Nate Robinson could be sidelined for two weeks after spraining his right ankle. Luckily, the Knicks will still be able to lose without him. Robinson should be able to heal from the bench, since he'll rarely have to standup and cheer.
 

I remember as a kid I would hear the thumping of the shoes in the morning and the close of the door. It was six o’clock in the morning in our quiet suburban hood. We were getting ready for school and a warrior was getting ready to go to the boxing ring. Like Rocky he was ready to fight the enemy, but unlike Rocky the arena was not a boxing ring but in the world of corporate law…..and he had all of his brain cells. His name was Dad.

Yes Dad. At the end of the day we would scramble to tell him the tales of our conquests in school whether it was a fitness award, an academic award, or an A on a math test. However if we were in trouble we hoped to God our mother would catch us. Whenever we got caught red handed we would act like the crook who had been Mirandized and thrown in a jail cell pleading, “Please don’t tell Dad.”

My parents had a great way of playing good cop bad cop. After we had been accused we would be dragged into the living room which would be turned into the interrogation booth. Much like an episode of Homicide Life on the Street we would go in acting all hard and tough denying our sin whether it was not doing the dishes, breaking something, or lying about a missing report card. My mother would play good cop telling us if we told the truth it wouldn’t be so bad. My dad on the other hand was the bad cop informing us, “I know you are lying. I can tell by your eyes. I do this all day you know.” Finally we would break. We would break hard. There would be dramatics. There would be crying. It was like, “Yes Asi, we did it. We lied. But we did not act alone.” And then we would proceed to name names. Then the accomplices would be called in, which in my case was usually my sister. And then the punishment would be dealt accordingly. Sometimes we would be denied television or telephone. But the worst was the stick.

I remember one of my most famous meetings with the stick. I was eight and was a bit of a brat, surprise. I was refusing to listen to my elderly babysitter, gave her a hard time about doing my spelling words, and was downright ornery. To boot I had learned “yinz” “warsh” and “red off the table”, popular slag in my hometown of Pittsburgh, we not real words. My babysitter of course barely had a high school education and I proceeded to correct her. From there I decided to impress everyone with my new vocabulary which included some interesting four letter words. The last straw came after a family day out when I informed my family dinner filled me so much I had to take a dump. Needless to say I met the stick and got my ass beaten. After that day I never disrespected anyone with little education ever again. And I still watch my language in front of my dad. Sure, it may not have pleased Dr. Spock but I know right from wrong and that is more than I can say for a lot of people.

As a kid my Dad was a real history nut. Whenever we would go downstairs Big Battles would be on. The Americans would be storming Normandy Beach yet again. However my favorite were my Dad’s renditions of the Civil War. He read every book pertaining to the time period there was. And the way he would talk about it was brilliant. My Dad forgot more history than anyone ever knew. I remember we were all talking once and my dad informed me that Jefferson Davis attempted to escape from the Yankee soldiers wearing his wife’s dress. I remember being twelve at the time and asked my Dad if his wife ever got her dress back. To which my dad replied, “I don’t know. We could ask him but he’s not here.” To this day I still love history and documentaries. I suppose I have my dad to thank for that one.

Another thing my dad was invested in was our educations. On occasion he even tutored us which was a trip in itself. I remember I had trouble reading and we started reading the paper together which I still read to this day. One thing about my dad though was he knew the value of hard work. As a kid he had a paper route and saved the money. The money put him through college. My Dad was the first in his family to go to a four year college and then he went on to earn an MBA and a law degree. Mind you my grandpa, despite being a master machinist in the mills of Pittsburgh, did not graduate high school. My dad actually worked one summer with my grandpa in the mill. It was the summer Premier Kruschev came to town. Kruschev apparently gave his Timex to this character my dad worked with, a man who was half black half Cherokee. The guy of course being nuts pawned it for forty dollars. Whenever I hear the story it still makes me laugh, but it also makes me realize how lucky I am to have a dad who was invested in making me get an education.

Just as education was big with my family so was fitness. As kids we would all go on family runs. My mother had been a swimming star and had been a captain of her college team while my dad had been a track star. On their second date my dad showed my mom how to do a track relay for her high school gym class and she fell in love with the sport. So we ran as a family. My brother would be forced to run up to the track with my dad, and was usually ragged on for being his less than enthused partner. My sister and I would ride up with our mother and as a family we would all complete a three mile run. We would run rain or snow, my dad didn’t care. One time when my sister was little and it was snowing we made a bend around the track and she disappeared in a snow drift. We went to find her and fished her out. Ironically she would become the star runner of the brood. The crazy thing is, for as much as I hated it as a kid I run every day now. Guess there is no shaking somethings.

My Dad was big into commitments when I was a kid. We would rise every Sunday at seven thirty in the morning for mass….I yawn just thinking about it. My Dad was an usher. He wasn’t just any usher, he was the one to get things going. Until he came to church mass couldn’t start. It was like a Broadway play. My Dad was in charge of deciding who took what aisle for collection and what aisle for communion. He was always catching some old person who fainted as they tended to do, because after all mass must go on. Then there was the taking up of the gifts. Not just anyone could do it, you had to be right for the part. It was something Fosse would have wept at the sight of. Mass was moving smoothly and my dad was the director. Finally there was the giving out of the bulletins at the end of mass. Occasionally my sister and I were drafted. What better touch than kids, right? To my dad’s credit I still go to church every Sunday and even sometimes serve as a reader.

Being from Pittsburgh I am a big football fan, and so is my dad. As a kid the high school game was one we would follow every Friday because my brother played defensive line. Saturday was college and Sunday and Monday, depending on the Monday, were Steeler football. Every Friday we all went to my brother’s games and were usually decked out in buttons in typical Western PA style. One time my dad won the fifty fifty raffle and the announcer requested for Bill Brucker to come to claim his prize. Of course my dad and my brother have the same name so they both looked up at the same time. Finally the announcer had to clarify it. That was just a typical Friday night for us.

But everyone on the booster staff, an organization where my parents were both quite active, appreciated my dad not only for his hard work but his honesty. One year my folks were drafted to do the program, which means selling ads and taking pictures of the kids. One of the football players, actually the quarterback, had taken a picture that was pretty bad. It was probably after a night of partying with the cheerleaders. Because the picture was God awful my parents were going to take it again. My mom called his mom and tried to be the diplomat. This mother was resisting because she too was a bit of a goofball, surprise surprise. That’s when my dad took the phone and informed her, “Maureen, frankly, your son looks like hell.” Needless to say the picture was retaken. My Dad once said it best, while it is best to be brutally honest you shouldn’t enjoy the brutality of the honesty. In essence tell the truth but don’t be nasty about it.

My dad was a football dad all the way, even when he went to see my musicals. One time we were there and he informed me he had met my musical director during half time. Then he also informed me that he had met the parents of some of the kids I was in the musical with at half time. I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was intermission. Then again despite being an actress and a comedian and knowing the terms and rules I don’t have the heart to correct him. He’s my dad.

When it came to life advice growing up my dad still has some gems I quote. One was when I went to him about a friend. I had to have been early in high school. It was actually a guy I dug. He was always getting into trouble and was risking being thrown out of school, the juvenile version of my current dream man. I remember saying to my dad, “But nobody understands him.” To which my dad replied, “That means he’s an asshole and everybody knows it.” Let me tell you my dad was right on.

For years I thought I got my love for performing and comedy from my mom who is a bubbly outgoing little woman. But now I think I got it from my dad. When he was in school he actually was a soloist for his church choir and apparently they made a record. He was so good the nuns used to nab him out of class to sing wedding a funeral masses. As a kid he used to sing some of the old Latin hymns for us in his deep base baritone voice. Ironically now, one of my survival jobs involves singing for a living. Who would have thunk it?

But my dad loved comedy and he loved standup. Growing up I learned to love the Marx Brothers and the Three Stooges, partly due to my dad and I enjoying them together. My dad was also a fan of early George Carlin and Dennis Miller. As a matter of fact my parents had met Dennis Miller before he made it big while he was still playing the Pittsburgh Funnybone and had a few drinks with him. In addition my dad was also a fan of Rodney Dangerfield and went so far as to read his autobiography. And then of course he also liked Norm Macdonald and his style of comedy. But nothing beats the biggest surprise of all….his love for Beavis and Butthead. I remember my dad saying to some of his corporate friends, “I don’t know what the big deal about this program is. Its so funny.” Of course my dad, brother, and I would be watching Cornholio and his latest exploits much to the chagrin of my mother and sister.

My dad could also tell a story when I was a kid. It was the wording and the voices, he did it all. He read joke books and still reads them, and when you come to the house he will even tell you a few. Of course these days he has taken it to the next level, he is even writing his own jokes. Whether or not he busts out the notebook at an open mic night has yet to be seen, but who knows, I may have a willing opener when I tour.

Bottom line is, parents do the best they can with what they have, and my dad didn’t do bad with us. My brother, sister, and I are all well educated, God fearing, tax paying, responsible citizens. I would have posted this later but I will be at the brother’s wedding this weekend. With that Happy Early Father’s Day. Love April

I work this promo job with all these characters. Most everyone is pretty cool though and I love my boss. But there are some people on the job that man…..One such duo is Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumbass. They are these two best friends that work and live and do everything else together and they are always saying and doing stupid things. I didn’t gel with them at the get go so instead of seeking conflict I didn’t work on their same corner. The second player (because Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumbass are one in the same)s tory is my promo partner who frequently talked about/texted her boyfriend on the job. Her big priorities in life are having men obsess over her, having trivial problems, her social life, wearing sunglasses so people cant see her doing a promo job, and last but certainly not least getting her drink on. I decided aside from being a little bit of a dipstick she wasn’t that bad. Well it all exploded yesterday.

Though I love my boss I hated the early morning hours we were forced to work, 6:45 am, not standup comedian friendly. So Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumbass arrive as always smiling with that empty headed look in their eyes like nothing is going on and are already singing and completing each others sentences. No, they are not homeless, just out of work actors. In some ways even more annoying. So Tweedle Dumb tells our boss she is going to snot on him. WTF!?!?!!? I have not heard that since I was seven years old. Me and another one of the black chicks exchange glances like we are not going to say. Well Tweedle Dumbass replies, “No I will spit on you.” To which Tweedle Dumb replies, “I will snot on you And they start a nonsense argument between themselves. I wanted to say something so mean but it was too early in the morning to be an asshole. Yet they were making it so easy.

Well we go on our perspective corners and it is slow as Soho usually is. There is not much traffic. So our boss gives us orders to move and that does happen in promo work so okay. Well there is only one seat in the car. I figured we would all just ride the subway, right? Wrong!

So my dipstick partner goes, “I am just going to say it. I call the car.” I was like whatever. Was it a little self centered and stupid, yes. But having known her for almost two weeks I kinda would expect nothing less. Nonetheless it was early in the morning so I really didn’t care. So my dipstick corner partner jumps in his car and Tweedle Dumb says, “Its only two stops.” And Tweedle Dumbass echoes her by saying, “Two stops.” And then my dipstick partner overhears this and says, “Are they talking about me? What did they say?” I told her not to worry about it. Today was the last day of the promo and plus I have my own problems. And they really didn’t say anything. So this dipstick keeps nagging me and that’s when I go on the train, whatever.

When we get off the train I wanna bang this thing out and get my break and finish the promo. Despite the fact they are paying a large portion of my rent I am so over the promo itself since the weather has sucked. So this dipstick and I go to our corner. And then she keeps nagging me again and again and again and wont let up. I keep telling her it doesn’t matter what they said. Its our last day working with those two and who cares if there is bad blood? After this we never have to see them. And we didn’t even have to work with them directly. I didn’t like them but I was still able to be civil.

Finally after fifteen minutes of this dipstick nagging me I break down. I can no longer take it. That’s when I tell her about the simple exchange and then she says, “I have to clear the air with them.” And being the sane one I tell her after today it wont matter and who cares? Just do your damn job. Well she marches over to Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumb ass and they start to have it out. First grade insults are flying around. I believe someone was called a meanie and someone else was called a poop head. I kid you not. As I am walking past them Tweedle Dumbass says, “Well we hear you talking about us. Its going around.” Meanwhile one of the black chicks is trying to interject to add some sense of this dumb white dramatic mess. She says, “Its too early in the morning for this. This is the last day of the promo. Not now.”

That’s when I decide to be the adult and get involved because hell, the dipstick already dragged me in. So I turn to Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumbass and say, “Not only don’t we talk about you, but we really don’t give a fuck about what you do.” And this leaves Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumbass speechless. It’s a concept that blows the one brain cell each of them has. So then after the dipstick walks away I asked her what the hell happened. She says, “I don’t want to talk about it.” I look at her like okay. Then I tell her “We are talking about this because you dragged me into it.” That’s when she turns away from me and starts pouting. WTF?!?! This is something I would expect from my younger cousins and even they are much better behaved. That’s when I tell her to piss off and go to her own corner.

I end up working the corner with the other black chick who got the rep as the crazy one in the whole team. But as the promo ended I realized she wasn’t so bad. She did her own thing, her own work, and she didn’t resort to seven year old behavior. I told her about the mad dramaz that went down and she laughed. She agreed the dipstick asked for it by getting in the car, people were going to say something. And of course perhaps it was for our boss to say something but the whole thing went down so fast and bam….she was in the damn car. The whole thing had me frustrated that I wanted to punch dipstick in the face and knock the heads of Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumbass together. But as I said it was the last day of the promo and my boss was mad cool. I will miss him and the two black chicks as well as the little Indian girl. But not Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumbass and the dipstick. Perhaps they should road trip and commit a bunch of bank robberies. That way they would certainly be world’s dumbest criminals and I would make a few bucks because they are as dumb as they come. Gosh, thank God for brain power. Love April

This past summer I was deeply, madly in love with a lawyer and we had even talked about a future together. He was into things like the opera and history and is perhaps one of the most intelligent guys I have ever been with. We were fixed up by a friend of mine and like him this friend was a lawyer. My ex was all about his friends and breaking his neck for these shallow people who could have given two shits about him. And one day this particular friend that fixed us up and his fiancé came over to my ex’s house for a double date. It would be the night from hell.

For starters this (former) friend and his fiancé came late. Why? Well they had just purchased a condo in a co-op in Forrest Hills and had to meet with the board. But that wasn’t what took so long. They were both on a special wedding diet and brought their own food. Yes, that’s why we couldn’t go out to eat and have fun and they made a big deal out of the fact that they both had to lose this weight for the wedding that was a year away. That was only the beginning. The guys worked together so they started talking about clients and people they worked with that neither me nor the fiancé cared about. It wasn’t like I was even there. So it left me alone with the fiancé who wouldn’t stop talking. I am not kidding. This woman would not take a breath. As we were walking down the street she told me when her wedding was going to be and showed me her ring. Whatever. But then she proceeded to tell me once her man became a partner in his father’s firm how much money he was going to make, how much money her wedding dress was, how much money her father made, and how much he was spending on the wedding. To boot she told me how much her ring was. I felt as if I was going to puke but I kept my poker face on. After all, these were my then boyfriend’s friends.

It got even worse. Cause everytime I even got to even say two words she would cut me off and tell me where her man was taking her on her honeymoon. There was no give or take. It was her just taking. I love to talk but at the same time I love a conversation where there is give and take. When I did get a chance to speak I started saying things for the hell of it. I would tell her that I didn’t believe in marriage and then she would say, “You believe in other people’s right?” And then before I could even answer told me about how horrible her cousins wedding was because of the dresses. Ergo her cousin didn’t have a lot of money like her to spend. I know this because she told me. As we are eating and my ex and my friend are talking they are paying no attention to the fact that I am choking on my food because this girl is a mindless twat that wont shut up.

But then she really scored points on the bitch scale. From there she told me that her sister had been evicted from her job and fired but her sister invited her to dinner because she needed help moving. And that her sister couldn’t get a guy either and because of this she had no intention of going. YOU BITCH! Then she passed judgment on another relative of hers going through something and said he didn’t have his head on right. My mouth started to hang open. Then I excused myself to the restroom to keep from doing something that would get me thirty to life. It didn’t matter because she wouldn’t stop talking until I was ten feet away. It was unreal.

After that I got back to the table and this is really where I had to restrain myself. This particular couple bought a bottle of wine and as many of you know I am a retired drinker. Well my now former friend starts to take jabs at me for not drinking. And my then boyfriend being the total Alanonic people pleaser joins in and doesn’t stick up for me making me feel ultimately more crappy. He however reaches and holds my hand which makes me want to snap his neck. Of course they cut me and the fiancé off yet again and I am left to hear her babble about something inane. Now I know the only way not to commit a murder suicide is just to tune her out. Finally we decide to go outside. Oh to get some air.

When I got outside the two guys decide to screw the girls and just smoke cigars. Looking back that’s how I knew my ex was most likely gay, he was sucking on that thing a little too hard. So they can have some more quality time like they have been having all evening, they send me and this chick to Starbucks. I hate Starbucks and I hated going even more with her. So she starts talking again this time about how much money her last boyfriend made and how he made more but wasn’t as sweet as this one but that one day this guy would make more. Just then my phone rings. Oblivious I am talking to a friend in crisis she keeps talking. At this point I do want to kill her. Then she catches onto the fact I am talking on the phone and that my friend is on the edge (I was thinking that makes both of us) and asks if she can help. At that point I look at her and icily reply, “No.” I never used to understand how violent prisoners could make weapons out of the most mundane objects. Now not only did I understand, I wanted some instruction.

We got back up with the guys and they still proceeded to do their own thing as this girl went on and on about how she hated all of her friends weddings because they weren’t “nice enough.” If only they could see you now sweetheart. About a little after we had our Starbucks they left and as my ex was walking them out (I faked a stomach ache) I struck up a conversation with his evil roommate. Though she nauseated me, she could stop talking in order to breathe through her nose. Then again, so could Jeffrey Dahmer and he still would have made more intriguing dinner company. When my ex came back in he said, “They enjoyed your company tonight.” That’s when I screamed, “YEAH, ONLY BECAUSE I DIDN’T TALK AND THAT’S THE WAY YOU LIKE ME, YOUR PRISONER.” And from there I proceeded to rip that closeted homos head off.

In closing I remembered the story recently because I told it to a friend who went on a bad double date. You see, a bad double date might not just be a bad double date but a lot more. And this made me realize not only how fake my ex’s friends were but the so called relationship I was in wasn’t a relationship but an air tight coffin. My role was just to be an object in his fake world and that evening I played my role well. However, it wasn’t a role that I wanted to continue to play. This was a crowd of people who thought who I was cute for now but if we got married my standup dreams would have to go, how else would I be a lawyer’s wife and live in Forrest Hills? After all my role was going to be a mindless Barbie and I had to play it well.

A picture says a thousand words and in the pictures at his law school graduation his ex looked like she wanted to strangle him. At first I didn’t understand why but after two years of his shit she should have. I also heard how she kept him from his friends. With friends like the ones we double dated with, I support her one thousand percent. And seeing that he didn’t even stick up for me when they took jabs at me for not drinking, if they took a candid I would have choked him. As I started to see the relationship from her POV I knew it was the beginning of the end, it was just a question of when the funeral bell would ring. Lets face it, we are the company we keep. I can still read his ex fiance’s mind in that picture I saw of her before she made her big bolt and sprinted far away from this jack ass and his shallow friends because I was thinking the same thing, “RIP Relationship.” Love April

I went to a seminar on reality TV and we had to pitch reality TV shows. Here were some of mine.

BIGGEST IDIOT-Because reality TV feeds off of the idiot population NBC has gone to find the biggest idiots ever. These idiots will not be dared or anything but asked to be themselves. And every week America will vote an idiot off. The biggest idiot gets a winning lottery ticket so that way he can cash in on his white trash retirement plan.

LAST DRUG ADDICT STANDING-We all have seen Last Comic Standing where some of the worst stereotypes in standup take the stage. Well now its gonna get bigger and funnier except these people arent trying to be sterotypes, they are actually drug addicts. And as an alternative to their Theraputic Community or prison term they are participating on this show. Every week it is a contest to see how far they will go to get their drug of choice. And there are only so many drugs hidden in the house. America doesnt have to vote off these contestants. Instead they will go back to prison for killing another contestant, get complications from their Hep C or HIV, or even get arrested for another charge.And the last dude standing gets a free night with Robert Downey Jr and a life time supply of coke and heroin curtoisy the Columbian drug cartel

KICKING IT WITH THE KAROLYI'S-They gave us Nadia, Mary Lou, and Zmeskal. That's right, Bela and Marta Karolyi have been accused of being the most abusive coaches in the sport of gymnastics. However, they say they are misunderstood. Go into the gym every week with the Karolyi's as they berate the future champions of America. Fall in love with these little divas as they fall, get yelled at, and develop eating disorders and dependency on painkillers. See them cry as they near retirement at the age of eighteen. See the Karolyi's cure their broken limbs by making them work harder. It is a must see and an instant hit. Cause there is nothing like midgets dressed like hookers battling it out for the gold.