Horror-scopes

Aries (3/21 – 4/19): Its tough when the weather changes, but find that as one big opportunity to nap. There's not much else going on. Be sure to set your alarm for that nice week we get in February, though.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20): Lately, I’ve been arguing with B. about the state senate race, because he intends to vote for the right-wing guy who’s named after the Flintstones' dinosaur.

“Do you even know what your guy stands for?” I ask.

“No, but we gotta get rid of big government. I do know that.”

So I look Dino up on Wikipedia, and there’s really almost no information about what he believes in, which seems suspicious, doesn’t it? But I do about two minutes more research and share what I find.

“Okay, he's opposed to public breastfeeding.”

“Me too!” B. exclaims. “I hate it when I’m out in public, and some movement catches my eye so I look and there’s a big ole’ breast staring right back at me, and then the mom looks at me like I’m some kind of creep. So that clinches it, I’m definitely on board for Dino.

"What if he cuts enough jobs that yours is gone? We are the government, after all."

"Sometimes you've gotta take one for the team, Betsy. If getting rid of public breastfeeding means I live under a bridge, so be it. That may be what it takes to be a patriot."

The point, dear Taurus, is keep feeding the babies, and be sure to vote.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21):  Ransom notes aren't just for kidnappers anymore.  Use them.  But, I must remind you how they go:  there's a threat, and an action one could take to avoid said threat, and most importantly, they are anonymous.  Someone who lives in my house, and I'm not going to name any names, leaves notes like, "Give me a backrub or I'll kill you." I know. Good thing the handwriting was disguised.

Cancer (6/22 – 7/21): You know that thing where you're wearing your huge GPS wrist unit that's the size of a small tv on a hike, and another hiker starts talking about it with you, asking you what your running distance is, and you say, um, four miles? And he looks at you like, oh, weird, that's not even a race I'm aware of, but then says, "OH! You run four miles for fun!" Which suddenly sounds ridiculous. Like, to non-runners, running four miles seems long, but to a runner, it's not even a race length. It would be sort of like if you bumped into an artist and claimed to be one, and they asked what your medium is and you say, "Usually, I use crayons. Sometimes markers if my mom will let me have them." It turns out he runs ultra-marathons, and it just gets more awkward from there because we're in the middle of nowhere, standing on the side of a trail, and this rag tag band of hippies runs by looking more like they're running from something, possibly a ghost, because they aren't dressed for running.  Not even close.  There are 15 young people in boots and dreds and flannel shirts, smelling like the wilderness school (weed, b.o., woodsmoke all mixed together).  The ultra runner guy is looking surprised and so am I, and then the last person stops and yells my name and gives me a big hug.  Yep, kids from the neighborhood. Anyway, it's a familiar scenario, and it reminds me of your horoscope, which is to just carry on, even when it gets awkward.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22): So I'm in the grocery store the other day and I see these lovely display of local organic greens from our own Oxbow Farm, a dollar a bunch.  I grab a bunch of chard and one of mustard greens, but when I get to the checkout stand it rings up as $2.54 for the chard.

"I think that's only a dollar. It's from Oxbow."
"Hmm," says the clerk, "I'm too lazy to go check, so I'll take your word for it."

Then the mustard greens, same thing. Rings it up as $2.54.  "That's from Oxbow too, I think."

"You used that one up.  This is from the factory.  Look, it's got the little twisty on it with the scan code."

"Oh, it just looked like a whole little Oxbow situation in the produce section with three kinds of greens.  I thought they were all a dollar."

"No, they aren't a dollar. They were grown in a factory, not in this valley."

"Seriously, they're local. I'm pretty sure they're from Oxbox."

"If it makes you feel any better, I grew them. I grew that chicken you're buying too."

Okay, all week long people will think you're the scammer, and make stuff up.  Check facts before you vote.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22): I got an e-mail from M. the other day, who organized a hike for us. “You just need to put clothes on, show up, do your best, try your hardest and all that, and I’ll handle the rest.” That's what you need to do this week.  At least put the clothes on.   The rest, well, see what you can do.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22): The other day, I was picking up load of firewood, and when I lifted the tarp covering it, there was a large garter snake coiled right there. I just don’t really care for the unannounced snake. I know, the garder snake is harmless, but it's creepy how they're so quiet and angry. And so much sticking out of the tongue. So I would scare it, and move the top layer of logs from the pile, but it would just slither under the next log, so I'd encounter it in the next layer, and the next, and on and on until I started to think there were maybe dozens of large snakes. Avoid the quiet seethers this week, that's all I'm saying. Don't let it seem like there are hundreds of them, because there really aren't.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21): It's still cool to be smart. But here's the thing -- I was visiting one of our violators last week, who had put a bunch of fill in the flood plain, and we really have no control over it, but every so often I go there to discuss the whole thing, and it never goes anywhere, and it's always more than a little disturbing. During last weeks' visit he talked about tow main things: 1) his dead wife, whom he misses dearly; and 2) his massive collection of firearms. He also invited me to marry him, which seemed pretty awkward. You may notice that these topics don't connect at all, and also, they have nothing to do with the topic that should have been at hand, which is how he needs to remove all this fill and these ugly shipping containers from the floodplain. Yes, I know.  Don't get sidetracked like that this week.  Stick to your point.

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21): So, you know how Ginni Thomas called Anita Hill to ask for an apology? Weird. I smack you in the face. Twenty years go by. I call you and ask for an apology. Yep.That's how the week's gonna go down, I'm afraid. Random unfair requests from out of the blue. Use it as an opportunity to practice gracefulness.

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19): Did you hear about that mountain goat that killed a hiker a few weeks ago? So sad, and also a reminder to all you goats that even the gentlest creatures get cranky when they don't get their needs met, over and over and over.  So take a break, call in sick, do something just for you.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18): I went to a little “meet-the-candidate” event in my neighborhood, and met the esteemed Eric Oemig, who introduced a resolution in Washington State in 2007 to impeach President Bush for his unprecedented contempt for the U.S. Constitution. Even though it didn’t work, it was nice to be in a room with someone with such integrity and conscience.; Vote for him if you get the chance.

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  Have you ever had a problem that The County can solve?  Like, you need an electric pencil sharpener, and you don't know what kind to get, so you call the local government for advice, and the helpful person reads all the reviews from Amazon to you while you stand in Office Max?  Yeah, that's your tax dollars at work, and don't ever forget it. Vote.