bully understands. Finally, as doors opened elsewhere my attitude became that I was too important to pay for stage time. I would show up if I liked the venue, was getting money, liked the producer, or if a fan was booking the show. Of course when any idiot started with me I would be quick to remind them that I was on TV in case they had forgotten. I thought I was showing them.
Instead I was only hurting myself. I felt alone more often than not, because I was also shutting people out who were my friends regardless of whether or not I was successful. Because I wasn't performing as much, that side of my personality was emerging in ways that weren't so good. I played a prank on a friend that I thought was funny. She thought it was mean and ended the friendship. I was increasingly glib to the point of being mean. The chip on my shoulder became uber magnified. I had been a woman slugging it out my entire youth and had faced so much sexism. When asked about all I had accomplished I came across as the biggest, most whiny victim in the world. At the times I wasn't sporting a bad attitude, I told everyone about the book I published and all I was doing with it. I claimed I was too tired to write jokes because I had written over 300 plus pages. Meanwhile it was all just a way to run from my bullies. In a way to fight the jerks I became one myself.
Finally I hit rock bottom. I found myself very depressed around the time I published my book. Some of it was the let down from a huge project. However a lot of it was because I wasn't writing new jokes. Standup had been the outlet for my rage and awkwardness back in the day. The stage had been my safe place. I no longer had that. Soon my urge to say the first thing that popped out of my head was getting me in trouble as well.I was turning into someone that no one liked, not even myself. One morning, as I felt the rage build up inside me I messaged a friend whom I will call Mr. Ed. To give you an idea, Mr. Ed is not a talking horse (irresistible hack joke), but an established comedian who has always been a friend that I admire. Positive and successful, Mr. Ed is one of those magical people who still loves to make people laugh.
Mr. Ed is somewhat psychic. We started the conversation about his headlining gig and he told me he killed in a whole new way because as he wrote in caps he HAD FUN. The universe was speaking to me. This was something I had not done in a while. Then I proceeded to pour my heart out and told him what I was going through. I asked Mr. Ed how he handled the jealousy and negativity. Mr. Ed said the only way to handle it was to starve it. I told him that would be hard for me. Like the blind karate master in the Kung Fu movies he had another move. Using the caps lock on his computer he typed it again in big letters. Now it made sense. By fighting back against these bullies I had been feeding into their negativity. They were just nasty people all around, and the only one I was hurting was myself.
I spoke to my mother about this who also had some good input. She said, "They had the same opportunities as you and didn't take them. That's not your fault."
Of course there was an old friend of mine who informed me that my attitude was becoming a problem. He also told me that the people bullying me were "shitheads" and I had to ignore them. Finally, he told me I was alienating people who could assist me. While it was harsh it was also the reality check I needed. Before my success was making people despise me. Now I was just doing it on my own.
Things steadily became easier, but I still had some hang ups. However as I strive to get this audition set ready, I am struck by how many people have come out of the wood work to help me. Some are old friends. One by the way is Mr. Ed. Some are new friends. This has enabled the walls to come down, and some of my old friends have reappeared. It turns out they still cared about me no matter where I am in my career, and are happy for me as long as I am happy. As a matter of fact I have never felt so much love coming my way in my life. It has been amazing, and it has made me love comedy in a whole new way. Since my energy is renewed, I am meeting others who perform simply because they love the art form of comedy and ultimately hunting the perfect punchline. Despite the fact comedy and I have had an abusive relationship as I run after the perfect clean set, I am more stoked than ever to get onstage.
I have also learned that while it is mean to be gossiped about, it is also mean to gossip about others. While sometimes all humans envy, it is important to be happy for others when they are successful. I am also seeing that while everyone is crazy in the beginning of the comedy race, everyone ultimately goes their own way. Some become performers, others writers, some club owners/bookers/managers, or go into TV production. However, those of us who finish end up working together which is kind of cool.
My pink cloud was a little bit obstructed yesterday. Someone who was an old friend back in the day who's second rate hack career has gone no where took a very public jab at me. This moron has no business critiquing anyone, especially since my second toe on my right foot with fungus has more talent. However it upset me because we were friends once upon a time. It was the same knife to the back piercing my heart. Yes, I did cry like a Goddamn woman. After calling a friend and sobbing wildly, I took a shower. I tried to brush it off but felt badly.
That is when I realized it was about him and not me. He had the same opportunities that I did. This man wasn't worth my tears let alone the paragraph above. That is when I threw on some clothes and got onstage.
I found out I was on Wendy Williams which was cool.
I also botched my clean set because I had wasted my energy. TV time is nice, but doing the work got me thus far. Don't stop the thing that makes it all possible, right? Plus in all that goes into show biz so much is beyond our control, so make what we can control good.
With that being said, haters make you famous. On that note, my clean set still needs a butt load of work
Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
www.aprilbrucker.com
Time passes, and comedy is a vicious game. Being funny is part of the equation, along with the business and being at the right place at the right time. There were times I was acid tongued because I believed someone less talented advanced for no reason whatsoever. Of course there were other occasions where I was just bitter in general. We were all mice going for the same three pieces of cheese. There was going to be a little resentment over the fact there were so many spots, right?
Finally two and a half years ago my comedy luck began to turn. It seemed I was getting on TV quite a bit. Granted, I had a niche skill and was working for it. Not to mention that I branched out into music and was on my way to publishing a book. It looked like spending my twenties as a poor bohemian were finally starting to pay off. Sure, my high school and college mates were getting married, having kids, and starting their lives. I lived in a cramped apartment with no man and no money and a shitload of puppets and costumes most of the time. Yes, my bathroom looked like a drag queen vandalized it. However, I was also getting fans around the world. I was getting my music to chart on internet radio. My job as a talking head was fun and exposed me to even more folks in different reaches who saw me on TV. Oh and I published my book. My friends were going to be happy for me, right?
WRONG!
Suddenly it seemed I was public enemy number one. I was dissed on several blogs, and my so called friends from back in the day were the first to take shots at me. Some accused me of sleeping my way to TV time. Others said I lied and cheated my way to get things. Then there were those who called me an open mic hack. Meanwhile I was featuring and sometimes headlining. When they saw me in person they would be fake after slandering me online, which was even more painful because one idiot even left his name. Then there were some who decided to shun me all together. It was like we were friends who talked about our comedy dreams and then they couldn't say two words to me. Of course there were the brave idiots who took shots at me whether it was something backhanded or outright fought with me. Translated, I was being bullied and paying the price for seeing success. I couldn't get a break.
For a while I tried to tune it out, but it's hard to when people are nasty for no reason other than the fact they are jealous. I tried to keep in mind I earned these things: living off my laundry money and being so poor that sometimes I washed my clothes in my bathtub with my own shampoo. Soon I became nasty to counteract these people. Fighting back is the only thing a bully understands. Finally, as doors opened elsewhere my attitude became that I was too important to pay for stage time. I would show up if I liked the venue, was getting money, liked the producer, or if a fan was booking the show. Of course when any idiot started with me I would be quick to remind them that I was on TV in case they had forgotten. I thought I was showing them.
Instead I was only hurting myself. I felt alone more often than not, because I was also shutting people out who were my friends regardless of whether or not I was successful. Because I wasn't performing as much, that side of my personality was emerging in ways that weren't so good. I played a prank on a friend that I thought was funny. She thought it was mean and ended the friendship. I was increasingly glib to the point of being mean. The chip on my shoulder became uber magnified. I had been a woman slugging it out my entire youth and had faced so much sexism. When asked about all I had accomplished I came across as the biggest, most whiny victim in the world. At the times I wasn't sporting a bad attitude, I told everyone about the book I published and all I was doing with it. I claimed I was too tired to write jokes because I had written over 300 plus pages. Meanwhile it was all just a way to run from my bullies. In a way to fight the jerks I became one myself.
Finally I hit rock bottom. I found myself very depressed around the time I published my book. Some of it was the let down from a huge project. However a lot of it was because I wasn't writing new jokes. Standup had been the outlet for my rage and awkwardness back in the day. The stage had been my safe place. I no longer had that. Soon my urge to say the first thing that popped out of my head was getting me in trouble as well.I was turning into someone that no one liked, not even myself. One morning, as I felt the rage build up inside me I messaged a friend whom I will call Mr. Ed. To give you an idea, Mr. Ed is not a talking horse (irresistible hack joke), but an established comedian who has always been a friend that I admire. Positive and successful, Mr. Ed is one of those magical people who still loves to make people laugh.
Mr. Ed is somewhat psychic. We started the conversation about his headlining gig and he told me he killed in a whole new way because as he wrote in caps he HAD FUN. The universe was speaking to me. This was something I had not done in a while. Then I proceeded to pour my heart out and told him what I was going through. I asked Mr. Ed how he handled the jealousy and negativity. Mr. Ed said the only way to handle it was to starve it. I told him that would be hard for me. Like the blind karate master in the Kung Fu movies he had another move. Using the caps lock on his computer he typed it again in big letters. Now it made sense. By fighting back against these bullies I had been feeding into their negativity. They were just nasty people all around, and the only one I was hurting was myself.
I spoke to my mother about this who also had some good input. She said, "They had the same opportunities as you and didn't take them. That's not your fault."
Of course there was an old friend of mine who informed me that my attitude was becoming a problem. He also told me that the people bullying me were "shitheads" and I had to ignore them. Finally, he told me I was alienating people who could assist me. While it was harsh it was also the reality check I needed. Before my success was making people despise me. Now I was just doing it on my own.
Things steadily became easier, but I still had some hang ups. However as I strive to get this audition set ready, I am struck by how many people have come out of the wood work to help me. Some are old friends. One by the way is Mr. Ed. Some are new friends. This has enabled the walls to come down, and some of my old friends have reappeared. It turns out they still cared about me no matter where I am in my career, and are happy for me as long as I am happy. As a matter of fact I have never felt so much love coming my way in my life. It has been amazing, and it has made me love comedy in a whole new way. Since my energy is renewed, I am meeting others who perform simply because they love the art form of comedy and ultimately hunting the perfect punchline. Despite the fact comedy and I have had an abusive relationship as I run after the perfect clean set, I am more stoked than ever to get onstage.
I have also learned that while it is mean to be gossiped about, it is also mean to gossip about others. While sometimes all humans envy, it is important to be happy for others when they are successful. I am also seeing that while everyone is crazy in the beginning of the comedy race, everyone ultimately goes their own way. Some become performers, others writers, some club owners/bookers/managers, or go into TV production. However, those of us who finish end up working together which is kind of cool.
My pink cloud was a little bit obstructed yesterday. Someone who was an old friend back in the day who's second rate hack career has gone no where took a very public jab at me. This moron has no business critiquing anyone, especially since my second toe on my right foot with fungus has more talent. However it upset me because we were friends once upon a time. It was the same knife to the back piercing my heart. Yes, I did cry like a Goddamn woman. After calling a friend and sobbing wildly, I took a shower. I tried to brush it off but felt badly.
That is when I realized it was about him and not me. He had the same opportunities that I did. This man wasn't worth my tears let alone the paragraph above. That is when I threw on some clothes and got onstage.
I found out I was on Wendy Williams which was cool.
I also botched my clean set because I had wasted my energy. TV time is nice, but doing the work got me thus far. Don't stop the thing that makes it all possible, right? Plus in all that goes into show biz so much is beyond our control, so make what we can control good.
With that being said, haters make you famous. On that note, my clean set still needs a butt load of work
Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
www.aprilbrucker.com
November 5, 2013
More Than a Woman (Tavares/The Bee Gees)
I have been doing a lot of thinking about back in the day when I was just starting out. Things are different now obviously. At the time I lived on Water Street. In the morning I would jog across the Brooklyn Bridge. The thing about that bridge is that you can always hear the rumble of the trains. As you jog it shakes the bridge a little bit, and there is a part of you that feels the thing will topple into the water killing you. But then you realize this happens every day, and it sort of becomes an ingredient in the whole magic feel of the city you now call home.
One song that always played on my radio with headphones was the song by the Bee Gees or The Tavares, depending on which recording was playing. I found my way to comedy after having my heart broken by a man I was seeing. He was older but had a sweet pad. I wanted love, he wanted the ever eternal sensation of having a much younger girlfriend. To boot, he led me on in a toxic dance for almost the next year. Nevermind, I was going to be strong. My whole life I had been told I was funny. The idea of being a true comedian scare me because you had to be funny. I just wanted to be me. This was scary. Plus if you tanked.....it was like death.
Eventually I bit the bullet and did a bringer show and killed. I did bringers until I exhausted all my friends. As you could imagine many of them lost my phone number and one jokingly claimed she was dead. I was sick of my act too. So I did a lot of open mics and met a lot of characters. Many would probably have been better suited to a therapist's couch than a comedy club open mic but nevermind. We all had a dream. It seemed like it was out of reach to all of us. We were chasing the proverbial dragon, unlike cocaine there was no guaranteed high. However we were willing to risk anything to go after it like a good crack feind.
There was Barry Lawrence, one of my first friends in comedy. An older brother type who was more often than not an angel in disguise, he kept me on track and talked me out of doing my usual stupid stuff. After that was Al Weinstein, a Jewish wannabe comedian who was married for a Puerto Rican woman that he was always on thin ice with. Mostly underemployed, Al chirped about wanting to cheat on his wife. However this was the most cheat free situation ever. Then there was Quinn Harmon, the chain smoking white dude from Texas who said the n word onstage and got away with it. Oh and then there was Rochelle Johnson, the black former beauty queen who was the only person that didn't let Quinn Harmon get away with his crap. In that mix lest we not forget Birdy Douglass, a tough talking hood chick who cussed out a comedy club manager we all hated. And then there was Ella Villa, a Spanish chick who said dirty things and shamelessly slept with headliners for stage time. I cannot forget Ron Santiago, who really used to look down upon my act because he was one of the cool kids. Later he would become a huge supporter. Oh and then there was Don Bosco, a long haired semi-homeless open mic host who used to give me walk on spots on his late show and always had candy laced with something in his pocket. Last but not least, there was Thor Svennson, an overeducated art star who talked down to everyone he met. However, he was the only financially secure one out of the group with his own moving company.
The promoters were even bigger characters. There was Jacob Jankowicz, a gay Jewish booker who sucked the blood out of comedians for his booker showcases. Like a snake he hid at the clubs and looked for fresh blood selling young hopefuls fake dreams. Will Berkley was an old burnt out comic who pressured the young comedians also to do bringer showcases. Quick to critique others, none of us had ever seen the man do anything but bomb. Then there was George King, the eternal middle management of comedy who produced shows but also sucked the life out of the room when he got onstage. Davey McCuen had a messy home life, a dream, and a newborn son. His wife detested his struggling artist attitude, but eventually he dumped her and the kid for a much younger babe. Isaac Greenberg had an open mic where you were graded on professional behavior, and stabbed everyone in the back to operate a room that became a bringer and barker glory hole, only to eventually be fired. Luigi Fiorio booked a dirty room and screamed when he got behind the mic. He dated female comedians who's focus was on getting boob jobs and not writing jokes, but he was always good to me. Last but not least was Terrence Brooks. An urban promoter, he always had big plans and was the master of the smoke screen. A career extra, he often seduced hot girls from his movies into doing his comedy shows. These debuts were a disaster but entertaining to those watching. While a character, he always believed in me too.
It's amazing how many people that I started with are no longer around. To some, standup was too hard. Others got married, had kids, and got a life. They discovered I suppose that there was more to this world than killing or tanking onstage. Many found other ways to express their voice. Some found success writing for television shows, using the standup as a springboard ultimately to another goal. Others found success in acting, using standup for the same thing. Some do voice work and you hear them but don't see them. Others went back to a first love such as music or visual art. One girl became a baker which was random.
I was talking to an old friend of mine who fell out of performing for quite a few years about the people who we used to know that seemingly just disappeared. It's weird. Some were the cats meow and then they were gone. It's also crazy how some awesome things have not just happened for me, but others that I started with. One thing I noticed is that standup is the starting line, but then there are different ways people go. Some continue to do standup. Others write. Some act. Then there are the people who become club owners, producers, and managers. But however, if you finish the race you end up working together which is kind of cool. I am starting to see a little bit of that now. I find myself being called to audition for things because I am recommended by peeps who performed with me once upon a time who now work on the production end. Love and generosity have been coming from peeps who are now club owners too. As for some of my peeps who got Comedy Central Specials, I congratulate them on that, and they give me kudos for my book. When we sit down and talk about the old days, we laugh about all those crazy experiences and the characters we knew. The stage was our school and we grew up together.
I find myself with a lot of those old feelings now as I try to assemble my network friendly set. It's another due I have to pay to get to the next level. I am back to hitting the mics, back with those same characters. While I know what a TV credit and publishing a semi-successful book feels like, I have to do the work. I am back to melting down. I am back to second guessing myself. I am rolling my eyes when they sneak in the drink requirement after robbing me of five dollars. But I am safe here. The public is not ready to see my act. After three days of wanting to kill myself, I went up yesterday. I killed it with my clean set.
Of course, I messaged one of my comedy angels with a crazy message. Then I apologized later. He was a good sport about it. The whole thing feels so mystical and magical, like I am a kid finding her way onstage for the first time with her creepy doll. Sure some of my hard earned dreams have come true, but in that quest it becomes more about your ego and less about the art. The passion is back. Goddamn it, I want to make people laugh.
Luckily I am not stuck on some idiot guy. More to come.
Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
www.aprilbrucker.com
One song that always played on my radio with headphones was the song by the Bee Gees or The Tavares, depending on which recording was playing. I found my way to comedy after having my heart broken by a man I was seeing. He was older but had a sweet pad. I wanted love, he wanted the ever eternal sensation of having a much younger girlfriend. To boot, he led me on in a toxic dance for almost the next year. Nevermind, I was going to be strong. My whole life I had been told I was funny. The idea of being a true comedian scare me because you had to be funny. I just wanted to be me. This was scary. Plus if you tanked.....it was like death.
Eventually I bit the bullet and did a bringer show and killed. I did bringers until I exhausted all my friends. As you could imagine many of them lost my phone number and one jokingly claimed she was dead. I was sick of my act too. So I did a lot of open mics and met a lot of characters. Many would probably have been better suited to a therapist's couch than a comedy club open mic but nevermind. We all had a dream. It seemed like it was out of reach to all of us. We were chasing the proverbial dragon, unlike cocaine there was no guaranteed high. However we were willing to risk anything to go after it like a good crack feind.
There was Barry Lawrence, one of my first friends in comedy. An older brother type who was more often than not an angel in disguise, he kept me on track and talked me out of doing my usual stupid stuff. After that was Al Weinstein, a Jewish wannabe comedian who was married for a Puerto Rican woman that he was always on thin ice with. Mostly underemployed, Al chirped about wanting to cheat on his wife. However this was the most cheat free situation ever. Then there was Quinn Harmon, the chain smoking white dude from Texas who said the n word onstage and got away with it. Oh and then there was Rochelle Johnson, the black former beauty queen who was the only person that didn't let Quinn Harmon get away with his crap. In that mix lest we not forget Birdy Douglass, a tough talking hood chick who cussed out a comedy club manager we all hated. And then there was Ella Villa, a Spanish chick who said dirty things and shamelessly slept with headliners for stage time. I cannot forget Ron Santiago, who really used to look down upon my act because he was one of the cool kids. Later he would become a huge supporter. Oh and then there was Don Bosco, a long haired semi-homeless open mic host who used to give me walk on spots on his late show and always had candy laced with something in his pocket. Last but not least, there was Thor Svennson, an overeducated art star who talked down to everyone he met. However, he was the only financially secure one out of the group with his own moving company.
The promoters were even bigger characters. There was Jacob Jankowicz, a gay Jewish booker who sucked the blood out of comedians for his booker showcases. Like a snake he hid at the clubs and looked for fresh blood selling young hopefuls fake dreams. Will Berkley was an old burnt out comic who pressured the young comedians also to do bringer showcases. Quick to critique others, none of us had ever seen the man do anything but bomb. Then there was George King, the eternal middle management of comedy who produced shows but also sucked the life out of the room when he got onstage. Davey McCuen had a messy home life, a dream, and a newborn son. His wife detested his struggling artist attitude, but eventually he dumped her and the kid for a much younger babe. Isaac Greenberg had an open mic where you were graded on professional behavior, and stabbed everyone in the back to operate a room that became a bringer and barker glory hole, only to eventually be fired. Luigi Fiorio booked a dirty room and screamed when he got behind the mic. He dated female comedians who's focus was on getting boob jobs and not writing jokes, but he was always good to me. Last but not least was Terrence Brooks. An urban promoter, he always had big plans and was the master of the smoke screen. A career extra, he often seduced hot girls from his movies into doing his comedy shows. These debuts were a disaster but entertaining to those watching. While a character, he always believed in me too.
It's amazing how many people that I started with are no longer around. To some, standup was too hard. Others got married, had kids, and got a life. They discovered I suppose that there was more to this world than killing or tanking onstage. Many found other ways to express their voice. Some found success writing for television shows, using the standup as a springboard ultimately to another goal. Others found success in acting, using standup for the same thing. Some do voice work and you hear them but don't see them. Others went back to a first love such as music or visual art. One girl became a baker which was random.
I was talking to an old friend of mine who fell out of performing for quite a few years about the people who we used to know that seemingly just disappeared. It's weird. Some were the cats meow and then they were gone. It's also crazy how some awesome things have not just happened for me, but others that I started with. One thing I noticed is that standup is the starting line, but then there are different ways people go. Some continue to do standup. Others write. Some act. Then there are the people who become club owners, producers, and managers. But however, if you finish the race you end up working together which is kind of cool. I am starting to see a little bit of that now. I find myself being called to audition for things because I am recommended by peeps who performed with me once upon a time who now work on the production end. Love and generosity have been coming from peeps who are now club owners too. As for some of my peeps who got Comedy Central Specials, I congratulate them on that, and they give me kudos for my book. When we sit down and talk about the old days, we laugh about all those crazy experiences and the characters we knew. The stage was our school and we grew up together.
I find myself with a lot of those old feelings now as I try to assemble my network friendly set. It's another due I have to pay to get to the next level. I am back to hitting the mics, back with those same characters. While I know what a TV credit and publishing a semi-successful book feels like, I have to do the work. I am back to melting down. I am back to second guessing myself. I am rolling my eyes when they sneak in the drink requirement after robbing me of five dollars. But I am safe here. The public is not ready to see my act. After three days of wanting to kill myself, I went up yesterday. I killed it with my clean set.
Of course, I messaged one of my comedy angels with a crazy message. Then I apologized later. He was a good sport about it. The whole thing feels so mystical and magical, like I am a kid finding her way onstage for the first time with her creepy doll. Sure some of my hard earned dreams have come true, but in that quest it becomes more about your ego and less about the art. The passion is back. Goddamn it, I want to make people laugh.
Luckily I am not stuck on some idiot guy. More to come.
Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
www.aprilbrucker.com
November 4, 2013
My Own Bully
Every performer has the side of them the world sees when they step on the stage. Then they also have the dark side. Yes, we beat ourselves up. Many are called, few are chosen. We all want to be the prettiest, the brightest, and the best. There are only so many spots at the top. We all want them. So we bust our asses, show up for ourselves, and then more often than not beat ourselves with the metaphorical crow bar. This is why so many careers are destroyed by drugs, alcohol, and generalized nuttiness. It's not because the person just has issues, they want to quiet that voice that reminds them that there is always someone funnier, prettier, and better for the spot. Translated, we all have our own bully.
I was nineteen when I started performing in the city, and twenty when I took it seriously. My days were spent in class, and my nights were spent doing either multiple open mics or comedy spots. When I did well it was a stroke to my ego. So many people from my hometown, family members included, told me to throw in the towel. According to them I would never make it in show business. Some insisted I hadn't been born into it, and started too late because you have to be rockin out of the cradle. Others said I had no talent. So every time I killed I deterred my haters. I also felt closer to the goal of being on TV, something that seemed out of reach in those days. I also felt closer to the greater goal of being a good comedian.
When I tanked that was a different story. I ate asphalt sometimes because I was green, but also because of the nature of my act. I was also quite young and was trying to find my voice onstage let alone in real life. Navigating the world of adulthood and standup proved to be a challenge. When I died onstage I always felt that maybe the people back home were right. I was making a wrong decision. I would never make it. I was wasting my parents money going to NYU. The voices always grew stronger. Of course then there was the ever gnawing doubt that ate me alive continually.
At first I was rational. I just had to keep getting stage time, learning and growing. I am the product of two educators. I believe in process and craft. Deep down I know you need to fall before you can walk. However, a mentor of mine in college said, "You know what your problem is, you want what you want and you want it now." Oh God she was right. As I became more entrenched into standup, I really became invested in being good. That is when I traded in the rational and loving feather for the crow bar and baseball bat to beat myself with. Translated, I began feeding my inner bully.
In the beginning, I went over a bad set in my head until I got dizzy. Then I asked those around me for input, secretly hoping they would act as my protective parents giving me the bullshit line that it was just the crowd. Sometimes they did, and sometimes I got feedback I could use. Soon that stopped. I started leaving after bad sets. Usually it would be to some establishment that sold food that was horrible for me let alone any living, breathing person. I would stuff my face and put myself at risk for Type 2 Diabetes. Other times I would drink until I fell down. Sometimes someone would put me in a cab. Other times they would carry me out of the establishment threatening never to have me back again. Soon, this became the norm after bad sets. Instead of taking what I needed and leaving the rest, I was giving my inner bully what it wanted and was stunting myself.
I remember at the time I had a friend named Barry Lawrence who by all means should be a big star. He was always armed and dangerous with a hug after a bad set. We became friends because during a laugh off he beat me coming in first, me second. I lost fair and square. Anyway, once after tanking badly he was ready with a hug and helpful words. I still remember how the light of reason touched me and my inner bully recoiled. It also educated me to the importance of friends in this process, friends who would tell you the truth and support you either way. Friends who understood. Unfortunately, Barry too was feeding his inner bully. When he drank his Mr. Hyde came out and he ultimately destroyed a very promising comedy career. I always thought he shepherded me like a big brother because he had two baby sisters. But looking back, I think he saw a lot of himself in me. He knew full well I was probably on my way to feed my inner bully and he was correct. I know in my heart he didn't like being beaten up by this force within, and knew how painful it was, especially when it was winning.
I wish I could say it helped, but it didn't. Soon I came to depend on alcohol and bad food completely, before and after sets to shut the inner bully up before it even started. I found myself in trouble because I was drinking too much. I lost time because I was hung over. I did every terrible thing you could imagine to control my weight. My inner bully was quick to remind me someone was always thinner, prettier, funnier, and whatever. While we are all we have, my inner bully always was there to inform me I wasn't enough. Suddenly my drinking was getting me in trouble. I was sick because I was abusing food. Comedy also ceased to be fun. My sets were hit and miss. It's not because I lacked talent. It was because I was so hard on myself that it became more of a chore.
Around the time my inner bully was dragging me down to a rock bottom where I was being kicked by this evil force, I did a feature gig. My headliner, Pat O'Donnell, was one of the most wonderful people I have worked for to date. After being killed in front of a rough Jersey crowd, Pat took the stage and killed it. I remember how he was happy, glowing. On the other hand, I looked and felt beat. I remember Pat was funny and it was effortless. How was he doing this? Afterwards we talked. Pat told me his secret was he had fun when he got onstage. For me, comedy had became such serious business that beating myself up became the rule, not the exception. I had been so busy working myself like a slave I forgot how much fun it was making people laugh.
Soon after I did a show at what was once Joe Franklins. At the time, I was regimented and married to my set list. My inner bully told me my job was to do my jokes and be solid. I was studying my set when Maddog Mattern, who was emceeing, took it and ripped it up. He told me to go up and riff, have fun, that it was going to be okay. I was surprised. Could I do it? Sure enough, for as scary as it was, I did it. I was always thankful for that act of comedic love. For several more months I struggled until the inner bully began to drag me down completely. I had to make a choice, continue to feed the dark side or say goodbye. I chose to say goodbye.
I stopped drinking, joined a gym, and memorized the serenity prayer. While the inner bully still existed, it wasn't as strong. I enjoyed performing again. I hosted mics and shows wherever they would let me. Every weekend was spent traveling to make others laugh. I felt free onstage. I thought my fight was over. During this period I featured, headlined, got on TV, and wrote what was the first draft of my book. I also got a job as a talking head on an internet station. More and more, I began to take notes without judgement and looked at my job a fun gift instead of a dreaded chore. But as I said it still existed. Now it took a new form.
With some success I saw snarky comments from others. Male headliners asserted that I had slept my way to certain jobs. Women ripped on me for being "lippy." So called friends from back in the day stopped speaking to me or dissed me online. In turn I isolated myself and performed at less mics. Now I was letting my inner bully be the boss in a whole new way. I basically stopped eating, walked everywhere, and began dropping the ball in my life in a whole new way. I screwed up with money because I wasn't focused and was sad. When I went to places I was snappy because I was tired. To boot my inner bully insisted I had to be perfect and couldn't be seen trying new things. So it was back and more evil than ever.
That is when I hit one mic in Queens where I didn't know anyone. The comics there loved comedy. One dude came up afterwards and gave me the ending to a joke I was struggling on. For the first time in forever it felt okay. I felt strong, not letting the inner bully win. A few days later, I spoke to a veteran comedian who I look up to and poured my heart out. He told me the only way to deal with negativity is to tune it out. And he told me that the best part about the gig he did, and he typed this is caps, was he HAD FUN. That is when it hit me, I had to kill this inner bully and quick. I didn't need haters. I had myself to thwart my own plans.
While I got sidetracked with my book and such, I am now grudgingly returning to mics. It's because I need a network friendly set for an opportunity that has come my way. At first I felt like slitting my wrists. I have been on TV. I don't do such things, right? Then the same old character defects came out. I wasn't funny. I would never get where I needed to go. No one wanted to watch me. Fuck these people. Saturday when things didn't go my way I had a complete meltdown. The bully was back and bigger than ever. Translated: I was face to face with the same told demons.
I found myself being comforted by comedy friends, old and new. They reminded me that even pros still did batting practice. Also, they told me I was there to run a set and not to worry about the judgement. While they reminded me it was going to get worse before it got better, it was worth it.
Last night I did a set where the show was strong. There was not one weak link. When I left the stage I thought this could be stronger, that could be stronger, ended weak. I was back to beating myself up again. However afterwards people told me I did well. Everyone on the show was good, and that makes a difference. My inner bully wants to tell me I will never be worthy of the company of quality comedians. On the other hand, I know that's not true because I am in the company of quality comedians. I also know it's okay to evaluate myself, and that is different than beating myself up. Audience members told me I did well. The old friend who came liked my set. The producer liked me. Calm down killa.
Ironically several weeks ago I told some high school students to be kind to themselves when they wrote, advice I wish someone would have given me as a young woman. Advice I should probably take myself. Yes, there will be plenty of skinning my face as May Wilson and I get this set ready. The secret though is to keep growing, training, and getting stronger. It's not to succumb to that voice that tells you to turn around and punch yourself in the face. The line it feeds you is that it makes you a better comic. No, that's bullshit. It only stunts you and holds you back.
Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
www.aprilbrucker.com
I was nineteen when I started performing in the city, and twenty when I took it seriously. My days were spent in class, and my nights were spent doing either multiple open mics or comedy spots. When I did well it was a stroke to my ego. So many people from my hometown, family members included, told me to throw in the towel. According to them I would never make it in show business. Some insisted I hadn't been born into it, and started too late because you have to be rockin out of the cradle. Others said I had no talent. So every time I killed I deterred my haters. I also felt closer to the goal of being on TV, something that seemed out of reach in those days. I also felt closer to the greater goal of being a good comedian.
When I tanked that was a different story. I ate asphalt sometimes because I was green, but also because of the nature of my act. I was also quite young and was trying to find my voice onstage let alone in real life. Navigating the world of adulthood and standup proved to be a challenge. When I died onstage I always felt that maybe the people back home were right. I was making a wrong decision. I would never make it. I was wasting my parents money going to NYU. The voices always grew stronger. Of course then there was the ever gnawing doubt that ate me alive continually.
At first I was rational. I just had to keep getting stage time, learning and growing. I am the product of two educators. I believe in process and craft. Deep down I know you need to fall before you can walk. However, a mentor of mine in college said, "You know what your problem is, you want what you want and you want it now." Oh God she was right. As I became more entrenched into standup, I really became invested in being good. That is when I traded in the rational and loving feather for the crow bar and baseball bat to beat myself with. Translated, I began feeding my inner bully.
In the beginning, I went over a bad set in my head until I got dizzy. Then I asked those around me for input, secretly hoping they would act as my protective parents giving me the bullshit line that it was just the crowd. Sometimes they did, and sometimes I got feedback I could use. Soon that stopped. I started leaving after bad sets. Usually it would be to some establishment that sold food that was horrible for me let alone any living, breathing person. I would stuff my face and put myself at risk for Type 2 Diabetes. Other times I would drink until I fell down. Sometimes someone would put me in a cab. Other times they would carry me out of the establishment threatening never to have me back again. Soon, this became the norm after bad sets. Instead of taking what I needed and leaving the rest, I was giving my inner bully what it wanted and was stunting myself.
I remember at the time I had a friend named Barry Lawrence who by all means should be a big star. He was always armed and dangerous with a hug after a bad set. We became friends because during a laugh off he beat me coming in first, me second. I lost fair and square. Anyway, once after tanking badly he was ready with a hug and helpful words. I still remember how the light of reason touched me and my inner bully recoiled. It also educated me to the importance of friends in this process, friends who would tell you the truth and support you either way. Friends who understood. Unfortunately, Barry too was feeding his inner bully. When he drank his Mr. Hyde came out and he ultimately destroyed a very promising comedy career. I always thought he shepherded me like a big brother because he had two baby sisters. But looking back, I think he saw a lot of himself in me. He knew full well I was probably on my way to feed my inner bully and he was correct. I know in my heart he didn't like being beaten up by this force within, and knew how painful it was, especially when it was winning.
I wish I could say it helped, but it didn't. Soon I came to depend on alcohol and bad food completely, before and after sets to shut the inner bully up before it even started. I found myself in trouble because I was drinking too much. I lost time because I was hung over. I did every terrible thing you could imagine to control my weight. My inner bully was quick to remind me someone was always thinner, prettier, funnier, and whatever. While we are all we have, my inner bully always was there to inform me I wasn't enough. Suddenly my drinking was getting me in trouble. I was sick because I was abusing food. Comedy also ceased to be fun. My sets were hit and miss. It's not because I lacked talent. It was because I was so hard on myself that it became more of a chore.
Around the time my inner bully was dragging me down to a rock bottom where I was being kicked by this evil force, I did a feature gig. My headliner, Pat O'Donnell, was one of the most wonderful people I have worked for to date. After being killed in front of a rough Jersey crowd, Pat took the stage and killed it. I remember how he was happy, glowing. On the other hand, I looked and felt beat. I remember Pat was funny and it was effortless. How was he doing this? Afterwards we talked. Pat told me his secret was he had fun when he got onstage. For me, comedy had became such serious business that beating myself up became the rule, not the exception. I had been so busy working myself like a slave I forgot how much fun it was making people laugh.
Soon after I did a show at what was once Joe Franklins. At the time, I was regimented and married to my set list. My inner bully told me my job was to do my jokes and be solid. I was studying my set when Maddog Mattern, who was emceeing, took it and ripped it up. He told me to go up and riff, have fun, that it was going to be okay. I was surprised. Could I do it? Sure enough, for as scary as it was, I did it. I was always thankful for that act of comedic love. For several more months I struggled until the inner bully began to drag me down completely. I had to make a choice, continue to feed the dark side or say goodbye. I chose to say goodbye.
I stopped drinking, joined a gym, and memorized the serenity prayer. While the inner bully still existed, it wasn't as strong. I enjoyed performing again. I hosted mics and shows wherever they would let me. Every weekend was spent traveling to make others laugh. I felt free onstage. I thought my fight was over. During this period I featured, headlined, got on TV, and wrote what was the first draft of my book. I also got a job as a talking head on an internet station. More and more, I began to take notes without judgement and looked at my job a fun gift instead of a dreaded chore. But as I said it still existed. Now it took a new form.
With some success I saw snarky comments from others. Male headliners asserted that I had slept my way to certain jobs. Women ripped on me for being "lippy." So called friends from back in the day stopped speaking to me or dissed me online. In turn I isolated myself and performed at less mics. Now I was letting my inner bully be the boss in a whole new way. I basically stopped eating, walked everywhere, and began dropping the ball in my life in a whole new way. I screwed up with money because I wasn't focused and was sad. When I went to places I was snappy because I was tired. To boot my inner bully insisted I had to be perfect and couldn't be seen trying new things. So it was back and more evil than ever.
That is when I hit one mic in Queens where I didn't know anyone. The comics there loved comedy. One dude came up afterwards and gave me the ending to a joke I was struggling on. For the first time in forever it felt okay. I felt strong, not letting the inner bully win. A few days later, I spoke to a veteran comedian who I look up to and poured my heart out. He told me the only way to deal with negativity is to tune it out. And he told me that the best part about the gig he did, and he typed this is caps, was he HAD FUN. That is when it hit me, I had to kill this inner bully and quick. I didn't need haters. I had myself to thwart my own plans.
While I got sidetracked with my book and such, I am now grudgingly returning to mics. It's because I need a network friendly set for an opportunity that has come my way. At first I felt like slitting my wrists. I have been on TV. I don't do such things, right? Then the same old character defects came out. I wasn't funny. I would never get where I needed to go. No one wanted to watch me. Fuck these people. Saturday when things didn't go my way I had a complete meltdown. The bully was back and bigger than ever. Translated: I was face to face with the same told demons.
I found myself being comforted by comedy friends, old and new. They reminded me that even pros still did batting practice. Also, they told me I was there to run a set and not to worry about the judgement. While they reminded me it was going to get worse before it got better, it was worth it.
Last night I did a set where the show was strong. There was not one weak link. When I left the stage I thought this could be stronger, that could be stronger, ended weak. I was back to beating myself up again. However afterwards people told me I did well. Everyone on the show was good, and that makes a difference. My inner bully wants to tell me I will never be worthy of the company of quality comedians. On the other hand, I know that's not true because I am in the company of quality comedians. I also know it's okay to evaluate myself, and that is different than beating myself up. Audience members told me I did well. The old friend who came liked my set. The producer liked me. Calm down killa.
Ironically several weeks ago I told some high school students to be kind to themselves when they wrote, advice I wish someone would have given me as a young woman. Advice I should probably take myself. Yes, there will be plenty of skinning my face as May Wilson and I get this set ready. The secret though is to keep growing, training, and getting stronger. It's not to succumb to that voice that tells you to turn around and punch yourself in the face. The line it feeds you is that it makes you a better comic. No, that's bullshit. It only stunts you and holds you back.
Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
www.aprilbrucker.com
November 3, 2013
McDougal Street
Once upon a time I knew McDougal Street like a second home. Back in the day, when I started comedy I left class and always hit a mic. Sometimes I hit two or three in a night. In those days, the Morrison Motel was at The Village Lantern. Every Wednesday night I would do the early show, and then Dave Baldwin would let me have a walk in spot on the second show. Tuesdays I did a twofer as well. My goal was to be a good comedian. Sure I wanted the prestige of TV credits but I just wanted to be a pro at what I did. My entire life I had felt like an outcast, but suddenly I didn’t feel like that.While it wasn’t always easy, I did it. I always felt for as much as I was knocked down somewhere inside me I always knew the answer was to get up and keep going. I tanked a lot. Everyone does in the early stages. I remember getting drunk bi-proxy from the whiskey infused floorboards and wondering if Jack Daniels had a day job as a construction worker. There were nights I cried my way home after a bad set. Then there were nights I celebrated a good one. Yes, I was uneven in those days. But one thing was for sure. I loved standup comedy. There was a group of us that kind of ran together. After a bad set I always got a hug from someone and got some pointers. After a good set I still got a hug, a high five, and more pointers. The only thing we cared about was making people laugh.The hard work paid off and I got some TV spots. I also wrote a book. My interests became spread out, and open mic comedy turned from a gift in one of the greatest cities in the world to a necessary evil as feature and headliner spots became more the reg. While I hosted my own open mic, for the most part my weeks were filled with booked shows. My weekends were spent traveling to bizarre destinations. I was eating, sleeping, and living my dream. However, I sort of also began to lose focus. As TV time became more of a normal thing, it seemed the chip on my shoulder turned into a cinderblock and then a boulder. For years I had struggled in the ever male dominated realm of comedy. Now I was finally getting some recognition. Never a critics darling, I was getting fan mail everywhere. Instead of chasing laughs I began chasing fame and the spotlight. Being funny became an after thought. An ego developed in response to the jealousy I received from the people who used to talk down and belittle me. Yes, they couldn’t stand the fact the tables were turned. However, I also gave the trash they wrote about me on sites like Gawker too much credit. I forgot that once upon a time my goal had been just to be a good comedian. Suddenly, I took their jealousy and nastiness personally. I had worked harder than all of them and hadn’t had things handed to me. While in my head and heart I know entitled people cannot see the merits of hard work, it made me feel isolated and lonely. Feeling the sting of having so many turn on me, I began to isolate from my true friends who loved me no matter what. I also felt a gnawing insecurity that I wasn’t good enough, and anything good I got was somehow an accident. Over the years I had swanned up from the ugly ducking in bad movement clothes who ran around McDougal Street following her dream. I began to forget this magical street and how stoked everyone was about simply being funny and the art form of comedy. April Brucker was now on her way to being a star. In order to hide the fact I was insecure, lonely, and lost I began to remind people about my TV time, most likely making them sick of me. Of course I also stopped caring about being funny. I was getting TV time, I was writing books, fuck all ya y’all. My answer was to become a diva. While I didn’t ask for a male stripper when I did gigs I mixed less with my fellow comedians. I also wanted to remind people how far I had come. Rest assured, the haters would never forget. Meanwhile, I was alienating people who could have potentially assisted me and gave the idiots too much energy. I forgot the blessing of having the ability to entertain others, and became a complete and utter self-seeker. My attitude became I would do paid shows, shows of friends, shows of fans, and would not be seen dead at an open mic. I also showed up at red carpet events if paid. Life has a funny way of humbling us. About three days ago opportunity showed up at my door. He had a message. It was a chance that could put me on the track to doing theatres, something my act is more conducive to. The thing is, I had to have a clean set. Back in the day, believe it or not, I was not a dirty comic. However most crowds like dick jokes. Eventually you stop working clean just cause you want to do well. So this meant I had to do two things. One, hit up my comedy buddies aka my comedy angels to give me feedback. The second was to get back on my feet. Yes, this meant paying for stage time. As a comedian who is somewhat known, this was a stab to my ego. I had paid that due, so much so that my five dollars and a dream could buy Malta at this point. But you need to do what you need to do, right?Immediately I felt like a twenty year old kid again. I was back in my old haunts making people laugh. My first clean set felt kind of rough, but I got some laughs. I did it a second time and while it started slow, I got some good laughs which made me believe I could do this. In my heart, I remembered what it felt like in the days before I had been on TV or wrote books. I simply loved performing. For as rough as I felt at times I was back home. I saw Brian Barron afterwards. I told him of my ordeal. Brian mentioned pro ball players even go to batting practice. So yes, I needed to be back to the mics. It wasn’t the end of the world, just part of the process. It was also a reminder I have friends in comedy who love me and support me. I had forgotten how awesome the energy was on McDougal aka Comedy Street, how everyone was going from set to set in the quest for the perfect punchline. I was back to the gentle comedy utopia of my earlier days. Yesterday I went up again. The set was really rough. I left the stage in near tears. April Brucker doesn’t tank. I thought about stopping in at some of the clubs on the block demanding stage time like many a male headliner, but I didn’t feel like waving my ego around. Instead I cried over a slice of anchovie pizza with another friend Jessica Stern. Just like the old days I was beating myself up, and a friend who got it was right there. She reminded me I got all the things I did because I was awesome, and that this was part of the process.Of course I am still cat shit crazy after a bad set. On the train ride home I met an obnoxious stranger and her kid. As I was bitching to Jessica this dumbass butts in and mentions she is an aspiring comedian while not minding her child. I told her to butt out snapped at her. Then she put her hand on my arm and I wanted to deck her. I reminded her not to touch me. Maybe this errant mother and wannabe was just being kind, but just like the old days comedy is serious business for me. When I got home I exploded on social media and went to sleep.When I woke up my comedy angels messaged me. I told them how I wanted to slit my wrists at these mics. My comedy angels reminded me to run my stuff and not to worry about the judgment. My job was to perfect my set and get good, not worry about the reactions of open micers. This felt like the old days, where I was loved and protected as a part of a greater whole, a community that strived to say something deeper while entertaining others. Where I was supported by people who took this as seriously as I did, and understood how ego crushing a bad set could be. Of course they reminded me it would get worse before it got better, but to hang in there because it was gonna be okay.
They also reminded me to get out of my head and to have fun onstage. It's ironically something you forget to do as you grow in comedy. Also, it's something that goes by the wayside as you begin to take yourself way too seriously. Then it hit me. This was like the old days, when I got a hug after a bad set. This was the love I was hit with, people who were honest with me no matter how obscure or famous I was. This wasn't just friendship, but what standup is truly about. Maybe I wanted to chuck that weird kid with her puppet, the person I was before the book and TV time. The thing about that girl was yes, she was a fashion nightmare. However, she was a hardworker and only cared about being a good comedian. She went on stage anywhere, and did any spot without complaining. She also didn’t think she was the be all and end all of comedy, and was willing to do the work it took to get good. Maybe she bragged too much about good sets, but it was because the bad ones felt like a punch in the gut. It wasn’t because she was pathetic, she was driven. I know she wouldn’t like me if she met me. Not because I don’t have things she wants, but because my attitude has gotten so sucky. I know I was too quick to toss her aside, so I think I need to bring that young woman back.Maybe on my quest to develop a clean TV friendly set she can tell me to keep going. She can also remind me that stage time, not TV time, is most important in comedic development. I can tell her how open mics make me want to slit my wrists, she can remind me that they brought me to this point. She can tell me how busting my ass got me farther than the haters who have disappeared with time. I will tell her how I have to look a certain way because of who I think I am, and she will tell me how much fun it is to crash and burn.
Now that I am walking McDougal Street again, I hope she will accept the invite to come with me.
They also reminded me to get out of my head and to have fun onstage. It's ironically something you forget to do as you grow in comedy. Also, it's something that goes by the wayside as you begin to take yourself way too seriously. Then it hit me. This was like the old days, when I got a hug after a bad set. This was the love I was hit with, people who were honest with me no matter how obscure or famous I was. This wasn't just friendship, but what standup is truly about. Maybe I wanted to chuck that weird kid with her puppet, the person I was before the book and TV time. The thing about that girl was yes, she was a fashion nightmare. However, she was a hardworker and only cared about being a good comedian. She went on stage anywhere, and did any spot without complaining. She also didn’t think she was the be all and end all of comedy, and was willing to do the work it took to get good. Maybe she bragged too much about good sets, but it was because the bad ones felt like a punch in the gut. It wasn’t because she was pathetic, she was driven. I know she wouldn’t like me if she met me. Not because I don’t have things she wants, but because my attitude has gotten so sucky. I know I was too quick to toss her aside, so I think I need to bring that young woman back.Maybe on my quest to develop a clean TV friendly set she can tell me to keep going. She can also remind me that stage time, not TV time, is most important in comedic development. I can tell her how open mics make me want to slit my wrists, she can remind me that they brought me to this point. She can tell me how busting my ass got me farther than the haters who have disappeared with time. I will tell her how I have to look a certain way because of who I think I am, and she will tell me how much fun it is to crash and burn.
Now that I am walking McDougal Street again, I hope she will accept the invite to come with me.
