Astrology Today

Aries (3/21 – 4/19):  I don't know about you, but I'm not satisfied by the long form birth certificate.  I want to see the Apgar scores.  I would hate for us to have a president who's first cry after birth was weak, irregular, or gasping, Aries, and I know you're on my side here. 

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):    Do you ever have apartment hunting blues, and then you start to realize, wow, what a great thing, I get to actually move and live somewhere else, and I have all of this choice, at least in theory.  Until you realize that the choices aren't that great, or they're too expensive, or in a sketchy location?  Yeah, that's not your horoscope.  Your horoscope is this:  with the moon in the sky, and the fish in the sea, this is as good as it gets.  (Not that it doesn't get better, but well, to be candid, it doesn't, and that's not a bad thing.)  Be joyful.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21): We really don't know much about the sort of birthday cake that our president ate when he was a boy, do we?  What if it weren't chocolate with butter cream frosting, which is the best kind of cake, and, dare I say, the mark of a fine American? What if it were (gasp) pineapple upside down cake?  I don't want to make a big deal about unimportant things, but cake is important, and I know you'll agree, Gemini.  It just doesn't seem very American to me.  Leader of the free world?  Pineapple? Gemini, in all other ways, it will get better.  Not soon enough, but trust that it will.  Hang out with the Libra's more.

Cancer 6/22 – 7/21:  This morning I started wondering who the most average American is, thinking maybe that's what we want in a president.  Someone rather mediocre.  I didn't expect to find the actual average American, but I did, through the glory of the internet.  There's a book, The Average American: The Extraordinary Search for the Nation's Most Ordinary Citizen, by Kevin O'Keefe, which seemed, well, there's no other word for it but fantastic.  There I was, eating my cereal, drinking coffee, with this question in mind, and I discover (in the same way that Columbus discovered America) that there's an actual average American, and his name is Bob.  The book's author was interviewed on this episode of Talk of the Nation.  I know you Cancers are busy people, so just skip to the little bit that happens at 6 minutes, 38 seconds.  I have not laughed that hard since yesterday, and that's actually saying something.  I'm serious.  I even made da boss listen to it today, and he even laughed.
 
Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  Maybe it's just me, but is this a funny question?  "If you could gain 40 IQ points in exchange for a permanent scar on your face running from your chin to your forehead, would you do it?"  I know, that scenario is always happening, isn't it?  That's one thing I laughed about yesterday.  If you must know, I'd go for the scar and the IQ points.  But my point, Leo, is this would be a fun book to write, and I don't think it would be that hard.... 

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  I was reading up on non-Newtonian fluids today, not because I got the 40 IQ points or anything, but they used this term in relation to that pesky radioactive goo that's leaking all over the Hanford nuclear rez.  They're about to squeeze the stuff out of it's failing container and into some machine that will make it into glass logs the size of phone poles.  The project scientist said, "I'm going to have every finger and toe crossed that that machine turns on successfully and we transfer successfully, because it's a history-making event when we make that first glass log."

I'm glad he has such a solid plan, Virgo, aren't you?  You too should make solid plans, and those plans should involve hanging out with Libras. 

Libra (9/23 – 10/22  So I guess the tricky part is that non-Newtonian fluids don't have a constant coefficient of viscosity.  Imagine cornstarch and water, or ketchup -- sort of unpredictable.  Don't we know people like that?  Where you have to smack them on the head repeatedly to get any response, and then, still nothing, or sometimes, amazingly, the metaphorical ketchup pours all over everything?  Oh wait, I'm not supposed to write about work here.   Anyway, your week will be like slogging through peanutbutter, and then suddenly, it will lighten up so it will be more like swimming in the Great Salt Lake, and then, most remarkably it will shift again to be like marching uphill through a pile of cherry blossom petals.  Got that?  Dress for it.  If you have a blog you follow, send the blogger a CD.  This will bring you very good luck.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  Yesterday I asked a smart young man if he would choose to go back in history if he could change it's course, but wouldn't ever be able to return.  He didn't miss a beat, and said he'd go back to distract or kill Gavrilo Princip, who killed King Ferdinand, which set a whole terrible string of events in motion, creating the world as we know it.  Today, I asked an old man the same question, and he said, "Yes, definitely, I'd go back to 5 minutes ago, before I came to talk to you, and I wouldn't do that again.  Ever."  Don't be like an old man, Scorpio.  Dream big. 

Saggitarius (11/22 – 12/21): Saggitarii, you are a fun-loving passionate people.  Just go with that.  Enjoy every little thing in this life, because it might be all we get.  Here's something that caught my attention today.  If you google the term, "53 million gallons", you'll discover that Hanford has 53 million gallons of radioactive ooze to deal with, there are 53 million gallons of oil remaining in the Gulf of Mexico, and that is also the amount of paint that ends up in landfills each year.  I know!  Do you see my point?  No, me neither.  But It seems like a damn good starting point for a conspiracy theory, don't you agree?  I was thinking about all of this over coffee this morning, when suddenly,  it occured to me that 1953 was the official end of Elvis' early years.  Also, ACORN got $53 million from the Pentagon.  Be safe, Sag.  Weird stuff is going down out in the world. 

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  Yesterday was Administrative Assistant's Day.  Even though it's kind of a made-up Hallmark-ish holiday because it's just based on appreciating the actual people who help you in your life, and not a real holiday, like the other one people celebrated this week based on a gruesome murder that happened 2,000 years ago and hollow chocolate bunnies, I kind of like it, mostly because we have the best AA ever.  She's stern and rigid and yells at me almost every single day, occasionally for good reason.  But each day I say, "But, Julie, Julie, Julie do you love me?" And she always says yes.  So anyway, she went to HS with Jimi Hendrix, and has had the same bf for 25 years, but they've never lived together, ("Why would we want to do that? That would be terrible!") and yesterday she came and thanked me for the flowers and um, well, I had no idea we had even given her flowers.  I wish I had.  You, Capricorn, should learn from that and give out lots of flowers.  Really. 

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  This blog is going now, and it's going to put the spring back in the step of a lot of great writers who get rejected by the NYT, and you'll be able to get there from here.  I know!  You won't have to use that pesky google search function, or wander around the internet all by yourself.  There's bad stuff out there.  But your horoscope?  Good luck this week; I hate to say it, but I think you'll need it. 

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):):  Oh, shoot, Pisces.  I got nothing.  Not even one thing.  Help me remember my glasses, would ya?

What about it, Khortnee, should I start a blog?

Dear N'3lvra,

Someone recently suggested that I start writing a blog, after I mentioned a temptation to write an essay about a topic we were discussing on Facebook.  Since you, Khortnee, have an acquaintance with an insanely popular and wildly funny blog, I immediately knew to seek your advice.  Not whether to write a blog - I already know I have less than no time for it, it will not help me focus on What I Need To Focus On, and it will just be One More Thing - no, I just want to know if I hypothetically started writing one, what should I name it?

Signed,
Gemini

Dear Gemini (Mind if I call you GeGe?),

I’m glad you wrote, because I wholeheartedly agree that you should NOT start a blog.  Having a blog is like having a dog, without the part where the happy animal runs to greet you when you get home, tail wagging, behaving as if the best moment in his life has just arrived, and you are that moment.  

 No, a blog is the kind of dog that stares at you when you’re napping on the couch, giving you a look that says, “I still love you, but man, you’re lame.  You should totally put your shoes on and take me for a walk.  I’m unconditional with you, Person, but sheesh, you are one lazy suck.”  That’s the kind of look a blog gives you all the time.  But it doesn’t want you to put on shoes and go for a walk, which would be fairly easy. It wants you to write something that’s true and funny and happened within the past day or two, and then present it in a way that couldn’t possibly hurt anyone’s feelings or be construed as mean-spirited or get you fired.  That’s the kind of dog it is.

And when you hang out with friends or family and something interesting happens, they say, “This better not show up on your blog.”  And you say "of course it wouldn’t, why would you even say that?"  But secretly, you’re thinking, damn, what a waste of good material.  And you're not exactly proud of that.  No, you're not.

Labradoodle.  Get one of those.

But back to your question:  the name I’ve chosen for the blog you won’t start is "Shades of Read".  I guess I thought of that name, GeGe, because I have another friend (coincidentally named JayJay – I know, small world), who has a band named Shades of Red. It’s a good name, but a better band, and it proves my point. 

 You see, JayJay doesn’t have a blog, because he’s the kind of guy who’s a great dad, and a devoted husband, and a good friend, and works at a job he can’t stand in order to support the people he loves, but he still makes time to create new and beautiful music.  His job even requires that he go to New Jersey sometimes, and I am not making that up.  But he’s busy living the point that being a decent, talented man who cares about the world and cares about people doesn't preclude the possibility of creating music that people want to listen to.  You don’t have to be vomiting in the hotel lobby or breaking chairs or treating women like objects in order to be a rock star.  Or at least that’s how it would go down if the world were the fair and just place that we all long for.  But see, this guy JayJay has to focus and not get distracted by every shiny idea that comes long, like starting a blog.   Follow his example, GeGe.

By the way, you should check out his CD, and not just because it’s got a whole song about N’3lvra on there. You should check it out because you’ll probably like it.  And if you think the world is, or should be, a fair and just place, a place where good people can make a living through their art, you should probably buy it.  What's the downside, GeGe?

What's going down this week

Aries (3/21 – 4/19):  Courtney is an Aries too!  I know.  She does have a song now (Track 10), but hasn't gotten any letters.  Surely you've got a problem, Aries.  And I mean that in the fondest way possible.  (Flang does not mean there's no future, btw.  It just means there was a past.)  Your week will be full of incense, flowers, chocolate -- stuff like that. 

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  Hey, your birthday's coming up, the big one!  Take a minute to be grateful that you were born with two arms and a brilliant mind.  That doesn't happen every day.  Ask the people who love you for this book for your birthday.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21):  Can you even believe that the Donald is a Gemini too?  That seems so wrong, you lovely twins. That this greedy, anti-choice, anti-gun control, anti-same-sex marriage birther even shares the same calendaring system with you people is shocking. But it turns out that all of you Gemini's are rich -- some of you more in the ideas, empathy, good will, and forgiveness categories, which is really where it's at.

Cancer 6/22 – 7/21:  Seriously, the moon is in the seventh house of partners.  I'm not sure what it means, but I think it's good.  Really good.  Plant seeds, draw a picture, dance and sing.  Okay, I looked it up, and it says during this time, you will have an emotional attachment to a marital partner.  (Hopefully your own, but that's not discussed.)

Leo (7/23 – 8/22): Your key planet is the sun, and for the first time in a while, we'll be seeing some; that will help.  Be proud of your high EQ.  I wish everyone were so endowed!  But if you do wander over to GQ, read the article about Tina Fey.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  There's a new theory called "vanishing dimensions"that suggests that the universe started as a one-dimensional line, and as it grew, it folded over itself again and again, creating a web with got more and more tangled up, creating new dimensions.  There will be a lot of that going on in your life this week -- things getting ever-so tangled to the point where you'll probably need new pants.  That's called a growth spurt, and for the universe, it only took a trillionth of a second.  I know!  Shit happens fast, Virgo.  Pay attention.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  Good news, my friends.  I was purchasing coffee from an actual astrologist on Saturday, who said Libras should take cover, hide under the bed for a for a few days, and just ride out the worst of this mars in retrograde biz.  Well, it's nearly over.  Ten years of bad juju for the Libra comes to an end tomorrow!  Better days ahead.  (Not that I believe in that stuff, except for that after he told me to drive the speed limit directly home and hide, I did get a $124 speeding ticket.  Ouch.  Good thing the blog is so lucrative!)

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  What's up with Estibalis Chavez?  Never heard of her?  Okay, she fasted for 16 days in front of the British Embassy in Mexico City, hoping to get to the Royal Wedding.  Um, sadly enough, it worked -- an anonymous benefactor is sending her to the wedding, 17 pounds lighter.  That's a bad way to get stuff done, Scorp, and I also think it's a lame cause to lobby for.  (Is that too familiar, "Scorp?"  I think we're at that point, the point where I can use the bathroom while on the phone with you, but let's just keep that off the internet, shall we?)  Anyway, the horoscope:  be aware of confusion or vagueness this week.  Wear magenta.  Stuff like that.

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21): Should you get arrested pool hopping in fine hotels in Seattle, you're on your own, my friend.  But that's more like establishing a boundary than an actual horoscope, so here's the 'scope:  Don't be miserly with your lottery fantasy.  Spend wildly.

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19): When will it ever end, my dear Capricorns?  Now one of your own, Greg Mortenson, has been accused of fraud? A faked kidnapping, and only 40% of the money raised goes to schools? I bet the three cups of tea was probably three cups of coffee laced with whiskey. 

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  Did you know Ayn Rand was born on Groundhog's day too?  Go to the movie, let me know what you think.  Today I went to the doctor for routine stuff, and first the nurse starts telling me that she's going to take up exercise and diet.  I thought it was odd, but then the doctor comes in and she does the exact same thing!  She tells me she's ordered a treadmill, and is going to get started on walking every day.  Is that backwards?  Shouldn't they be asking me about my lifestyle?  Anyway, just have a lifestyle, whatever it is.

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  This is going to be a great blog when it gets going.  I hope.  What's taking them so long, though?  But that's precisely the point, Pisces.   (Does the word, "precisely" add anything in that sentence?  I think not.)  Things take time.  Be patient.  I know, you'd be there already, but  everyone isn't you, unfortunately.  Exhale exhale exhale.  Pass your time by making a flow chart; map out the possibilities.

Random acts of radio contact

Earlier this week, I went into my boss’s office.  “My turn for a pep talk.”

He looked up.  “Go, Betsy, Go.”

“That’s it? Really?”

“I have a grindstone at home.  I was thinking I could bring it in and just point, and you’d know to put your nose right up there.”

“That sounds swell.  Thanks.  I guess.”

“What’s going on?”

I wish so much that I could actually write what goes down at my office, because there's more than enough material for a decent blog but, well, it turns out I’m not as rich as everyone believes.  (Oh shoot, did I say that out loud?)    So let’s talk about something else, shall we?

Let’s pretend I’m a nurse, working at a hospital.  I get appointed to serve on a committee to develop suggestions about how we can save more lives. I’m pretty excited about saving lives, being a nurse and all, so I come up with a few ideas, and have a meeting with the head administrator of the hospital to share them. I suggest a few things, like, “hey,  I have an idea -- we could try to stop the bleeding right away when a patient arrives.  Another thing: we could get all staff get trained in CPR.”

And the hospital administrator says, “Um, I don’t really see how this relates to our work here.  Can you explain?”

So I explain, but it really doesn’t seem to sink in, partly because he’s distracted with a gigantic walkie talkie, I’m not kidding, it’s the size of a shoebox, and a voice is coming through, “Do you read me”, over and over, and the hospital administrator doesn’t seem to know what to do. 

“There’s going to be a Random Act of Radio Contact this week,” he says.  “This might be it,” he says, as if there's some doubt.  If this isn’t a random act of radio contact, I don’t know what you'd call it, but I keep my mouth shut. 

“All the Big Guys Like Me are supposed to be available by radio in case there’s an emergency,” he explains..  He struggles to respond, but it doesn’t seem like the guy on the other end hears him, because he keeps saying the same thing over and over.

“Does anyone know how to work this?” the administrator asks.  

I ponder the use of the impersonal pronoun in this very tiny meeting, but try not to get too hung up on it.  I try to pretend we're all on the same team.  "If this were an actual emergency," I start to joke, but he doesn't look amused, so I don't finish my sentence.

As he keeps fumbling, I very slowly start to lose heart, like a bicycle tire with a slow leak that you can still ride on, but it’s not as fun, and by the end of the day it’s kind of lifeless.  That’s how it seems like it’s going. It seems like by the end of the day, I'll feel sort of lifeless.

We discuss the ideas to save lives for a little bit, and then he says, “I have an idea too!  We’ve developed new paperwork that people can do when they get here.  They can pay money, and submit another form, and then if they get through that one new extra step,  we’ll try to save their life.  I think this initiative will be really great.” 

The air in the tire is leaking out a little more quickly, and he goes back to fumbling with the walkie-talkie, because the voice on the other end is still reaching out insistently, and our meeting ends.

This didn’t actually happen, because I’m not a nurse, and I don’t work in a hospital.  In fact, any resemblance to real people or situations is totally in your imagination. 

I explain what actually happened to my boss, and he does that putting his head in his hands thing again, and starts to whimper ever-so-slightly.

“Thanks for the pep talk,” I say.  “Bring that grindstone in, would ya?  That’ll be something to look forward to!” He looks pretty sorry, and I know he’s used that exact look on his children when they didn’t make the team, or when they first read the Diary of Anne Frank. 

  

Scars

Today, E. walked in to my cube, talking as he attached a small candy bar to the file cabinet with a magnet.  I was happy about this turn of events, because usually, he throws the candy from afar, seeing if he can hit me in the head.

“Your blog is getting really lame.  Put forth a little effort.”

“Oh, I know! But trust me, I’ve got nothing. I actually am putting effort into it.”

“That’s ridiculous. Just write about your stupid life the way you usually do.”

He tosses me a bag of peanut M&M’s and wanders off.  A few minutes later, I Haven’t Been Trained in That (IHBTIT) sits down in my guest chair with one of those stories that's really hard to pay attention to, and I think you know how that is.

I focus on trying not to look stuff up on the internet while he talks.  We have this thing, IHBTIT and I, where he comes in and says stuff to bait me into googling something.  It may sound unlikely, but I often don’t realize we’re playing that game until I start typing, at which point he laughs and looks at his watch.  It usually takes less than a minute, because he’ll come in and say something like, “Hey, you probably know this…” followed by a question about something obscure that I wish I knew, but don’t, like, “Hey, I was wondering, did the HMS Beagle stop on the Falkland Islands?"

Today while he’s talking, for some reason I’m reminded of a scar that R. has.  Maybe that thought was just dangling around, waiting for me to think it, and it had nothing to do with the stories he was telling about cancer and MS and surgery.

My kids have matching scars across their left eyebrows.  The sketchiest part is that I didn’t even notice how identical the scars are until this very week, although they’ve both had them for a while.

R.’s scar is the result of a yo-yo injury.  Something happened to the string, and the small metal disk hurtled towards his head at whatever speed they travel, clipping him in the eye.  We ended up in the emergency room on a Saturday night in a nearby city, the city that houses the state prison.

Not to stray from the topic, but who’s idea was it to put the prison right next to the high school? “Uh, teacher, my ball went over the fence and that guy won’t give it back.”

Can you see the guard towers and the football field sharing a property line?

So anyway, when a mother brings her teenager in on a Saturday night with a head injury in this town, they send a social worker to talk to you, and I’m pretty sure they aren’t about to give you a parenting award.

“How’d you do this?” he asks.

“Sports injury,” says my son.

I’m giving him The Look, like, sheesh, please don’t mess around, but he ignores me.

“Oh,” says the social worker, in his thick Brooklyn accent.  “What sport do you do?” 

“Yo yo.”  He produces it from his pocket, which is good because when it’s in the pocket it looks like a can of chewing tobacco.

He’s bleeding profusely, and blood has dripped down across his eye and congealed on his cheek in a pattern that looks like when you stop the car and turn off the windshield wipers and watch the rain slowly drizzle down in a seemingly random but sad pattern.  I guess it seems sad because whenever you’re sitting in a turned-off car watching the rain slide down the windshield, it's because one person in the car is breaking up with the other person.  Otherwise, you’d just go inside, right? 

Somehow, R. brings the subject around to the Donner party, I’m not sure how.  Strangely, this 75 year-old social worker has never heard of it. 

“Jeez,” he says in his Brooklyn accent, “I’m oleways looking-g things up on the inta-net.”

So when IHBTIT wins yet another round, that phrase runs through my head.   Me too, I think.  I'm oleways looking-g things up on the intanet myself.

I tune back into IHBTIT, and he’s saying something about his situational shyness.

“When are you shy?” I ask, because he seems about as shy as Paris Hilton.

“Oh, undefined situations,” he replies.

“Oh yeah, me too. Like, at a party where you don’t know anyone, and you aren’t sure who you’re supposed to talk to, or whether the person you walk up to wants to talk to you? Or sometimes you get stuck talking to someone and neither one of you knows how to get away, and you’ve run through what you have to say, but you remain standing there because you're too chicken to go talk to someone else?”

“Yeah, exactly. Last time that happened to me, when someone clinged a little too long, I punched the guy, and broke my hand on his face. Then he punched me and knocked out my tooth.”

Super shy, is all I was thinking , but I wasn’t sure what to say, so I said nothing and  kept researching Krakatoa. 

“I know. I’m not a lover, but I’m sure not a fighter either,” he says.

My daughter M’s scar is the relic of a failed eyebrow piercing that she got at about 15. I’m not a fan of facial piercings or tattoos on the young who might not know their mind.  I tried to explain this to R. once, when he asked if he could get a tattoo. 

“I’m just glad I’m not still stuck with the style I thought was cool when I was 15.”

“Yeah, but Mom, you were probably really dorky when you were 15, so it would be a whole different thing.”

“Remember when you were 12 and dyed your hair pink?  Aren’t you glad that wasn’t a permanent decision?”

“That was 3 years ago…”

I love it when the young people make your point for you.

Shortly after M. got her eyebrow pierced, something I learned about after it was done, one of my friends asked, “So, is it on her left or right eyebrow?”   I guess that has implications in the dom/sub community, which wasn’t exactly comforting.

Anyway, the eyebrow puncture festered for months, and I’d occasionally, as gently as I could muster, say, “hmm, that doesn’t look like it’s healing very well…” and leave it at that, because I was 15 once too. 

Eventually, she removed it and let it heal, and has a little scar and bald spot on her eyebrow to show for it, an almost identical match of her brother’s yo-yo scar. 

Okay, E., I put forth effort.  That’s all I’ve got.

Signs, signs, everywhere there's signs

Aries (3/21 – 4/19):  Do you ignore your children so you can watch Repo, the Genetic Opera, a movie about an organ repo man who reclaims hearts and kidneys from past due accounts?  That’s not the worst problem a child can have, so cut yourself some slack, make popcorn, and watch the movie.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  Oh, I was going to make a joke about Taurus being like a bull in the galaxy, but that would be so  inaccurate.  You bring grace and good humor into the world, lucky us.  Dance dance dance.  That’s what your week will be like. 

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21):  Being attached to animals is not necessary for human survival, but it does make survival more fun.  I just heard some stupid podcast saying that dogs don’t really love their people, they’ve just evolved to behave as if they care.  WTF?  I don’t think it serves anyone to split hairs where love is concerned.  Of course the dog loves you.  Sheesh. 

Cancer 6/22 – 7/21:  Speaking of dogs, I once went to a pet psychic to see what that was like.  After doing the eyes closed, concentration thing that could have been an after-school special about a séance, she said to each pet owner, “I’m getting something…. Yes, your dog really loves you.  Yes he does.  He just asks that you get up earlier.  And he'd like to go for more walks.”  Cancer, you don’t have to do any of that; we love you just as you are.  But we should go for a walk soon.  Friday?

Leo (7/23 – 8/22): This week, I ask my boss if people still fly regular kites.  You know, the homemade kind, the kind you flew in the suburbs, where you’d have to run forward while looking back to watch the kite, and either you’d smash into the tree, or the kite would get tangled in the tree.  Does that even happen anymore?  People have gotten so smart now, they fly the kites on the beach!  Your week, Leo, will feel like a beach vacation, so get out your kite.  (Oh, my boss didn't answer my question -- he went off on a long reminisce about the pickle farm, as usual.)

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  We are on Day 43 of no sun, except for that little break on Friday, which doesn’t exactly count because I’m not even sure it passed the “fewer than 30% clouds” test for long enough during the day.  (Or maybe I was just in a bad mood.) Is there another place in the land that has actually created a definition for what a sunny day is?   Like, yeah, you might have thought it was cloudy and rainy, but the people who measure these things confirm that it was indeed sunny today...  This week we’ll experience rainy days number 44 through 50; I’d suggest you take up drinking. (I am so tired of the ark jokes, by the way.  They are getting ridiculously stale.)

Libra (9/23 – 10/22): Keep doing what you do, Libra.  Live with integrity and no regrets.  And send me the damn cd already, please.   The house needs a cure.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  If you’re afraid that you’ll love someone who’s going to die, and you want to avoid the situation of crying in the store while buying plastic flowers for the grave because it’s become too costly to put fresh flowers out every week, well, there’s not a lot you can do about it.  Except this:  buy the fake flowers now.  Hide them from your loved ones if you must, but there’s really no way around it.  The humans care about each other and are sad when one of us goes, which is a good thing, like the opposable thumb.  Every time you see those stupid plastic flowers, let it remind you how many people love and are loved by you.  (But hide them really well so that no one thinks you’re creepy.)

Saggitarius (11/22 – 12/21):  Did you ever have that thing where you buy a sandwich to take on a picnic, and you sit down a few blocks away, bite into it, a delicious grilled onion slides out of the sandwich onto the ground, and strangely enough, lands right next to another piece of grilled onion?  That’ll happen, Sag.  You can view at that as, “wow, there’s nothing original, it’s all been done before, someone else has had this exact picnic”, or maybe you could try thinking, “damn, good for me, I must be on the right track.  This is what the cool humans do.” Assume you’re on the right track. 

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  I will confess to you, Capricorn, that I've stopped paying attention to the news.  I used to be all about that Wendell Berry line, “Be joyful, though you have considered the facts.”  That seemed like excellent advice, but it’s harder and harder to do both, so I’m skipping the facts.  Just be joyful.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  Try on this music, which you’ll be hearing more about soon.  It’s got a song about N’3lvra!  She is super-excited, from her double-wide on the outskirts of the internet.  Finally, the fame she has longed for.  Your week will be all about overcoming obstacles.  (I stole that from a legit horoscope site, fyi.  Sounds authentic, doesn’t it?)  By the way, Courtney doesn't get much mail lately, and you've got lots of problems.... Maybe it's a match?

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  You should totally go to Europe this week.  In fact, it's your astrological destiny!  Be safe and have fun.

The movements of the planets affect us again this week

Aries (3/21 – 4/19):  They say that if life hands you lemons, take photos of them, post on your blog, make lemonade, spill it all over the refrigerator, play outside, and then make more lemonade.  Anyway, back to me.  So I wrote to Starlee Kine, and She. Didn't. Write. Back.  What's up with that?  Aries, enjoy your vacation, actual or metaphorical.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  You know that part of the quarter when all the books and classes are new, and you vow to really work hard and stay on top of everything?  In fact, you're going to probably be ahead, and do extra stuff.  Yes, for sure.  And then, well...  But this time, for sure, it's gonna be different.  And so is your week.  You'll encounter all things wonderful.  This week will be amazing.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21): Do you think you actually are the cake boss?  And then the cake is all, "Hey, you're not the boss of me."  I know.  That happens here too.  Cupcakes yield to authority more readily; start there. 

Cancer (6/22 – 7/21):  Remember the 1980's when ordinary people wore sweat pants?  Who says things aren't getting better?  Why, B. told me today that he wore the same pair of blue sweats for about three years straight, which, I know, doesn't pertain to your horoscope at all, but I had to get that off my chest.

These days, sweats seem to be the domain of the pervy guy who needs pants that come off really fast.  I was  thinking about that because I overheard heard Officer Vest Lady saying, "I told him, 'I'm from the County, and I'm not talking to you until you put some pants on'."  With the moon in the 18th house, you aren't very likely to hear that this week.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  Leo, you are so mellow these days that when you think you're acting irritable, I just think you're sleepy or drunk.  Not a bad problem to have.  We are not a complaining people, I might add, but this weather has just been a little too much, even for the hardiest among us.  There's still 60 feet of snow on Highway 20 which isn't about to be opening anytime soon.  Don't despair.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22): So the other day, I go ask the Baron for advice:  "I can either," I begin, "wait patiently to get laid off, reduce my hours now, or have a sex change operation while I still have good insurance."  Miss Clickety Click comes in about then and asks which direction I'm headed with the sex change.  I am pretty sure that's not a complement, but the baron laughs so hard that for a minute it's totally worth it to be the butt of that joke.  When he finally catches his breath, he asks if I cut my own hair.  Um, the point, Virgo, is that I need a new job.  See what you can do.  Oh, and your week?  Awesome, as usual.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):   Don't feel embarrassed if your housecleaning music involves Lady Gaga.  There's no shame in that.  Reasons for shame would include stalking Jackson Browne, or having Rhett Miller sign your boob, but I'm sure you, my Libra friend, would never hardly ever do that.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  You, Scorpio, are a finisher, and so many of us are merely starters.  There are door knobs on only one side of the door, which is fine if you're coming but not so much if you're going.  ('What does she mean by that', you're whispering to yourself...'is it some sort of koan?')  Appreciate your persistence, and wish everyone were more like you.  That' totally fair.

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):   Hey, be here now.  Don't worry so much about all of those bridges that we haven't burned yet.  The here and now could be pretty damn good, as it turns out.  Why in fact, someone wrote a horoscope just for you! 

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  So, there's a plate of brownies on the counter that the boys made (!?) during what we will call "spring break", which seems rather like a misnomer, because when you only have class for about an hour a week, which is the break?  (Are you a boy dreaming you're a student, or a student dreaming you're a boy?)  I ask if I may have a brownie, and they're all generous, and then, when I start to eat it, are all, "whoa, careful there, just a small one, you never know what's in there." So read this book; I think you'll get a huge kick out of it.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  I hate that I keep getting sucked into checking Google to see what the breakout searches are, because I'm pretty sure nothing good ever comes of it.   A breakout search right now, for example, is Helvetica.  Huh?  This, my Aquarian friends, is what keeps a horoscopist up at night.  That, and the fact that there is someone at the This American Life office administering psychopath tests, which I just read on their Facebook page, because we're actual FB friends.  I know!  Why oh why didn't Starlee write back? 

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):   In my office, in the interest of streamlining, we’ve changed the mail system.  I know, this might seem unremarkable, but we used to have one room for all the types of mail - incoming, outgoing.  Strange?  So now that we're all streamlined, we have one location for out-going unstamped mail (second floor), one location for out-going stamped mail (first floor), and a third location to pick up the mail.  See what you can do to streamline your own life.  Benevolent Jupiter is coming into Taurus soon.  You know what to do.

Tooth or dare

When R. was about 12 or 13, he took a pretty in-depth sexuality education class (Our Whole Lives), which is another thing that I have to say, Unitarians do right.  The point is to give kids the opportunity to get solid technical information, but also, an opportunity to explore the emotional and spiritual aspects of sexuality, to promote healthy attitudes and decisions. 

At any rate, he became way more comfortable with the topic than I was at his age, and would come home with things like, “Mom, did you know that there are 6 to 10 million sperm per ejaculation?”  Which is a really good point that someone noted recently – we all won that race, fastest of 10 million. Something to be proud of, no matter what happens next.

During this time period, we were home one afternoon. He’d taken a shower and emptied the contents of his pocket onto the counter in the bathroom, then left a big mess and went off to do something else.  Since the Something Else was homework, I decided to let him be and clean up the mess myself.  Amidst the other stuff, I found a mylar envelope about the size of a large postage stamp or small tea bag with a picture of a ram on it.  

They were doing stuff in this class like practicing putting condoms on bananas, not because Unitarians believe kids that young need that skill yet, but they will eventually, and why not teach it while they’re young enough to still be willing to learn?

But I don’t think he needed to be carrying condoms around in his pocket at that point in his life, so I took the envelope out to where he was working.

“Is this yours, R?”  I was prepared to have a chat about how you don’t wanna be That Guy who’s carrying a condom around in middle school, because it’s just kind of tacky and show-offy.

“No, that’s not mine.  That’s M’s.”

M, at the time, was about 15, and at that very moment had a boy over visiting.  It struck me as a whole different thing. If she were carrying condoms around, it wouldn’t be due to being a middle school punk, but because she actually needed them. 

I must have looked a little stricken, because R. looked surprised.

“Mom, what’s the big deal?”

"Umm..."

“What, exactly, do you think is in that envelope?”

“Uh, a condom?”

“Jeez mom.  It’s the rubber bands for braces.”

“Oh.  That’s nice.”  Does it seem odd to decorate the rubber band envelope with a black and white graphic of a stylized ram, or is it just me? 

R. gives me that head shaking disgusted look.  “Mom, I just think it’s really, really sad that you don’t know the difference between sex and orthodontia at your age.”