The Comedy Couch - Tanyalee Davis Interview

GUY MACPHERSON: You are Canadian?
TANYALEE DAVIS: Yes, I am.

GM: Where are you from?
TD: Born in Thompson, Manitoba; raised in Winnipeg.
Lived in Calgary for a little bit, then Vancouver
from, oh, '85 to '87. I miss Vancouver!

GM: Move back!
TD: I wish I... You know, if I could do what I do and
live there, I'd so be there. I miss it, and now that
my sister has a baby, it makes it even worse.

GM: She lives here?
TD: Yeah, my sister and her husband and kid live in
Langley and my mom lives in White Rock. It's more my
sister. Especially with the baby. I'm living
vicariously through her. He's so cute! He just turned
a year. I'd like to be up there to see him walk. He
changes so drastically. I saw him about three weeks
ago and now he's too big for me to grab onto. He's
running around and I can't keep up. He doesn't
recognize me so he's like, 'Get away from me!' When he
was a baby, I was his favourite. Now I feel rejected!
(laughs) 'Who's that strange, creepy little lady?'

GM: But you're still bigger than him.
TD: (laughs) Probably for another few months. He's
growing like a weed.

GM: You said if you could do what you do, but you
travel a lot, right? You play clubs all over.
TD: Yeah. Well, I work all over the world. It's just
the cost of travelling from Canada to wherever I
needed to go would be pretty severe. Given the nature
of my business, I'm not at the point where I can
demand a lot of air travel. Some clubs do give me
money for travelling. But living in Las Vegas, it's
such a major point I can fly in and out of Las Vegas
fairly cheap to almost anywhere because there are
package deals. So it's a good centre point.

GM: Where did you start your standup career?
TD: In Winnipeg, believe it or not. They had a Yuk
Yuk's there. In 1990 I was in university in Winnipeg
and I was doing a children's play. We were doing a
Christmas play. There were four of us in the
production. I played Perry the Penguin. It was my
first lead role because I walked like a penguin
anyway, naturally, because of my wobble.

GM: You were typecast.
TD: Yeah, believe it or not. Nobody else could capture
a role like that. I couldn't sing worth a damn but I
sqauwked out a pretty mean tune. The only other adult
in the play was a guy who I guess did comedy on the
side. So we started hanging out. I went and saw him,
and I had never actually been to a comedy club before.
But for some reason I knew that entertaining was what
I wanted to do. And so I went and saw him at Yuk Yuk's
and thought, 'I could do this!'

GM: He was that bad?
TD: Uh... yeah, pretty much. So I thought, 'Yeah, I
could do this,' and he said, 'Oh, really?' Well,
here's a comedy book. You better write some material.
You're going on January 23rd.

GM: And when was this?
TD: This was probably early December.

GM: So he gave you a month or two.
TD: Yeah. I think I was ragging on him going, 'Holy
crap!' I think I had things built up in my head
already. It's so weird. I don't even know how to
explain this because I had never actually been to a
comedy club and I was never one of those people that
studied comedians or anything like that. I didn't even
know who Lenny Bruce was or Bill Hicks until, like,
five or six years ago and I had already been doing
comedy forever. But I like to laugh I just knew I had
sort of an entertainer thing in my head. And also I
think when I was growing up and being teased a lot by
kids I was trying to think of funny things to say to
combat the negativity coming at me. And I thought,
'Someday this will come in handy.' And I didn't know
why. So when I started writing material... When you
get a comedy book it gives you ideas on how to come up
with material. Some of the things are, look at your
life, look at your past. And I was like, 'Hey! Here we
go!' So I tapped into some of the things like kids
teasing me. My rear end always seemed to grow faster
than the rest of my body. I've got a big ass. Now it's
a great thing but as a child it was rather torturous.
I'd be out on the playground and the boys would come
up and say, 'Tornado! Hold onto something heavy!' Then
they'd all grab my butt. When you're eight, six, five,
ten years old, that's awful. But as an adult, nowadays
I'm saying tornado. I don't know if it's funny now,
but it worked at the time. So those are the types of
things I started thinking about to generate material.
So I went up and did three minutes and it was a very
successful three minutes. And the club owner said, 'Do
you want to come back?' And I hadn't told anybody that
I was doing this. But Yuk Yuk's had called my house to
ask me if I needed any special arrangements. So they
blew my cover. And my mother was like, 'What do you
mean?! Why can't we come?' And I'm like, 'I don't want
you there! Argh!' But my mom and my sister and husband
were moving to Calgary in a couple of weeks that year
and I didn't want them there. But when I was invited
back there the next week, my mother decided to show up
with the neighbour and my aunt and a whole shitload of
people. And I got up there and I said my first joke
and heard some familiar laughter and it really through
off my timing and I think I stood up there for the
rest of the time going, 'Ah, ah, ah....'

GM: And they thought, 'What is she doing?'
TD: Yeah. They went, 'Good thing you're in university
because you suck.' And about three or four months
later I was in Calgary being paid to perform. I had
already established my act and they were like, 'Wow!'

GM: That was quick.
TD: Yeah, I think it was three months after I started
that I got my first paid gig. You know, probably like
a ten-minute spot, if that. There's not a lot of work
in Canada, but I just started taking off from there. I
started in 1990, then I graduated in '93 from U of W.
When I moved to Calgary, I moved back in with my
parents, which for any person that's lived on their
own, moving back home is a horrendous experience. I
didn't have the ability to get around. I didn't know
Calgary that well. So I took some time off [from
comedy]. I was trying to get a real job. Then I signed
up for UBC and said to my family, 'I'm gonna go...'. I
already had my degree in sociology with a major in
criminology. While I was in school at U of W, I worked
in a men's prison for three years counselling lifers,
murderers. I'm trying to tap into more of that
experience because people don't expect me to have been
to prison for three years. Stony Mountain
Penitentiary. So once I had that counselling
experience at the prison, I worked in Calgary
volunteering at a residential treatment centre right
near my mom's house working with kids that were
delinquent that were sort of in a prison setting and
trying to go legit, trying to get a real job. And it
was interesting but it was also extremely stressful.
You're working with kids that were trying to kill
themselves or kill you. So I'm really fascinated with
criminology and that sort of field and helping people,
but I'm just too emotional. I can't handle that. I
would always take work home. So I signed up for UBC
and told my family I was going to into social work,
which sounds really impressive. So I got the support
to move to Vancouver. Because at the time, and it
still is, Vancouver is more of an entertainment mecca
than any place other than Toronto, and I wanted to go
warmer rather than colder. So I moved to Vancouver and
I lived at UBC. But because I don't drive I had
restrictions getting around. I pretty much just got to
UBC and partied my ass off, had a great time and
decided that school's not my scene anymore.

GM: What year was this?
TD: This was in '95. So I pretty much dropped all my
classes and then moved off campus and got back into
the comedy. Because I had already established myself
but nobody knew who I was out there, I moved up the
chain fairly quickly and became a regular at Yuk Yuk's
and then was able to start travelling across country
doing the middle spot. And then met a girl in
Vancouver who was doing comedy, who happened to be a
prison guard out there as well.

GM: Who was that?
TD: Her name is Pam. So Pam and I became really good
friends and we went out all the time. She'd always
wanted to move to L.A. She wanted to be a comic and a
sitcom writer. She's got such a knack for writing. So
her and I sort of gave each other strength to move to
Los Angeles, because the Vancouver scene wasn't really
happening for us. I did a couple things: I did music
videos, I was on The X-Files, basically a glorified
extra. That was great, but in the scene it still
wasn't as far as I wanted to go.

GM: How did you get a visa?
TD: My dad was a resident American. His second wife
was American. So my dad had his green card so he
applied for my sister and I. So the paperwork was in
the process. So I thought, I'm going to go down
illegal now and just wait it out down there and see
what I can accomplish. Because I knew I wasn't going
to be able to get work fast anyway. So Pam and I just
decided to take the shot. One night we packed up
everything she owned because she was sort of in a
house, and I just brought a bunch of suitcases because
I travel with a little scooter that I ride - a
3-wheeler - and packed it all up. We had her microwave
on the front seat, her cat's on the floor. And we're
at the border at the Langley truck stop at midnight so
it doesn't look suspicious. But back then the guys
barely looked at you... We just said we were going
camping. How many people go camping with a microwave
and a cat? So we headed down. We drove basically
straight through. We stopped at Portland and in
northern California. I think we got there Saturday. We
left at midnight on a Thursday night/Friday morning
and got there at six o'clock on Saturday. I had never
been to L.A. This was the first time I had ever moved
someplace I had never actually been to. It was
overwhelming. We didn't know where to stay. Pam had
been there before but she's way too honest, so every
hotel we went to she said we had a cat so we kept
getting turned down from any decent, normal hotel. We
ended up at the Sunset 8 Motel on Sunset Boulevard,
which sounds glamourous but is basically one of those
places that rent by the hour and you turn on the
lights and the cockroaches scatter. You don't want to
walk around in bare feet. So we had to get really
drunk that night because I wasn't going to spend that
night sober in that room (laughs). Our first night in
town was a bit of a party but it was a horrible place
to stay and there was a lot of really bad things going
on at the hotel. I opted to pay for the hotel for the
next couple of nights until we found a place to live,
a bit nicer establishment. We found an apartment and
moved in together, but I hadn't really fully committed
to moving to L.A. because I was still travelling. I
was doing gigs and I went back on tour. But then I
missed L.A. because I had that buzz. Actually, my
first week, which I think of as a sign, within the
first couple of days I moved to L.A. I was at the Walk
of Fame right in Hollywood. So they've got the stars
and in front of the Mann's Chinese Theater they've got
the hand prints and the foot prints. And there I was,
my first time, going 'this is so neat!'. And I'm
sitting on my scooter looking down and there, all of a
sudden, someone goes, 'Hey! I know you!' And I look up
thinking there's going to be Julia Roberts standing
near me, and this woman's staring at me. She was
yelling at me. And I was like, 'What?' She had
actually seen me do comedy I think somewhere up in
Canada. She just happened to be on vacation and here I
was. And here I am on the Hollywood Walk of Fame and I
get recognized. And I thought, 'Oh, my God, this is
soooo cool!' So I was like, 'Yay, this is a sign!'

GM: And it happens more often, I bet.
TD: I actually get recognized quite a bit. I don't
really know how to take it. People get really crazy
when they recognize you. Because I haven't done any,
you know, really amazing awesome things... I mean, I'm
very proud of my career and I've been on TV at least
once or twice a year so far, and not many comedians
can say that. I think I'm always moving a step ahead.
And now getting recognized across the country and even
getting recognized now overseas because I've done
quite a bit of TV in the U.K. So there I am in this
foreign country getting recognized. It's pretty cool.

GM: When did you leave all the other jobs behind and
concentrate on comedy?
TD: When I moved to Vancouver I wasn't working at all.
I was basically on social assistance. And I started
doing comedy and I was making just a little bit of
money here and there doing comedy. So my rent was paid
and I had a little bit extra. I didn't have any jobs
up in Vancouver and then when I moved to L.A. I did
get hired on at some comedy clubs but I was pretty
much living off my savings. But then I got a job as a
leprechaun at an Irish bar. Pam and I, when we moved
to L.A. of course we didn't know anybody so we started
hanging out at this bar called Dublin's on the Sunset
Strip. It was not like a pub; it was more of a
nightclub without a dance floor, but it just had a
real good feel. So her and I would just go and hang
out and play that trivia game that they have in bars.
So we'd eat peanuts and drink and we made friends with
the bartender. We were there all the time because we
didn't know anybody. That was sort of our way to pass
the time. And one night Skip the bartender said to us,
'You know, they're hiring a little person to be a
leprechaun here.' And I was like, 'Excuse me?! I'm
here all the time anyway.' And I said, 'Who do I need
to talk to?' And so one of the managers came over and
I said, 'Listen, you better not be hiring any other
little people because I'm here anyway.' So they said,
'Well, come in tomorrow.' So I talked with one of the
girls and she said, 'Okay, well we gotta get you a
costume made.' So they paid for me to get a costume
made. So Thursday, Friday, Saturday I would come in
for one hour. They paid me, I think, fifty bucks cash.
And I would stand on the bar with a bottle of, like,
Midori Sour in my hand and I would yell, 'Who wants
shots?!' And I'd just get to scream at people and be
beligerent for an hour. And I worked on tips. So I
would give out free shots. I would free pour them into
people's mouths. I'd be up on top of the bar so they'd
just tip their heads back and I'd shove it in there
and they'd be like, 'How much?' and I'd say I work on
tips. So I'd just have money pouring out of me. So I
made at least a hundred bucks a night three nights a
week. So that was sort of how I got my money the first
year that I lived there. At that point I couldn't
tour. I think we were there about six or seven months
and I became a regular at the Comedy Store, which I
thought was pretty impressive. There I am working at
the comedy club and back in its day the Comedy Store
was the place. That's where everybody - Letterman,
Leno, Robin Williams - they all started at the Comedy
Store. And I became a regular. I got passed pretty
quickly. And for Mitzi Shore, Pauly Shore's mom, to
pass you, it's hard to get passed. Anyway, I got
passed fairly quickly. So I got regular spots there.
Unfortunately the Comedy Store pays you fifteen
dollars a set, so it's not like you can live on this
money. And unfortunately the Comedy Store is not like
it was back in the day. They have the Laugh Factory
and the Improv. They're more cliquey kind of comedy
clubs. But I soon became fairly frequent... I got
passed as a regular in 2000 at the Laugh Factory and
at the Improv I was starting to get regular spots
there, too, before I left. So it's a long process; you
just have to beat down the doors. It's just very hard
to get stage time in Los Angeles. ... I've now been
back full-time - and I had to pretty much start back
at open mic level when I moved to L.A. because nobody
knew who I was, but because I had already established
at least a 20-minute set by that point, I moved up
very quickly. Because I was pretty professional by
then. And I got in with other comedy bookers around
the country and I had my work permit. So basically I
moved up the chain fairly quickly and I was able to
start travelling and working across the country doing
gigs. So that helped. I went from open-mic'er to
headliner. Now it's been six years full-time without a
break.

GM: Canadian comics have that advantage. They can
develop up here then go down there and they have to
start again but they're already somewhat developed.
TD: Right. I think that's a huge plus. The one great
thing about Canada is you have the ability to get an
act [where] you have to travel at such great
distances. Going from Saskatoon to northern Manitoba.
These one-night gigs really put hair on your chest.
You really get your road-dog mentality up there doing
these hell gigs, but it really strengthens you up as a
comedian. That's why I think a lot of Canadian comics
are so successful. And I think Canadians are little
bit tougher audiences, I think. I mean, I came down
and I was like, 'Holy cow! You guys.... Like, this is
just so easy!' I don't know what it is.

GM: You've been at it 15 years. How has your material
evolved over that time?
TD: When I first started, I mean, you talk about what
you know. You talk about your life. And I still talk
about my life. My size is a major focal point. It used
to be kind of hokey,
'my face is in your ass' kind of jokes. Just stupid,
crappy stuff. But I realized - and this transition
happened I think before I moved - that the best jokes
that I had were... Okay, I stand on a chair because
I'm 3-foot-6. So I stand on a chair to make me taller,
obviously. Most stages are fairly low. I'm limited to
the space on that chair. Well, when I acted out my
bits and made myself as big as humanly possible and
over-exaggerated my gestures and facial expressions,
it took some really kind of mediocre bits and just
skyrocketed them to really funny stuff. Because it was
the visual aspect of me that really captured the
essence of the joke. And I started trying to talk more
about me, Tanyalee, and my life as opposed to just
generic-y little person, short person stuff. And a
good majority of my act is about my life and me, and
maybe it's from a little person's perspective but I
don't feel it's hokey midget shit anymore. Like it's
just not generic. It's really relevant to me and
situations I've gotten into. And I really exaggerate
with my gestures. And I think people find my body,
just because I'm different from the norm, interesting
to watch. And the way I do things is not the way you
do things. So just the simplest things - me reaching
up for a doorknob or whatever - the visual aspect of
it really takes the joke over the top. And that was
like 'wow!' when I realized that.. The difference in
the response was like, 'Hey, I'm on to something
here.' It was really empowering.

GM: And are there universal themes that we've all been
through?
TD: Yeah. Well, being a female, you talk about females
but I try not to go too much into that because then
when you're on a female comedy show there's way a lot
of overlap. But I'm not one of those topical
comedians. Politics I completely stay away from. And
religion. Those types of things are of no interest to
me whatsoever. But I take situations that everybody
can relate to but coming from my perspective. And make
it relatable.

GM: You talked about the clique-y-ness of comics. How
long did it take for you to be accepted?
TD: Oh God, yeah. You know what? I still feel in some
way... I don't know how long it took. In Vancouver I
really never felt like I was part of the group there,
unfortunately. I mean, there were a couple of female
comics that I did sort of bond with. And the guys were
always nice to me. I got along well with everybody. I
just never felt like I was part of the crowd. I
performed with Brent Butt a lot of times and those
guys, and Brent's always been extremely nice to me.
But I just felt they would never accept me as one of
the gang. So moving to L.A., where you have ten times
the amount of comedians... One of the policies at the
Laugh Factory is, on a Tuesday, they would basically
take the first twenty people in line at six o'clock in
the afternoon and you would get three minutes on
stage. People started lining up at six o'clock in the
morning! Because it's a big deal to get on that stage.
Every Tuesday Jamie Masada from the Laugh Factory,
would sit and watch the open-mic'ers and you would
talk to him afterward. He'd give you feedback. So I
show up and there was some hardcore... There were
fights in line. Like, 'You cut in line!' 'Well, you
left for two hours.' 'Well, I had to go eat.' And they
had these regular open mic'ers and if you showed up
and you were a new person they were kind of like, 'And
you are...? Hey, we don't know you.' So you had no
respect whatsoever. And I just tried to be nice and
just think, 'Okay, well, you may be a regular open
mic'er but I actually know what I'm doing but you
don't know that yet.' So you just kind of had to play
the game and be respectful and then get up on stage
and absolutely blow the roof off the place. The next
thing you know you've got these open mic'ers that have
treated you like shit all day blowing sunshine up your
ass: 'My God, you're so good!' And all of a sudden
you're a part of the group. And I just hated that
mentality. Especially in this business because you've
gotta watch out because people move up very quickly
but then come down very quickly. You've gotta be nice
to everybody because you never know who you're talking
to. That whole L.A. scene, there's different groups
within Los Angeles. They're very clique-y. I would go
to these comedy venues and people didn't know who I
was. And I'd be like, 'I've been living here for four
years! How can there be this many comedians in this
city that I've never, ever seen before?' Once again,
you're kind of shunned, but then you prove yourself on
stage and you're funny, okay, then you can hang out
with us. Now being a touring comic, it's still such a
guys' club. It really is. I'll go to comedy clubs and
I'm the headliner and it's great; I'm treated well.
But my guy comic friends tell me, 'Oh yeah, you just
worked so-and-so's club? Yeah, we went out golfing,
they took us to the strip club.' And being a female
comic, you don't get to go hang out and go play
basketball with the guys on the Thursday morning and
go play golf on the Saturday morning. You're just not
invited out doing that because of the guy bookers, the
guy club owners and the guy comics. It drives me nuts
but unfortunately that's just the way it is.

GM: I imagine, though, that you probably don't get
invited to play basketball by even females.
TD: (laughs) Well, damnit! I can give it a shot!

GM: One of the press clippings on your website said
you're reclaiming the word 'midget'.
TD: Oh, yeah.

GM: Yet when you're talking to me you're mostly saying
'little person'.
TD: I'm usually 'midget, midget, midget.' A lot of
people don't realize that the term 'midget' is
considered offensive. And that's just because the word
'midget' doesn't seem offensive. It seems like a
decent word and it's very descriptive of people and
things that are small: a midget version of this and
that. They don't understand that people associate the
midget-word with the n-word. In a sense, it has the
same connotation for little people. And I've been
trying over the years to figure out why. Because
growing up you are only identified as 'the midget'.
You don't have a name. You're nothing but 'the
midget.' All you hear all day growing up as a child is
'midget, midget, midget.' It takes on such a negative
connotation. I didn't even know what that word was
because we never used that word in my house. And then
I started school. In kindergarten people were like,
'Oh, midget, midget, midget' and I would come home
crying, thinking they were swearing at me. So from the
time I started kindergarten I was just called 'midget,
midget, midget.' So I think being a little person, you
really take that on like a big boulder on your
shoulder and you have no identity whatsoever. So it
takes on a negative connotation. When I started doing
comedy and I said 'midget' on stage, people kind of
gasped. And I was like, 'Wait a second. You guys have
been calling me midget my entire life and I use the
word and it's shocking?' And also I ask a lot of
people. I love getting people's feedback on what they
think of me, little people, my life. Like, have you
ever met another little person? What was your first
thought when you saw me get on stage? Were you
listening to anything I said or were you just watching
me? I like asking people those type of questions
because that helps me get a handle on how I need to
deal with audiences. Because initial reactions are
so... like gasps of horror because they weren't
expecting this. I actually have a bit in my act about
most people don't know that midgets is considered a
derogatory term amongst little people. I go, 'The
correct term is little person or dwarf. But I say
midget. Obviously I don't give a shit.' Because now
that I'm an adult, and I have a sociology background
and comedy is like a psychological study, I realize
people generally use that term just out of ignorance.
They just don't know. And how would they know if
you've never been around another little person. It's
used regularly on TV. They'll throw the midget word
around, and stuff like that. It's never in a positive
connotation. And I just feel that because of who I am
and my honesty on stage and me just being out there, I
do let people know this isn't appropriate but watch
the context in which you use the word, then I feel
like I'm taking power of the word 'midget'. I'm
definitely Tanyalee more on stage than the midget. I
may be the midget comedian. If that's how people want
to remember me, fine, as long as they say she was the
funny midget comedian. I feel like I'm very much me.
It's pretty long and in-depth to explain to people why
that word has such a weirdness and bad connotation to
it growing up. Until you walk in my shoes - and you
won't fit 'em! - you won't understand. It's an emotion
rather than an explanation, if that makes any sense
whatsoever. And it's unfortunate. And a lot of little
people still give me flack for saying the word. And
I'm on a couple of dwarfism newsgroups on-line and a
couple times a year somebody will come on and say, 'By
the way, what do you think of the word 'midget'?' and
then all of a sudden this huge debate starts. The shit
hits the fan.

GM: I always thought there were differences between
'midget' and 'dwarf'. Like medical differences. Is
that true?
TD: I don't actually know. This is what was told to me
growing up. I was told a midget was a small
proportioned person, i.e. let's say Danny Devito. He's
a completely normal proportioned person. He just
happens to be below average. Anything that's below
average in size. And then a dwarf was somebody who had
deformities or was a genetic mutation, which is what I
have. But the thing is nobody really thinks of it that
way.

GM: 'Midget' is more the generic term for everyone.
TD: Yeah. They just use that word. But it's always
used in sort of a negative sense: 'Ah, you're a
midget.' They'll bug their friends because they're
short: 'Hey, midget!' So anybody who's a regular
proportioned individual that happens to be smaller
than their friends, they would understand what I mean
because they get teased by their friends as being the
short one in the group. They're not, obviously,
legitimately a little person or a midget but you're
shorter than your friends therefore you get teased.
People will pick on you in any regard. They could use
any word and it could take on the same sort of
negative connotation if you're constantly being called
that.

GM: People look at differences and latch on to them. I
could be 'You bald idiot', or something.
TD: Right, right. Or somebody with glasses. Or chubby,
chubby.

GM: So it's like the black comics. They can say the
n-word, so it's okay that you're up there saying
'midget'.
TD: Yeah. Well, I mean, that has a whole racial... I
mean, that word goes back to some serious stuff. To
me, the n-word has such a deep-rooted... there's such
an emotional connection and derogatory sense to that
word. I love Chris Rock's bit about 'nigger'. It's
about the fact that anybody can be a nigger. It
doesn't matter what colour you are, nigger is somebody
that... The actual definition is somebody that's
ignorant. So that can be any race, any colour,
anybody. But back in the day, the slave days, black
people were not educated while the white man was
pushing them down, so they were called nigger. They
were only identified as 'niggers' so that's the same
thing with my people. We were only 'the midgets'.

GM: You got the m-word.
TD: I'm a migger.

GM: It seems almost all standup comics are doing
midget jokes now.
TD: Oh my God! It's just unbelievable.

GM: And you hate it?
TD: It's just that they're all so lame. There's really
no smart midget jokes out there. It's the same joke
rehashed from a different angle in a sense.

GM: Would there be a way that they could do it smart?
TD: I don't know. My friend, Doug Stanhope, has a
whole joke about the m-word, midget, versus 'nigger'.
Basically the joke is, 'I'm not scared to call a
midget a midget because I can take a midget.' Which I
thought was extremely hilarious... His stuff is far
more thought out. Doug's just so twisted. He puts more
thought into it. It's not generic, is what I'm saying.
His angle on almost anything, like taking it up the
ass or whatever, the way Doug describes things,
because he's such a storyteller, it could be the most
revolting, disgusting thing, but you're captivated by
the eloquence of which he breeds the profanity and
disgusting image. It's captivating. Whereas most guys
don't have that thought process or aren't able to come
up with anything remotely entertaining. And it's funny
because some of them will try to do jokes if they have
to follow me. If I'm on a line-up with a whole bunch
of people and either they haven't seen that I've
already been on stage or they just think it would be
really funny, the audience completely shuts down.
Because I have a very high likability on stage and I'm
good at what I do and I'm honest with who I am, it
doesn't matter that I'm letting the audience know that
the word doesn't bother me, if somebody goes up and
says it, oh my God. The audience will collectively be
like, 'You're an asshole. How could you?' It's
actually very funny seeing people go up and either
make fun of not me, because I can handle it being a
comic, but they'll stand up on a chair and make some
sort of comment because I've just been up there on a
chair, and the audience just doesn't find that
amusing. They'll really shut down on a person. I think
that's hilarious!

GM: Would they shut down if it was Stanhope?
TD: Doug can get away with a lot. But a lot of people
shut down regardless (laughs).

GM: That's true.
TD: But if you're the ten percent of the audience that
actually gets Doug and loves Doug and follows Doug...
You know, he walks a good 90 percent of his crowds
anyway, so that wouldn't be any different. (laughs)

GM: You're not the one he slept with, are you?
TD: No, I'm not. People ask me that. I have pictures
of me holding his weenie on his website, but no it
wasn't me.

GM: How's your health? I heard you were in an
accident? When was that?
TD: I guess it would have been three years ago in
October. I think my ass is permanently broken.

GM: You have a broken ass.
TD: I have a broken ass. My left butt cheek was
fractured. And my pelvis. Basically in the girlie
bits/butt cheek area is where I cracked it... I have a
constant pain in my ass, as crazy as that sounds...
The upside is that I got a new scooter with a lot of
lights on it and I got a really kick-ass chunk of
material.

GM: When you're performing, are you still up on the
chair standing?
TD: Yes. People have given me stools but I can't stand
on a stool. I need to be on a chair because I need to
lean against the back of the chair. When I'm leaning
on something, in a sense I can tuck my pelvis in and
it takes a lot of pressure off my back. So leaning on
the back of the chair I have a lot more endurance than
I would if I were just straight standing. And plus
because I act out a lot of bits, I can lean back on
the chair and balance myself up on one leg and do like
the Karate Kid stance and all that kind of stuff which
I do in my act.

GM: You don't ever topple back, do you?
TD: I have never fallen off a chair in fifteen years.
I almost took a header once because I was on a plastic
one and I stepped through... The seat was actually
narrower at the back than I thought. But I maintained.
And that's one reason why I don't drink before I go on
stage because I would get really mad at myself if I
toppled over because I was hammered.

GM: Do you perform much in Vegas?
TD: I do a regular show in Vegas. It's called The
Divas of Comedy. It's at the Sahara Hotel on Monday
nights. It's every Monday night but I do it maybe a
couple times a month when I'm home. It's three comics.
Two of them are the same every week and they rotate
the third. So I get a half-an-hour spot. I get paid.
It's in a lounge so it's a regular casino gig. Doing a
lounge in Vegas other than an actual comedy club is
extremely difficult. A lot of people can not, for
whatever reason, because you have the external
ding-ding-ding of slot machines and stuff like that.
And it's a free show. And they're generally more
reserved. And you're dealing with the very wide
diverse age group and geographical mix of people
because people come from all over to Vegas. But I've
worked Vegas for years doing the Riviera and stuff
like that, that I think my act transcends barriers,
racial barriers, geographical barriers, so Vegas is
perfect for me. I'm the only person that's gotten a
standing ovation in this lounge. I've gotten, I
believe, at least twice and it might have been three
times I've gotten a standing ovation in this lounge.
It's great. And now I've got an actual following out
here. I have a group of people that come to every
single one of my shows. And I mean it's unfortunate,
the same shit they hear (laughs). They put the
pressure on me. I have to try to come up with new
stuff and try to change it up for them. But they're
like my groupies and I love them. They're a great
bunch of people.

GM: How many little people comics are there?
TD: I'm the only one that's been doing it in the
mainstream forever... I'm the only female for sure.

GM: Various ethnic comics get lots of support from
their communities. Do you get that with little people
coming out to support you?
TD: In my comedy newsgroups, I get a lot of flack from
some little people. Especially for being on the Maury
Pauvich show nine million times. But these are people
that don't think of the context of the show. The show
was focussed on my height. The first episode was
Opposites Attract, so it was my husband and I. And
when they brought me back to focus on my comedy, they
wanted jokes specifically about my height. I wasn't
doing my straight standup; Maury was asking me
questions and leading me into bits, and I was just
rolling with it and trying to just keep talking and
talking and talking and doing funny stuff so that they
wouldn't edit me because the first episode Marty and I
were on, they edited the crap out of it to make it
look the way they wanted it to. So I wasn't going to
give them this opportunity. So after being on the
show, some little people gave me flack. A) because it
was a talk show, and B) because I guess they just
didn't appreciate where it was coming from. I had
other little people that came to my defence. And over
the years I've had various little people come out to
my shows and I would say 95 percent of them have
completely enjoyed... They might not agree with me
using the m-word, but they really related to my set
and they appreciated my honesty and that sort of thing
and were very supportive of me. It's so crazy, though,
because it's like any subculture, which I guess little
people are. They bitch and bitch about us not being
portrayed properly or there's not enough of us out in
the limelight, and as soon as somebody gets something
then they bitch about it. It's so frustrating.

GM: Because they want their views represented.
TD: Yeah.

GM: And I'm sure there are diverse views amongst all
of you.
TD: Oh my gosh, totally! And that's the problem. I am
not going to please you people. It's just not going to
happen. And I'm not going to try to. I'm going to do
what I do. And I have a new bit in my act. I got hate
mail, basically is the way I describe it, from a
couple of little people. And it really bothered me
because I was like I just feel like I'm not getting a
fair shake, you're not understanding what I'm doing,
blah, blah, blah. But this is probably people that
don't like to leave their house. They sit behind a
computer and they bitch about everything from here to
eternity and I just happened to be one of the targets
that day. But I took it personally. And it really
bothered me. I ended up putting this in my act and
letting people know at the end of my show that here I
am - and I've been on stage for at least 40 minutes,
almost an hour, won the audience over, they respect
me, they love me, I've opened their eyes to a lot of
things - and I go, 'You know what? There's people that
hate me within my own community.' I can see people
kinda like, 'What?!' And I go, 'Yeah, I got hate mail
from being on the talk show.' I go, 'There's a small
group of little people, no pun intended, that feel I'm
not a very good representative of little people.' To
me, this is the most powerful ending to my show
because my audience is like, 'What do you mean? You're
a great representative.' Because I am so honest. And I
go, 'You know what? Those people need to get off my
ass and get their own fucking jobs.' And it just sort
of commands a great round of applause. And people
actually come up to me and go, 'Is that true?' And I'm
like, 'Yeah.' And they go, 'I can't believe that.
They're wrong. You're not just a representative for
little people, you're a representative for everybody.'

GM: You're a representative for yourself. You're an
individual.
TD: That's exactly what I say! I go, 'I don't
represent all little people; I represent me.' that's
exactly what I say on stage. And that's fine. If I
inspire you as a little person, great; if not, I'm not
your leader. But I think my attitude is good for
anybody. Everything in my act is positive. I don't
have any kind of woe is me kind of attitude in my act
at all and overcoming challenges and all this kind of
stuff. I like actually talking about my life where I'm
not always being funny, funny, funny; I'm letting
people know this is my situation and then I twist it
and I throw some funny in there. It's like
edu-tainment. I educate people as well and I get a lot
of really positive feedback from just the general
audience. It's interesting working overseas because in
the U.K., the British mentality compared to North
American is so narrow-minded, it's so judgmental. Talk
about exhausting. In North America, when I get on
stage, it's universal the whole shock of me crawling
up onto the chair and I'm struggling and I finally
stand up and I go 'Woo-hoo, here I am!' And they go,
'Whoa! What the hell's going on?' They get over it
really fast. In the U.K., because the mentality
towards disabled people is you do not look, you do not
laugh, it is so difficult over there to break down the
barriers. It is such a challenge. And I've been over
there for two years, I've done six tours. It is
actually so emotionally challenging, but I feel like
I'm making huge strides.

GM: That's where you would be a representative of
little people.
TD: Yeah, exactly. I've never met any other little
people comedians over in the U.K. or anybody that's
trying to do comedy, but I've met other disabled
performers and they actually have their own group.
There's a disabled performers' community whereas we
don't really have that over here in North America...
They have a Dada Festival, a disabled festival. And
last year I just happened to be in the area and they
didn't know who I was. I came down and stormed it. So
now they want me to come down and put me in a theatre.
And they go, 'It's funny how you were trying to break
into the disabled community and we were all trying to
break into mainstream.' I've done mainstream my entire
life. I go, 'I'm not trying to break into any group;
I'm just getting stage time. I don't care where I
perform.' That's sort of the mentality. It's just the
whole British scene. I had this woman come up to me
after a gig. It was, as they say, a posh wine bar that
did comedy and everybody was all dressed up in their
Christmas frocks. I was sitting at a table in the back
of the room and I go back onstage then come back to
the table where just these regular people were
sitting, and this woman came up and she goes, 'Oh my
God, I saw you on stage and you made me so
uncomfortable.' (laughs) People can be very honest out
there. And I said, 'Well, did you listen to anything I
had to say?' She goes, 'I was wondering why they were
making you do this.' And I said, 'Did you listen to
anything I said?' And she goes, 'Well, I tried. It
took me about 25 minutes but I finally got it. I
finally understood.' I was like, 'Holy Christ you're
thick.' The upbringing of people out there is just
crazy. And it goes across the board, with me trying to
get around London and England with my scooter. The
disability laws are so different. I don't have the
same recourse. Here, you could get sued for not
letting me on a bus, blah, blah, blah. There, it's
like, 'No, we don't let your kind on.' Your scooter's
not allowed on trains. And I'm like, 'Well, how am I
supposed to get from here to there?' 'Well, you have
to figure that out yourself.' And they don't have the
same sort of politeness. I've never felt more disabled
than going over to Britain. And luckily within the
last two-and-a-half years that I've been going,
there's been a vast improvement. But they're still
decades behind where we are. And I just feel like I
gotta keep going because I'm making a difference. And
now because I'm doing more TV over there and I'm
getting recognized, I feel that my act and my attitude
is really important to let them know. And now I'm
becoming more, not confrontational but more honest on
stage with saying, 'You people have no idea how you
are around people like me.' I'm getting more in their
face about it. When I first got over there I was like,
'Well, I'm a foreigner. I've got to act respectful.'
Now I go, 'Listen lady, I know you're extremely
uncomfortable sitting there not wanting to look at me,
but I'm going to be here for a while so you better get
over it.' I'm being really more in their face. The one
great thing about British people is that they really
appreciate honesty and people that are very authentic
on stage. They may not laugh; they're very reserved. I
may have an entire set where I get a smattering of
applause and I think, 'Oh my God, I just tanked it.'
And I get off stage and they're like, 'You were
brilliant!' And I'm like, 'What?! Why don't you
laugh?' Here I am dying inside thinking I just had the
worst set ever and yet I'll have a lineup of people
waiting to get autographs. It's the weirdest thing so
I've had to really change my outlook, my perception of
the way I think things are going. They're just more
reserved. They just don't know how to express
themselves.