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?