April E. Brucker's Blog, page 63

Rico Mambo (The Breakfast Club)

Today was a big day. It was the screening of my friend Carlos Valentin's film The Lottery. To give you a little bit of  background, Carlos and I have been friends for a while. We know each other through my cousin Bill. Anyway, Carlos and I clicked. A while back he mentioned he was making a film called The Lottery. To make a long story short, The Lottery is a Checkov story. However, Carlos redid it with a gay couple winning the ticket fierce as they could be. Needless to say they pretty much almost killed each other before a surprise ending.

When I first auditioned I just did it because he invited me. I had no clue whether or not I was going to get a role. Either way, since college I had followed the ventriloquism and standup thing and really, aside from a murder mystery and a film cameo in 2009 and a film role a year ago I really hadn't done much acting. Sure, I had moved to the city to act and even have a BFA saying I can, but the comedy doors opened much quicker. Plus standup gave me a way to write my own stuff thus creating my own work. COWing it if you will.

Needless to say I did in the office scene as eye candy. It's not huge but it's nice screen time and I am sort of hard to miss, front and center. The filming was fun. Crazy thing is, when you do a piece of any sort for a friend it is either really good or really bad. Both has happened in my experience. I went to the Anthology Film Archive on Second Ave fresh off of a big week. Not only are the wheels in motion for the audio version of my book, but also I put my book in the library of the LGBTQ Center on 13th Street. In addition, I also got to deliver a singing chicken to Martin Scorsese's assistant. While Marty as they refer to him was not present because he was working due to the millions of dollars they pay him-he said he thought it was funny.

A little background on Anthology, the last time I saw a film there, that of my friend Kate Greer, it ended up making the festival circuit in an impressive way. Needless to say, now my film was being shown there. Anthology is the largest avante guarde film archive in NYC, housing works such as Flaming Creatures by the late Jack Smith. In addition, it regularly shows classics from some of the greatest of our time.

Before the film began I helped Carlos and his crew set up. His husband Patrick was there as well, and they make a cute couple as always. Carlos is very high strung and funny, whereas Patrick is more laid back. Nonetheless, he is supportive as hell. I would be lucky to find a guy that good.

The film screening started with Carlos falling from the director chair. He claims he was tense and it warmed him up, but the thing got a HUGE laugh. Carlos claims he didnt have it planned but I think he is lying. From there we saw a preview of his next film, a documentary about OP-Art, a Puerto Rican arts organization which nurtured Carlos and his creative talents. He had started as a visual artist and then used his storytelling and comedic talents for use on the camera to tell a story. As the documentary rolled and the founder was speaking, several visual pieces with Carlos appeared in crazy masks and wigs which made everyone laugh. After that was a beautiful and deep music video with Dimitri Minucci directed by of course my friend.

Finally the film began. Not only was it good, it was excellent. Work of genius was an understatement. The shots and colors were specific. These days you don't see that handiwork in a film. The filmmaker from our era to even attempt that is of course Martin Scorsese, my new found almost friend this week. Everyone was dressed in certain colors for certain reasons. The camera tones were brighter at some points and more gray at others. There were parts of the gritty New York City landscape. My mouth dropped open. My buddy was channeling Scorsese. While Carlos and his concept were original, it was an attention to detail that was nothing short of genius. Working with Carlos was not only a wonderful experience, but an honor and a privilege.

Afterwards, at the dinner, I spoke with some of the casting people about technique and art and such. From Sense Memory to costume usage to other things, I had not had a conversation that deep in some time about acting. It also made me miss acting. Yes, I had made my lil splash with the standup and ventriloquism. I had been a reality television star and an internet television station talked about talking head. I wrote a damn book. But there has been a hole in my heart lately. It is because I am not onstage using my instrument. And it is because there are too many bitter ass actors in my life and not enough people with fresh ideas who care let alone know about art. And tonight was the beginning to finding that part of myself.

At dinner I mentioned to Carlos that his work reminded me of Martin Scorsese, and relayed the story of the singing chicken. Carlos almost jumped out of his chair. He mentioned when he graduated from the New School Martin Scorsese had given the commencement speech. And he said he admired Scorsese and was flattered by the comparison. Chills ran down my spine. Marty and I had almost met earlier this week. He went to my alma mater. Now my friend Carlos makes a film with the same attention to color and detail. On top of that Marty spoke at his alma mater.

Hmmmm....Something leads me to believe that both of us perhaps will meet our friend Marty again. Not to mention Marty shares a birthday with Joe Cannava, my late friend who got me to write my book. Coincidence, I think not. Or maybe it is.

Either way, this is just the beginning of great things for Carlos, who had people from festivals there.  I was pleased not only to be able to show up for my friend, but also flattered he thought I even had enough talent let alone creativity to be a part of things.

Happy Birthday my sweet friend. To the start of another great year!

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
877-Buy-Book
www.buybooksontheweb.com
Available as a paperback and ebook on Amazon
Available on BarnesandNoble.com as well as Nook
Portion of proceeds go to RAINN in honor of National Stalking Awareness Month

Time To Pretend (MGMT)

It never ceases to amaze me how comedians and other performers will inflate their resumes to make themselves sound important. The other day I was walking past a place I once performed at on my way home from another show. As the barker shouted the names of various performers he said, "Comedians from NBC, CBS, and MTV."

I nodded and asked who they were because I was curious. Then he said the name of some hack that I know was not on MTV. Oh yes, the hack was on MTV. He was an audience member when Usher performed. My mouth dropped open. As someone who has been on television and who takes pride in her credits being real, this threw me for a loop. Sure, take your credits where you can get them but this was a reach. I had to laugh. We are all a little guilty. I thanked the barker who was working hard and left. WOW. I don't mean to get petty but this was a little ridiculous.

Then again so much about this business is ridiculous. When I log onto facebook I see facebook comedians, the people who talk about what a career they have on facebook. Maybe they do a club or two or three and that is it. But they need to tell the world how they are doing comedy and blah, blah, blah and then they bitch that the industry is not fair. It's not fair to you because you are on facebook and only talk. You don't exactly do.

Then again, what do I know? I only wrote a damn book, am recording an audio book, have had my music get minor radio airplay, have seen national television time with my puppet children. Did I mention I break my ass all the freaking time and was so tired I could barely stand yesterday?

What I hate is when men assume women slept their way to get anything. I remember when people were saying I had gotten some television time because I slept with someone and although it wasn't true it still hurt. The other day I made my way to open mic land and this male comedian was ripping up this woman saying, "Well, she is sleeping with Mr. X. I hope it gets her what she wants." The gosipper isn't even a bad guy actually, but he had just fallen into a trap. I heard this and my ears burned. I told them it wasn't nice to spread lies, especially if they had no basis in reality and this was so ugly it probably wasn't true. I don't know the girl in question but I know how much it would hurt her to hear it, because I remember how much it hurt me.

Even if it is true this chick isn't going to win. I know women who have tried that. On their back, they fucked aiming for the top in this man's world but only got to the middle because they didn't have the goods. Being in the middle and looking at the top is worse than being on the bottom and dreaming of the top. If it is true, I feel bad for this girl because this will not end well. Still, I hate gossip. To me it is a form of bullying.

To me the worst are the wannabes. Yes, the people who want to be. One is the current gal pal of an ex of mine. She can have the ex, he is on enough psych meds to make a battle ship sink, not to mention he doesnt have his hair. But this bitch disses me online. I wouldn't care what she does except she ripped down my posters several times. During this most recent diss I wanted to set the record straight. I wanted to inform her that I got on television shows as a guest that she could only watch. Her only television time was as an extra, something she would probably do forever. Not to mention her home club was one I got fired from, and I put them on television and she would always be there to rot and disappear. Oh and I wrote a book, she probably can't even read. Not to mention while she has a half decent voice she can only sing covers on youtube while my music gets on the radio.

But she's a wannabe. She got a blog entry two days ago and now gets another paragraph. Then I realize how much haters have always motivated me. In middle school a group of girls made my life so miserable that I had to reach into my heart and discovered I could make people laugh. Another group of haters said I looked like a scary movie and I made it my business to be a good ventriloquist. Another group of haters said I was a sucky comedian and would never amount to anything. They are still minor fixtures on the alt scene while I have a cult following. An old acting teacher of mine said I would never be an actor and didn't have it, well she is still rotting in a cramped studio and not only have I been on television and movies but have been told by Broadway vets I have it. Did I mention I have my own musical I am working on?

This is a journey of faith

This is a journey of hope

Sometimes I think I did the wrong thing with myself. I dont have my own sit com yet. I am not where I want to be. This is not the way I planned it. In some ways it is better than my plan.

I reach for the stars.

It is time to pretend.

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
877-Buy-Book
Available as a paperback and ebook on Amazon
Available on BarnesandNoble.com as well as Nook
Portion of proceeds got o RAINN

Marty's House

Yesterday I got a call from my boss Bruce. I love Bruce but sometimes Bruce wears himself out. The other day he forgot to turn off the phone and a woman called him at an odd hour requesting a singing telegram. Well Bruce, being woken from his slumber, told her to call back during regular business hours. Being a proprietor and someone who wants the best for his business and his customers, he felt terribly. So he had me call her back.

Before I did it I was like, "Wow Bruce, this is a GREAT way to start off my promotion." On the other hand though, Bruce had probably worked himself to death in a Virgo frenzy and was getting a minute of sleep. Plus he might not have meditated, which sets my favorite high strung show tune singing boss off track. Needless to say when I called the woman she was quite nice though, and excited. I figured everyone was tired and we all just needed to try again. It happens with us all.

She explained the telegram was for her friend and they were on a film set. Yes, film set. I asked which film, and she said Wolf of Wall Street with Leonardo DiCaprio and directed by Martin Scorcese. I was like, "WOW!!!!" She explained they were on location, were set to wrap tomorrow, and the woman would have the next day off so they were celebrating the party that evening. I was like sweet.

I called Bruce back with the news. Bruce was excited it had been booked. No harm, no foul. I explained they were on a film set and had been working all night. I have worked on film sets and have done stand up in the clubs which translates to some late nights. And I always make the mistake of assuming everyone is up. My friend Kelly works as a makeup artist and routinely calls me late. It goes with the territory. When I dated Dimsdale he preferred to hang out later because of his years as a working comedian in the night clubs, he is a night man. We all make that mistake.

I ended up going to Westchester to the White Plains station. A van picked me up. The driver, a man by the name of Ray, was all business. When I went up to the van in a very official tone he asked, "Wolf of Wall Street?" I replied that this was correct and off we went. I thanked him for coming to get me and he just nodded. Usually, I get along well with my drivers. This one was a hard nut to crack however. He asked me why I chose White Plains. I was told there were more trains there. He said that there was another station closer. I knew the station he mentioned but the trains werent as plentiful and plus it ran on the local line, YUCK! Anyway, he asked what scene I was in and thats when I told him my deal. Immediately Ray lit up and informed me that there was food, lots of food, and a nice spread. While he didnt want to get my hopes up the Teamster informed me that perhaps I could sneak some.

YUMMMMMMYYYYYY!!!!!!!!

When I got to the set I was greeted by my client-Alison- and was camping out in the production trailer. She told me that if we accidentally bumped into Lisa, the woman I was singing to, I was to say that I was her friend from Holy Cross where she went to school. I could live with that. Two assistants entered the trailer. I was ready with my story but then Alison explained I was the chicken. Cool.

We went down to the general dining area where I was hidden in the back. The entire time they were running back and fourth giving gifts to people. Apparently these were rap gifts. "Could you give me a bigger men's size for Jonah?" One of the assistants asked.

Jonah as in Jonah Hill? Yes, it was. Apparently he had left for the day and was coming in the next day. Running back and fourth because they were rapping the next day everyone was in a hurry. Bags were being organized and lots of work was being done. The crew, a nice little community, had all been on the project since the beginning. They had bonded and were glad tomorrow was the last day-they even told me so.

As I was camped out one lady asked, "Is this the singing chicken?" They told her I was and she said, "Oh, did someone tell Marty?"

"Yes, Marty knows about this." Another woman replied.

"Is Marty coming?" The first lady asked. She looked beat from the sixteen hour days they had been putting in.

"No, he has things to do before we rap." She explained. "But he got a kick out of the idea and said it sounded very cute and funny."

My mouth dropped open. "THE MARTY!" I exclaimed trying to hide my utter excitement. While the Marty could not attend, he knew I was coming.

"Yes." The second woman smiled. "The Marty."

I apologized and said I wasn't used to Martin Scorcese being referred to as Marty. He had directed the Godfather, Casino, and Goodfellas, three of my favorites of all time. Not to mention he also directed After Hours, not only one of my comedy films but the most unsung of this genius's work because yes, he could do comedy. Not to mention I had just seen Cape Fear with Robert DeNiro for the first time after seeing the original, and the remake was just as good which is rare. The man was Mr. Scorcese, the man was Martin, or Mr. Martin Scorcese. But Marty? Marty was the guy down the block. Marty was not the name of a genius who's work included Taxi Driver and who changed the face of cinema forever.

On the other hand, Marty gave him a humanity. I guess having been a fan of his work for so long I never equated him wit being a person. And he was a person. My friend Kelly said he was on faculty at NYU but wasn't there as much as they felt he should have been because he was working, and would have a TA teach while he appeared to lecture. They fired him and he went to Columbia where his schedule was better understood. Marty was a person, just a busy one.

As I waited for them to wrap I wikied Marty on my iphone. He had gone to NYU grad school for film. I had gone to NYU Tisch as well. As a kid he had asthma and was terrible at sports so he fell in love with old movies. A fan of Hitchcock, as a homage to his hero all of his leading ladies wear white. I am an old movie and Hitchcock fan. I looked to see his astrological sign. His birthday is November 17th. At that moment I felt myself get goosebumps. The reason being that November 17th is the birthday of my late friend Joe Cannava, the friend who got me to write my book. The friend who reminded me that people listened when I spoke. The friend who reminded me that I was funny and how I needed to chase my star.

I have always been a DIY (Do It Yourself) artist. I have always had the need and drive to create my own work. I work best when I can star, write, and direct my own work. Whether it is performing standup/ventriloquism on stage, making my own videos, writing and performing my own music, publishing my own book, and doing the audio version I am that kind of spirit. So is Marty. I had felt intimidated, a fish out of water. But that soon disappeared when I realized that while this was an old, run down office building with barely any heat I was on great terrain. I was on Marty's film set-in Marty's house-and it was a great honor to set foot in a place that was closed off to the public, even the celebrity photogs.

When it came time for me to sing I went in. Lisa was very sweet. She did the chicken dance and was into it. This had been a long few months for everyone and they needed to unwind. The people had fun. That's what this was all about-fun. I wanted to make it good, especially since I had been waiting quite a while to sing. It wasn't because they were being nasty, oh no. It's because they were  wrapping, there was lots to do, and not to mention Allison explained that they never broke on time so this was a first.

Afterwards, I was invited to eat. The food was delicious, Ray had been correct. Allison, bless her, gave me a little extra something for waiting so patiently. I could see the tired beginning to take it's toll on everyone. Marty apparently does not like to take too many breaks. It's not that he's a slave driver. There are millions of dollars at steak. He has a studio to answer to.

Allison then went the extra mile to put me in a van back to the city-bless her heart double.

On my way back I rode with a van full of union extras. Professional extras are an odd bunch. They are background dressing with medical benefits. Many of them theatre trained actors who never translated to film or never made it, they do the extra work for the money to finance the stage career. Extra work is a slippery slope. While you get money you are always an extra. You never move up and are forever pigeon holed and damned to be the plant or the shrub, never to move up. As these people spoke they talked about the various adventures on the set. Apparently Scorcese, who likes the ladies, wanted to do a T and A shot of a lady. She didnt want her behind shown so they hired someone else and the girl thought they were still using her top shot but the extras concurred that this would not be the case. They also spoke of some scantily clad women doing various things on the set and how despite the fact they made their name as scantily clad women they were quite nice.

One of the extras in particular struck me as a diva. I complimented her necklace and she acted like I had insulted her. A few minutes later I heard her speak, in good clipped American speech, about how she had gone to NYU and still coached kids for showcases. My mouth dropped open. Her coaching? But there is an old saying, "Those who can't do, teach." She reminded me of my freshmen year scene study teacher. Maybe they were close friends. But the irony of show business is, someone like this had an ego the size of Texas. They talked about their "career" and their "coaching." They would probably go by their full name like Henrietta Feline Pussycat and demand to be called Ms. Pussycat. They would then believe the world owed them something because they went to NYU's Tisch School of the Arts and then bemoan their higher education because in her words, "It taught me to be an artist and not a working actor."

On the other hand, the true genius, Martin Scorcese, simply goes by Marty. As a poor kid from Queens he grew up in a devoutly Catholic family. He too went to NYU and unlike the diva extra made a fine career for himself. Growing up he was never the pretty kid or the tough guy, he was the slight sickly boy with asthma. But an original thinker who needed to create his own work and think out of the box, he did and has continued to make a name. Maybe he isn't so good at being married-married four times-but he has nonetheless married some beautiful women. I prefer to think I am more like Marty as I jounce around in my jogging clothes and treat everyone like I would like to be treated as I make my life my art. Or maybe I simply want to be like him, a genius. Don't we all?

Either way, Mr. Scorcese, it was a pleasure to come to your house last night. I want to thank your assistants for taking such wonderful care of me. As the singing chicken, I am such a fan of your work. I understand everyone calls your Marty, and it doesn't ruffle your feathers. And I think that is mad cool.

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
877-Buy-Book, www.buybooksontheweb.com
Available on Amazon.com as a paperback and ebook
Available on BarnesandNoble.com as a paperback as an ebook on Nook

Ms. Wannabe

Well I had some shade thrown at me yesterday by a hater. Yes, a hater. A current girlfriend of an ex of mine is a lil obsessed with what this Superfoxxx is cooking in her kitchen. The long and the short of it was, a while back I dated this dude with a lying problem. It didn't end well cause it never does with liars. Needless to say, we went our different ways-thank the freak God. Anyway, he hooks up with this girl who I sort of know but not really. She seemed nice when I met her although she smoked a lot of pot, but pot heads are typically wasted space in the world of drug addicts. My buddy Chacho used to say he detested pot heads because of their smell and because they would never do him sexual favors when they couldn't pay for their drugs. But it was a way to deal to the white kids. I digress.

Anyway, this chick was a wannabe everything. For a minute she was a wannabe comedian. She went to a second rate conservatory and is a wannabe singer and actress. And she used to be a wannabe model before she gained a ton of weight. She is one of those bitches who has no mirror. She smokes pot, gets the munchies, and packs on the pounds. But she still dresses like a skinny bitch when she is a fat bitch.

I had no problem with her until she started throwing shade. I had no idea she was even dating my loser ex. Well it all started Valentine's Day 2010 when I was doing a show at a place that she worked. My posters mysteriously disappeared. One night they were ripped down. As a result no one came to my show. Needless to say I didnt put two and two together. At this point I still liked her because I had no issue with her actually. I saw her and that she had dyed her hair some putrid color like she always did and said hi. I commented on her hair and lied that I liked it when really it looked so bad she should have just shaved it off. Well instead of chit chatting like she normally did this girl couldnt look me in the eye and ran away from me as if I told her I had a gun. I was like, what did I do to this girl? I felt bad actually. Had I did/said something? The whole thing was odd. Then I heard her being reamed out by someone else for her low blow tactics and how "a person isnt worth your energy like that and I really do want you to succeed."

WTF.....And by the way three more of my posters disappeared.

Well six weeks later a then friend showed me my ex's profile and I saw that he and Ms. Wannabe were dating. My mouth dropped open. No wonder the bitch hadnt wanted to look me in the eye. She was the one ripping down my fucking posters! I was beyond livid and called a friend of mine screaming my head off. He said I had no proof but I knew. And then friends of mine told me to calm down but I knew she did. Who else would have had motive?

Then around the time this crap started happening I went to that club to visit because I had something to do and saw Ms. Wannabe and she gave me the big hello. Well she is a big girl and could have been a lumberjack in a previous life. She picked me up and gave me a hug. I was like, "Why are you trying to be my friend?" Basically, she was overkill. I knew she fucked with my posters so I began to talk about a guy I used to date in Queens to make it awkward and get under her skin. I shouldnt have played so low but it was fun to dig it in that her boyfriend was so in love with me at one point. And I also mentioned I cheated on him the entire time, news I knew that would get back to him and would make him freak out and ruin both their nights.

Then the next time she saw me was even freakier. I had just been on television a bunch and had just made a slew of friendemies. When I saw her she dyed her hair my color blonde. She also wore an outfit designed for a more petite, skinny girl. Not someone almost six feet tall and packing on the pounds. The lipstick shade was close to mine. One of my friends remarked all she needed was a puppet and she could be a giant April Brucker. Well I ended up talking to this chick because it appeared she wanted to make peace. Whatever. Life is too short to be mad, plus she was mentally ill clearly. Well she starts quizzing me about my ex and asking why guys have such an issue when you have a past. And then she told me the only way she tolerates being with him is by drinking and smoking pot and popping pills.

The experience freaked me out.

A few weeks later I was fired from said club anyway. And when I was fired and found out on the internet there was a rumor that I was drinking and partying hard and that's why I got fired. It came from the regulars at the club, a circle that Ms. Wannabe is a part of. After that I started making videos. And when I started making videos guess who started making videos? When I started putting music on the radio guess who starts singing again? This all was too weird for me. So weird that when I told my friend Marcus about it he encouraged me to write a rap song about this weird ass bitch. Did I mention she dissed me on several gossip sites as well? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-VVnNN...

Well after a while this chick sort of cooled off. I think it's because she and my ex moved in and as long as she wasn't bothering me I didn't care. Like the rest of the world she was my facebook friend, too. I mean, plus he was just a guy. He didn't mean that much to me. I figure the loss of a man is nothing compared to the loss I felt for Chacho and Joe, and my heart still aches that Joe isn't here to enjoy my book. Compared to the whole in my heart that left some guy is just a guy and they can be replaced.

I saw she was doing stuff a few times that didn't involve stalking me and actually congratulated her. I mean, she had a life, why not? Plus my ex and his crew like to play games and they found someone feeble enough to feed in. A few days ago we accidentally crossed paths on a thread and even agreed. I didn't mind. I mean, my ex is just a man. They have the same set of equipment and have the same tricks.

Well yesterday for some reason some link brought me to Ms. Wannabe's page. My ex's mother is insane and tries to cozy up to all of his girlfriends. To give you a background on Mrs. Sicko she is deeply involved in Al-Anon, a twelve step program, and takes pride in almost shooting her alcoholic husband. Everyone in the family is in therapy or on psych meds, and she used to write me detailed letters saying God commanded her to write to me and that her son was in fact my soul mate. Well those two were trashing me!

The exchange went as follows:

Mrs. Sicko: Thank you for sending the New Year's greetings. Is April painfully aware that she is not funny? Seriously, she is not funny.

Ms. Wannabe replies

Ms. Wannabe: I was not planning to run into her on facebook. But sadly I don't think she is aware.

Part of me was like, WHAT? That was just mean and hurtful. I was nice to this girl and all she ever did was harass me and rip down my posters! I did nothing to her.

But then I had to look at the big picture. I have published a book, am recording my book on tape, have been on television a bunch, had a hit song on the internet and am working on a musical. Not to mention as of yesterday I am now working with Jeff Dunham's puppet maker.

This girl is not only eating my sloppy seconds, but her biggest claim to fame is extra work. Not to mention I record original music and she can only do covers. I get to go to events and meet people that she can only watch from her TV.

I thought about making a bitchy video but instead I figured I would do what my friend Joe suggested I do with this bitch when she was alive, live a better life and tune her the hell out.

And when I see her in my travels I will take a page from my friend Chacho. I will ask, "Do I know you?" That will kill her, my stupid ex, and his even stupider mother. Oh, did I mention she has gained more weight and I am close to a six pack?

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
877-Buy-Book, www.buybooksontheweb.com
Available as an ebook on Amazon Kindle
Available as an ebook on Nook and as a hardback on BarnesandNoble.com

Odds, Ends, and Goals

The New Year has been a busy one so far. I have started recording my audiobook. Archie Ekong, my former freshmen year studio mate, is my sound engineer. Archie has been a surprising gift so far. With an attention to detail that is lazer sharp, I have a feeling the finished product will be very good and it is no accident. It has been an awesome reunion so far.

Recording an audiobook is work. Everything I have ever learned in Voice and Speech is coming back to use. I used to hate those classes in college. They were my worst classes. My best usually being my acting classes and movement classes. Surprisingly, I did well in singing classes and dance classes. But Voice and Speech, I always got the same notes. You talk like you are from Pittsburgh. You talk nasal. BREATHE, SLOW DOWN!

I talk kind of fast in my personal life. Always have. Always have been told that I am a "firecracker" with a lot of energy. One time I was chilling with some questionable man I was dating and his friend from the joint, a big black guy by the name of Danny said, "Slow down! I am turning blue just hearing you talk and I am black. You exhaust me just hearing you!"

It brought me to back in the day where my teacher Todd told me that if I learned how to breathe I would learn to control my life. And that my range as a performer would actually be rather interesting. My homework from Todd was actually to walk slowly down the street. I did it daily for one semester and it nearly killed me.

My sophomore year I switched to a different studio-more my home. The Method actually made me relax, slow down. It grounded me more because I was forced to relax before class. Needless to say, while my acting work was good my Voice and Speech were still not so much to be desired. Certain sounds tripped me up. While I did better in those classes there they were still challenges. They still gave me headaches. I still didn't look forward to them. Part of it was that I wanted to get to the good stuff, the acting. I wanted to get onstage. Why the hell did I have to waste my time and breathe!

After graduating I went more the standup comedy route and when I did act the characters were off the wall. I toured and actually capitalized off of talking like myself and being myself that all that breathing went out the damn window. I wasn't going to need that crap. I was making my name as a funny lady Goddamn it. Not to mention I always ended up getting on television accidentally on purpose for having puppets and being rather wigged out.

 A few years later-however-I went to an audition for a hosting job where I was told I talked weird and I needed to work on that, that they were trying to get someone who didnt talk like they were from a certain place. Around that time, a not so high point in my life, I started to have anxiety attacks where I would end up blacking out and passing out. I didn't even think they were anxiety attacks. I just thought they were fainting spells. My career was at a bottom after a pilot didn't get picked up and a national television appearance I did blew up in my face. I wasn't the it girl but the shit girl. I knew it and had to fight for everything it seemed. That's when someone suggested I start meditating. I started meditating and started talking about the stuff going on with me. Someone suggested I do breathing exercises.

FUCKING BREATHING, RUINS MY LIFE EVERYTIME!!!!

After that, things heated up with the singing telegram company and my boss started giving me all the high profile clients. When I say that I mean royalty. During cases like that, when nerves enter everything else leaves you and it is so easy to mess it up. So in the end technique is all  you have. It isn't just your friend, it is like the firefighter getting you out of the building when it is burning down and your lungs are covered in smoke. I suppose that is a living amends to Erick Buckley, John Van Wyden, Scott Flaherty, Kohli Hessler, and of course Jan Douglas.

I found all they taught me became even more useful when I began making music. That was during another point in my life when things were kind of crazy. I had been on TV a bunch with my puppet children and fired from a club I did a lot for. But the door opened to make music and I did. Needless to say, hours in the studio singing on your chords is terrible. Not only do you risk getting nodes but also, you LOSE YOUR DAMN VOICE. I say it once and I say it again. Techique is the only thing you got. USE IT DAMNIT!!!!

You think it would have sunk into my thick head, right?

Well fast forward, April goes to record her audiobook. Within seconds in the booth Archie says, "Slow down. You are flying through that thing!"

I did it several times in the past two sessions. Some things never change. And several times we went back and Archie said, "SLOW DOWN! Talk to me like you are telling me this for the first time."

It's funny that Archie and I are working together but not surprising he gets me. During freshmen year Todd did the different brain types of his students. Archie and I were both ENTP, original thinkers. While he may be more laid back and I am eccentric and flamoybant in every way, we both need to have our hands in a million pots at once to be fulfilled, and as a result we know how to talk to each other.

Afterwards Archie and I laughed. Somethings never change. I will probably be told, "SLOW DOWN" until the end of time.

But on the flipside, someone once told me something I will never forget. An older veteran of the theatre gave me a pep talk my first year of college when I was considering leaving school. I felt trapped and stifled because a lot of the things I felt I had to do were wasting my time. I hated Writing the Essay because I could already write and this wasn't helping me. I hated my voice and speech clases because why did I have to fucking breathe when I should be acting. I felt dance was pointless as well as this skipping across the room. And not to mention I was stifled because I knew I was more creative than most of my classmates, and to top it off in an arts school I was being told to calm down my energy and unusual style, total irony.

The advice they gave me was this, "You know who you are and that's what counts. But here is the thing, you need to know the rules before you can break them. Picasso knew how to draw before he did his own thing with painting. The lead singer of Save Ferris is trained in opera. If you have the tool box, you can leave if you need to and can always come back to get another wrench."

That made a lot of sense. When it comes to comedy I know a joke is set up, premise, and punchline. When I get lost or stuck I always go back to that and it saves me every time.

That being said ironically Writing the Essay served as the structure that I wrote my book with. Now I love writing personal essays and can do so and inflict discomfort.

As for Voice and Speech, I use those classes more than any others. So that being said, I know the rules. Maybe I need to start doing my daily exercises again like I did in college. Maybe I need to have my pencil handy and break up the script like Lorca Peress taught me to do with beats. Maybe I also need to read out loud and mark the places I need to take a breath as well. Maybe I need to walk down the street slowly again. Maybe I have broken the rules long enough and it is time to go back and start to follow them again. They must work, after all, why call them rules, right?

There is only one of me, I know that. The rules aren't there to inhibit my freedom. At the end of the day they may actually give me more.

I write this blog as an amends to Erick Buckley, Kohli Hessler, John Van Wyden (I know I confounded you on several occasions), Jan Douglas, Scott Flaherty, and Todd Masterson. Not only were you some of my brightest teachers in college, but you were my most useful. I know you are getting your revenge on me now. So here I am, bottle of water with Alice and her rabbit and ready to breathe.

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
877-Buy-Book, www.buybooksontheweb.com
Available on Amazon as a paperback and ebook
Available on Nook and hardback at barnesandnoble.com
Portion of the proceeds go to RAINN January 8-February 8 in honor of stalking awareness month 

Teenage Dream (Katy Perry)

I will admit I am addicted to Harlequin Trash Romance. Since writing a book, I have been booked out and havent really read anything that I havent written. So the other day I decided to have a little fun and bought a book about the legendary Finn Brothers, Australia’s most handsome billionaires. The uptight Elizabeth Flippence is seduced by Playboy Harry Finn. Although he is a flirt and a playboy there is more to his personality like a good heart. In the end they fall in love.
I know it is fiction but I safely believe every word of it as I snuggle up in my bed and read some before having passionate dreams that match the detail of some of the racier scenes. I take what is referred to as my morning constitution with my coffee and read some. And of course there are my bubble baths when they mention flesh into her fold where the good old Catholic girl in me almost drops the book into the water. Match that with Ben and Jerry’s S’mores iced cream and talk about a guilty pleasure.
As I said it is fiction. I know it never happens that way. I fell in love with a playboy twice. The first time I was young and he totally broke my heart, the second time I broke his heart because he caught feelings when I told him the truth. He was nothing but a rebound.
If I were to be a plot figure in a romance novel what would it be? Here are some ideas. Let me know what you think.
                                Love is No Laughing Matter
1.       Dimsdale is a legendary comedian with an illegitimate love child trying to follow into his footsteps. An aged womanizer with a penchant for pretty women, misfit ventriloquist, fledgling comedian, and would be novelist April Brucker crosses his path on a chance encounter on the street. However, what Dimsdale doesn’t know is that April’s gold digging roommate May Wilson is plotting to have him as her own. Will April find true love after lots of heartbreaks, or will the conniving roommate steal Dimsdale away?
 
Note: Some of this is true. I ended it with Dimsdale being seduced by May Wilson. I lost.
 
                Blow Torch to the Heart
 
2.       April Brucker is an overworked writer who just finished her first book that has never had any luck in love. During one day while having her coffee and bagel at the corner store, she meets a mysterious stranger by the name of Joe. He is an iron worker by day and she knows nothing else, except he wants to know more about her. Will April’s baggage from the past make her run away from love, or will the hard hatted stranger sweep her off her feet?
 
Note: This is mostly fictional. Iron worker Joe and I did meet and exchange numbers, but after a week he made it clear that he was not that into me.
 
 
                Love Song For a Street Pharmacist
 
3.       April Brucker is a singing telegram delivery woman who is looking for love. One day during a delivery, she is nearly accosted by a drug don and almost sold into white slavery. However, a brave man who works in the neighborhood rescues her before disappearing. When she goes to thank him she finds lout his name is Baron Marks and he is a drug dealer. But April is drawn to this bad boy. Will she change him or will he drag her down?
 
Note: I did almost become a white slave on one of my adventures but the rest of this is purely fictional. The man is a drug dealer. I would never date someone with a job.
 
                                Cuffs, Links, and Soul Mates
 
4.       April Brucker is a lonely New York artist trying to make it battling insomnia. One day, while trying to battle yet another sleepless night, she comes across a few articles on the internet about an old case. As a young man Jack Karp was tried and convicted of murder. April is drawn to him and his plea of innocence. The two begin a pen pal correspondence and April is charmed by the convict. Is he really the misunderstood man hurt by the code, or is he just a crook trying to take advantage of a lonely woman?
 
Note: No comment, but you have to admit I am getting good at this. Maybe I should change it to arsonist. Come on baby light my fire. Sigh, these are my plots. Either way, Reno's Band is making a cameo. SighLoveAprilI Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl877-Buy-Book, www.buybooksontheweb.comAvailable as an ebook and paperback on Amazon and KindleAvailable on Nook and BarnesandNoble.com

A Case For Alt. Comedy

When I first moved to the city and started to do comedy, I was urged by many to go what is known as the alternative route. Apparently because I was a woman and was different, it would be the perfect home for me. So I decided to check it out. As opposed to the clubs who want you to bring to death and have no interest in passing you, especially if you are a woman, the alt rooms didn't require me to bring. That's what I decided to check it out.

There were things I liked and that I didn't like.

I liked the fact that they were more welcoming to women comedians and their performers thought out of the box. Sometimes, because the vibe could be more experimental from time to time I felt more like I belonged. And also, I had several supporters in the alt world who opened their doors to me, and also recommended me for other shows and auditions.

On the flipside there were things I didn't like. They were too politically correct for me. Not to mention they were comedy snobs, always picking apart every joke. Offstage they were stoic and treated comedy as serious business and actually couldn't take a joke. Not to mention that they were all from schools like Wesleyan, Sarah Lawrence, Oberlin, Bowdoin, and Barnard and you name it. As a result they tried being different for the sake of being different making them all the same and annoying. They wanted the challenge the audience and forgot their job was to make the audience laugh. Not to mention they were uptight about being politically correct. Comedy isn't about being politically correct.

Oh and then they all bragged about living in Williamsburg or Bushwick-posh hang outs-forgetting two blocks away they could easily get robbed by the Latin Kings.

For the most part I was hit or miss in Alt Rooms. Sometimes if I went on towards the end when the hipsters were drunk they loved me. However if they were more uptight this was not going to work. Eventually I wandered away from the Alt scene. In part because their definition of ground breaking had nothing to do with groundbreaking but just being weird looking with no substance. Not to mention they were too cliquish for me. And the bookings didn't come my way. I ended up doing a bunch of club shows, hitting the shows, and in between was affiliated with a circle of comedy that was seemingly the antithesis of alternative comedy.

However this past summer I changed my mind. I was invited to do Ed Sullivan on Acid. Pat O'Shea was hosting in Park Slope. I had known Pat for years and admired him as a comedian, but had never been asked to do the show. Finally one night after chilling with Sean Lynch we were all hanging and Pat invited me. I remember getting there and being nervous because it was an Alt show. I had always been shut out of the ECNY Awards and seemed to be the thing many an Alt person detested.

I spoke to some of the comedians before the show and I felt at home. Each were serious students of the art of comedy. It was refreshing to see.

The show started and the house was packed. One by one, each and every comedian that performed  was funny. Not only were they gifted in the ha ha department, but also they were exceptional writers. Their material was smart, challenged the audience, and still got the laugh. Alternative Comedy didn't just get my respect that evening, but it made me want to do more alt rooms as a matter of fact.

I went up and I did well. Sure, I was out of the box but I couldn't help feel that I didn't match up as far as my writing went. Actually, I know I didn't. Afterwards, the comedians were very complimentary towards me. We talked at length about comedy, our favorite and least favorite and about what made things funny. At that moment I didn't want to slum for laughs anymore. I wanted to make my audience not only laugh but think.

Some of the funniest comedians are alt and that is not an accident. So many times I have seen club comedians go to the lowest common denominator for a laugh and treat their audience like they are stupid. Alt comedians treat their audience like they have a brain, what's wrong with that? Not to mention club comedians are so busy telling the latest dick joke that they rely on stage presence-something I have been guilty of in the past. However in the alternative world it is all about the writing because in the end the joke writing is all you have.

That being said, I have seen excellent club comedians too that do care about their joke writing. And also I have seen bad alt comedians who believe they are too cool to make the audience laugh.

On the same token, when an Alt comedian is excellent, they are beyond the pale.

Bottom line, there is too much division and fighting in comedy. Instead of calling each other names maybe we should all be learning from each other. The alternative comedians taught me I was doing the right thing by being me and that I need to step up my writing game. They taught me not to hide my brain.

Why should you choose to be stupid.

Seriously.

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
www.buybooksontheweb.com
877-Buy-Book
Available as a paperback and ebook on Amazon
Available on  Nook
Available on BarnesandNoble.com

10 Things Every Comedian Should Know

10. Comedians are cliquish. There are the club folks, the alt folks, the Jersey folks, the folks who want to be like other folks. Some of them will like you, some of them wont. Its more a reflection on them and their lack of talent than it is on you.9. For the Women: Men have the upper hand. Get used to it. You will have to fight harder and bookers and club owners will feel it is okay to try to feel you up and pressure you for sex. While it’s up to you, don’t be surprised when it happens. And don’t complain. This is not like other jobs where you can sue for sexual harassment.8. Everyone has a drinking or drug problem or is in recovery from a drinking or drug problem. Everyone has had a rough childhood or has a chip on their shoulder. When someone gives you an unusual response, remember that this is after all the broken toy store. Perhaps they didn’t get their usual AA meeting.7. When they say they want someone different, out of the box, and original, they are lying to you especially if you are a woman. Club owners want someone safe. Being boring gets you passed faster. However, those people will only do the same shitty club whereas the original thinker will eventually become the superstar.6. I was fired from one club after getting them a shitload of air time. I was basically black balled from another for cussing them out. Bottom line, don’t be afraid to burn bridges. Don’t be afraid to make enemies. The people who are supposed to help you will, but the people who aren’t in your court will never be in your court.5. It’s okay to be a fame whore. Fame whores make it. The purists never do more than the Walmart of Comedy. Plus they sit around all day arguing over what makes a joke and what doesn’t. If an opportunity arises to get on TV, do it. As Billy Gardell said, when he defended me on the radio, “You need to take your breaks where you can-end of story.”4. Your friends will turn on your when you start to make it. Yes, if you make it or get any success the people you once went to mics with will bad mouth you any chance they get on the internet. They feel your success is not justified. Meanwhile if it was them it will be perfectly justified. Just remember comedians are not a community. They are just a bunch of dreamers who think big and there are very few doers.3. Making it has very little to do with being funny.Sometimes it is being at the right place at the right time. Sometimes it is being the right ethnicity during a right time. Whatever. But much of it has to be with being hard working, being persistent, showing up, and most importantly not being afraid of rejection. Oh, and write a thank you note and return a phone call.2. Every dog has their day. Some people get passed at clubs without a problem. Some people get on TV and it is easy to get jealous. Here’s the thing. Everyone’s journey is different. Some people end up as just standups, others branch into acting, then there are those who become writers, and many even go the talent/club management/production route. Bottom line, it is a marathon not a sprint. Keep your eye on your own game and don’t focus on others. The beautiful part is, if you stay in the race you someday end up working together on projects with others who have run the race as well.1. Don’t be afraid to do your own thing. Others all want you to follow in their footsteps, and comedians are all followers. So don’t be afraid to make your own videos. Don’t be afraid to start your own podcast. Don’t be afraid to write your book. Don’t be afraid to pitch your project. Don’t be afraid to have another creative outlet aside from the shows where everyone is fighting to perform in front of three people. It won’t distract you from the dying art of standup, but rather will make it richer when you perform in front of  a packed house. 

Husband, Babies, and a Fireplace

I am a career woman. To someone like myself Hillary Clinton is a hero. While she is in the Oval Office and I am trying to break into entertainment, we both basically put our professional lives first and personal-what is that? Husband, well hers was fooling around and she was too busy running the country to notice. And then she probably stood by her man because she was too busy to leave. Where was she going to go? Divorce takes time and she had a health care system to clean up. I digress. Anyway, I haven’t had a guy in sometime. Between writing and publishing a book, promoting that book, recording the audio version of that book and writing the musical version of the book I really haven’t given a guy a second thought. That is, until I was interviewed by a local magazine in my hometown where the guy asked, “Do you want a husband or kids in the future?”The question threw me for a loop. The answer is I really don’t know. Honest to God I didn’t know. In middle school I wasn’t allowed to date. My parents emphasized academics, goals, and achievement. My father was the first to get not only a college degree but an MBA and a law degree in a working class family, and both my mom’s parents were educated. My dad was a professor and my mom was a teacher. Television was not allowed until Friday so boys were out of the question completely. As a matter of fact some folks even thought I was gay because the story that April couldn’t date boys turned into April couldn’t talk to boys. But I had my puppets and my tablet with my thoughts. Better than any of the zit faced guys in my junior high class. Sure I had crushes, who didn’t. Still, they were a world away. High school was more chasing my goals. When I wasn’t busting my behind in school I was taping shows at the cable access station, performing ventriloquism somewhere, writing a column for the local paper, going to a play practice, attending an acting or voice class, and then to support it all I bagged groceries at the local supermarket on the weekends. My dream schools were Smith College, Mount Holyoke, Brown University, New York University, Emerson College, and Carnegie Mellon University and perhaps Julliard. There was no time for a guy in my star chasing.  There was no time for anything that wasn’t getting me ahead. And the three guys I did like in high school all made it clear they didn’t return the favor. But the help with analyzing the Emily Dickinson, oh they gladly took that.College was an adventure. My first year I was a miss all around. One guy invited me to his room to watch TV. The next thing I know he was all over me. Apparently watch television is code for lets have sex. I so didn’t know that. We didn’t have sex and he felt bad I was in the dark. Later we became good friends and joked about the incident. Still, that wasn’t a high point in my life. The few guys I liked seriously rejected me in a pretty low way. One in particular was a favorite at an NYU extension and famous acting studio I was later asked to leave. This young lad was tall, dark, and handsome and slated to have quite the career. I, on the other hand, was being told that I wouldn’t. Well tall, dark, and handsome found out about my puppets and we connected. He assured me he had the same struggles and came out swinging. All the girls liked him. Well he used to seek me out to speak to me and even invited me to some theatre party but I was busy or something. Well one day I was taking a stress walk after writing a paper and saw him when it started to drizzle. I was wondering aimlessly, he was walking home. I ended up walking with him in my meandering. Once we got to his dorm he suddenly turned acting as if I was the unwanted overweight companion-I was in those days-rather than the pleasant surprise in the hood. After crying on the way home, risking pneumonia, and then showering I wrote him off and gave him the cold shoulder everytime I saw him.The fucker capitalized on his short time with me by twisting the story on Gawker-not bad for someone slated to not have a career- about how I followed him home once and it was the most terrifying thing ever. Sir, you wish I were stalking you. Because unfortunately the bitter teachers who were jealous I had a shot and they didn't were wrong. You never had that acting career and never will. Trashing me on Gawker is the closest you will ever get to that career. Now tell me, how does it feel to know you peaked at twenty?Sophomore year I had my heart broken by a few guys who were just shallow. But I was in a new studio extension and finding success there. Plus I found standup comedy and that took up most of my nights. There could be no man. There could only be Lee Strasberg. I simply had crushes on set up, premise, and punchline. May Wilson got all the action. Junior year I found myself engaged to a much older man who was intimidated by the fact I was smarter than him and going places. His friends-stupider than he was-said things. First he told me what I could and couldn’t wear. Then he told me how I could and couldn’t dress. Next it was him or the puppets. I gave up my children for six months. The worst mistake of my life. Next he wanted to kill his mother so he could get the insurance money to be with me.They left that part of the story out on TV. Same with the stalking and threatening. My mom hates when I talk about it, but I need to so women in the same situation can know that it will be fine. Plus I was lucky. He only talked about killing me. Yeardley Love probably wishes she could take my place. She probably wishes a separate mailing address was the least of her problems. This Sir Lancelot pops up to “make amends” everytime things go well in my life. Meanwhile he and whatever piece of trash with low self esteem he is stringing on goes on some message board to talk trash. Who would have known with all of his sleazing and sleeping with his stripper ex for money, I would be the ex his new girlfriends would all be jealous of? My ex also took credit for writing my act and my jokes. Watch him take credit for my book next, assweed. After that I dated a string of forgettables, one being a lawyer who couldn’t stop lying. Many being ex-cons who could at least tell the truth about the crimes they were committing. Some were nice, but my love of my career and my busy schedule always made things fizzle out. All were fun runs in the sun but nothing more. Then my friend Chacho passed and I wanted to do everything I could do to make my life and career complete. I thought of all the things Chacho would want for me. Chacho wouldn’t want me to date losers, he had done that and it is what put him in an early grave. He would want me to pour that energy into being a superstar and hanging out with the most fancy people in the world. Chacho would want me to put that energy into nice clothes. Chacho would want me to live big. Well I did. I cut men out entirely, especially when the television time started rolling in. Needless to say, after a bunch of events the schedule became very full. I had no time for a man but ironically had a lot of male admirers. Male admirers who loved me and my puppet children. Maybe a guy could like me for being me.And there was one who did. Yes, he did. I have blogged about him and gave him a fake name to protect him because I know he was in trouble somewhere. The truth is, he liked me for being me. No guy ever did. Unfortunately he was sick-bipolar he was not taking his meds for and abusing drugs instead. I had to let him go. Not because I wanted to, I had to. He didn’t want to take his meds and he didn’t want to get help. Sometimes I think that if he were to show up at my door clean, sober, and appropriately medicated I would take him back. But that probably won’t happen. Maybe that says a lot about the God I believe in. But unfortunately it’s reality. I dated a former reality star and washed up comedian who I thought liked me but was just using my visibility to revive his dead career. There is a part of me that knows I am damaged. I know I am scarred and have a hard time trusting guys. Actually, most of the time they are guilty in April’s Court ruled by the iron fist of Roman Law. I always assume they are cheating and sleazing around-in my mind. Not to mention I never tell them about my career because I am scared they will make me give it up and have their children. I am scared I will have to give up my whole life I worked for. And wait until they see some of the photos I take and the letters male fans write me. Then I know it’s over. Not to mention I am a lousy cook and clean as frequently as the Jets win because I am so busy with my career. Translated, my relationships end badly for a reason. I could never make a guy happy, and a lot of it is my fault. At least I know that though, right? Apparently men don’t like it when you try to make them puppets. On the flipside someday it might be nice to have someone to spend forever with. A special someone to have that big wedding with. A special someone to honeymoon with on some tropical island. A special someone to have children and grow old with. A special someone who watches football, snores, rakes leaves, and shovels snow. A special someone who even when I want to kill him makes me laugh a second later and I forget about my grudge. A special someone who lets me know the world isn’t a big, bad, dark, hole waiting to gobble me up. It might be nice to have kids someday. Kids who are babies that I can dress in adorable outfits. Kids who don’t color in the lines and finger paint to the point that it gets on them. Kids who play Pee Wee football, Pee Wee soccer, Pee Wee dance and whatever other Pee Wee thing there might be to do aside from going to that perve’s playhouse. Kids that do spelling words, even if I have to force them before school. Kids who make me laugh with their explanations and schemes of why they did something. Kids who sparkle and make me smile. Kids who know they have puppet brothers and sisters and as a result can put up with anyone’s differences. But both the husband and kids are fictional. They don’t speak in these dreams. Plus if they were real they would have to compete with my closet of costumes and room full of eleven puppets. My schedule is busy so they would be fending for themselves in the kitchen and doing all the laundry. And something tells me they would not understand being stashed under the bed when space was tight. Oops, they aren’t puppets. I guess for now it is my apartment that looks like a war zone, my puppets, my comedy, my video making, my book writing, my singing telegrams and my music that occasionally gets on the radio.This week a guy took my number and he has been lukewarm basically letting me know he isn’t that into me. Sigh, just like high school. Now off to my guy free life of a bubble bath and trash romance novel. The guys in those books are what women want. Those fictional men can be into me if I make them into puppets. I better stop while I am ahead. I sound crazy. I can picture one of them writing in the next time I am written up in the Gawker. He can say I forced him into a bubble bath after a rain storm. Love AprilI Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl877-buy-bookwww.buybooksontheweb.comAvailable on Amazon as a paperback and ebookAvailable through Barnes and Noble online in hardback and on Nook

A Ride on the Short Bus

Yesterday I had an adventure. Yes, only one of those adventures only I could have. My boss called and asked if I could do a Marilyn Monroe telegram. I said sure. Since the New Year it has been slow, and of course I would take any work I could get aside from working outside in the bitter Artic zone known as my home city. I figured this telegram would be open and shut. But then my boss added a side note. He cleared his throat and explained-because this was probably a first for him-“The lady wanted me to tell you in case he acts a certain way, etc. April, bottom line is, he likes pretty girls, loves Marilyn Monroe-“ My boss than took a pause trying to search for words to sensitively convey what he wanted to say. He is progressive, he is liberal, he has a good heart and cares for his customers. Finally he blurted out, “What I am trying to say is that he’s retarded!” My mouth hung open. Retarded. Touched.Special.Room down the hall with two teachers. Bad jokes at recess. Mongoloid , the old term used and not so politically correct and actually insulting to Asians. Apparently one of my great cousins was what they referred to as a Mongoloid. He died very young as they often did in those days. But wow. Yes, I got the point. This was going to be an experience. On my way there I just marveled at how my life could turn into one big adventure at the drop of a hat. There I was, minding my own business and now I was delivering to a man with a touch of the Down’s. I had never done a show for someone who was mentally impaired before. I did puppet shows for people in nursing homes so senile they not only thought my figure was real but begged my puppet to rescue them. I did puppet shows for people with Autism who took special liking to the puppets, and even signed my sweater. But singing for a mentally disable individual. Would he be able to understand this?I couldn’t help but think of Sarah Palin, the adversary of career women everywhere. The one who carried her baby to term knowing he had Down’s, but then named him Trig. She named him after a class he will never take in school. How cruel is that?I expounded on all my adventures with the word retarded. It was a favorite insult in elementary school. So much so that we flung it at each other any chance we got. Finally during a music class when our teacher explained it meant to slow down, we were out of control with laughter. We asked her why music had to be so retarded. Well she then explained her sister in law was carrying a Down’s Baby and miscarried, and the term was derogatory and hurt. So Derrick White asked her , “Miss, why are you being so retarded?” We all laughed and he was sent to the principal. But he had a point. This woman was retarded. Good call Derrick. In high school my brother Wendell was on the football team. The water boy, or more aptly known as the team manager, was usually a kid with Down’s. Most of the time, by high school folks had calmed down with their insults towards those with special needs. However, every once in a while there was a dust up. To their credit, the football players had the back of the team manager as sort of a group of impromptu body guards if anything were to happen. Some of the football players took a barb at the team manager from time to time, but never anything mean. Sure, the team manager may have been a retard but he was their retard. And that retard was one of a band of brothers. He was connected. I call that a stroke of retarded genius. The supermarket I worked in often employed people with mental disabilities. Most of the time they were hard workers who stayed under the radar. However, one of the more infamous ones was named Mikey. One manager used to send him to do returns. Mikey would stop at the bakery on his runs to try to discreetly grab a jelly donut from the case. Using his stealth, he was on the look out to make sure he never got caught. However, Mikey had an IQ of about 30. Translated, he didn’t understand jelly donuts all look a certain way. So Mikey would sample all the donuts until striking gold. However, if a donut was just another piece of coal back in the case it would go. Customers began to complain about the half eaten donuts in the cases. An investigation was conducted and Mikey was caught on camera. They fired him. However, the story does not end there. Mikey went to the union, lawyered up, and sued the store for lots of money for discrimination and wrongful firing based on a disability. Mikey never has to work again-doing better than all of us. Another stroke of retarded genius. Sometimes, however, the people with the Down’s can get you when you least suspect it. My brother Wendell was once visiting Super Cuts, a discount barber shop when he was in college. Not known for their technique and originality, they nonetheless got the job done for the male living on a discount budget. Wendell was studying, playing football, and needed a quick cut. Well when Wendell climbed in the chair he noticed his barber was talking oddly and looked a little strange. Half way through the cut Wendell realize his barber had Down’s Syndrome. However it was too late to bail. When Wendell finished his cut he had a mix between a helmet head with a touch of mullet with a large chunk missing in the back. The barber was well aware that he had the Down’s. Wendell was not. What does that say about my brother? I suppose you get what you pay for. But it is also a testament to the little retarded barber doing the best he could with what he had to earn a living, kudos on him for working hard. I walked into the place where I was to sing and immediately was greeted by a man with Down’s Syndrome who answered the door. I took a breath. While I have nothing against those who have the Down’s, I had to brace myself because I was about to be outnumbered. I told myself all retard jokes and references were to stop from this point forward. No barbs at people who wear Disney fanny packs. There would be none of that. Walking into the office, I was greeted by the contact who was a nice African American lady. She took me up to my changing room. On our way to the elevator a resident, an older woman who obviously was Down’s as well, snuck up behind her and pulled her snow cap. “Boo, I got your hat.” She stated. My contact smiled gently. I suppose they are used to the eccentric antics of the mentally challenged residents, forever frozen in the innocent childlike state. In a way it was charming they had that sort of relationship, but it took me off guard. I would never get away with that. But then again, being mentally retarded does have it’s perks sometimes-you can get away with anything. As I changed I felt a wave of trepidation. This was either going to be the best delivery ever or the worst idea in the history of all singing telegrams. As I changed I took a breath. I was going to treat Mr. Michael, my recipient, like any other delivery I decided. If he was going to go to sleep or eat paint or anything crazy I could cut it short. About fifteen minutes later, Mr. Michael was showered and ready for dinner. I was taken to the man, sitting in the dining hall amongst his friends. All had Down’s, all went to school on the short bus when they were young. I walked over to Michael and some of the others in the dining hall-other residents-signaled the others to be quiet. In a very first grade way they screamed, “SHHHH!!!” Not realizing they were actually making more noise, it is the thought that counts, right? Within seconds they were quiet though, so perhaps they understand each other better than we could ever imagine in our so called normal world. Mr. Michael himself blushed as soon as he saw me. He asked if he could kiss me. I had never had a recipient be so straight forward, so I rolled with it and let him kiss me on the cheek. He wore a professional wrestling shirt and had on a championship belt. The Hulk had long since retired, and Mr. Michael was tough enough. Part of me was taken aback that they let him wear the pro-wrestling motif so freely in the home. I could never get away with that. On the flipside, as I said, there is a certain freedom that comes with being retarded. You can do whatever the hell you want. As he blushed during my routine the outfit ready for Hulk-o-mania became rather endearing. He was sweet, gentle, and kind. He was Michael. And move over Judah Freidlander, this was the true world champion. The staff graciously recorded the whole thing, and the residents sat in attention. At the end I got them to join me in “Happy Birthday.” They seemed to enjoy singing “Happy Birthday” to their friend. It was sweet to see these people, inviting me so openly into their community. This was their home, and this was their world. So it was different than the normal world that I called my home. In a way it was better because they seemed kinder and gentler to each other. By the time I finished I had forgotten that I was performing for a bunch of people who had Down’s Syndrome. They were like any other audience: sweet, warm, and appreciative. The staff said I was wonderful and asked for business cards when I left. I was glad everyone liked it. Actually, it was a blessing to be reminded of how I can brighten up a person’s day no matter who they are. That felt really good. It’s a kind reminder that we are all in this together no matter what our functional levels are. As I made my way to the train I remembered a special needs bell choir I once saw perform at a church. I was ready for this to be the Olympiad of Tune Terror, however they surprised me by being melodious and had a wonderful energy that I don’t see often in orchestras with normies. It’s because as normies we take our ability to be normal functioning for granted, and often don’t work up to our potential because we have a lot to work with and waste our energy doing stupid things. They on the other hand, well, they need to put all their energy into just trying to be normal functioning, and therefore surprise us and teach us something. Perhaps they are the prophetic visitors and we need to listen to them from time to time. Perhaps we all need a ride on the short bus once in a great while to teach us humility and kindness as well as gratitude. Or maybe this whole blog entry has been simply me just being retarded.LoveAprilI Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl877-Buy-Bookwww.buybooksontheweb.comAvailable as a paperback and ebook on AmazonPortion of proceeds go to benefit the children of Sandy Hook Elementary School