Words You May Not Know

Chubes:
(noun) The little pieces of dry, balled up, gummy lip skin and food particles that gather in the corners of your mouth as the day progresses.  They also may mysteriously appear when you wake up in the morning.  They are commonly removed with the thumb and forefinger.

Use in a sentence:  
Dude, smell my chubes. They are ripe!

Other Terms: (Chubage)

Stop Asking.

Sometimes I wonder where my innocence went.
Not like that, you turds, get your head out of the gutter.

Sometimes I wonder where my youth went.
No.

Sometimes I wonder where my spontaneity went.
Why is it being suppressed?  Why am I letting it be suppressed.
Are women still suffrage-ing?

Sometimes I wonder if Donna Mills could come over and do my makeup.
Sometimes I step into the daylight wondering if she already somehow did.

Oh Donna.

Wait!  I've got it!
Sometimes I wonder when I lost that little spark of naivety.
The lush, green, reckless abandon that brought forth such unintentional BALLS!
Ahhhh, yes my big ol' unaware gonads.

I got off of the train today and walked up the steps of the A train onto Eight Avenue.
I can remember feeling like, "I'm in fucking New York City, bitch."
Now I think, "I'm in fucking New York City? bitch!"
Other times I think, "I'm in!  Fucking! New York City, Bitch!"
Okay, that last one was a stretch...but you see the emotional sliding scale that comes with living here.

I just recall in the days of yonder...
waking up and getting lost on my way to temp somewhere in lower manhattan.
I was always a little bit inappropriately dressed.
But looking prehhhhhhhhhtty cute.
Then I would go out for drinks, and get drunk, and dance, and my feet would hurt.
Because my shoes were also inappropriate for living in "fucking New York City, bitch!"

I saved up for LaDuca heels and Katrinawear unitards.
I frequented the performing Arts Library at Lincoln Center.
I dreamed of being able to afford an apartment in Midtown.
And I kept training to be better so that one day I could be on The B'way.
Did I ever really believe it.  That that is what "it" was? That I could attain, "it?"
I have a hard time believing.
But I had fun.

I miss fun.
Where is the fun?
I have to find the fun!
Again.
I will.

I never realized at 23,24,25 that life was at it's peak of "easiness."
I didn't have to worry about if and when to have babies.
Being an indentured servant didn't bother me it was just a day job.
It didn't occur to me that I might not "make it."
That I probably would not make it.
But I have made it.
I'm still alive.

The point of the story is.
If you want to take a bite of The Big Apple.
Be prepared to endure a little bit of food poisoning.
Although, like all things.
It's bound to pass.
(emotionally and through your butthole.)

All Encompassing. Never Ending.

Wants.
Weird but necessary.
Want.
I want it.
I don't want it.
Or
do
I?

I have a very hard time defining what I want.
Because, I want it all.
Everything.
I want it.

Sometimes I lie about what I want,
or "not knowing" what I want but the truth is simple.
I want it all.
Is that so bad?
I want a rock solid career and recognition as a performer.
I want to have kids and a house.
I want to be my own boss.
I want to get up whenever the shit I want.

The whole time,
LOOKING
AMAZING.

I want everything I want to no longer be "want."

I don't want you to tell me that having all of this simultaneously is impossible.

It isn't.
It is not.
I will prove you wrong.
As soon as I prove it to myself that it's insanely possible.
Because it is.
And I'm about to get up on top of that shit!

As soon as I get up off the couch.

But hey, it's what I want to do right now.
So eat shit.
Or don't.
If you don't want to.

Process of the Platform to the Prize of the Performance

I'm officially working on a solo show.
It's really helping me tame the voices within.
It's so much more psychological than I ever could've imagined.
In fact, it's therapy.

My process in discovering these characters is something I learned about through an amazing Solo Show Class here in New York City with Matt Hoverman (www.createyourownsoloshow.com) cheesy name, brilliant man.  Sort of pricey, but not really.  If you are interested in creating one, TAKE HIS CLASS.

There is no doubt what I wanted to do was less personal and more theatrical.
Shocking.
Me?  Want to entertain?  Go figgggguh!

FOCUS, Tracey.
Back to the Process!  (See why it's hard for me to write?)
This is from an article Eric Bogosian wrote about how he creates,
I stole it and modified it for myself.
I take a digital voice recorder and walk around as the character speaking.
THEN I write out everything I have said that I found useful (up to when I'm taking a breath.)
THEN I must erase all excess bullshit afterwards so I don't go revisit and get muddled in my intentions.
(Again, which as you can see can be very choppy and all over the place!)

So, In the midst of this talky-talkiness walking around like a former (present?) diva of the stage,
I dropped in.
Hard.
I found her.
She is a part of me disguised as an old woman.
She is me.
I snap out of it.
Here's what I said directly after I broke.....(laughing)

"I am schizophrenic, definitely.  Oh, (realizing) yeah.  (sigh)  Is this what they think crazy people are like?  Am I crazy? (realizing) yeahhh."

Therapy.
I should be charging myself.

Vintage Blog....

This is from my old Blog on Friendster.  I totally remember this!
Cutting and pasting at it's finest, too.

Upstate Acting Exercise

This past weekend I attended an acting workshop in Chelsea.
I know, you picture a bunch of film hopefuls sitting around a black box theatre weeping through a scene of “Agnes of God.” Methodically digging up personal skeletons of rape, abandonment, and lack of parental love of the past in order to really get in touch with character. Ah, the drama. Let me tell you that it was NOTHING like this. It was actually incredible, but that’s really beside the point. Allow me to introduce you to Danny.

Upon entering the bright acting studio (and I’m nervous mind you, I totally fear the unknown. Do not get this confused with unable to accept the unknown.) it’s painted all white, and is actually covered in windows whose view entails a lovely church, I see something that startles me. In the corner, a tall and lanky slender, older man stands.
In all black and grey
In dress slacks and shoes
In a calf length black leather jacket
Boasting a killer orange self tan.

“Hi I’m Danny, what’s your name?” (shit he’s one of those)
“I’m Tracey” (in an octave higher than my normal spoken tone)
“Do you live here in the city?” (Is this guy my equal in the class or is he an assistant?? I’m confused.)
“yeah, in midtown.” (help)
“Oh I’m from upstate and the city makes me nervous. Good for you, TRACE.” (Its official, I’m done.)

I proceed to hear him chat with everyone in the class as they enter. Its mostly about upstate and how he lives off highway such and such. I don’t know where that is. I can barely distinguish the state of new york on a blank map of the U.S. I jot down in my notebook “OH MY GOD. WHO IS THIS GUY?” I figure I’ve got 2 days with him, so I should sit as far away from his as possible. Done, good job Trace–the high road.

Sande (our instructor) starts handing out scenes. Now mind you, I was instructed to bring a Female/Female scene which I did. Legally Blonde. Funny. But before I know it she’s paired everyone and my brain is working overtime and I come to the chilling conclusion….
I’m paired with Dan the Tan Man??? The answer to my jotted down question became “He’s your partner, you bitch.” OH SHIT!!!

It only gets worse, “Go sit with your partners.” I cringe. He motions for me to come over and I (being me) shake my head and say, “why don’t you come over here.” The whole while he’s callling me TRACE. TRACE. Now, I love to be called Trace. By anyone but this guy. As the workshop goes on I supress his retardation of clapping after scenes, telling me good job when I sit down from my monologue help, and telling me he’s sorry when he flubs a line. I pretty much ignore him and answer in one word sentences. ie

“Ok”
“Sure”
“Uh, yeah.”

Then, I start thinking. He’s probably a lonely old man who is still looking for himself at 60. Its probably a huge step for him to come to the city and do something like this. His idiosyncrocies are just a way of dealing with anxiety. In a positive way. Positively annoying. But positively.

I start to smile and reached for a sip of water. As I lowered the bottle from my mouth I notice that something tastes sweet. I’m totally confused. Until I look down and see a mirror replica POLAND SPRINGS bottle to my left right by my bag, the same type I’m holding in my hand right now. It hits me. This is Danny’s water-bottle and the sweet taste has to be DAN THE TAN MANS self tan!!! I tasted the tanning lotion from his fucking lips. I’m gagging. I’m trying to breathe.

I put down the infected bottle and grab my own. 

I swish and swallow. 

I scrub at my lips.

I started laughing.

 t was that or vomit and that’s too messy. 

Jesus, Danny.

I wanna size you up! Tic Toc Ya Don't Stop.

Have you ever hated someone without really knowing them.
Or speaking to them.
Or even ever been in their presence?

I do.

Well, hate is a strong word.
It's more like,
extreme disdain.

Because in case you didn't know, I'm psychic.

In case
you didn't
know.

(Some people call it judgemental, but I know the truth, it's psychic ability)

I'm pretty good at sizing up a human existence/spirit in a series of pictures.
Facebook has only added fuel to my judgemental, er, psychic fire.

I may not like someone for a number of reasons!
1.  Weird face*
2.  The essence of stupidity
3.  We're nothing alike
4.  We're too much alike
5.  I know who you are just by seeing how you pose for photos.
6.  You dress like a whore
7.  You dress like a turd
8.  You are a whore
9.  You are a turd
10. You are a whorey turd

*was that really my #1 reason??

But I am usually pretty right about people.
I need to stop being so vague.
Another day.
Maybe next year.

Tracey vs Alice

I am at war with myself.
Constantly.
Constantly.
My knee-jerk reactions are being suppressed by this new "adult" consciousness living inside of me.
I call her Alice.
I hate her.  But, I respect the fact that she keeps it civil.
Confused?

EXAMPLE:  Walking onto the train at rush hour, I see a woman with dried out, fried, frizzy hair and a pock marked nose running for the last seat.  She is hunched and scowling with no regard for anyone else around her.  Scowling, Running, Pushing for the only open seat.

Tracey says: Jesus!  This old witch, with an ate up nose needs to chill the fuck out, rude.  Rude!
Alice says:  Tracey, (she uses my name), She can't help that.  Take it easy.  Take a breath.  Who cares, anyway?  You didn't even want that seat.  You're getting off at the next stop.

They say that artists are prone to schizophrenia.

EXAMPLE #2:  Two people are speaking another language, loudly, at a rapid rate.

Tracey Says:  wa wa wa wa, dat dat dat dat dat dat, SHUT UP!
Alice Says:  Tracey,  They are merely communicating in the language with which they feel comfortable!   Just because you don't understand it, doesn't mean that you have a right to judge it.  Take it easy.  Take a Breath.  Who cares, anyway?  Are they REALLY bothering you?  You've got headphones, use them.

I'm beginning to hate Alice.
I'm beginning to believe she's trying to tame the beast in me.
I'm beginning to wonder if now is the time in my life that this said beast requires taming?
What a pickle.

EXAMPLE #3:  Now.

Tracey says: Fuck New York.  My life is crazy.  Sometimes I don't know whether to laugh or sob.  Or kill.  Maybe I just wanna have kids and be "normal" do something where I'm my own boss.  Give up trying to BE something, someone, anyone!
Alice Says:  Tracey, whoa.  You'd be much more unhappy by accepting unhappiness and giving up on what you want.  Take it easy.  Take a Breath.  Who cares, anyway?  You're doing just fine.  Now pour yourself a glass of wine, watch some of the amazing videos you've done with Candy Slice, or go out to dinner with your husband, or with your friends.  You've got options, kid.  You've still got options.

Then again,
Sometimes I'm glad Alice is around.
Thank You.