The Sun-Uranus square this past Sunday morning brought me a a head cold (which was gone by Monday morning) and a huge case of stage fright, the result of my having raised the performance bar via memorization of four poems. Odd that since I perform regularly and have strongly aspected Mercury, Saturn, and Moon in my natal chart, I had never before recited my poetry in front of an audience "by heart." Anyhow, I was ready, although I was three-quarters convinced that I was going to choke.
At around 5 p.m. on Monday, still at work but beginning to wind down and plan to apply some sultry eye makeup in the office restroom, I got a rather distressing phone call from the videograper whom I'd booked to capture my virgin "by heart" featured performance: "I'm here early, T.C., but you should know that the place is locked, no sign of life inside, no one is responding to my knocks."
The venue (whose name I will not mention here because bad press is better than no press), a cafe in the EV/Noho that was like a time capsule of late '60s memorabilia, had been undergoing renovations this month, but I had been assured by the reading series' curators that we would still have use of the space -- worst-case scenario being the basement instead of the main room. Then I heard the renovations were supposed to be complete by the 24th.
Renovation is ruled both by Uranus and Pluto, and this renovation in particular sounded more Plutonian: excavation instead of knocking down walls and suchlike. Neither of the curators who had my phone number had called that day to inform me the show had been canceled, and there were no show's-off emails, either. I assured the videographer that most likely, someone would show up by 6 p.m., as the show was to start at 6:30.
My stage fright morphed into anger when I saw for myself that as of 6 p.m., the venue was still locked. The reading series' curators were sitting outside along with some other early birds for the evening. Phone calls were made. Messages were left. Knocks on the door brought forth no answer. In addition to excavation, Pluto rules locks, lockouts, and subterfuge, and with the opposition from the Sun, there was obviously gross miscommunication.
However, despite the Sun-Pluto opposition (with the Sun in my sign), the Moon in Taurus, approaching a trine to my natal Pluto and Ascendant in Virgo and a conjunction to my progressed Moon, salvaged the evening. The videographer had every right to take off, but he waited long enough for the tide to turn, which happened around 6:45. A woman living upstairs eventually let us in, after receiving a phone call from someone associated with the venue, and after one of the curators assumed liability in case anyone got electrocuted or died of cat-piss inhalation.
I learned that night that this show was number 13 in the series, which had begun on a monthly basis just over a year ago. Not surprisingly, 13 is a Pluto number (anyone who doubts that can check out the 13th card in the tarot's major arcana: Death). Fortunately, 13 is my lucky number (as I was born on the 13th).
Everyone performed amazingly well given the weird circumstances, plus the fact that turnout was relatively low (especially compared to last month's show). My darling read a new poem that was both sweet and sexy. And not only did I not choke during my performance, it may have been my best one so far. Because there were fewer people in attendance, and fewer open-mikers, I went on pretty much on schedule. Two of my awesome girl friends, who rarely if ever miss a show I am featured in, showed up and we all went out afterward for a delicious dinner.
So take that, Sun-Pluto opposition! Nyah, nyah, nyah!!!
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