I’m mad at her.

We used to watch her on Television.

Shirley and I both agreed that she’s the best, almost unbelievably good, gifted, talented, and so funny you can’t help yourself from peeing in your pants.

We even saw her live. She was taping an episode in Burbank for her show, and a friend of a friend who worked in the biz for the studios, had complimentary tickets and gave us two, so we drove over and entered what to us was the inner sanctum.

As first-timers, we were thrilled by everything, even parking in the specific designated lot, then clearing through security, the finger prints and retinal scans, the birth certificate, passport, and loyalty oath (oh, sorry, I mixed up the chronology, we weren’t registering to vote, and they weren’t requiring all that back then.)

Once inside, we did everything they asked, clapped, cheered on cue and laughed extra loud.

The final skit, we were told by the Audience Manager, was coming right up, Tracey needed time to change costumes, and we wouldn’t recognize her. We didn’t.

The stage set was the inside of a bus, or maybe a subway car from New York. It doesn’t matter which, because too many people were standing and shoving in the aisles because there weren’t enough seats.

An overweight old black lady was trying to get a seat, and the defending white lady was center stage. We squinted to be sure it was Tracey who had the biggest speaking part like a star.

But no, Tracey was the old black lady and gradually took over the scene, in full character and costume, with comments about the state of the world and crowded transportation for second-class citizens, so it was probably New York which knows about such things, reconstructed in Hollywood.

But it could have been L.A., because we have the same problems and I’ve seen them here first hand.

I’m California, L.A. born and bred, suburban actually, and I don’t get out much, rarely use public transportation, because L.A., but I’ve seen it all, or too much of it.

Tracey confirmed yet again for us and right before our very eyes that she is undoubtedly the greatest. We didn’t doubt.

Actor, impersonator, able to live the part and disappear into the mise-en-scène but remain the riveting protagonist. And superbly intelligent with the depth of character that elicits my immediate response. I wanted to join her fan club, or if there wasn’t any, I’d start one.

She’s a natural born virtuoso, and whatever method acting is that you go to school to learn, she didn’t need it, it came to her naturally.

She was no Marlon Brando who had to go to school to learn how to mumble, and who ad-libbed because he couldn’t remember his lines. Or the famous actor who spent six months working in a coal mine so he could act on camera the elevator ride down into the pit.

So why am I mad at Tracey Ullman?

Because we loved her and she left us.

She moved from regular TV to cable, which we didn’t have, so she just walked out of our lives.

I miss her terribly. I would see her from time to time in a movie. Now there are re-runs on TV and Kristina knows how to access them.

I look forward to a future of recovered past.

But the way things are going, you know what I mean, the past is being deleted, re-written, so I’d better quick buy up all the DVDs that I can from the record stores, as long as there are still record stores.

Tracey Ullman, I love you.

I don’t have to stay mad at you, I can forgive you, and I can tell you so.