if not a parentheses, what the hell is death then?

i'm exhausted, let's just start there. after 26 and a half grueling hours of auditions, i now hold in my hand (ok, not really in my hand at the moment) 107 audition sheets filled with names, numbers, wishes, hopes, dreams, and requests from 107 amazing women. the 2005 Vagina Monologues auditions have drawn to a close (except for one more i had to reschedule for tomorrow, but let's just for the moment and the sake of my sanity pretend i'm all done). it was absolutely one of the most inspiring weekends of my life. i have never seen so many girls so passionate about getting their voices out there. half of the girls that came in were totally inexperienced. 95% of those had never even been to an audition before. but they came. and they put themselves out there in ways so beautiful i thought they were only possible in idealist fantasies of what the world could be like if only women knew they had a strong voice inside them. well, i am here to testify that most of them do! and are NOT afraid to put it out there. i just wanted to be friends with everyone who walked through the door. on the back of the audition sheets, i told people to draw what they thought a vagina warrior should look like. i didn't do this to intimidate anyone, or to test their creative abilities, i just wanted to give people something fun to do while they waited. and of course, i was curious to see what they would draw. i love throwing random tasks at people and telling them to create something spontaneously. honestly, the work i am most proud of artistically is the stuff i did on the spot, without overthinking it. well, these drawings the auditionees did--are so amazing!! each one was totally different--and that's saying a lot. i mean it's pretty easy to knock off a stick figure wearing a "i heart michigan vaginas" t shirt. but these were not just that. one girl drew a silhouette of a woman smiling and stretching out her arms, and inside her body she wrote a poem. another girl drew thousands of people dancing on a flower that looked like a vagina. another girl drew a militant mohawked girl flicking off the viewer with the caption "nice girls do whatever." i mean these drawings really covered all the bases. one girl wrote a paragraph about how she didn't feel that vagina warriors should be confined to the back of a page and that it was "too limiting" to depict what a warrior "should" look like. more power to her for writing that. i am utterly and totally inspired by each and every woman that auditioned.

i walked out of the parker room feeling great, planning a night at conor o'neill's with my trivia team to try and beat our record of fifth place. when i called luke, they were in third. they needed me for my musical knowledge (of which i have a lot, don't fuck with that). i was like, i'll be right over--oh wait, i have another call. i click over the my brother. before he says anything, i'm like, look i can't give you a ride, i'm busy, i'm exhausted, this had better be good. he says, are you coming home? i say, well no, not right away, why, what do you need? (i'm exasperated.) he says, mommy didn't call you? in this terible, small, scared voice. i stop in my tracks. what happened?

gigo died this afternoon, he said.

gigo is my father's mother, the matriarch of my new york family. she has been sick for a long time, in a home for about five years. lately she's been in and out of the hospital on a weekly basis. the last time i saw her, we played scrabble and ate crappy popcorn. she's 88 and extremely opinionated and New Yorkian and just being in her presence demands all your attention. she is a queen among queens. every woman on that side of the family is extremely proud of their family--there are two aunts and they both have four children, and each of those children has children, and both my aunts preen and prance around their broods like peacocks. so you can imagine where they got it from.

gigo was never very close to us. i mean, my whole dad's family lives out in new york, and even when my dad was alive we only went out there once a year. my dad was sort of the black sheep--everyone else went to U of M, but then went back to NY where they belonged. my dad met my mom and stayed. so i grew up closer to my mom's mom, Nonna, who we live with and if this had happened to her, i would not be able to form words right now, let alone compose whole sentences. honestly, i'm not that affected by gigo's death. but it's making me nervous to go to NY for thanksgiving. it's going to be a lot of crawling on glass. everyone tiptoing around trying to be normal. i hate how death makes people so nervous. if anything it should make dialogue possible, it should bring out the best in people. it should bond bonds tighter; instead it only alienates. the last thing i want is to go to a room full of people who won't know how to talk to me because a) i'm still Dealing With The Loss Of My Father and b) i didn't really know gigo that well.

so...to bring this full circle, i'm exhausted. i don't know if this was very much fun to read. please don't leave any comments that say things like, "gee carol, i'm so sorry. i don't know what to say. call me anytime." i know i can call you anytime. if you are reading this, i know that you are sorry and that you love me. somehow i can't stand hearing those things anymore. i heard them too much i guess. the point is, i'm fine. i know this post is long but it made me feel a lot better to write it. it's like what i was talking about before, about closing my eyes and just pressing "publish post" and not having to answer any questions, or get any answers to my questions. it feels safe and also like a cop-out, so eventually i suppose i'll have to give in and call some of you and talk this out for real. for life is not a paragraph.