The First Practice

Oh, holy shit. I just got back from my first practice for The Vagina Monologues. I don’t even know where to start.

Okay, to start with, I spent some time staring at Bocephus’s gold records. Then I was listening to Jeannie Seely telling stories about the Grand Ole Opry, about how she announced our production last Saturday. She threw her head back and just laughed at the memory of her saying “vagina” on the Opry stage. I overheard the last part of some story she was telling Mandy Barnett in which she said “So, at that time, apparently, you could show your tits on the Opry stage but not your knees.” She was wearing a t-shirt that said “In dog years, you’re still a bitch.”

After today, she’s kind of my hero.

So, I haven’t seen The Vagina Monologues before and the first time I read through the whole script was last week. And so I didn’t have any idea what it would really be like, to see each piece embodied by a woman.

But wow. God damn.

Parts are so funny. Tracy Gershon is just a riot, as is Trish Vogel. And parts about did me in, even with people reading through them for the first time; they’re just so sad.

But what was really amazing was just being in the same room with all of these amazing women all working on the same task, some who had done it before, some who had not. People who knew each other. People who were strangers. It was like a county-wide quilting bee, but, you know, with a performance when we’re done, not a blanket.

3 thoughts on “The First Practice

  1. Neko Case is blacklisted for life from the Opry because she took off her top during a show.

    That’s a pretty cool accolade.

  2. I saw the Vagina Monologues last year and honestly, looking around the audience, expected to see some women walk out (I guess I prejudged based on appearances). In fact, if I was a betting person, I would have put down some big bucks. To my surprise, though, none did. I went with a group of about 8 women and it was one of the most powerful nights of my life. Kudos to you for being part of it!

  3. REHEARSAL, Aunt B. It’s called “rehearsal”. You’re a professional now, you need the lingo…

    My Dad still calls it “play practice” in his southern accent. Drives me up a tree.

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