Gemini (5/21 - 6/21): As you know, I listen to many podcasts, and they advertise things for people who don't get out much, which always causes me to wonder. But the latest is the Caspar bed, which is surprising in at least two ways:
- It's a mail order bed! It ships in a box, directly to your door.
- There are no choices. At first I thought that was weird, but after mulling it over, I'm a big fan. I want a new bed. I don't want to leave the house and go practice sleeping in a public place. I don't want choices. I want one thing, a good night's sleep.
Leo (7/23 – 8/22): I saw my neighbor the other day, something that doesn't happen in the winter, and he asked if I was still planning to cut down a few trees on our shared property line. "Yeah, I did that last fall. Five trees."
"Oh, I hadn't noticed."
The conversation turned to how unseasonably warm it's been. Yawn. But I mentioned how it's already the time of year when we micro-adjust the dial on the shower, because the water we use, which is from the lake, is warm. And then I thought, yikes, it's come to this. Me, explaining to a man I hardly know, a man who doesn't notice the removal of five giant trees, that I've dialed back the mix of heated versus unheated water in the shower. Right? Boring-ness happens, Leo, but I do think micro-dosing could help. Are you in?
Virgo (8/23 – 9/22): I was driving across Lake Washington the other day, shortly before the rock and roll marathon, when I saw planes flying around dragging encouraging notes for runners and for some reason I almost had to pull over to weep. An airplane, the biggest fastest way we locomote, cheering on people going the old fashioned way, going the way we've been moving since humans first wanted to get away from the lion. The sheer sweetness of that took me down. Virgo, your week will involve lions and tigers and bears, but don't run. Just watch and learn.
Libra (9/23 – 10/22): I saw a jar on the counter at a little store in town with the picture of a super sick man. Pale, hooked up to medical machinery, in a bed. The jar is a means of collecting money for his kidney transplant. I think there was a bit of change in the jar, but not much. There must be a better way, Libra. If I need to go on a jar, please just do me in. And use the jar for something good, like honey.
Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21): I've talked about this before, how people post death and funeral notices on the window at the post office. But this week, I noticed a sign where the death notices usually are that says, "I love you Bob! We miss you!" It was written in lipstick on the window. Apparently, the dead continue to get their mail at the PO, but not in the regular boxes. Just lipstick on the window. Take note.
Capricorn (12/22 - 1/19): I was thinking I should get some sponsors, do product placement here in the 'scopes, and earn big money. So, sponsors, feel free to contact me. It's fine if you offer me the item to use so I can genuinely endorse it. I'm down for the Casper bed, a newer econo car, fly paper, and gutters for a house. I'll sprinkle endorsements throughout the astrological signs. Oh, but Cap, your horoscope: You'll find everything you need at Zabars!
Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18): I was at the Farmer's market yesterday, looking at produce, when I noticed a couple nearby. The man said, "Wow, look at the giant fava beans! Let's get some."
And I looked too, and thought I should buy some as well. Even though they're kind of a pain in the ass to cook.
But the woman said she can never eat fava beans. "Reminds me of Silence of the Lambs where Hannibal said, 'I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti.'" Then she noticed my look and said, "It's okay, you can eat them alone." So I did buy them, in an act of defiance. And I'll eat them alone, maybe today. Do something bold yourself, Aquarius.