No Is a Complete Sentence with Comedian, Writer and Musician Ali Lu
On unlocking the magical combination of words that allows you to be fully yourself
I met Ali Lu in April of 2019 at the famed dive bar Chilkoot Charlie’s, a.k.a. Koots, in Anchorage, Alaska. I was there with my podcast Weed + Grub, doing our first-ever live show at the inaugural B4UDie comedy festival. We’d reached out to folks who were going to be at the fest, trying to book acts that would elevate our smokin’ and snackin’ chatter to a show that was interesting in real time.
My friend José a.k.a. Josie Ana Poosiekat happened to be back in their hometown of Anchorage for a stint, and agreed to join our lineup. I asked if there were any other hometown friends that José could recommend, and quickly received the following email introduction: “Meet my friend Ali Lu, a sweet and unfiltered self-deprecating, smart, funny, talented, and all around fucking awesome gal.” Ok, BOOKED!
As it turned out, Ali Lu was a working stand-up comedian, writer, and musician. Since we met five years ago, she’s been killing it. She was selected to be in NBCU’s Thousand Miles Project; she’s currently writing a series for the rom-com pod network Meet Cute; and she’s been featured on Women Crush Wednesdays at the Hollywood Improv, as well as at the Sacramento Punchline, the Burbank Comedy Festival, and the B4UDie Festival. She performs with the Angeles Chorale, marries music with comedy on Kevin O’Fee’s song parody game show “Those Aren’t The Words,” and does tandem stand-up with her partner Baldev Sandhu. She’s a dream, folks. And she’s fucking funny, no holds barred.
Tiktok failed to load.Enable 3rd party cookies or use another browser
On the day of the show at Koots back in 2019, José, Ali, my podcast co-host Mike and I met up a few minutes before curtain, shook hands and quickly agreed on how the live hour would go. Mike and I did some opening bits. Ali got up and crushed in front of her hometown crowd. Then Josie Ana Poosiekat took the stage and fucking slayed. You know that feeling when you’re in a space with like 40 people, and you witness a particular kind of magic? I’ll never forget looking over at Ali, seeing her eyes brimming with joyful tears from seeing her friend José be everything we all aspire to be, and knowing: I want to be this woman’s friend, however it can happen. I want to know her.
Since then, Ali and her partner Baldev have been my friends, comrades and colleagues in so many ways — they kept my ancient cat Bobo alive while I was with my sister during her illness, which I’ll forever be grateful for. We’ve laughed and howled together on mushrooms under a full moon in Big Bear. And Ali has continued to lead me back to my need to examine my life and choices, in the best way possible. I’m honored to know Ali, and to have made a sandwich with her. I hope you’ll follow her as she continues to blaze her trail in comedy, music and beyond.
This interview has been lightly edited for length.
MaryJane: Thank you for doing this with me, friend. I’m teeing this convo off with an easy question: what led you to be where you are in your life?
Ali Lu: Oh God, I feel like I've led a million different lives just to get me here where I am today. I feel like I had to live and die. It starts and ends with music. I started [as a child] in an American choir, and I'm in one now as an adult, and having my comedy career bookended by those two choirs, I think, is pretty nifty. Coming from Alaska to LA with a marketing path, getting kicked off that path because of the industry that we're in and the streaming revolution that hit — I was hired at Fox to promote two hours of a 24 hour broadcast day. I really love television. I think the best television writers are good television watchers. If you're not watching TV and you're writing, get the fuck outta here. But I left that job, and now, I’m singing, writing, and telling jokes in Los Angeles… and hopefully, soon, all over the world!
Tiktok failed to load.Enable 3rd party cookies or use another browser
MJ: What was your childhood like?
AL: I was born in Anchorage, Alaska. My father passed away when I was three, so my mom moved me and my twin sisters, who were not even one yet, across the world, to the Philippines. I lived in the Philippines from [age] three to seven. Then my mom realized that I was very sensitive, so she decided that my best bet was to be in America, with access to mental health providers, and that it would be the best place for my music to grow.
My father passed away on April Fool's Day from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head, and I've been trying ever since to figure out how to navigate being in this world while being extremely uncomfortable, with a lot of anxiety, and a lot of trauma within my family — but also a lot of love and support in terms of choosing this path. I was singing professionally by the age of seven in a choir, touring the world. I wasn’t really going to school — when I was in school, I couldn’t focus. So I retreated into books, music, and art.
MJ: With you, your two sisters and your Mom, there’s strong female energy in your family. What was it like growing up in Alaska, not just as a girl, but as a Filipino-American girl?
AL: As a young Filipino-American girl growing up in Alaska, a lot of people assumed I was native Alaskan — and if they didn't think I was native Alaskan, they thought I was Black. I was occupying predominantly white spaces as a very brown girl. It was difficult. I was accepted a lot more by older people; I didn't really get along with my peers. I was singing opera, and I’d been around the world already. No matter what I said, it came off as braggy, so I just kind of learned how to keep my mouth shut. And then no one knew what my deal was.
MJ: What was your relationship to the concept of feminism as a young girl, and what is it now?
AL: I’m Filipino, so I truly didn't understand feminism, because in my family, the girls are in charge. We’re in charge of the money, the household, the social life — all of the things to make men's life easier is how it works, somehow. But then when my mom remarried with my stepdad, (shout out Michael Lu!) I learned what it was to be cared for by a not-typical Alaskan male. My stepdad is every bit of a man. He hunts, he fishes, he built our house. He does all this stuff — but he was never violent. He’s so gentle, and I think I know what to look for in a male partner because of him, and the way that he is with my mom. He doesn't ever devalue her. He doesn't dismiss her in conversation, he completely validates her, and he gives us everything we could ever want. So feminism to me is confusing, because it goes against everything I know: to fight for something I've had the whole time, which is autonomy in my decision making.
MJ: I’m grateful for our friendship, and some of the conversations that we have, which are about what your experience is in the world versus what my experience is: namely, that of white privilege. One of the things that I’m aware of is that I can't talk about the experience that is largely the one that's the fucking problem in this country: the experience of women of color, women who are not given opportunities to advance because of their race, or ethnicity, or socioeconomic background. When have you not been heard because you’re not a white woman? And what do women who look like me need to do?
AL: I mean, first and foremost, women who look like you need to do a lot more listening, and a lot less reacting to things that we say as if we're talking about you. Take this choir I’m in. It’s been around for 50 years. There are established members, and they have bylaws, and all these unwritten rules. [There’s] a want of propriety in the unwritten rules. I know how to abide by them because I was in a choir growing up. Getting those rules were — if I wanted to audition for Cinderella, I understood that I would have to be white with blonde hair. Otherwise, they just couldn't see it. I would say things like, “Why can't I be Cinderella? My dad's actually dead.” I have more in common with Disney princesses than these white bitches.
First and foremost, women who look like you need to do a lot more listening, and a lot less reacting to things that we say as if we're talking about you.
I was diagnosed with endometriosis in October of 2018, after years of complaining about heavy periods, debilitating cramps, and migraines. Male gynecologists would always try to prescribe me opiates, and all these meds that I knew were not good for me.
Finally, after four days of being on vacation with a new partner at the time, during which I didn't poop once, and I thought I was just having a shy bladder around this boy who I liked, I went to the doctor and I demanded an ultrasound and a sonogram. They looked. My uterus looked like Swiss cheese. I was diagnosed with stage four endometriosis and PCOS. After years of people blaming all of my health problems on being overweight — I had been slowly gaining weight because my cortisol levels were so high from being a stressed-out, traumatized kid. The PCOS was causing my insulin levels to rise. I joke that I might get diabetes because my vagina has a sweet tooth.
I would never have known what was going on in my own body had I not had the courage to demand care. Doctors are intimidating, and a lot of them don’t really give a fuck to make the time and space to hear [women like me]. I had to be the squeaky wheel in my own situation and be like, something is not right. As soon as they got the images back, all of a sudden their sense of urgency was hilarious.
I recently had a cervical cancer scare, and from my surgeon to the anesthesiologist to the orderly, the team was top to bottom women. It was a scary experience, but it was easy. It was like going to a five star hotel with the level of care from people who looked me in the eye.
MJ: Can we talk about your comedy, your writing, and who you enjoy watching? Who's making waves? Who’s exciting for you?
AL: I've always kind of had the rhythm and the cadence of comedy through music, and my family is so naturally funny, but it was never, ever something that I thought of pursuing. It was always just something I loved and was enthusiastic about. Then, when I moved to Los Angeles, I started seeing this person who was a comic at the time, and I didn't really know what it was I was saying, or what it was I was doing, but I later came to find out that he was taking things that I said, and putting them online — and those tweets went viral.
When I confronted him about it, he said, “You're crazy for looking at my Twitter.” A week later, I went to an open mic, and I haven’t looked back. I’ve gotten every green light from the universe to pursue this path from healing from a lot of trauma just by getting the words out. By unlocking a magical combination of words that provided me closure from people and situations that I was never going to get it from. I found my life partner, my best friend, who is my future husband, through comedy. Even more of an affirmation that we're on the right path is that our comedic styles have been proven to be in perfect harmony as we've done tandem comedy together.
From that first open mic, I started to get booked on shows. The way that the open mic comedy scene used to work is: you go to some dive bar, buy a drink, write your name on your receipt, shove that piece of paper in a bucket, and cross your fingers that your name gets called. But because it's rigged, like everything in life, oftentimes I wouldn't get called up — whether it was an unlucky draw, or the person running the mic would just call his friends up.
The only times I would get booked is because someone was forced to sit in their seat and listen to what I had to say.
If I did get picked, that was people's cue to go smoke a cigarette, or talk over me, because they would take one look at me, and be like, “I don't care what she has to say, she's got nothing for me.” That changed after the system changed; they implemented a slotted system, where you have 55 minute blocks of time, and you sit there for the whole time while people go up. The only times I would get booked is because someone was forced to sit in their seat and listen to what I had to say. From there, I was able to get a couple of great tapes and submit to bigger shows. Early in my career, I submitted a tape to Marcella Arguello’s Women Crush Wednesdays at the Hollywood Improv Lab. Her system is amazing. You send her a tape, and she either books you or she doesn't. There's no fucking around with Marcella. That's what I love about her. And now I'm going to feature for her in Anchorage at the B4UDie Fest.
MJ: Yes! Say more about B4UDie.
AL: Kass Smiley pioneered a comedy festival in Anchorage, which is where you and I met through our mutual friend (shout out José!). So Kass brings this festival to life; you and I meet, we become wonderful friends — and from that festival, I got a tape that got me into a bunch of other stuff. Gathering at that festival in Alaska is probably one of the coolest things a comic can ever experience — being with your comedy friends in this very remote part of the world, hearing what people from all over the country have to say. It's like a retreat. And you're surrounded by all this beauty, which I think is hilarious — like you're telling dick jokes, with this majestic backdrop. That's how it should be.
MJ: You're featuring for Marcella at the fest. Are there other comics who've helped you out along the way who inspire you? Or are you mostly disappointed by what's out there?
AL: Honestly, I'm disappointed by the men that I've encountered in standup comedy. But every woman who has ever helped me has boosted my career. I'm a paid writer because of Chelsea Devantez. There’s no denying that she is the one who says my name in rooms that I could not even fathom being in. Marcella is another one. Taylor Tomlinson, when I first started, she was really coming up and she super encouraged me to keep going. She would do my open mic at the Irish Times that I used to run with Amanda Smith, this little rinky-dink open mic… I joke that I'm like Bane. I was born in a jail, which was like this open mic in a dive bar. I cut my teeth there.
Laurie Kilmartin, who I think is the funniest woman on the planet. She’s so encouraging, and loving, and honest. She retweets a lot of my stuff about my dead dad, which affirms that there is space for the dark humor that I have. Jessica Michelle Singleton, obviously, she's my hometown homie. She has given me so many opportunities, and she brings me along whenever she can. She also says my name in spaces that I'm not in. I think that's my Mount Crushmore of women. They crush. Every single one of them.
MJ: They really do. Ok, I want to ask you about the sandwich that you made with me. Why did you choose “No is a complete sentence” as a topic?
AL: I chose it because I have crippling anxiety, and when people ask me to do things, or go places, or anything that overwhelms me, and I say no and they push back on it, it sends me into the absolute depths of the beast that is anxiety. Anxiety is not quirky or cute. I wrote a song about it called, “Why Is Everyone's Anxiety Cuter Than Mine?” Because I see girls in overalls with ukuleles singing about it — it’s usually white women talking about how anxious they are.
Anxiety is not quirky or cute.
Whenever I say no, and someone has pressed, it's not a good feeling. I think that women should feel empowered, and I encourage them to say, “No.” Emphatically, politely, kindly, or however you want to say it.
MJ: I love that you demonstrate a bunch of different ways in which you can say no, and how they’re all acceptable. And the idea of practicing of your “No,” of being firm with it, so that when you say “Yes,” that also means more. You're not saying “No,” and then having someone push your boundaries.
AL: I made the conscious decision this year to only say yes to things that I really want to do with people I really want to do it with.
MJ: This is the year to do that, because we have to take better care of ourselves than ever.
AL: Absolutely. I emphasize being a full fucking person, ambition and hustling aside. I think it does you and your mental health a great disservice to have tunnel vision. To be in this weird game of social climbing, and taking inventory of people, and deciding if something is worth your time. That doesn't feel good. I’m really trying not to do that, because it's this weird second nature that happens when you're in this industry. Time is so precious.
I emphasize being a full fucking person, ambition and hustling aside. I think it does you and your mental health a great disservice to have tunnel vision.
MJ: For sure. On the topic of being a whole person, you can't be a creative artistic person if you're not filling up your tank by doing something that is not specifically just the thing that you do. You have to go to museums, listen to music, you have to watch TV. You have to go on walks with your friends. I was recently told by someone that I didn't have a “lane,” because I was doing a bunch of different things, one of which was a death doula webinar that I was interested in. And this person was like, yeah, you're so scattered. And I was like, “You mean, I’m enriching myself?”
AL: (laughing) Oh, you mean I'm a multifaceted person who wants to learn?
MJ: (laughing) I contain multitudes.
AL: That's what I'm saying. And you can also say no to people's unsolicited advice. No, no, no to that. No to your opinion. No to your thoughts on what I am doing with my life. Do you pay my taxes? No.
MJ: How about that sandwich we made? It was delicious. Why did you choose it, and what is your relationship to sandwiches?
AL: My sister Jill is going to Japan, and she’s obsessed with the egg salad sandwiches from Japanese 7-Elevens. They're so famous, and she was coming into town and she wanted me to make one, and I was like, “I need to see how it tastes first.” So I was like, “Mary Jane, let's make this sandwich.” But I was also inspired by your “Gossip Saves Lives” sandwich, which was probably my favorite one that you've ever made. I wanted to add another eggy sandwich to the playlist.
MJ: Thank you. We had some good back and forth about that. I've been so interested to learn about the topic of gossip, especially how it relates to different people culturally. My understanding is that Filipino culture is big on gossip.
AL: Oh, yes.
MJ: You share information, right?
AL: Yes! I have a joke about how I love history because it's basically just gossip. You learn so much in Hamilton. “How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore and a Scotsman, dropped in the middle of a forgotten spot/ In the Caribbean by providence impoverished In squalor, grow up to be a hero and a scholar?” That’s some piping hot tea.
It's the language of my people, gossip. It literally saves lives. It's how you avoid marrying terrible people. Like, “Oh, no, no, don't marry him. There's some bad blood in that family.”
MJ: I grew up in a largely church-led community in which gossip was labeled a sin. And there was rampant sex abuse in the church. Rampant domestic abuse behind closed doors. The fact that we couldn't talk about things to each other… and I've landed in situations because I haven't had information shared with me. The gossip sandwich was very special to me as well. So thank you.
AL: People have labeled me problematic, difficult to work with, all of those things because I've spoken up, and I’m proud to be the squeaky wheel. You cannot shove “See something, say something” down my throat since 2001 and expect me to see something, and not say something.
Tiktok failed to load.Enable 3rd party cookies or use another browser
Catch Ali Lu singing — and soloing! — at “Hollywood Sings” with the Angeles Chorale, doing pieces from movies from Casino to Harry Potter, Amadeus, La La Land and more in Pasadena on March 2nd, and in the Palisades on March 3rd. And if you’re in Anchorage, Ali will be at the B4UDie Fest in Alaska April 1st through the 7th.
Follow Ali Lu on Instagram, TikTok, and Twitter (are we really ever going to call it X? LOL Elon, no.)
Ali Lu is a national treasure and must be protected at all costs.