Coma Girl in Complete Awe of What We Built
I called in sick today so that I could spend a little time with my parents, who were playing in the city all day before flying back down south tonight. We went to the MOMA, and I had a great time despite the horrible pain shooting through my back and neck (oh so convenient for walking erect through a museum all day...ouch!). My father, who grew up in Queens and used to spend massive amounts of time at the old MOMA when he was at the high school of music and art, said it was like seeing wonderful old friends. I kind of felt the same way, having been raised surrounded by art and visiting museums in Paris and DC. It also made me remember why I do love my Dad, despite how incredibly frustrating he can often be; I saw his remarkable self, and you are always reminded of why you love those that you love when you see something of what makes them remarkable. My father in a museum is like an eccstatic child bouncing excitedly from work to work with an expression of sheer joy as he describes the work and what it did for the genre at the time. My mother and I talked about everything in the world 5 times over, as we always do, giggled at Dad, held hands, and quietly ran the gamut of life in a few short hours. This is why I am so thankful for my parents. They are complete fabulous adorable freaks, and more like me than anyone I've ever met. They're quirky, fun, original, astoundingly open minded and still manage to surprise me every time I'm with them; it always feels like we are living a million contradictory experiences all at once but in a quiet simple thrilling way.
I took them to Penn as I was afraid that Dad would start bouding ahead of Mom, as is his habit, and she would be scrambling to keep up completely overwhelmed by rush hour commuters lurching forward in menacing droves (as is their habit). I know that the city can be a little overwhelming for my tiny 5'1" slip of a mother, and the barrage of sounds, sights, smells and movement can feel assaulting to her. Feeling protective of both of my parents and wanting to show off at the same time to my father, with whom I'm in a lifelong neverending competition, I guided them through the subways and sidewalks and the psycho Long Island commuters right onto their train. It always breaks my heart when I have to leave them, when the surreal time stopping visits are over; I'm glad this goodbye was hurried.
I then returned home where I promptly went into a coma for 5 hours. I woke up to a very worried phone call from Mr. Saucy Funnybuns, the second of such calls within 3 days, whom I had never called back today about meeting up with my parents. They were going to leave the museum early and go have coffee with him, which of course never happened, as both my father and I are impossible to remove from a museum. When I was a little girl, there was an Egyptian mummy in the museum near us, and my father used to tell me that the mummy came to life at 5:00 sharp and would go after anyone still inside the museum; this was how my parents were able to get me to leave by closing time, and also why I have a fear of museums after 5:00.
Its always an odd feeling to wake up and discover that a huge chunk of time is completely gone. Missed. Disappeared. It gives the day a very surreal quality; I'm not quite sure what happened, what was dreamed, where I am, and what day it is. Couple that with the fact that I spent the workday in my own city, with my parents, at the MOMA. The feeling of dislocation is pretty huge. I'm sure the relief of yesterday's success, the ability to breathe comfortably for the first time in weeks is a factor as well.
Last night was amazing. I want to write in detail, but still feel like I'm in a partial coma, and would like to be able to really write more in depth about it all. At 3pm, I was afraid we'd never pull it off, and at 10pm I was reeling with the excited thrill of it all. The house was great, not quite sold out but a really great size especially for a Sunday night, and they were right there with us and amazingly supportive. Mr. Artsy Hotpants said that it was a really fun event, and that it felt like an event...it worked. It was comfortable, relaxed, and fun, which is exactly what we were going for. We had wanted it to be liked the audience was invited to our own little slumber party - not formal or distanced, but something where the audience would feel free to be a part of the experience. It worked! There were some rough edges, but MAH, whose opinion I trust implicitly, said that it worked for the piece and for what the evening was about.
At the end of the evening I was taking down the clothes that were strung along one wall, an "air your dirty laundry" installation where everyone was invited to write about their experiences as womyn or thoughts about anything vagina related, and I found a sock upon which was written "I got out thanks to Park Slope Safe Homes Project" (PSSHP is the beneficiary of all proceeds - its an organization dedicated to helping victims of domestic violence and preventing further cases through education and outreach). I was frozen; I was so moved and in awe...this was why we were doing the whole thing, the root of it all, what all the hard work was for. That one sock brought the whole thing so poignantly home for me. I can't even begin to describe what that felt like - that one little moment, with one little sock covered in messy magic marker writing. There's so much ugly in the world that sometimes we forget about our own capacity to do something about it, to empower ourselves and others.
My father had been continually making fun of the show for years before I ever began this endeavor. He loved it. I heard him laughing throughout, and he was so excited about the whole event. I had tried to convince my mother to go with me a few times to local productions, and she always refused; she didn't think it was for her and didn't want to hear about vaginas. She genuinely loved it (both of my parents will be the first to tell me if they dislike something - they never bullshit about these things) and said today that she was so glad she had seen the show, so glad she had that experience. That was incredibly touching as well - to have been able to change my own parents' perspectives and broaden their already limitless minds.
I returned home somewhere around 1am, in complete awe of what we had built. We made that happen. Its still so unreal, it feels in this moment like it was all a dream. We built it, from absolutely nothing, in an astoundingly short period of time. MAH said it was a Hurculean task, and we rose to the challenge. I am overwhelmed by it all. Wow. We did that. I did that. I feel so complete in this moment.
I'm going back into my coma so that I have some energy tomorrow. 'Night!
I took them to Penn as I was afraid that Dad would start bouding ahead of Mom, as is his habit, and she would be scrambling to keep up completely overwhelmed by rush hour commuters lurching forward in menacing droves (as is their habit). I know that the city can be a little overwhelming for my tiny 5'1" slip of a mother, and the barrage of sounds, sights, smells and movement can feel assaulting to her. Feeling protective of both of my parents and wanting to show off at the same time to my father, with whom I'm in a lifelong neverending competition, I guided them through the subways and sidewalks and the psycho Long Island commuters right onto their train. It always breaks my heart when I have to leave them, when the surreal time stopping visits are over; I'm glad this goodbye was hurried.
I then returned home where I promptly went into a coma for 5 hours. I woke up to a very worried phone call from Mr. Saucy Funnybuns, the second of such calls within 3 days, whom I had never called back today about meeting up with my parents. They were going to leave the museum early and go have coffee with him, which of course never happened, as both my father and I are impossible to remove from a museum. When I was a little girl, there was an Egyptian mummy in the museum near us, and my father used to tell me that the mummy came to life at 5:00 sharp and would go after anyone still inside the museum; this was how my parents were able to get me to leave by closing time, and also why I have a fear of museums after 5:00.
Its always an odd feeling to wake up and discover that a huge chunk of time is completely gone. Missed. Disappeared. It gives the day a very surreal quality; I'm not quite sure what happened, what was dreamed, where I am, and what day it is. Couple that with the fact that I spent the workday in my own city, with my parents, at the MOMA. The feeling of dislocation is pretty huge. I'm sure the relief of yesterday's success, the ability to breathe comfortably for the first time in weeks is a factor as well.
Last night was amazing. I want to write in detail, but still feel like I'm in a partial coma, and would like to be able to really write more in depth about it all. At 3pm, I was afraid we'd never pull it off, and at 10pm I was reeling with the excited thrill of it all. The house was great, not quite sold out but a really great size especially for a Sunday night, and they were right there with us and amazingly supportive. Mr. Artsy Hotpants said that it was a really fun event, and that it felt like an event...it worked. It was comfortable, relaxed, and fun, which is exactly what we were going for. We had wanted it to be liked the audience was invited to our own little slumber party - not formal or distanced, but something where the audience would feel free to be a part of the experience. It worked! There were some rough edges, but MAH, whose opinion I trust implicitly, said that it worked for the piece and for what the evening was about.
At the end of the evening I was taking down the clothes that were strung along one wall, an "air your dirty laundry" installation where everyone was invited to write about their experiences as womyn or thoughts about anything vagina related, and I found a sock upon which was written "I got out thanks to Park Slope Safe Homes Project" (PSSHP is the beneficiary of all proceeds - its an organization dedicated to helping victims of domestic violence and preventing further cases through education and outreach). I was frozen; I was so moved and in awe...this was why we were doing the whole thing, the root of it all, what all the hard work was for. That one sock brought the whole thing so poignantly home for me. I can't even begin to describe what that felt like - that one little moment, with one little sock covered in messy magic marker writing. There's so much ugly in the world that sometimes we forget about our own capacity to do something about it, to empower ourselves and others.
My father had been continually making fun of the show for years before I ever began this endeavor. He loved it. I heard him laughing throughout, and he was so excited about the whole event. I had tried to convince my mother to go with me a few times to local productions, and she always refused; she didn't think it was for her and didn't want to hear about vaginas. She genuinely loved it (both of my parents will be the first to tell me if they dislike something - they never bullshit about these things) and said today that she was so glad she had seen the show, so glad she had that experience. That was incredibly touching as well - to have been able to change my own parents' perspectives and broaden their already limitless minds.
I returned home somewhere around 1am, in complete awe of what we had built. We made that happen. Its still so unreal, it feels in this moment like it was all a dream. We built it, from absolutely nothing, in an astoundingly short period of time. MAH said it was a Hurculean task, and we rose to the challenge. I am overwhelmed by it all. Wow. We did that. I did that. I feel so complete in this moment.
I'm going back into my coma so that I have some energy tomorrow. 'Night!
posted by Le Synge Bleu at 11:18 PM
2 Comments:
sleep well!
Way to go, Synge! I wanted to tell you, in case you didn't see it...the New York Times today had a front page article about the police state tactics that you know so well. It seems that the authorities were even doctoring videotapes in order to try and get convictions. Somehow, that doesn't surprise me. I'm sure it doesn't surprise you, either.
Post a Comment
<< Home