April E. Brucker's Blog, page 66
December 17, 2012
Doing My Part For Sandy Hook Elementary School
My heart goes out to the little ones who lost their lives at Sandy Hook. In so many ways, there is so much wrong with the world that we live in. A disturbed young man shoots up a school filled with innocent children, and his mother kept taking him to the firing squad despite his obvious issues. Everyone wants to scream about guns, no one wants to talk about mental health. The Westboro Baptist Nuts want to picket their funerals saying that God sent the shooter because the gays are getting rights, and therefore using the deaths of those babies to do it. Anonymous is publishing the info of the Phelps Family on the internet. I am a woman of peace and a spiritual nature, but the Phelps Family has gone too far in my opinion. I would say that they have a place in hell but hell is too good for those self-obsessed, delusional, bigoted nutcases. In that mix we have the people screaming that this happened because we took God out of the schools and therefore let Satan in.
In this debate about gun control and this discussion of mental illness we forget about the children of Sandy Hook. We forget about the children, six and seven, who's biggest crimes was leaving their toys out, not making their bed sometimes, teasing each other, and perhaps fighting with a sibling. My point is, they were children. They were innocent. They were just going to school, minding their own business when Adam Lanza took their lives. As someone who is an advocate for people with mental illness, I want to believe he has found peace. But I also want to believe he is burning in hell, because heaven is for the innocent victims like those twenty children he slaughtered in cold blood.
We also forget about the living victims, the families of the children lost. The parents who tried everything to keep their children safe, and who thought by sending them to school they were not sending them to their death. The surviving siblings of these children who feel nothing but a sense of longing and guilt. Also, the children who went to that school that survived and will have nightmares forever and that have been robbed of their innocence and childhood.
That being said, I am doing my part to help the victims of Sandy Hook. This Christmas through the first two weeks of January, a portion of the proceeds from my book will go to help the children of Sandy Hook. Donations will go to their school's library to buy books and to provide whatever else those children need in the way of counseling. To see the commercial I made please go to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ky3J02...
In the words of Martin Luther King, Jr, "It is always the right time to do the right thing."
And it is the right time to help those children. We should not be focusing on the tired argument of gun control, fighting about God in schools, letting the Westboro Baptist Church trample on their dignity. No. We should we concerned about not just the lives lost but the living victims.
Let's all do our part.
Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
877-Buy-Book
www.buybooksontheweb.com
Available on Amazon
Come to my book signing
December 27, 2012
Bethel Park Library
5100 West Library Ave
Bethel Park, PA
In this debate about gun control and this discussion of mental illness we forget about the children of Sandy Hook. We forget about the children, six and seven, who's biggest crimes was leaving their toys out, not making their bed sometimes, teasing each other, and perhaps fighting with a sibling. My point is, they were children. They were innocent. They were just going to school, minding their own business when Adam Lanza took their lives. As someone who is an advocate for people with mental illness, I want to believe he has found peace. But I also want to believe he is burning in hell, because heaven is for the innocent victims like those twenty children he slaughtered in cold blood.
We also forget about the living victims, the families of the children lost. The parents who tried everything to keep their children safe, and who thought by sending them to school they were not sending them to their death. The surviving siblings of these children who feel nothing but a sense of longing and guilt. Also, the children who went to that school that survived and will have nightmares forever and that have been robbed of their innocence and childhood.
That being said, I am doing my part to help the victims of Sandy Hook. This Christmas through the first two weeks of January, a portion of the proceeds from my book will go to help the children of Sandy Hook. Donations will go to their school's library to buy books and to provide whatever else those children need in the way of counseling. To see the commercial I made please go to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ky3J02...
In the words of Martin Luther King, Jr, "It is always the right time to do the right thing."
And it is the right time to help those children. We should not be focusing on the tired argument of gun control, fighting about God in schools, letting the Westboro Baptist Church trample on their dignity. No. We should we concerned about not just the lives lost but the living victims.
Let's all do our part.
Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
877-Buy-Book
www.buybooksontheweb.com
Available on Amazon
Come to my book signing
December 27, 2012
Bethel Park Library
5100 West Library Ave
Bethel Park, PA
December 16, 2012
How I Got to Do Gangnam Style on Korean TV
Last week I was feeling tired. Heisman Weekend was coming up. My family was coming to town. Not to mention I had been so busy promoting my book that every lightbulb but one burnt out in my apartment. Anyway, I had to pay my rent and go to the bank and then deliver a telegram. So as I am walking in Times Square I see this Asian Dude jumping around. People are surrounding him and taking photos. There are cameras and people seem to be cheering him on. I am like, wowsa.
I asked some girl with her cellphone camera up what was going on. She said, "He's one of the guy's from the Gangnam Style video." Part of me thought, oh boy, the Macarena of this generation. I had been cursed with the dance at many a Teen Center. The other half of me thought that this was pretty cool. In all my times at the Teen Center where the sixth grader in me longed to be the cool eighth grader never in my ever so-called life did I think I would be this close to the new dance craze.
"Which one?" I asked. Then it popped into my head, he was the guy from the elevator!
Just then with a gazillion watts of energy this man asked, "DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM!!!!" Part of me wanted to tell him that he was a Korean man with way too much energy. We never have that much energy in the white world. The other part knew the answer.
"You were the guy in the elevator!" I blurted out.
"YES, SHE KNOWS WHO I AM!!!" He screamed with joy. With that, both of us started doing the Gangnam Style dance for Korean TV. I had my coffee in hand and began to sing the lyrics with him. "Hey, sexy lady.....Upa Gangnam Style!" And as did the dance the worries off of me. Rent was paid and for as much as I worried about my family visit they would have a good time.
After a few minutes I was on my way. The family visit went well and Heisman's went off without a hitch.
Fast forward nearly a week later. I am having issues with a project I did and someone working with me-long story. It has been stressing on my mind. My recent promotion at work means I get all the complicated, high profile clients that expect good things and am also doing phones-work. I need a new puppet, May Wilson has seen better days. Then I sent my book as a Christmas present to a friend and it seemed I was at the mercy of stupid people at the Post Office. Not to mention my boss sent me to do a pink gorilla on Staten Island. It went well but was quite a trekk and some Eastern Euro trash was squawking at top volume on the phone and let me tell you I said the Serenity PRayer cause she was squawking for forty minutes on the phone without stopping and I wanted to deck her-but she was't worth the felony charge.
Last night, as I readied my bubble bath and finished a musical I am writing my baby cousin messages me. She is currently dating a Korean guy who I met at Thanksgiving and that I like quite a bit. Anyway, she PM's me and says her boyfriend was watching Korean TV (he still has a lot of family over there) and he saw me doing Gangnam Style. I was like WTF!!!!! THIS IS MCAWESOME!!!!!!
Anyway, I am here doing Gangnam Style at 18:30, take a gander
http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xvybyq_yyyy-e308-121215-yyyy-121215-hdtv-xvid-baros_webcam?start=1
And then my mom messaged me to tell me that the thing got 90,000 hits. WOWSA!!!! Upa Gangnam Style. So when I look in the mirror at myself I will say, "Hey, sexy lady!!!"
So as I end this year and start the new one afresh, I feel like a new woman; a New York Barbie if you will.
My neighbor who was out of work approached me a few months ago in the dumps. I gave him a pep talk. Recently he found a job and dropped me a Christmas card as a thank you. I didn't think my pep talk helped as much as it did. But this is a great way to start the season of giving.
I also blocked two women on my facebook page from my early days in the city who basically stalk me online and talk trash. They can talk trash as much as they want, but it doesn't mean I need them both as facebook friends. I need the room on my page for real friends and most of all die hard April Brucker fans.
And if anyone asks, I will be doing Gangnam Style with the high energy Korean man in Times Square. Perhaps Psy can join us if he isn't too busy teaching the dance to some American model. And I hope he brings Madonna. I made her song a number one on the internet for five weeks this year. I think it's time we met face to face.
Love,
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
877-Buy-Book
www.buybooksontheweb.com
Amazon.com
Come to my book signing
December 27, 2012 @ 7pm
Bethel Park Library
5100 W. Library Ave
Bethel Park, PA 15102
I asked some girl with her cellphone camera up what was going on. She said, "He's one of the guy's from the Gangnam Style video." Part of me thought, oh boy, the Macarena of this generation. I had been cursed with the dance at many a Teen Center. The other half of me thought that this was pretty cool. In all my times at the Teen Center where the sixth grader in me longed to be the cool eighth grader never in my ever so-called life did I think I would be this close to the new dance craze.
"Which one?" I asked. Then it popped into my head, he was the guy from the elevator!
Just then with a gazillion watts of energy this man asked, "DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM!!!!" Part of me wanted to tell him that he was a Korean man with way too much energy. We never have that much energy in the white world. The other part knew the answer.
"You were the guy in the elevator!" I blurted out.
"YES, SHE KNOWS WHO I AM!!!" He screamed with joy. With that, both of us started doing the Gangnam Style dance for Korean TV. I had my coffee in hand and began to sing the lyrics with him. "Hey, sexy lady.....Upa Gangnam Style!" And as did the dance the worries off of me. Rent was paid and for as much as I worried about my family visit they would have a good time.
After a few minutes I was on my way. The family visit went well and Heisman's went off without a hitch.
Fast forward nearly a week later. I am having issues with a project I did and someone working with me-long story. It has been stressing on my mind. My recent promotion at work means I get all the complicated, high profile clients that expect good things and am also doing phones-work. I need a new puppet, May Wilson has seen better days. Then I sent my book as a Christmas present to a friend and it seemed I was at the mercy of stupid people at the Post Office. Not to mention my boss sent me to do a pink gorilla on Staten Island. It went well but was quite a trekk and some Eastern Euro trash was squawking at top volume on the phone and let me tell you I said the Serenity PRayer cause she was squawking for forty minutes on the phone without stopping and I wanted to deck her-but she was't worth the felony charge.
Last night, as I readied my bubble bath and finished a musical I am writing my baby cousin messages me. She is currently dating a Korean guy who I met at Thanksgiving and that I like quite a bit. Anyway, she PM's me and says her boyfriend was watching Korean TV (he still has a lot of family over there) and he saw me doing Gangnam Style. I was like WTF!!!!! THIS IS MCAWESOME!!!!!!
Anyway, I am here doing Gangnam Style at 18:30, take a gander
http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xvybyq_yyyy-e308-121215-yyyy-121215-hdtv-xvid-baros_webcam?start=1
And then my mom messaged me to tell me that the thing got 90,000 hits. WOWSA!!!! Upa Gangnam Style. So when I look in the mirror at myself I will say, "Hey, sexy lady!!!"
So as I end this year and start the new one afresh, I feel like a new woman; a New York Barbie if you will.
My neighbor who was out of work approached me a few months ago in the dumps. I gave him a pep talk. Recently he found a job and dropped me a Christmas card as a thank you. I didn't think my pep talk helped as much as it did. But this is a great way to start the season of giving.
I also blocked two women on my facebook page from my early days in the city who basically stalk me online and talk trash. They can talk trash as much as they want, but it doesn't mean I need them both as facebook friends. I need the room on my page for real friends and most of all die hard April Brucker fans.
And if anyone asks, I will be doing Gangnam Style with the high energy Korean man in Times Square. Perhaps Psy can join us if he isn't too busy teaching the dance to some American model. And I hope he brings Madonna. I made her song a number one on the internet for five weeks this year. I think it's time we met face to face.
Love,
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
877-Buy-Book
www.buybooksontheweb.com
Amazon.com
Come to my book signing
December 27, 2012 @ 7pm
Bethel Park Library
5100 W. Library Ave
Bethel Park, PA 15102
December 15, 2012
The Case For Santa-Con
It is Santa-Con today here in Manhattan. That means you see Santas of all walks of life. Everyone wants festive egg nog and holiday cheer. I even saw a Jewish Santa I believe. In that mix there are slutty girls who are masquerading as elves and then there is the sexy Mrs. Claus. I can deal with a black or gay Santa but a sexy Mrs. Claus, hells no. Mrs. Claus is supposed to be plump. She is supposed to be like my grandmother. A sexy Mrs. Claus is like a tolerant Glenn Beck. It just doesnt make sense in our world.
Santa-Con is one of those things that starts cute but very quickly becomes messy, very messy. I was walking to brunch with some friends and a girl dressed as an elf was crying bemoaning her man problems. She said, "I can't believe he did that." Did she mean she caught Santa kissing Mommy under the mistletoe last night?
Then on my way to my house I saw two men dressed as elves running into traffic. They were black out drunk and a car was speeding behind them. These two geniuses were trying to outrace the car and were strong candidates for a Darwin Award. I very quickly made my way to my house. There was no way I was watching these two men become elf meat. Then there were Santas getting into drunken fist fights because one Santa called another Santa's Mrs. Claus a whore. An ambulance came and both St. Nick's were booked on disorderly conduct. It looks like they will be getting coal for Christmas.
As I tried to avoid the chaos I thought of this time of year. Yes, all the decorations are so cheery but at the same time it is so damn depressing. There are lots of presents and no money to spend them it seems. Then there is family, while we all love them the holidays have the tendency to put miracle grow on everyone's character defects. In that mix, there is a lot of death this time of year. There is suicides because everything is so depressing. I understand that. When I hear "Silent Night" I want to deck someone sometimes and then slit my wrist afterwards. That is my least favorite Christmas Carol.
And then you start to focus on your life and what you don't have. Recently I got a promotion at work which is good but have been going through some strife on a project. Not so good. Can't go into it now but you know what I mean.
But then I look at the scope of the rest of the world. There is the tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary, a reminder that mental illness is to be taken seriously and perhaps we use crazy as a punchline all too often or as a crude put down for what we cannot understand. It is a thought that we need laws prohibiting people with a history of violence from getting fire arms. It is a reminder that we have to learn about gun safety. It is a reminder that at the end of the day, no matter how much our children might give us headaches, they are a gift from God and we must be grateful that they come home from school and get up in the morning. It is a reminder that children are the most innocent of all creatures and measures no matter how big must be done to protect them.
A month ago Hurricane Sandy struck my city and there are people who will be without homes this Christmas. There are children who will be without toys. There are people who wonder what they are doing as a natural disaster wiped out everything they ever worked for. They will pray for a God that they dont understand and ask why?
So as I see the drunken Santas and their slutty elves and the sexy Mrs. Claus's crawl the bars I will laugh. As I see the kids all trying to dress like Ralphie from A Christmas Story partnered by their female companions dressed as the leg lamp I will give them a high five. If I see two Santa's in a fist fight drunk I will laugh. As I see some drunken male elves playing in traffic I will also laugh and pray to God that they don't get hurt.
But Santa-Con is a reminder that the holidays are about joy. It is about not just giving and receiving, but smiling. It is about shaking off the bad things of the past year and the stress of work as we celebrate the good. It is about laughing and smiling. It is about partying.
As for Santa-Con, I'll allow it.
Love,
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
877-Buy-Book
www.buybooksontheweb.com
Amazon.com
Come to my signing
12-27-12 @ 7pm
Bethel PArk Library
5100 W. Library Ave
Bethel Park, PA
15102
Santa-Con is one of those things that starts cute but very quickly becomes messy, very messy. I was walking to brunch with some friends and a girl dressed as an elf was crying bemoaning her man problems. She said, "I can't believe he did that." Did she mean she caught Santa kissing Mommy under the mistletoe last night?
Then on my way to my house I saw two men dressed as elves running into traffic. They were black out drunk and a car was speeding behind them. These two geniuses were trying to outrace the car and were strong candidates for a Darwin Award. I very quickly made my way to my house. There was no way I was watching these two men become elf meat. Then there were Santas getting into drunken fist fights because one Santa called another Santa's Mrs. Claus a whore. An ambulance came and both St. Nick's were booked on disorderly conduct. It looks like they will be getting coal for Christmas.
As I tried to avoid the chaos I thought of this time of year. Yes, all the decorations are so cheery but at the same time it is so damn depressing. There are lots of presents and no money to spend them it seems. Then there is family, while we all love them the holidays have the tendency to put miracle grow on everyone's character defects. In that mix, there is a lot of death this time of year. There is suicides because everything is so depressing. I understand that. When I hear "Silent Night" I want to deck someone sometimes and then slit my wrist afterwards. That is my least favorite Christmas Carol.
And then you start to focus on your life and what you don't have. Recently I got a promotion at work which is good but have been going through some strife on a project. Not so good. Can't go into it now but you know what I mean.
But then I look at the scope of the rest of the world. There is the tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary, a reminder that mental illness is to be taken seriously and perhaps we use crazy as a punchline all too often or as a crude put down for what we cannot understand. It is a thought that we need laws prohibiting people with a history of violence from getting fire arms. It is a reminder that we have to learn about gun safety. It is a reminder that at the end of the day, no matter how much our children might give us headaches, they are a gift from God and we must be grateful that they come home from school and get up in the morning. It is a reminder that children are the most innocent of all creatures and measures no matter how big must be done to protect them.
A month ago Hurricane Sandy struck my city and there are people who will be without homes this Christmas. There are children who will be without toys. There are people who wonder what they are doing as a natural disaster wiped out everything they ever worked for. They will pray for a God that they dont understand and ask why?
So as I see the drunken Santas and their slutty elves and the sexy Mrs. Claus's crawl the bars I will laugh. As I see the kids all trying to dress like Ralphie from A Christmas Story partnered by their female companions dressed as the leg lamp I will give them a high five. If I see two Santa's in a fist fight drunk I will laugh. As I see some drunken male elves playing in traffic I will also laugh and pray to God that they don't get hurt.
But Santa-Con is a reminder that the holidays are about joy. It is about not just giving and receiving, but smiling. It is about shaking off the bad things of the past year and the stress of work as we celebrate the good. It is about laughing and smiling. It is about partying.
As for Santa-Con, I'll allow it.
Love,
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
877-Buy-Book
www.buybooksontheweb.com
Amazon.com
Come to my signing
12-27-12 @ 7pm
Bethel PArk Library
5100 W. Library Ave
Bethel Park, PA
15102
December 14, 2012
Boobs and Pussy: McWha?!?!
I sometimes don't understand guys. Actually, make that never. They are fascinated to no end by boobs and pussy. Seriously. When they see tits they go ga ga and when there is a mention of getting laid and getting in the magic box they go even crazier swearing to be doctors, lawyers, and Native American tribal leaders if it does the trick.
Personally I have boobs and I don't see what the big deal is. They are a pain in the ass if you really want to know. They serve no purpose whatsoever. Most of the time I have to worry about what bra to wear with what and how to make sure my bra straps are not showing. Not to mention I have to wear a sports bra when I exercise to keep the useless things from flapping about and to keep from getting stretch marks. Not to mention that I am likely to get cancer there and have to have someone grope them every so often to make sure there are no lumps.
And guys are fascinated with these things. WOW!
Then the pussy is the one that really puzzles me. The thing is kind of weird. It bleeds for anywhere from three to five days once a month which already makes it a pain in the ass freeloader of female anatomy. Yes, it is a pain to deal with. What liners to use, and how to avoid getting toxic shock syndrome from tampons. Oh, and have you ever looked at a vagina in the mirror? When it is hairy it looks like a bizarre, scary, bearded creature that lives in a cave ready to shallow whoever enters. When it is shaved it looks like that bizarre, scary, cave creature on chemo. But men can't get enough of this. They scheme on ways to get it. They go out to clubs set on getting inside of it. I have one and personally I don't see what the big deal is.
Again, WOW!
And then there is the whole Wonder Woman thing. Guys think a Wonder Woman costume is hot along with any chick who could potentially kick their ass. They think that this is kinky. Of course this is coupled by the Catholic School girl outfit and the lollipop. And then there are the pornos with no plot that they say, "But she's hot." Yes, and I suppose this is why you spend money and watch these idiotic laced films in private. It is certainly not the dialogue. I really just don't get it. Oh and then there are the cheerleader outfits some guys like their girls to wear when they role play, along with the naughty nurse and french maid. Either too many pornos or men are just warped, confused, and twisted.
I don't think they are warped, confused, and twisted actually. I just don't get them. I will admit it. They oogle over a hot billboard and whateves, she's decent looking. But useless mammary glands and a freeloading part that has the street nickname of a feline, many women have them and find them a pain in the ass, and we can tell you that they are not special in the least.
Maybe this questioning is a nagging insecurity that deep down I know that if I were to ever get a man I would not have the first clue on how to make him happy. That there would always be someone better looking who could keep her mouth shut that could cook a better apple pie.
Maybe it is the fear of getting old.
Or maybe it is that men are such bizarre creatures that I don't understand them. They oogle over the useless organ and the freeloader of all female anatomy. I am just puzzled. I have one of each and can tell you that it is no big deal. It's not like you have to do anything to earn them.
Either way, if I ever get a husband or some sort of male life partner I will alleviate these worries by telling him the football game is on. He can oogle at the scantily cheerleaders all day long and exert his testosterone while watching a tackle or two. Both will keep him occupied as me and my girls and my gays have an afternoon of Golden Girls reruns. We can do our own thing, it will be spectacular.
Of course men are oblivious. He won't even realize I was gone. The secret to a happy marriage.
Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
877-Buy-Book
www.buybooksontheweb.com
Amazon.com
Come to my signing event
12=27-12 @ 7pm
Bethel Park Library
5100 W. Library Ave
Bethel Park, PA
15102
Personally I have boobs and I don't see what the big deal is. They are a pain in the ass if you really want to know. They serve no purpose whatsoever. Most of the time I have to worry about what bra to wear with what and how to make sure my bra straps are not showing. Not to mention I have to wear a sports bra when I exercise to keep the useless things from flapping about and to keep from getting stretch marks. Not to mention that I am likely to get cancer there and have to have someone grope them every so often to make sure there are no lumps.
And guys are fascinated with these things. WOW!
Then the pussy is the one that really puzzles me. The thing is kind of weird. It bleeds for anywhere from three to five days once a month which already makes it a pain in the ass freeloader of female anatomy. Yes, it is a pain to deal with. What liners to use, and how to avoid getting toxic shock syndrome from tampons. Oh, and have you ever looked at a vagina in the mirror? When it is hairy it looks like a bizarre, scary, bearded creature that lives in a cave ready to shallow whoever enters. When it is shaved it looks like that bizarre, scary, cave creature on chemo. But men can't get enough of this. They scheme on ways to get it. They go out to clubs set on getting inside of it. I have one and personally I don't see what the big deal is.
Again, WOW!
And then there is the whole Wonder Woman thing. Guys think a Wonder Woman costume is hot along with any chick who could potentially kick their ass. They think that this is kinky. Of course this is coupled by the Catholic School girl outfit and the lollipop. And then there are the pornos with no plot that they say, "But she's hot." Yes, and I suppose this is why you spend money and watch these idiotic laced films in private. It is certainly not the dialogue. I really just don't get it. Oh and then there are the cheerleader outfits some guys like their girls to wear when they role play, along with the naughty nurse and french maid. Either too many pornos or men are just warped, confused, and twisted.
I don't think they are warped, confused, and twisted actually. I just don't get them. I will admit it. They oogle over a hot billboard and whateves, she's decent looking. But useless mammary glands and a freeloading part that has the street nickname of a feline, many women have them and find them a pain in the ass, and we can tell you that they are not special in the least.
Maybe this questioning is a nagging insecurity that deep down I know that if I were to ever get a man I would not have the first clue on how to make him happy. That there would always be someone better looking who could keep her mouth shut that could cook a better apple pie.
Maybe it is the fear of getting old.
Or maybe it is that men are such bizarre creatures that I don't understand them. They oogle over the useless organ and the freeloader of all female anatomy. I am just puzzled. I have one of each and can tell you that it is no big deal. It's not like you have to do anything to earn them.
Either way, if I ever get a husband or some sort of male life partner I will alleviate these worries by telling him the football game is on. He can oogle at the scantily cheerleaders all day long and exert his testosterone while watching a tackle or two. Both will keep him occupied as me and my girls and my gays have an afternoon of Golden Girls reruns. We can do our own thing, it will be spectacular.
Of course men are oblivious. He won't even realize I was gone. The secret to a happy marriage.
Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
877-Buy-Book
www.buybooksontheweb.com
Amazon.com
Come to my signing event
12=27-12 @ 7pm
Bethel Park Library
5100 W. Library Ave
Bethel Park, PA
15102
December 13, 2012
Heisman Pics Parte 2
Johnny Manziel aka Johnny Football making history live as the first freshmen to win the award. I wasn't supposed to be taping.....shhhhh. 
The Heisman stage live with portraits of past winners. Do you recognize any of these football greats?
The poster welcoming the celebrants and the crew to NYC.JPG)
My beautiful mother, Cupcake McMouse, trying on sunglasses at Louis Vuitton.JPG)
My beautiful baby sister Skipper and I in front of the tree before the festivities. 
December 12, 2012
Crashing the Heisman's Part 1
George Rogers of the University of South Carolina, Heisman Winner 1980
Yes, this is the Heisman trophy
My beautiful sister Skipper and the Heisman trophy
My Lil White Fur: Saying Goodbye to Settling
Today I made an impulse purchase. I never do this. My mom actually is more or less likely to buy a new dress to celebrate or mourn. I think this is why she likes my gay friends whenever they meet. Most often, they are wired the same way. The coat, which would have ordinarily been three hundred was only fifty. Going against my belief that lots of money should not be purchased on clothes I went to the ATM and made the buy. Call me shallow. Call me a bitch. Call me a beautiful woman. Maybe I am all of those things.
Around this time two years ago I lost Chacho, a friend who was a spirit kindred to mine. While he had been a street hustler who wore designer labels and could never stay sober and obeyed only the laws he liked, he was a straight shooter which made me respect him. One thing about Chacho was that my primary job as his friend was to make sure people didn't strangle him. The Chach and I were talking once about people who wore fake labels in public and walked around as if they were real. Chacho, who at the time was homeless despite his Gucci said, "Shame on them for settling for fake labels. I would never wear that."
Sure, maybe the boy didn't have a house, could never say no to drugs, and didn't like the law but he was going to leave a pretty corpse. We all have goals I suppose.
When Chacho died, I began to think of all the things he wanted for me, and how proud he had been of my career achievements when he was alive. At the time I was being worked to death as an open mic host. I had made the club a lot of money and put them on national television countless times. I expected a reward, I expected to be treated fairly. Instead, they fired me from my own mic and rehired me at the sister club. In order to preserve an abusive relationship, but one that had to potential for growth, I made my demands as long as I was going to stay. None of them were filled. I was at the end of my rope. All I did was work, earning these people money, and all they did was treat me like a second class citizen.
Afterwards, I was talking to my boss. He said to me, "You should stay and host. You are good at it and that is your job in the club."
"I put them on national television ten times and am more talented than the male headliners you bring in." I pointed out. "And you give me ten check spots and I have ripped the room up each time. Who do I have to blow to get ahead? I think that's how this shithole is run."
My then boss, who knew I was at the end of my rope said, "Sometimes, in this business we aim for the stars but we don't get them. Most people don't get the stars April, and you probably won't. Sometimes-most of the time-you have to settle. You just need to settle and use the mic as your venue."
My jaw dropped. I had just received more television time than any of the regulars in that hell pit ever would. I could also see and hear the spirit of my dead friend Chacho, the friend who had been incensed that he could not join me at Fashion Week because his black market plastic surgery had landed him with a blood clot. The friend who told me to stop dressing like I was broke and poor. The friend who wanted to be someone and tried his damnest by dressing in clothes he couldn't afford and getting plastic surgery from people who were shady. The friend who would demand I tell his family members and strangers about my television time. The friend who couldn't stop using drugs. The friend I had the falling out with and didn't get to say, "I love you but not what you are doing" before he died. The friend who was on the other side with me, watching over me, and now telling me to reach for the stars he never got, to walk the runway he could only dream of. If I was going to honor his memory it would be not to settle.
That evening when I got home I resigned from my post via email. I did so like a lady. I didnt tell the club owner to get fucked like I wanted to. This was a new era of my life. For so long I had settled with these slave drivers. I had done countless late night spots hoping to be promoted because of the good work I did. I had earned them lots of money. Got them lots of publicity. They were a second tier venue anyway, a place where dreams went to settle. Looking back, it felt like they were screwing me, but it was God getting me out of there and taking me somewhere better. It was my friend Chacho with me, letting me know that I was meant to do great things. It was the dreams we shared as we checked out hot guys at the local diner coming true. I was no longer crawling helplessly but walking upright.
Since that time I have not settled and have been damned if I do. Sometimes it has made me look like a bitch. But I am a career woman. Not settling and driving harder than ever has gotten me to places I never dreamed I would go. It has made me dress for success, strive for success, and see things most never dream of seeing.
I have also found out who my friends were and werent in this molting process. On one occasion I was out with an old friend who knew me in my early days of struggle and uncertainty. We were talking about the things that happened with me and the club that I had a falling out with. My friend, who I thought would side with me said, "You know, you have a bit of an ego sometimes. I see your facebook posts and they are a tad arrogant. When you post you aren't just April Brucker: Superstar Wannabe. You are April Brucker sister, daughter, cousin, and friend."
My mouth dropped open. Was this dude for real? Half of those posts were jokes. WOW! He knew me in real time well enough to know that I am hardly arrogant. My true friends know I am hardly arrogant. While I jokingly brag they jokingly bring me down to Earth and we enjoy a laugh. And then it hit me. This particular person had been friends with the person who wandered uncertainly through the desert. This particular person had been friends with the woman who settled. And everytime we hung out up to this point he had found subtle ways to tear me down. I had changed for the better, embracing life and following the path. He had stayed the same, settling at the bottom like all things that settle.
As I walk my path to greatness, sometimes I can be what is perceived to be a bitch. Some of it is because I am a hardworking woman who is determined, and I do not have the shield known as an agent or MANager. Like Charlie Chaplin, I am my own writer, director, performer, and producer. Does it make me tired? Sometimes, but if I want something done right I do it myself. Not everyone likes me. Read my Gawker article. I have a list of enemies miles long. But here is the thing, when I do a show I am not there to be liked by my fellow performers. When I do a play I am not there to be adored by my fellow actors. When I write I do not put the piece out there to be loved by other writers. I am a servant to the people. I will yell and scream until I am front and center and everything is done right on all ends. I will get paid well, and my audience will be happy. This is about them, not my ego. So if I am a bitch I am a bitch. I will wear the name tag in case people ask. It's on my birth certificate. I will proudly legally change my name if that is what I am viewed as.
Some say bitch. I say a business woman and performer who does not settle.
There is one club in Queens where they will never have me because I screamed at a booker who was trying to rip me off, and of course where the head of new talent regularly bad mouths me on gossip sites. There is another club on the East Side that will not have me because the owner and I got into it online because he casually uses the c word slang for women's private parts in casual conversation to refer to the opposite gender. There is a set of clubs where I am not welcome because of the falling out we had after I put them on television, never again. Those doors are closed like coffins. Looking back at it, it is better they did close. Those aren't the homes of top performers and superstars, those are the homes of people who settle. When I have been at those places in the past I have felt like a fish out of water. I was. I don't celebrate bottom feeding. Therefore, they were never going to be kind to me and those places never my constant home.
Then there are the people who tell me, when I get closer to being a superstar, "Be the best you that you can be." Or even worse, "Be happy." That is loser talk and I will tell you why. When someone tells you to be the best you that you can be in relation to success, these are people allergic to achievement and the thought of doing well scares them. They see you doing well, and they don't understand it. They don't want to see you do well. Rather, they want to see you settling with them in Loser Land. Same with the "be happy." They are saying yes to struggle and no to ambition and goal realization. A goal driven individual, especially a woman, scares people.
It's when they turn around and tell you, "You set the bar too high. That is why you are disappointed." No, I didn't set the bar too high. You set the bar too low and dropped the ball on yourself. Just because you dropped the ball on yourself doesn't mean that I have to do the same.
Do I regret my diva like conduct? Only when I get a sore throat. Do I regret not having MANgement? Only when babysitting those around me gets tiresome, but why put it into the hands of some moron who only cares about payment and not product? Do I regret quitting my job at the club that screwed me over? No, no, and no. That disappointment and rejection made me realize that I had settled in their system to be less than my best. When I left I grew a pair of colorful wings and flew for the sky.
I know I sound like a braggart as I talk about all the awesome things I do. But believe you me, if you don't settle life has good things in store for you. There was one story a friend who works with gay youth once told me. This kid was going to the twelve step meetings and living in a car and said, "Maybe God wants me in the car by the river where I live and to have no money." My friend said, "No, God wants you to get your ass out of that car, get some money, and have nice things." I think my friend was right. Whatever is up there wants me to be successful.
So I sit here with my little white fur. Some call me a bitch. Others a diva. I have my share of enemies because I don't settle. So this winter I will risk attack by red spray paint. But I will sashay, making the world my runway. With me will be the spirit of my friend Chacho. With me we will reach for the stars. We will be fashionable. We will do great things. We will not settle.
So what lipstick goes best with an impulse buy?
Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
877-Buy-Book
www.buybooksontheweb.com
Amazon.com
Come to my signing
12-27-12 @ 7
Bethel Park Library
5100 W. Library Ave
Bethel Park, PA
15102
Around this time two years ago I lost Chacho, a friend who was a spirit kindred to mine. While he had been a street hustler who wore designer labels and could never stay sober and obeyed only the laws he liked, he was a straight shooter which made me respect him. One thing about Chacho was that my primary job as his friend was to make sure people didn't strangle him. The Chach and I were talking once about people who wore fake labels in public and walked around as if they were real. Chacho, who at the time was homeless despite his Gucci said, "Shame on them for settling for fake labels. I would never wear that."
Sure, maybe the boy didn't have a house, could never say no to drugs, and didn't like the law but he was going to leave a pretty corpse. We all have goals I suppose.
When Chacho died, I began to think of all the things he wanted for me, and how proud he had been of my career achievements when he was alive. At the time I was being worked to death as an open mic host. I had made the club a lot of money and put them on national television countless times. I expected a reward, I expected to be treated fairly. Instead, they fired me from my own mic and rehired me at the sister club. In order to preserve an abusive relationship, but one that had to potential for growth, I made my demands as long as I was going to stay. None of them were filled. I was at the end of my rope. All I did was work, earning these people money, and all they did was treat me like a second class citizen.
Afterwards, I was talking to my boss. He said to me, "You should stay and host. You are good at it and that is your job in the club."
"I put them on national television ten times and am more talented than the male headliners you bring in." I pointed out. "And you give me ten check spots and I have ripped the room up each time. Who do I have to blow to get ahead? I think that's how this shithole is run."
My then boss, who knew I was at the end of my rope said, "Sometimes, in this business we aim for the stars but we don't get them. Most people don't get the stars April, and you probably won't. Sometimes-most of the time-you have to settle. You just need to settle and use the mic as your venue."
My jaw dropped. I had just received more television time than any of the regulars in that hell pit ever would. I could also see and hear the spirit of my dead friend Chacho, the friend who had been incensed that he could not join me at Fashion Week because his black market plastic surgery had landed him with a blood clot. The friend who told me to stop dressing like I was broke and poor. The friend who wanted to be someone and tried his damnest by dressing in clothes he couldn't afford and getting plastic surgery from people who were shady. The friend who would demand I tell his family members and strangers about my television time. The friend who couldn't stop using drugs. The friend I had the falling out with and didn't get to say, "I love you but not what you are doing" before he died. The friend who was on the other side with me, watching over me, and now telling me to reach for the stars he never got, to walk the runway he could only dream of. If I was going to honor his memory it would be not to settle.
That evening when I got home I resigned from my post via email. I did so like a lady. I didnt tell the club owner to get fucked like I wanted to. This was a new era of my life. For so long I had settled with these slave drivers. I had done countless late night spots hoping to be promoted because of the good work I did. I had earned them lots of money. Got them lots of publicity. They were a second tier venue anyway, a place where dreams went to settle. Looking back, it felt like they were screwing me, but it was God getting me out of there and taking me somewhere better. It was my friend Chacho with me, letting me know that I was meant to do great things. It was the dreams we shared as we checked out hot guys at the local diner coming true. I was no longer crawling helplessly but walking upright.
Since that time I have not settled and have been damned if I do. Sometimes it has made me look like a bitch. But I am a career woman. Not settling and driving harder than ever has gotten me to places I never dreamed I would go. It has made me dress for success, strive for success, and see things most never dream of seeing.
I have also found out who my friends were and werent in this molting process. On one occasion I was out with an old friend who knew me in my early days of struggle and uncertainty. We were talking about the things that happened with me and the club that I had a falling out with. My friend, who I thought would side with me said, "You know, you have a bit of an ego sometimes. I see your facebook posts and they are a tad arrogant. When you post you aren't just April Brucker: Superstar Wannabe. You are April Brucker sister, daughter, cousin, and friend."
My mouth dropped open. Was this dude for real? Half of those posts were jokes. WOW! He knew me in real time well enough to know that I am hardly arrogant. My true friends know I am hardly arrogant. While I jokingly brag they jokingly bring me down to Earth and we enjoy a laugh. And then it hit me. This particular person had been friends with the person who wandered uncertainly through the desert. This particular person had been friends with the woman who settled. And everytime we hung out up to this point he had found subtle ways to tear me down. I had changed for the better, embracing life and following the path. He had stayed the same, settling at the bottom like all things that settle.
As I walk my path to greatness, sometimes I can be what is perceived to be a bitch. Some of it is because I am a hardworking woman who is determined, and I do not have the shield known as an agent or MANager. Like Charlie Chaplin, I am my own writer, director, performer, and producer. Does it make me tired? Sometimes, but if I want something done right I do it myself. Not everyone likes me. Read my Gawker article. I have a list of enemies miles long. But here is the thing, when I do a show I am not there to be liked by my fellow performers. When I do a play I am not there to be adored by my fellow actors. When I write I do not put the piece out there to be loved by other writers. I am a servant to the people. I will yell and scream until I am front and center and everything is done right on all ends. I will get paid well, and my audience will be happy. This is about them, not my ego. So if I am a bitch I am a bitch. I will wear the name tag in case people ask. It's on my birth certificate. I will proudly legally change my name if that is what I am viewed as.
Some say bitch. I say a business woman and performer who does not settle.
There is one club in Queens where they will never have me because I screamed at a booker who was trying to rip me off, and of course where the head of new talent regularly bad mouths me on gossip sites. There is another club on the East Side that will not have me because the owner and I got into it online because he casually uses the c word slang for women's private parts in casual conversation to refer to the opposite gender. There is a set of clubs where I am not welcome because of the falling out we had after I put them on television, never again. Those doors are closed like coffins. Looking back at it, it is better they did close. Those aren't the homes of top performers and superstars, those are the homes of people who settle. When I have been at those places in the past I have felt like a fish out of water. I was. I don't celebrate bottom feeding. Therefore, they were never going to be kind to me and those places never my constant home.
Then there are the people who tell me, when I get closer to being a superstar, "Be the best you that you can be." Or even worse, "Be happy." That is loser talk and I will tell you why. When someone tells you to be the best you that you can be in relation to success, these are people allergic to achievement and the thought of doing well scares them. They see you doing well, and they don't understand it. They don't want to see you do well. Rather, they want to see you settling with them in Loser Land. Same with the "be happy." They are saying yes to struggle and no to ambition and goal realization. A goal driven individual, especially a woman, scares people.
It's when they turn around and tell you, "You set the bar too high. That is why you are disappointed." No, I didn't set the bar too high. You set the bar too low and dropped the ball on yourself. Just because you dropped the ball on yourself doesn't mean that I have to do the same.
Do I regret my diva like conduct? Only when I get a sore throat. Do I regret not having MANgement? Only when babysitting those around me gets tiresome, but why put it into the hands of some moron who only cares about payment and not product? Do I regret quitting my job at the club that screwed me over? No, no, and no. That disappointment and rejection made me realize that I had settled in their system to be less than my best. When I left I grew a pair of colorful wings and flew for the sky.
I know I sound like a braggart as I talk about all the awesome things I do. But believe you me, if you don't settle life has good things in store for you. There was one story a friend who works with gay youth once told me. This kid was going to the twelve step meetings and living in a car and said, "Maybe God wants me in the car by the river where I live and to have no money." My friend said, "No, God wants you to get your ass out of that car, get some money, and have nice things." I think my friend was right. Whatever is up there wants me to be successful.
So I sit here with my little white fur. Some call me a bitch. Others a diva. I have my share of enemies because I don't settle. So this winter I will risk attack by red spray paint. But I will sashay, making the world my runway. With me will be the spirit of my friend Chacho. With me we will reach for the stars. We will be fashionable. We will do great things. We will not settle.
So what lipstick goes best with an impulse buy?
Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
877-Buy-Book
www.buybooksontheweb.com
Amazon.com
Come to my signing
12-27-12 @ 7
Bethel Park Library
5100 W. Library Ave
Bethel Park, PA
15102
December 11, 2012
What Are You Doing to Make Your Dreams Come True?
Right after I was on TLC I received a ton of fan mail, much of it from young people. Young people still write me quite a bit and traffic my blog. They tell me about their painting, writing, acting, singing, filmmaking and whatever creative endeavors they are taking up. Many, however, tell me that they are scared of following their passions because of failure and the struggle that goes with success that may never come. These are real fears. These were fears I had. These were fears my family had for me. But the truth is, if this is what you are meant to do you make it work.
When I was seventeen years old I auditioned for Carnegie Mellon University's Drama Program on a whim. But the woman auditioning me, a professor named Barbara Mackenzie-Wood said it best, "A lot of kids who audition for me want to get in here because they believe that this is the only path to becoming an actor. Whether or not they get in here, if a person wants to become an actor they will make it happen."
I didn't get in. Carnegie-Mellon is a stellar program though. I remember I wanted to be onstage and to write books. No one was going to stop me. While Barbara didn't pass me to the next level she was right. I was going to do this even if it was the last thing I ever did.
Instead I moved to New York after getting into NYU. I found myself to Lee Strasberg and standup comedy with my little puppet children. Of course through hard work and paying my bills delivering singograms to support me and my little puppet brood things are happening. Some say I am crazy, but crazy people change the world. Thomas Edison slept in his lab most nights and hardly ever bathed. An eccentric who sat on a chicken's egg as a child to see if it would hatch because he was so curious, he made his life by trial and error. Because of him we have a thing called a lightbulb. I do believe you use it.
What never ceases to amaze me though is how many artists in New York City talk about the things they want to do but never do them. Once a musician friend of mine said it best, "They all have such big plans...." And then let out a laugh. Translated, everyone has big plans until they realize the big plans require this thing called hard work.
I call that bar stool dreaming. Comedians are guilty of it especially in my experience. They talk about all the new jokes they are writing and all the new material they are working on. Of course some will talk about the pilot that they are filming and pitching. Others will casually mention that they are writing a book. Many will claim they submitted their writing to SNL and will soon be on. Others will claim connection to some big agent who is getting them big gigs but it is all top secret.
Top secret as in it is such a secret that they don't even know because it doesn't exist. And over time I have seen the new jokes are the variations of the same tired ass routine they have been doing for years. The pilot that they are filming and pitching, usually that is some youtube conglomeration of whatever that only hatches one episode and is never seen again. As for the book, they are still writing it five years later, and they submitted their writings to SNL too but Lorne Michaels somehow forgot to call them back. Translated, they are dreamers, not doers. Many youngins on the scene will ally themselves with these people damned to dream forever.
The barstool dreamers are not as bad as the shouldabeens. Shouldabeens are worse than hasbeens. a Hasbeen can at least say they had a career and retire gracefully and laugh about the good old days, at least sometimes. A shouldabeen shouldabeen a big star but through a laundry list of excuses it never happened. Now they are bitter. They are telling you when you speak to them at the bar about how this person on television and that person writing for this show is a joke thief and that woman on that show gave this booker the service in a public restroom because she's not funny. I have two questions, one, why are they telling you this? Two, how is this information helping you or your career? Answer, it is not.
The bottom feeders whether they be nobody comedians, low level bookers, or whatever love this and get caught up into this crap. It is easy to get caught up into this crap. I know I did, especially in my earlier twenties. I wanted to know why this person was getting this when I was funnier, prettier, and not to mention was more reliable. I perhaps missed my calling as an opera singer because life became a continual chorus of, "Me, me, me."
I sort of bottomed on the concept of "Me, me, me" when I was twenty four. I was going through a rough patch. After filming a pilot that didnt get picked up and filming a national television appearance that while it made me a cult legend in some circles closed some doors, I found my phone not ringing. A survival job I relied on dried up so I was flat broke. Not to mention two friends, while not close but on the edge of my circles, one personal and the other professional, died. One overdosed and the other was murdered. I couldn't seem to catch a break. So I found myself not focusing on how I could better my career. How I could write a new joke. How I could get ahead. I found myself head in the shit gossiping.
That June my brother Wendell got married. In the airport I picked up a book by Bill Gates, Sr. called Showing Up For Life. Basically the daddy of the dot com billionaire writes about what it took to raise three successful children. In the book he talked about the importance for showing up for your family and showing up for yourself. Also, Older Gates spoke of using your talents to help others. Gates shared a poignant tale about an outbreak of cholera in the Himalayas where infants were dying. Doctors brought my the missionaries had to do something in a pinch. They created a formula to give these children hydration. Today it is called pedialyte. Basically what I got out of the book was stop being so selfish, self-centered, and feeding into the negativity. These things can only cause one failure and missed opportunities.
I began to change my life and as a result my luck changed. I started viewing comedy as less about my anger and pain and more about being a traveling joy saleswoman, about picking people up when they were down. Treating my job as a means to make the world a better place by helping others smile.
I produced my own one woman shows and invited bookers.
I got up wherever people would let me, and when the gossiping started I left.
I stopped being afraid of letting other people be funny. In the words of an old friend Daryl Wright, "I want you to be funny because I know I'm funny. So if you are funny that means I have to get even funnier."
I stopped limiting myself only to standup. I started making these very low tech puppet videos I laugh about now. Somehow, I got all these people to make appearances on them who were well respected comedians or underground figures in gay nightclub culture.
I got on national television with my children and of course was fired by the club that I put on TV-but the thing is-looking back that was for the best. I got to work as a talking head, make music, and write a book that is now being turned into a musical.
My point is, the path always works out. You must trust it.
One thing I learned was, when things started to happen in my life the first people to knife me in the back were the bottom feeder gossip buddies I once had. Any chance they got to trash me on the internet they did. Not far behind were the barstool dreamers who were nice enough to trash me on facebook. It hurt because we used to get snarky about positive people together. Now it doesn't hurt though. If anything I am grateful that I am no longer friends with those people and they no longer invade my world. I also realized the people we gossiped about-the ones making it-were getting ahead because they had the better attitudes. It wasn't always because they were stealing jokes or doing sexual favors. Those were ugly rumors started by losers who needed an excuse to breathe.
My mother and I were talking this past weekend and I admitted there are better performers, writers, comedians, and puppeteers in the city. But the reason I have things happening and they don't is that I actually do it when they simply talk about doing it. Laura Bell-Bundy remarked that as a performer she never let grass grow under her feet. It paid off. Her peers are waiting tables, she made it to Broadway.
The cool thing is, they have been replaced by people who aren't just dreamers but doers. Like Sean Lynch who doesn't just dream of a puppet video but puts it in an international film festival, and when he wants stage time he goes so far as to build the stage.
Derek Scott Graves who doesn't just dream of throwing the party of the century on a red carpet but throws the party himself, red carpet and all, even inviting Peace Man Sir Ivan.
Marcus Yi who writes music and performs original music.
Lest we not forget Libby Jay in Canada, and the list goes on.
A few weeks ago, before Sandy, I was at a party and two women were kvetching about how the acting industry only favors the cool kids and how they werent a cool kid. In the past I would have joined the pity party. Instead, I asked them what they were doing for their careers and how they were planning to change their circumstances. They looked at me as if I just told them the tax man were there. When I got that response I knew it was time to head to the bar and make some new friends.
So my response to anyone who writes me telling me about how they want to be an artist is, what are you doing to make it happen? Any comedian who complains about not getting what they want, what are you doing to improve your act? Any actor who complains of not working, what are you doing to change that? Any writer who wants to publish, what are you doing to get to the next step?
Bottom line, what are YOU doing to make your dreams come true?
Love,
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
www.buybooksontheweb.com
877-Buy-Book
Amazon.com
Come to my book signing
December 27, 2012 @ 7pm
Bethel Park Library
5100 W. Library Ave
Bethel Park, PA
15102
When I was seventeen years old I auditioned for Carnegie Mellon University's Drama Program on a whim. But the woman auditioning me, a professor named Barbara Mackenzie-Wood said it best, "A lot of kids who audition for me want to get in here because they believe that this is the only path to becoming an actor. Whether or not they get in here, if a person wants to become an actor they will make it happen."
I didn't get in. Carnegie-Mellon is a stellar program though. I remember I wanted to be onstage and to write books. No one was going to stop me. While Barbara didn't pass me to the next level she was right. I was going to do this even if it was the last thing I ever did.
Instead I moved to New York after getting into NYU. I found myself to Lee Strasberg and standup comedy with my little puppet children. Of course through hard work and paying my bills delivering singograms to support me and my little puppet brood things are happening. Some say I am crazy, but crazy people change the world. Thomas Edison slept in his lab most nights and hardly ever bathed. An eccentric who sat on a chicken's egg as a child to see if it would hatch because he was so curious, he made his life by trial and error. Because of him we have a thing called a lightbulb. I do believe you use it.
What never ceases to amaze me though is how many artists in New York City talk about the things they want to do but never do them. Once a musician friend of mine said it best, "They all have such big plans...." And then let out a laugh. Translated, everyone has big plans until they realize the big plans require this thing called hard work.
I call that bar stool dreaming. Comedians are guilty of it especially in my experience. They talk about all the new jokes they are writing and all the new material they are working on. Of course some will talk about the pilot that they are filming and pitching. Others will casually mention that they are writing a book. Many will claim they submitted their writing to SNL and will soon be on. Others will claim connection to some big agent who is getting them big gigs but it is all top secret.
Top secret as in it is such a secret that they don't even know because it doesn't exist. And over time I have seen the new jokes are the variations of the same tired ass routine they have been doing for years. The pilot that they are filming and pitching, usually that is some youtube conglomeration of whatever that only hatches one episode and is never seen again. As for the book, they are still writing it five years later, and they submitted their writings to SNL too but Lorne Michaels somehow forgot to call them back. Translated, they are dreamers, not doers. Many youngins on the scene will ally themselves with these people damned to dream forever.
The barstool dreamers are not as bad as the shouldabeens. Shouldabeens are worse than hasbeens. a Hasbeen can at least say they had a career and retire gracefully and laugh about the good old days, at least sometimes. A shouldabeen shouldabeen a big star but through a laundry list of excuses it never happened. Now they are bitter. They are telling you when you speak to them at the bar about how this person on television and that person writing for this show is a joke thief and that woman on that show gave this booker the service in a public restroom because she's not funny. I have two questions, one, why are they telling you this? Two, how is this information helping you or your career? Answer, it is not.
The bottom feeders whether they be nobody comedians, low level bookers, or whatever love this and get caught up into this crap. It is easy to get caught up into this crap. I know I did, especially in my earlier twenties. I wanted to know why this person was getting this when I was funnier, prettier, and not to mention was more reliable. I perhaps missed my calling as an opera singer because life became a continual chorus of, "Me, me, me."
I sort of bottomed on the concept of "Me, me, me" when I was twenty four. I was going through a rough patch. After filming a pilot that didnt get picked up and filming a national television appearance that while it made me a cult legend in some circles closed some doors, I found my phone not ringing. A survival job I relied on dried up so I was flat broke. Not to mention two friends, while not close but on the edge of my circles, one personal and the other professional, died. One overdosed and the other was murdered. I couldn't seem to catch a break. So I found myself not focusing on how I could better my career. How I could write a new joke. How I could get ahead. I found myself head in the shit gossiping.
That June my brother Wendell got married. In the airport I picked up a book by Bill Gates, Sr. called Showing Up For Life. Basically the daddy of the dot com billionaire writes about what it took to raise three successful children. In the book he talked about the importance for showing up for your family and showing up for yourself. Also, Older Gates spoke of using your talents to help others. Gates shared a poignant tale about an outbreak of cholera in the Himalayas where infants were dying. Doctors brought my the missionaries had to do something in a pinch. They created a formula to give these children hydration. Today it is called pedialyte. Basically what I got out of the book was stop being so selfish, self-centered, and feeding into the negativity. These things can only cause one failure and missed opportunities.
I began to change my life and as a result my luck changed. I started viewing comedy as less about my anger and pain and more about being a traveling joy saleswoman, about picking people up when they were down. Treating my job as a means to make the world a better place by helping others smile.
I produced my own one woman shows and invited bookers.
I got up wherever people would let me, and when the gossiping started I left.
I stopped being afraid of letting other people be funny. In the words of an old friend Daryl Wright, "I want you to be funny because I know I'm funny. So if you are funny that means I have to get even funnier."
I stopped limiting myself only to standup. I started making these very low tech puppet videos I laugh about now. Somehow, I got all these people to make appearances on them who were well respected comedians or underground figures in gay nightclub culture.
I got on national television with my children and of course was fired by the club that I put on TV-but the thing is-looking back that was for the best. I got to work as a talking head, make music, and write a book that is now being turned into a musical.
My point is, the path always works out. You must trust it.
One thing I learned was, when things started to happen in my life the first people to knife me in the back were the bottom feeder gossip buddies I once had. Any chance they got to trash me on the internet they did. Not far behind were the barstool dreamers who were nice enough to trash me on facebook. It hurt because we used to get snarky about positive people together. Now it doesn't hurt though. If anything I am grateful that I am no longer friends with those people and they no longer invade my world. I also realized the people we gossiped about-the ones making it-were getting ahead because they had the better attitudes. It wasn't always because they were stealing jokes or doing sexual favors. Those were ugly rumors started by losers who needed an excuse to breathe.
My mother and I were talking this past weekend and I admitted there are better performers, writers, comedians, and puppeteers in the city. But the reason I have things happening and they don't is that I actually do it when they simply talk about doing it. Laura Bell-Bundy remarked that as a performer she never let grass grow under her feet. It paid off. Her peers are waiting tables, she made it to Broadway.
The cool thing is, they have been replaced by people who aren't just dreamers but doers. Like Sean Lynch who doesn't just dream of a puppet video but puts it in an international film festival, and when he wants stage time he goes so far as to build the stage.
Derek Scott Graves who doesn't just dream of throwing the party of the century on a red carpet but throws the party himself, red carpet and all, even inviting Peace Man Sir Ivan.
Marcus Yi who writes music and performs original music.
Lest we not forget Libby Jay in Canada, and the list goes on.
A few weeks ago, before Sandy, I was at a party and two women were kvetching about how the acting industry only favors the cool kids and how they werent a cool kid. In the past I would have joined the pity party. Instead, I asked them what they were doing for their careers and how they were planning to change their circumstances. They looked at me as if I just told them the tax man were there. When I got that response I knew it was time to head to the bar and make some new friends.
So my response to anyone who writes me telling me about how they want to be an artist is, what are you doing to make it happen? Any comedian who complains about not getting what they want, what are you doing to improve your act? Any actor who complains of not working, what are you doing to change that? Any writer who wants to publish, what are you doing to get to the next step?
Bottom line, what are YOU doing to make your dreams come true?
Love,
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
www.buybooksontheweb.com
877-Buy-Book
Amazon.com
Come to my book signing
December 27, 2012 @ 7pm
Bethel Park Library
5100 W. Library Ave
Bethel Park, PA
15102
December 10, 2012
Facebook Defriending, Twitter Defollowing and Other Random Shiteousness
Okay, here goes. Last night I was coming home and my boy David Otto sends me a friend request. Thought we were already friends. Then Libby Jay sends me a message that David and I somehow got disfriended and to friend him again. What the hell happened? We were friends. I never disfriend anyone. I let them do the dirty work. Screw that like a screw driver screws a freaking wall. For McSerious.
Sometimes facebook and twitter disfriends or defollows people at the McRandom. Okay, whatevski. It has happened before. We laugh about it. It's weird. It happened with me and my friend Joey a while back. We are friends again.
But what I don't understand is when people disfriend or defollow on purpose. One headliner I worked with in PA and I hit it off one weekend. We were friends and continued to connect on facebook until I posted some political things. For those that know me I tend to be a tad more liberal. Anyway, it was a joke about how the right wing pushes women to choose life and be on welfare but bitches about these women getting welfare. McMess logs on and in a six paragraph reply tells me that it isn't funny and that I should see a video of an abortion sometime. Well needless to say, I tried to smooth things over- we were friends, right? But he keeps on keeping on until one day he just disfriends me? WTF?!?!!? Dude, it is just facebook. You are taking this too personally.
Another time I posted some other joke about the right to choose and this chick who I knew but was never really all that nice to me decides to weigh in. She was a big old slut with a rich daddy that had a baby in high school. Well Mom took care of the kid so she could have a normal life. So she starts telling me about how I have no idea what it is like to choose and blah blah blah and tells me that she can no longer read my updates. Meanwhile her dad was going to kill baby daddy and I vouched for the douche. You would have thought she would have been a little more thankful. Well the Bristol Palin prodigy goes on twitter in a Republican laced, homophobic rant. That is, after she makes a video where it is a horror movie/softcore porn. Then she claims family values. More like the Carrie Prejean School of Family Values where being a "Christian" excuses any and all shiteous conduct. Maybe it's better we are not friends on facebook and were never friends in real life.
Then there was the popular cheerleader from my high school who was all rah rah when I did anything exciting with my career. Then one day I saw she just disfriended me. I was like, what did I do to her? We were friendly for the latter part of high school and then again in adulthood. My mom always called this chick a skank and claimed she slutted around. I told my mother she was crazy. My mom always claimed this girl was jealous of me. I told her she was crazy. Maybe my mom was right.
I dunno, I just think disfriending and defollowing is a lame high school girl trick. Fight it out like real men online.
Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
877-Buy-Book
www.buybooksontheweb.com
Amazon.com
Come to my signing
12-27-12 @ 7pm
Bethel Park Library
5100 w. library ave
bethel park, pa
15102
Sometimes facebook and twitter disfriends or defollows people at the McRandom. Okay, whatevski. It has happened before. We laugh about it. It's weird. It happened with me and my friend Joey a while back. We are friends again.
But what I don't understand is when people disfriend or defollow on purpose. One headliner I worked with in PA and I hit it off one weekend. We were friends and continued to connect on facebook until I posted some political things. For those that know me I tend to be a tad more liberal. Anyway, it was a joke about how the right wing pushes women to choose life and be on welfare but bitches about these women getting welfare. McMess logs on and in a six paragraph reply tells me that it isn't funny and that I should see a video of an abortion sometime. Well needless to say, I tried to smooth things over- we were friends, right? But he keeps on keeping on until one day he just disfriends me? WTF?!?!!? Dude, it is just facebook. You are taking this too personally.
Another time I posted some other joke about the right to choose and this chick who I knew but was never really all that nice to me decides to weigh in. She was a big old slut with a rich daddy that had a baby in high school. Well Mom took care of the kid so she could have a normal life. So she starts telling me about how I have no idea what it is like to choose and blah blah blah and tells me that she can no longer read my updates. Meanwhile her dad was going to kill baby daddy and I vouched for the douche. You would have thought she would have been a little more thankful. Well the Bristol Palin prodigy goes on twitter in a Republican laced, homophobic rant. That is, after she makes a video where it is a horror movie/softcore porn. Then she claims family values. More like the Carrie Prejean School of Family Values where being a "Christian" excuses any and all shiteous conduct. Maybe it's better we are not friends on facebook and were never friends in real life.
Then there was the popular cheerleader from my high school who was all rah rah when I did anything exciting with my career. Then one day I saw she just disfriended me. I was like, what did I do to her? We were friendly for the latter part of high school and then again in adulthood. My mom always called this chick a skank and claimed she slutted around. I told my mother she was crazy. My mom always claimed this girl was jealous of me. I told her she was crazy. Maybe my mom was right.
I dunno, I just think disfriending and defollowing is a lame high school girl trick. Fight it out like real men online.
Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
877-Buy-Book
www.buybooksontheweb.com
Amazon.com
Come to my signing
12-27-12 @ 7pm
Bethel Park Library
5100 w. library ave
bethel park, pa
15102
December 9, 2012
Dreaming With Me-The Importance of Family in Life and Career
This past weekend was Heisman weekend. When you think of the Heisman Trophy Awards, you of course think of college football. For the fans, it is a chance to hope their favorite player brings home the coveted statue where the man according to Manti Te'o has a stiff throwing arm, but Collin Klein reminds us all that he has a good hold on the ball.
However, for these guys it is also the moment they have dreamed of since they have been little boys, throwing the football with a dad, grandfather, or uncle. They thought of standing on that stage all those times as they ran drills in the hot sun either risking or getting heat stroke. Hitting the gridiron, they chased the dream to college fighting tooth and nail for a place in the starting lineup. When they got it, they played their hearts out because they were one step closer to their dreams. But in this whole equation there is a part that some fans overlook but the players never forget, their families.
For many of these guys, football is a family affair. The Manning Clan, who was nominated in the past but did not win, football is life whether it is college or pro. Archie played both college and pro and now coaches. Peyton and Eli are both NFL quarterbacks. Cooper was a running back, the best of the three, but when injury ended his career he joined Archie on the sidelines coaching. The family doesn't stop there. They write children's books where each family member is a character, and it teaches kids the importance of team work.
This Heisman class was no exception. While Collin Klein did not come to football until high school because he was Christian home schooled, his father taught him the basics in his backyard. Now he plays for Kansas State. As he shattered Heisman winner Ricky Williams's school records, his brother Kyle was on the field as a running back not only ready to catch the ball but to give his brother moral support. His parents of course never miss a game and his wife is there with her beautiful blonde hair ready to cheer her man on the field and off. While they waited to their wedding day to kiss, something I don't think I would do, they seem happy. Sure, it might not be the way I do things but my way isn't the only way.
Manti Te'o had his Hawaiian flowers on and decor. His parents were there as well, and apparently his five siblings are very supportive. Much like the Tebow crew, when he is not playing football he is spreading the word of his LDS faith. While it is not the way the Brucker's spend their time perhaps he will reach someone when they are at a crisis point, when they need to hear a solution. While I might not be super religious myself, I realize it takes many ideas to make the world go round. Why not? One idea would make the place rather dull.
Of course the winner, Johnny Manziel aka Johnny Football the freshman brought both of his parents. During his speech, this well spoken young man thanked his teammates and of course his family. He cited a beautiful story about how his father taught him how to play football, and how he always wanted to play college football and win the Heisman since he was a little boy. He also recounted how his grandfather practiced throwing with him as well, and his grandmother wasn't such a fan sometimes because he broke everything in the house. Mr. and Mrs. Manziel were there to support the baby faced boy wonder, and Papa was crying his eyes out. While there is no crying in football, today was an exception. Today Johnny was getting the Heisman trophy, something he had worked for since the time he hit the field with his first set of football spikes and tasted the green and was mud covered after a tackle. It was a dream come true.
In all my years attending with my sister, who won the High School Heisman back in 2004, I don't think I have ever seen a winner not thank this family. Whether it was Matt Leinert thanking his dad for getting him into football when he was a chubby kid struggling with a cross eyes issues to raise his self-esteem. Or Reggie Bush the following year tearfully thanking his stepfather for not only assuming the father role when his real dad abandoned the family, but also being his supporter and coach (and unscrupulous agent, but that is another blog). Troy Smith was much the same, as was Mark Ingram, Tim Tebow, Sam Bradford, Cam Newton (who's pop helped a lil too much as well, but again, that's another blog), and Robert Griffin III.
That teaches you something, as you dream your family dreams with you.
Take my family for instance. Yes, they drive me crazy. When my family came in for the Heisman this year we were seeing Spiderman: Turn off the Dark. I had gotten the tickets the week of Sandy, and my mother had driven me crazy. Then I made reservations one place and my family drove me crazy by switching the eating time and shifting the reservations. Then we were worried that my dad might not like Argentinian food so we had to switch to Italian, And then we were worried my dad wouldn't like the Italian place because it had no table cloth. Of course my sister injured her ACL a while ago and the walking in the city is always a question, plus my mom might or might nor like my new hair and ahhhh!!!!
However, my father did end up liking the Italian place and got over the fact it had no table cloth. Spiderman was spectacular. My family enjoyed the night. I wanted to ask them if they knew that they drove me insane. Then the answer would probably be yes. Maybe they just did it because it was Thursday evening and they had no other plans. Either way, the night came off without a hitch which meant I would not be dying of a heart attack at twenty-eight. But one thing is for certain, when I perform on the road my family material always kills because my family doesn't just make me crazy. Everyone's family makes them crazy.
As we sat in the theatre ready for show time my father and I had a moment. When I wanted to come to New York to pursue my dreams my dad was the toughest sell. He didn't want me living in a city where the movie Escape from New York was set in. Plus a life as an artist is a path uncertain, wrought with unemployment as well as poverty, and where one could be damned to toil in obscurity despite a fortune spent on education and training. However, overtime my dad saw I wasn't going to give up and that I was soldiering on despite the odds. So I won his eventual respect and now undying support. He even tells my mother on several occasions how proud he is of me, how I am working towards something big, and how he sees that I am getting it. Since the publication of my book this August, my dad has been pressing me to write a musical version telling me how much it will sell as a play. As we waited for the lights to go down and for Spiderman to start, my dad said, "Someday, your musical will be in this theatre."
As I sat in my seat and stared at the stage, I realized how all my hard work had gotten me to the point this was a reality. Just as the hard work of Johnny Manziel, Manti Te'o and Collin Klein got them to the point where they were in New York getting ready to possibly accept the Heisman and make history. While the dream sometimes seems impossible, to use another football analogy, you must keep your eye on the ball. I think this is why we use so many football analogies in American culture, because what holds true on the field holds true in life. Get on the ball, don't drop the ball, and keep your eyes on the goal.
As I watched Spiderman I saw in the program each of the actors thanked their families. And my mom and I concurred during the intermission that this was the highest point for many of the dancers and acrobats and some of the actors, they had worked their whole lives for this moment. Not only was the show magical, but it was magical to share that with them. Just as it is magical to share the Heisman experience with those young men in their families. Just like an artist, their journey involves a lot of guts, determination, beating the odds, praying to whatever is up there, and most importantly a family that understands that this is a have to, not a want to. They have to do this, and that there is no other way and no other back up plan. It is all or nothing in this journey, period. This was not a choice but a calling.
Perhaps the reason I identify with these young men and their families so much is that the Brucker's do work as a team. When I began performing in New York, my mom began printing down the pages of places that I played and collecting them in a little scrap book. During my time on television when my hometown radio stations were talking about me, my mother emailed me with what was being said in case I was interviewed in order to prepare me. After each television appearance, my mother had them put on DVD in case I was interviewed in the future for 20/20. When I wrote my book, my mother and I called each other daily, reading for an hour and making sure it said what we wanted it to before publication. Of course my sister had suggested the idea of self-publication and mentioned it was the new trend, taking time out of her busy research schedule to research who was best and why. Then of course the rest of my extended family has been fabulous with the purchase of my book. In between there, they show up when I am on the road sometimes to surprise me. Once, during a comedy festival in PA, my sister in law's brother appeared and surprised me with a hug. He was there to support me. Much like a quarterback, while my speed and smarts carry me on the streets as I travel alone, I have my running backs to throw to and the line to protect me. That occasion was a reminder.
Just like a coach, everytime we talk my dad asks, "How is the musical? What is our strategy for getting it to the next stage?"
This morning my mother voiced that I needed a new puppet and told me to get on it. My dad during our lunch at Sardi's spotted the place where my portrait would be once my show went to Broadway. He asked me which famous rockstar was going to write the music. I imagine Johnny Football's dad probably calls him with pointers after the game. Collin Klein and his brother probably discuss plays. Manti Te'o, well I imagine he gets some grief in Hawiian when his folks see he is not on the ball in more ways than one.
Maybe I am different than these young men who chase glory on the gridiron. We probably don't have the same religious or political views. Heck, they probably don't even like the music I do. But if we put that aside we would talk about family. I bet we could all agree that they make us crazy. Whether it is a mother who can't make a decision, a father who won't eat at a place without a table cloth, a sister who is clinical to a fault, or a brother who doesn't check his voicemail messages. We would laugh about them, but the truth is, we can only make fun of them. No one else can. If anyone else does, we are ready to tackle and get mud and grass on ourselves in more ways than one. They are a part of our family, a part of our team, and we have their backs.
In turn, they have our backs whether we play with them on the field or work with them off. Sure, they make us crazy. However, they are the ones pushing us to achieve our goals. Whether they driving us to sports lessons, writing camp, or play practice as children. Sometimes it is tolerating us as we practice our awards acceptance speeches in our bedroom mirror when we think no one is listening despite our obnoxious loudness. It is cheering us on and giving us support when we want to drop the ball because the challenge has become near impossible. It is going to every game, rain or shine, or watching every television appearance, reruns included. It is knowing that while you have the ball, they back your play no matter what.
It is knowing that when you dream, you don't dream alone. No matter how crazy they might be, they are there dreaming with you the entire time.
Love,
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
877-Buy-Book
www.buybooksontheweb.com
Available on Amazon
Come to my book signing
December 27 @ 7pm
Bethel Park Library
5100 W. Library Ave
Bethel Park, PA 15102
However, for these guys it is also the moment they have dreamed of since they have been little boys, throwing the football with a dad, grandfather, or uncle. They thought of standing on that stage all those times as they ran drills in the hot sun either risking or getting heat stroke. Hitting the gridiron, they chased the dream to college fighting tooth and nail for a place in the starting lineup. When they got it, they played their hearts out because they were one step closer to their dreams. But in this whole equation there is a part that some fans overlook but the players never forget, their families.
For many of these guys, football is a family affair. The Manning Clan, who was nominated in the past but did not win, football is life whether it is college or pro. Archie played both college and pro and now coaches. Peyton and Eli are both NFL quarterbacks. Cooper was a running back, the best of the three, but when injury ended his career he joined Archie on the sidelines coaching. The family doesn't stop there. They write children's books where each family member is a character, and it teaches kids the importance of team work.
This Heisman class was no exception. While Collin Klein did not come to football until high school because he was Christian home schooled, his father taught him the basics in his backyard. Now he plays for Kansas State. As he shattered Heisman winner Ricky Williams's school records, his brother Kyle was on the field as a running back not only ready to catch the ball but to give his brother moral support. His parents of course never miss a game and his wife is there with her beautiful blonde hair ready to cheer her man on the field and off. While they waited to their wedding day to kiss, something I don't think I would do, they seem happy. Sure, it might not be the way I do things but my way isn't the only way.
Manti Te'o had his Hawaiian flowers on and decor. His parents were there as well, and apparently his five siblings are very supportive. Much like the Tebow crew, when he is not playing football he is spreading the word of his LDS faith. While it is not the way the Brucker's spend their time perhaps he will reach someone when they are at a crisis point, when they need to hear a solution. While I might not be super religious myself, I realize it takes many ideas to make the world go round. Why not? One idea would make the place rather dull.
Of course the winner, Johnny Manziel aka Johnny Football the freshman brought both of his parents. During his speech, this well spoken young man thanked his teammates and of course his family. He cited a beautiful story about how his father taught him how to play football, and how he always wanted to play college football and win the Heisman since he was a little boy. He also recounted how his grandfather practiced throwing with him as well, and his grandmother wasn't such a fan sometimes because he broke everything in the house. Mr. and Mrs. Manziel were there to support the baby faced boy wonder, and Papa was crying his eyes out. While there is no crying in football, today was an exception. Today Johnny was getting the Heisman trophy, something he had worked for since the time he hit the field with his first set of football spikes and tasted the green and was mud covered after a tackle. It was a dream come true.
In all my years attending with my sister, who won the High School Heisman back in 2004, I don't think I have ever seen a winner not thank this family. Whether it was Matt Leinert thanking his dad for getting him into football when he was a chubby kid struggling with a cross eyes issues to raise his self-esteem. Or Reggie Bush the following year tearfully thanking his stepfather for not only assuming the father role when his real dad abandoned the family, but also being his supporter and coach (and unscrupulous agent, but that is another blog). Troy Smith was much the same, as was Mark Ingram, Tim Tebow, Sam Bradford, Cam Newton (who's pop helped a lil too much as well, but again, that's another blog), and Robert Griffin III.
That teaches you something, as you dream your family dreams with you.
Take my family for instance. Yes, they drive me crazy. When my family came in for the Heisman this year we were seeing Spiderman: Turn off the Dark. I had gotten the tickets the week of Sandy, and my mother had driven me crazy. Then I made reservations one place and my family drove me crazy by switching the eating time and shifting the reservations. Then we were worried that my dad might not like Argentinian food so we had to switch to Italian, And then we were worried my dad wouldn't like the Italian place because it had no table cloth. Of course my sister injured her ACL a while ago and the walking in the city is always a question, plus my mom might or might nor like my new hair and ahhhh!!!!
However, my father did end up liking the Italian place and got over the fact it had no table cloth. Spiderman was spectacular. My family enjoyed the night. I wanted to ask them if they knew that they drove me insane. Then the answer would probably be yes. Maybe they just did it because it was Thursday evening and they had no other plans. Either way, the night came off without a hitch which meant I would not be dying of a heart attack at twenty-eight. But one thing is for certain, when I perform on the road my family material always kills because my family doesn't just make me crazy. Everyone's family makes them crazy.
As we sat in the theatre ready for show time my father and I had a moment. When I wanted to come to New York to pursue my dreams my dad was the toughest sell. He didn't want me living in a city where the movie Escape from New York was set in. Plus a life as an artist is a path uncertain, wrought with unemployment as well as poverty, and where one could be damned to toil in obscurity despite a fortune spent on education and training. However, overtime my dad saw I wasn't going to give up and that I was soldiering on despite the odds. So I won his eventual respect and now undying support. He even tells my mother on several occasions how proud he is of me, how I am working towards something big, and how he sees that I am getting it. Since the publication of my book this August, my dad has been pressing me to write a musical version telling me how much it will sell as a play. As we waited for the lights to go down and for Spiderman to start, my dad said, "Someday, your musical will be in this theatre."
As I sat in my seat and stared at the stage, I realized how all my hard work had gotten me to the point this was a reality. Just as the hard work of Johnny Manziel, Manti Te'o and Collin Klein got them to the point where they were in New York getting ready to possibly accept the Heisman and make history. While the dream sometimes seems impossible, to use another football analogy, you must keep your eye on the ball. I think this is why we use so many football analogies in American culture, because what holds true on the field holds true in life. Get on the ball, don't drop the ball, and keep your eyes on the goal.
As I watched Spiderman I saw in the program each of the actors thanked their families. And my mom and I concurred during the intermission that this was the highest point for many of the dancers and acrobats and some of the actors, they had worked their whole lives for this moment. Not only was the show magical, but it was magical to share that with them. Just as it is magical to share the Heisman experience with those young men in their families. Just like an artist, their journey involves a lot of guts, determination, beating the odds, praying to whatever is up there, and most importantly a family that understands that this is a have to, not a want to. They have to do this, and that there is no other way and no other back up plan. It is all or nothing in this journey, period. This was not a choice but a calling.
Perhaps the reason I identify with these young men and their families so much is that the Brucker's do work as a team. When I began performing in New York, my mom began printing down the pages of places that I played and collecting them in a little scrap book. During my time on television when my hometown radio stations were talking about me, my mother emailed me with what was being said in case I was interviewed in order to prepare me. After each television appearance, my mother had them put on DVD in case I was interviewed in the future for 20/20. When I wrote my book, my mother and I called each other daily, reading for an hour and making sure it said what we wanted it to before publication. Of course my sister had suggested the idea of self-publication and mentioned it was the new trend, taking time out of her busy research schedule to research who was best and why. Then of course the rest of my extended family has been fabulous with the purchase of my book. In between there, they show up when I am on the road sometimes to surprise me. Once, during a comedy festival in PA, my sister in law's brother appeared and surprised me with a hug. He was there to support me. Much like a quarterback, while my speed and smarts carry me on the streets as I travel alone, I have my running backs to throw to and the line to protect me. That occasion was a reminder.
Just like a coach, everytime we talk my dad asks, "How is the musical? What is our strategy for getting it to the next stage?"
This morning my mother voiced that I needed a new puppet and told me to get on it. My dad during our lunch at Sardi's spotted the place where my portrait would be once my show went to Broadway. He asked me which famous rockstar was going to write the music. I imagine Johnny Football's dad probably calls him with pointers after the game. Collin Klein and his brother probably discuss plays. Manti Te'o, well I imagine he gets some grief in Hawiian when his folks see he is not on the ball in more ways than one.
Maybe I am different than these young men who chase glory on the gridiron. We probably don't have the same religious or political views. Heck, they probably don't even like the music I do. But if we put that aside we would talk about family. I bet we could all agree that they make us crazy. Whether it is a mother who can't make a decision, a father who won't eat at a place without a table cloth, a sister who is clinical to a fault, or a brother who doesn't check his voicemail messages. We would laugh about them, but the truth is, we can only make fun of them. No one else can. If anyone else does, we are ready to tackle and get mud and grass on ourselves in more ways than one. They are a part of our family, a part of our team, and we have their backs.
In turn, they have our backs whether we play with them on the field or work with them off. Sure, they make us crazy. However, they are the ones pushing us to achieve our goals. Whether they driving us to sports lessons, writing camp, or play practice as children. Sometimes it is tolerating us as we practice our awards acceptance speeches in our bedroom mirror when we think no one is listening despite our obnoxious loudness. It is cheering us on and giving us support when we want to drop the ball because the challenge has become near impossible. It is going to every game, rain or shine, or watching every television appearance, reruns included. It is knowing that while you have the ball, they back your play no matter what.
It is knowing that when you dream, you don't dream alone. No matter how crazy they might be, they are there dreaming with you the entire time.
Love,
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
877-Buy-Book
www.buybooksontheweb.com
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Come to my book signing
December 27 @ 7pm
Bethel Park Library
5100 W. Library Ave
Bethel Park, PA 15102
