Thursday, April 21

Can you hear yourself???


NO REALLY!?!?!

Can you hear yourself??

I only ask you because I can't hear you at all.

No really, I can't.

Who am I?

Hello! I'm your audience.

Yes, seat 14D. (waving & smiles)

Yes, yes. Nice to meet you.

I've paid at least $15 to see you... sometimes even $120, if I felt like a "baller".

So with that in mind, I am also wondering a few things:

1. Do you know that your vocal power range is as powerful as a limp dick?

2. Why did I come to this play if I can't hear a damn thing?

3. Perhaps I should've gone to the ballet.

4. Why are you an actor if your goal in the production is to be as useless as a wet mop in a river?

5. Do you realize that your intentions seem just as weak as your words?

6. How am I to believe you if I can't hear you?

7. If a tree falls in the forest and no one is there, does anyone give a sh*t?


God!!! it's so infuriating to go to a play or be a part of one, and NOT hear a word an actor says.
The playwright wrote words, not emotional states to be posed alongside the harpsichord.

Get a vocal coach.
Get a shrink.
Get a grip.
And get on with it.

I don't care about your ego. Say the effin' words!!! They were written to be heard.

BTW... being casual as an actor is just as lazy as the missionary position.
I'd rather be slapped by a parrot.
At least he'd say "POLLY WANNA A SLAP!" with some gusto.

Tttah...dddah...ppppah...bbbbah... ffffa..uck you for not doing this sooner.

Wednesday, April 20

Birthday Rap: Christiana edition!

<prologue>
hey mista mista, whatchu doin' there?
wanna create a rise with what's left of yo hair?
wanna make yo body scream: "More sugar, please?"
Wanna make tall ass giraffes go weak in the knees?
call my name out in ya sleep!
i ain't no Bo Peep, dumb sheep!


Chris-Ti-ana!
Chris-Ti-ana!
Whatcha gonna do wit yo birthday CAKE?
Chris-Ti-ana!
Christ-Ti-ana!
Rub it on yo face and charm a fucking snake!


Yo bitch! Wanna try to harmonize on top of dis? (dis dis dis)
Don't think so, cuz I got the pipes that make me "Da shit!" (Hell yeah)
that's right, Texan Amazonian Diva of the opera world
dancing round yo diaphragm, with these hips, bout to do a swirl (swirl)
you think you got what it takes?
(yeah)
well then step up to the plate.
(oh!)
What? You gonna be a flake! (Huh?)
You better up the stakes!

Chris-Ti-ana!
Chris-Ti-ana!
Whatcha gonna do wit yo birthday CAKE?
Chris-Ti-ana!
Christ-Ti-ana!
Rub it on yo face and charm a fucking snake!


Laura Bell Bundy!
Can you belt this, Bitch?
Maria fucking Callas!
No, you ain't the Shit!
Pavarotti, Bad Cannoli!
Can you go that high?
Can you reach the skies?
If you do, you die!

Chris-Ti-ana! (yes)
Chris-Ti-ana! (what?)
Whatcha gonna do wit yo birthday CAKE? (eat it)
Chris-Ti-ana! (what?)
Christ-Ti-ana! (yeah)
Rub it on yo face and charm a fucking snake! (hiss.....)

hiss..........

hiss Hiss. hiss...
hiss Hiss. hiss...
hiss Hiss. hiss..

WHAT?!?!

--the end--


Wednesday, April 13

Crossing The Street: A tale told through sensory observations and actions


(singing to myself: Adele song- Daydreamer... loudly singing to myself...)

(walking across 2nd ave. on 118th street...swagger in my step...)

(sounds of children yelling to each other behind me...)

(shrug)
(still walking across 2nd ave. on 118th street, almost at the sidewalk...)

(VERY NEAR and LOUD sounds of children yelling to each other...)

(Children running past me...)

(2 male/female children knocking me with shoulders as they pass...)

(falling down sequence from the HARD knock: left knee, hands, butt)
(sounds of children yelling to each other in front of me... not turning around to see the damage or to say "sorry"...)

(hard cement bump on butt pain, while in the right lane of 2nd ave...)

(walking to sidewalk, rubbing bum...)

(man in car in right lane of 2nd ave.: "Are you alright?! Do you need anything?!"

(ignoring the man...)
(pulling up leggings to assess damage done to knee...)

(profuse amounts of blood streaming down leg... instantly feeling copious amounts of knee pain...)

(put legging pant leg down... walk/limp away from scene of the crime/assault...)

(singing to myself: Jay-Z song- I got 99 problems...)