SCOOP THAT BLOOP

This morning I had another series of finals scheduled, one of which required a performance of one minute of original choreography to include the emphasis of three of the twelve Irmgard Bartinieff Fundamentals (I'll spare you yet again, mostly because I lack the energy and have an online final and two papers to complete tonight). I hobbled downstairs to clear out my livingroom space so that I could get some practice in before trotting off to school. As usual, I pushed back the couches, closed up the bunny ears on the TV, and slid the coffee table out of the way. Start music, begin dancing. Tra la la. All is going well. I jump, turn once or twice, extend a leg into a high balance, mark a few quarky arm movements, and then roll to the floor...

Oh. My. Gosh.

As I rolled to the floor, I ended up bumping the coffee table slightly, which jarred the candle holders in their display on the table. It was only then that I realized that someone had taken one of those little glass candle holders (in the shape and size of a shot glass) and turned it upside down to hold in place a moderately sized cockroach that had apparently been chilling on the coffee table, waiting for the morning news on Channel Five...

The roach and I remained locked in a dead stare for what seemed like hours. Finally, he blinked. I won! Having overcome my disgusting foe, I felt confident enough to shake off the shakes, creep away from the creeps, ignore the fact that the most terrifyingly harmless creature on earth was sitting before me, and continue dancing. I finished my personal rehearsal, replaced the furniture of the room, nodded civily at my creepy, crawly, caged audience, and headed out the door.

Later, I performed my piece for my professor and classmates. The feedback was excellent, even overly-flattering. I thought back to my silent viewer, the cockroach, and felt a slight twinge of insecurity. He hadn't said anything about my piece at all, and he had watched it several times! How rude... No feedback whatsoever.

Then again, We had deprived him of freedom, food, and oxygen. In fact, he is probably dead by now. And the way his little disgusting anteana poked about his glass window did have a pleasant way about it overall... Perhaps he is not so bad. I'm sure he would have given me great reviews, had he paid to see me perform in a formal concert. In fact, I do think I recall something agreeable about our interaction. He probably loved the piece. Yeah. I probably changed his life, or what little there was left. I'll miss you, roachy. Watch me dance from heaven. Tell your friends.