My astrologer, Joyce Van Horn, warned me that Mercury goes retrograde from January 10 to January 31, 2009, causing higher than usual chaos in the universe. During this phase, mishaps can multiply as humans and the inanimate world forget how to cooperate with each other.
Mercury retrograde or not, trouble needs no gps tracker to locate me; it targets me with the accuracy of a heat seeking missile. But on Wednesday 1/21/2009, I was even easier game than usual. There I was at the Hilton Hotel in Chinatown (formerly the Holiday Inn), scheduled to perform classical Chinese dance for a community event called CHOW (Chinatown on Wednesdays). Here, CHOW is not a stir-fried dish, but a meet-and-greet networking association of Chinese business owners, professionals, community leaders, local residents, white guys with yellow fever, etc.
The invitation to perform came only the week before, so our group had all of one rehearsal to practice two routines we had far from finessed. For those of you unfamiliar with the form, Chinese classical dance is known for its use of props. One of our dance pieces required us to wear robes with sleeves long enough to drag on the floor. The dance creates a lovely effect when these elongated flowing sleeves billow around the dancer's body like clouds gliding among narrow peaks. These cloud-like sleeves alternatively swirl, swoop, and swish through the air, pale creatures of phantom breath and energy. Keeping the cloud-like fabric airborne in motion is what makes the dance so lovely to watch. Occasionally, the dancers fling the sleeves away from the body, causing the fabric to unfurl, then pull the arm back to catch the end of flying sleeve. On this occasion, one dancer, who shall not be named, tossed the column of sleeve above her head and attempted to catch it on the way down, only to have the slippery fabric slide right through her nervous fingers and drop in a puddled heap on the floor (the sleeve, not the dancer). In that moment, our group of five dancers resembled four flying clouds plus one very embarrassed fallen cloud.
But that mishap was nothing compared to our other performance piece, the long ribbon dance. Picture in each hand a silk ribbon about eight feet long, perfect for waving, twirling, and forming windborne curls. The effect is amazing when seen on a large stage with plenty of room for five dancers to flow around freely. But put those same five be-ribbonned dancers on a postage stamp size portable dance floor, and you’re asking for a silk war. Instead of creating loose, flowing shapes with our ribbons, we looked like we were attacking each other with colorful whips. Not wanting to strike my fellow dancers with my silk strips, I made smaller swinging motions with my arms when turning. Without enough momentum, the ribbon’s circular trajectory was too small for clearance, causing it to twist a few times around my waist. Pulling on the ribbon only tightened the tangled hold. I went from being a ribbon dancer to an immobilized bondage victim. The audience watched me untangled myself from the silken restraint with both hands fumbling and a mouthful of unspoken curses written on my face. By the time I released myself, I completely lost my place in the music. I winged my way through the rest of the ribbon storm. Just so you know, I wasn’t the only who ruined the ribbon dance. The other dancers also looked dazed and discombobulated by the battle of clashing silk. The CD player, bent on its own mischievous agenda, skipped to the beat of its own drunken drummer.
I am partly to blame because I was busy stuffing my face with fried wonton and fried chicken wings before the show when I should have been practicing my ribbon strokes.
And last but not least, there was an unintentional wardrobe malfunction. Not the kind that causes bare boobs to pop out, but the kind that reveals unwise underwear choices. My ribbon dance costume consisted of a sheer silk tunic and matching pants in yellow gold. When I wore this costume during rehearsal, I must have been wearing pale panties in a solid color, because I don’t recall the transparency factor of the fabric. Those pants were not made to be worn with my panties du jour: hot pink boyshorts trimmed in black and embellished with a smirking Tweety Bird. (In case you’re wondering, other patterns in my collection include Disney Princesses, Hello Kitty, and my favorite logo brand, “Miso Hot.”) There was no time to go home and switch panties, so I had two choices: flash a cartoon character known for saying “I thought I saw a puddy cat” or flash whiskers of a different kind.
I haven’t checked the planetary charts, but I’m sure Mercury was also retrograde during a past performance in the fall of 2008 when I experienced another embarrassing panty incident. This time, I played the seductress in a contemporary ballet piece called Hidden Dreams. My costume included a little black dress, black fishnet stockings, and shorts over the stockings for modesty’s sake when I performed certain moves. One section of my choreography included a floorwork move I learned from Chinese dance. When it’s done right, my legs resemble the opening and closing of a fan swiveling back and forth. I lowered myself onto the floor and positioned my legs for a fan-like unfolding. As I rotated one leg into the air into a circular sweep, I suddenly remembered that I had no shorts on underneath the dress, just panties and stockings. How did this oversight occur? During the rush between costume changes, someone yelled out for all dancers to hurry up and assemble for Hidden Dreams. Not wanting to miss our cue, I joined my fellow dancers without realizing my missing costume component. One must give me credit for my professionalism as a performer in demonstrating that “the show must go on.
”What? Don't tell me you’ve never had a bad panty day in your life. Mercury will go retrograde again during the summer of 2009, posing another opportunity to wreak havoc in your life, so watch out for mishaps that lurk in blind corners to nab you in the dark. Or just watch out for me, because I am perennial mischief in motion.
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