Wednesday, August 29, 2012

What's love got to do with it: A message to Ann Romney

Dear Ann,

For the most part, I’ve been hiding under a pillow, humming “LA LA LA” loudly during the Republican National Convention, but I peeked out this morning to watch your speech on YouTube. There was one hilarious part, when you reminded me a lot of Marcel the Shell, but other than that, it made me a little sick to my stomach.

In case you don’t watch her, Marcel the Shell talks about what she uses to replace ordinary objects, due to her miniature size.
 “Guess what my skis are,” Marcel the [tiny] Shell asks.
 “What?”
“Toenails. From a man.”
“Guess how I strap the skis to the car?”
“How?”
“With a human hair.” 
And so on. That’s all I could think about when you started explaining about your desk being a door propped on sawhorses, and your dining room table being an ironing board.

That was really roughing it, that period in the late 60’s and early 70’s when your father in law was the governor of Michigan and you had to sell stock to pay for stuff, chipping away at capitol. You didn’t work then, because Mitt wanted you to stay home.  And you suffered for it.  You didn’t have a real dining room table, but just an ironing board.  Poor you!  (I don't understand how you'd have an ironing board but not a table, but it is becoming increasingly clear that we have different priorities.)

Let me be clear, Ann: I’m not knocking you because your financial life has been easy. You didn’t ask to be born into white privilege.  You grew up in the affluent city of Bloomfield Hills, (median family income: $200,000 a year). You went to private school that currently costs $28,000 a year.  You couldn’t help that, just as so many at the other end of the spectrum can’t help that they were born into poverty.  That part isn't your fault.  But don’t pretend that when your ironing board doubled as a dining room table and you used a man’s toenail as a desk or whatever it was, you were seriously worried about where your next meal would come from, and whether you’d be able to afford medical care for your growing family, the way so many women and men in this country do.

To suggest that you come from humble roots because your grandfather was a coal miner in Wales and your father-in-law didn’t go to college is an exaggeration at best.  If most of us go back a hundred years, our relatives were from much humbler circumstances, and were less educated.  You've grown up with privilege due to stuff that was entirely out of your control:  your race, economic position, and other random circumstances of opportunity have served you well.  Don't pretend it was all hard work.

It’s not that you haven’t suffered, Ann. Tell us about that. You’ve had breast cancer, you have MS. You’ve had to look your own mortality in the face.  You've had to consider the possibility that your life would be shortened by a horrible disease, and face the very real and devastating knowledge that your abilities will be diminished, slowly, painfully, and predictably as M.S. takes over.  Doesn't that make you want to stand for something, something good?

What the humans have in common is that we laugh, cry, suffer, and love people who are going to die, and all the money in the world can't protect us from that.  You could have talked about that.  But instead, you described some minor furniture inconvenience from over 40 years ago as an example of your struggles.  Really?  That's it, Ann?  Is that what you think we care about?

 Let me recap your speech:
 I love Mitt.
You should too.
He’s a hard worker.
We struggled financially, just like you people, but he worked hard.
I love you women.
Mitt cares harder.
Vote for Mitt, he walked me home from the dance.
One time Mitt created a scholarship for students in Massachusetts.
I love Mitt.  

I’m sorry, Ann, but I find that a little patronizing.  We're smarter than that, and I think you probably are too.  The very same day you gave that speech, you people, to use your terminology, adopted a platform that, among other things:

  • Doesn’t mention climate change. Not once.
  • is 100 percent anti-abortion.
  • Claims that the environment is getting cleaner and healthier. Ann, seriously? Do you really think that the planet your grandchildren will live in is even close to as clean as the one you were born into?  Have you read even one thing in the past decade about energy, population, water, waste, food production, land use conflicts, or mass extinction?  
  • Bans gay marriage, saying, “the union of one man and one woman must be upheld as the national standard, a goal to stand for, encourage, and promote through laws governing marriage. We embrace the principle that all Americans should be treated with respect and dignity.” Ann, I don’t even know how those two sentences can be back to back. Maybe it’s just me, but I think allowing homosexual couples to legally marry would be one way to offer respect and dignity to at least 10 percent of Americans. 
  •  Favors tax cuts.  Seriously, Ann, how will we pay for everything, like those tuition vouchers you say Mitt stands for?
  • Opposes net neutrality.
  • Opposes restrictions on guns.  Woo hoo!   Annie get your gun!


If you really love women, and empathize with the hard lives that you profess to understand, you’d be ashamed to have anything to do with this platform.

~Betsy

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Barack, the Beach, the Banana Bread

I feel like I should explain why I keep bringing up the vegan banana bread versus the ocean, so here's the back story.

My lovely daughter recently accompanied her charming bf on a vacation.  His family generously included her on their trip to a beautiful house at the ocean, and for a week, they fed her, kept her supplied with good beer, and were generally welcoming and gracious.

In my own gesture of reciprocal generosity, I made a loaf of vegan banana bread.  The bf is coming for a visit later in the week; unfortunately, we've already eaten half of it, but I remain hopeful that at least a few crumbs will remain by the time he arrives.

I've been trying to convince myself that vegan banana bread, even a few crumbs, is waaay better than the ocean.  A rent free week filled with exquisite food in an elegant house at the ocean for a week, or a partial loaf of banana bread.  The more I study it, the more clear it has become that banana bread wins hands down.

I should have kept all of this completely in my own little mind where it belongs, but, since I'm suffering from a terrible case of Reynolds Price Paralysis, where I can't write anything because I heard the story, "His Final Mother" read aloud recently, I thought I should just start writing something lame.

I thought if I lowered the bar sufficiently, it would be easy.  Like, I'm not really writing.  I'm just blathering on about the virtues of banana bread versus the ocean.  I'm not trying to write "His Final Mother", which is completely perfect, not a stray word, not a missing word.  Oh, and it has a plot too.

By taking the side of banana bread, I think I've positioned myself to really own that topic.  From here, I can explore the verticals, as they say.  (They really do say that.  The Linguist said it last week while his wife drank a strong G&T and laughed, and The Librarian suggested that maybe he start out with exploring the horizontals.  I'm not sure what any of it meant, but I think the Librarian won that round.)

So anyway, I was looking at my hit counter this morning, and noticed this:


I couldn't decide whether I was embarrassed or excited.  Surely, the busiest man on the planet doesn't have time for this blog.  I barely have time for it, and let's just say I have pretty much nothing going on.  But then again, I may be the only person on the planet writing about the virtues of vegan banana bread as compared to the ocean.  I may be the foremost expert on the matter.  It may be an issue of national security.

It's a tiny bit sad that some powerful person looks at my blog and the post is one that could definitely be written by a crazy person.  But I'm glad to see that the White House is using Chrome.


The ocean, or vegan banana bread?

Instead of getting anything done, I'll write a little more on the great Ocean versus Vegan Banana Bread debate:

Ocean:  salty
Vegan Banana Bread:  sweet.

Ocean:  does not contain bananas unless they were washed over from the tsunami in Japan, and thus, potentially radioactive
Vegan Banana Bread:  contains bananas

Ocean:  impossible to slice
Vegan Banana Bread:  easy to slice

Ocean:  If it's in your kitchen, you have huge problems.
Vegan Banana Bread:  If it's in your kitchen, you have a welcoming treat for a vegan guest.

Ocean:  Very bad if it leaves its natural location.  Think New Orleans.
Vegan Banana Bread:  Could be swept up with a broom or eaten by a pet if it falls off the counter.

Ocean:  Very vulnerable to climate change.
Vegan Banana Bread:  Unconcerned about climate change.

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Your Week at a Glance


Aries (3/21 – 4/19) Do you ever have that thing where you start cutting your hair -- you lop a few inches off one side, but you can't find a comb and you don't really know what you're doing anyway, you just know you want layers.  And then, after a few minutes of cutting, you really need a nap, so you take one, but never get back to the hair cut?  Yeah, me too.  This week is going to be a little rough, but enjoy the choppiness.  Make it your own.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  Your week will involve new huge challenges.  Tackle them with grace, the way you do, and soon, you'll start feeling amazing.  Use your open hearted kindness to draw a few more people into your web of fun this week.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21):  I recently had just the right people over for dinner, and after we ate, they leapt into action, and begin fixing things -- my computer, my chair, my haircut.  See if you can make this happen at your house his week.

Cancer 6/22 – 7/21:  Sometimes it's hard to know if your time is better spent taking time away from the task at hand to learn how to do it properly, or whether you should just keep going and sort of figure it out as you go.  I don't know the real answer, Cancer.   (Believe it or not, I'm not a real astrologist.  I know.)  Muddling along is a fine way to be, but I think if it involves Google Sketchup, you might want to go to the college with the quaint campus on the internet.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  The other day, I went hiking with a friend I hadn't seen in 25 years.  We started playing this game where we'd guess who the hikers we passed were going to vote for.  After each person passed, I'd hold up my fingers in the shape of an "O" or an "M", and he would indicate agreement or not.  After a bit, though, he stopped a couple.  "We're doing a little survey where we guess how the other hikers are planning to vote, and I'd like to get some actual confirmation on our guesses for you.  So, who are you going to vote for?"

The man said he never votes, and would certainly never vote for Obama, and the woman noted that she always votes democratic.  We passed, and then wished we'd asked more questions, like, "so, how's your relationship working out?  And what, exactly, is the nature of your relationship?"  But we didn't.

Happy Birthday, my fine Leo friends.  May this year, full of change and new beginnings, be a good one.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  So last night, I woke from a dream during which I was negotiating with a stunt man to do some of the actions in my dream.  I'm not sure what that means, exactly, but Virgo, this is your horoscope, not dream therapy.  Be your own stunt man, particularly in your dreams.  Don't subcontract the fun stuff.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  Yesterday, I was selling this car, and when I say "selling", I mean the junk people came and hauled it away, and the first thing the tow truck driver said to me is, "wow, can you believe what happened on Breaking Bad last night?"  To his dismay, I wasn't sure what Breaking Bad was, so he quickly moved on to a new topic:
"If there's a worm under this car when I move it, can I keep it?"
"Sure.  In fact, I can get you a whole bucket of worms if you want."
"Oh no, my wife wouldn't like that at all."  
We didn't find a single worm under the car, but the truth is, we didn't even look, because I thought it was stupid, the parameters he set.  Why only one worm, and why did it have to be under the car?  Why couldn't I go to where I know there are tons of worms and just get him some?  But anyway, Libra, this week, keep looking.  Look under the car, the bridge, the old coffee cup.  You'll find some cool stuff.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  So we've been hanging around this morning, comparing and contrasting vegan banana bread with the ocean.  Here's what we have so far:

Banana bread:  homemade, vegetarian, warm honey brown.
The Ocean:  not homemade, not vegetarian, cold steel gray.

Location:  banana bread: your kitchen.  Ocean: a long drive away.

And this:  I thought the ocean, the ocean thought nothing.
I thought banana bread, banana bread gave me this video.  That's it, Scorpio.  Make of it what you will.  The bottom line is, if you're offered a choice between a rent free week at the ocean, or a slab of vegan banana bread, you know what to do.

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  You have to feel a little sorry for Henrik Rummel, who spent years preparing for the Olympics, and is now famous for something a little awkward.  If nothing else is going right this week, Sag, just be glad you're not that guy.

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  The vote is out on whether it's creepy or quaint to put a wool sock over a bottle of beer when drinking ESB in a place with young children.  This week, aim for the quaint over creepy when you have a choice.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  If you're ever trying to write, don't read anything by Reynolds Price, or you'll just get stuck, because every word is perfect.  Or at least that's what is happening to me.   Reynolds Price Paralysis, they call it.

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  If I were going to write a book, which I'm trying to do, I would want it to be exactly like Wild, by Cheryl Strayed, without the mother dying, heroin addiction, and solo hike of the PCT.  Other than that, I would want it to be exactly like Wild, because it's so well written and raw and full of honesty and humility and humor.  In fact, if I thought it would let me write that book, I'd do the heroin and hike the PCT alone.   Pisces, write your next book already!  Your fans are waiting.

Thursday, August 16, 2012

Happy B-day!

On the occasion of her 27th birthday, I'd like to draw your attention to Leah's blog.  Leah is a remarkable person, a compelling writer, and the planet is lucky she's on it!  Read her blog, make comments, visit regularly.  You'll learn some interesting stuff.

Thursday, August 9, 2012

Three Reasons to Subscribe

A few people have been wondering why in the world they'd want to pay to have access to my daily to do list.  Here's why.

1.    It may make you feel better about your life.  (Things you could possibly be thinking:  Wow, thank god I don’t have to paint the outside of my house today.”  or, “Really? She pays someone to help her with her writing, and then just writes to-do lists?  That’s really sad. I’m so not that person.”)

2.    You’d get the list without advertising!  No one at google is sitting around deciding you have belly fat, unwanted hair, or would be interested in getting your photo taken with the Charmin Bear at Sam’s Club.  (Really, google?  Is that who you think I am?).   (Do you like how I continue to use the Oxford comma, even though Oxford itself is dropping it?)

3.    Okay, at first, I know what you were thinking.  You were thinking what so many well-meaning smart people have been saying to me:  “Huh?”  But like that joke that seems dumb at first, it grows on you after a while.

4.    Of course, there’s the suspense:  will she paint the porch?  Will the nasty smell be located?

5.  You’ll get follow up on important items, like this, from dining with M. yesterday:

M. has a co-worker, whom I’ll call ER.  ER had a pretty sketchy boyfriend at one point.  After they broke up, he ended up living in his Honda Civic with three large dogs:  Doberman, Rotweiler, and Pit Bull.  (I’m not exactly saying he was angry, but I think you get the idea.)  The Doberman got out of the vehicle and was collected by the dog catcher.  For some reason, ER was contacted, and she found a home for the dog.

But the home wasn’t the greatest, so ER drove about an hour each way, several times a week, to walk the dog.

About a month into this situation, she encountered a man while walking the dog who said his Doberman had died recently.  ER tried to give the dog to the man, but he said he wasn’t ready for that.

ER offered to let him walk with her and the dog, and he did.  For eight years.  The two have not struck up any sort of friendship in this time – they just walk the dog.  So, for eight years, ER has been commuting a long distance three times a week to walk her sketchy ex-bf’s dog, who lives with another family, and she walks the dog with a nearly random stranger. 

Recently, she was able to convince Random Stranger to take ownership of the dog.  But she continues to go down every Saturday to walk the dog with Random Stranger.  If ER were a dog, she would be a labrador retriever.

Yesterday, Random Stranger called ER and said that the dog had gathered all it’s toys into one pile, and then moved to a different area to nap.  Random Stranger didn’t know why the dog was doing this.  ER agreed to visit after work to check it out.

See, that’s the kind of stuff you’d get if you were to subscribe.  It might seem like I’m not very interesting, but I know people.  Oh, and I think you might get a free sticker as well. 

6.  Sometimes a three item list will actually have six items.




Letters

I got this letter yesterday, and I thought I’d answer it here in case you were wondering the same thing.  

Dear Betsy,

I'm trying to arrange my focus this week, but it's hard to work without Betsy's List...
How do I arrange for payment so I have more of a spiritual compass?

“Lhane”

Dear "Lhane",

From your font, you look like a brave guy -- the kind of person who has a man-o-lantern from participating in scientific research.  Why, I'm guessing that if your father (or any mad scientist, for that matter) were doing research in his basement that required subjects to first shave their chest, and then get strapped into an apparatus, you'd sign right up.  What I'm saying here, "Lhane", is that you're way ahead of the curve.  Others haven't been so forward thinking, and don't understand how subscribing to the list will make their life better.  

Once I have two people eager to subscribe at the $5 per year level, we'll add that link.  (But remember, it will be hideously complicated to unsubscribe.  Don't say I didn't warn you.)

Meanwhile, I'll offer this as a signing bonus.  It may or may not come in handy, depending on how adept I am at handwriting analysis.

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

Playin' real good (ish) for free.

  1. Think about the uptick in Romney’sTwitter followers.  Imagine what the world will look like if the president of the US is the kind of guy who pays to have fake followers.
  2. Search E-bay to see what the cost of 10,000 Twitter followers is.  ($10).  
  3. Meet with my writing coach.  Steel myself.  Be prepared to explain that all I write is to do lists.
  4. Deal with forms and bureaucracy.  
  5. Dine with M.


Tuesday, August 7, 2012

Day 2


1.  Clean up the kitchen.  And the rest of the house.  Remember when there was that big switch, where you weren’t supposed to fold and roll your outdoor gear, but rather, it was better to stuff it into the tiny bag?  Try to get that going with clothes.  

2.  Figure out what the dream that I had last night means: 
I was helping put together land management plans for dog owners.  I’ve owned dogs at times in my life, and I love dogs, but lets be clear, I’m not particularly knowldgable, so this was that dream, the one where you’re supposed to know something and you don’t.
Anyway, I was explaining the tax benefits of creating a plan (yeah, I know), and one man said, “I’m not doing it.  My dog is so good, so smart and faithful, and I already get too many benefits just having him in my world. I am absolutely not taking advantage of him just to get a tax benefit.”  He got a little choked up, and then so did I because obviously, this person was purely decent, and I felt humbled.  I felt as if I had told a movie buff that the reason they should see A Clockwork Orange is because the popcorn is really good.
But my job was to help people make these plans, and the tax benefit was the only tool in my kit, so even though I was crying, I pretended I wasn’t.   I muscled ahead, giving my spiel about The Program through my tears.  It was awkward, and then some people started arguing, “That is NOT a stream.  Our dog can go in there whenever he wants.”  Then I woke up, as people always say at the end of some weird rambling bit. 
3.  Wait for the dishwasher guy.   Again.

UPDATE:  So the dishwasher guy came, and his first question was, “how much soap do you use?”  I know this is the big deal about dishwashers, USE LESS SOAP.  And I’m hip to that, so I told the truth.  “About a teaspoon or less.”

“Hmm,” he said. “What kind of soap is it?” As he said this, he opened the door under the sink, the traditional place where dish soap is kept, obviously wanting to check for himself.  It was fine with me -- I have nothing to hide -- but I also felt like we should trust each other more.  

He located the unlabeled mason jar where I store soap that was purchased maybe 5 years ago. When you use a teaspoon every few days when the machine is working, and then there are several months a year when it doesn’t work, it lasts a long time.  I was glad that he saw the actual teaspoon in there that I use to convey the soap into the dispenser.  

“That soap has already been activated.  Won’t work.”  

I had no idea that dry dishsoap was the kind of thing that, once "activated," and by that he probably means got soggy from the leaking faucet and then dried out again, couldn’t be used.  I guess that's why he's wearing the blue button down shirt and I'm not.  But in my defense, I'm of the mindset that if you’re using less than a teaspoon of something in 7 gallons of water, it’s almost homeopathic.  I use it to be polite, but I don’t think that it matters either way.

Anyway, to wrap this up, the dish washer doesn’t work, I paid him $273, for which he promises to come back with the part and repair it "sometime this month".  (I like to think I was modeling the trust that we should have in our relationship, and next time he asks about soap, he will just take me at my word.)  My favorite part of the whole thing is when he borrowed my phone, and began his call, “Hi Mom.  Can you order a part for me?”   

5.  Make CD’s for the people I love (with music purchased, not stolen, in case you were concerned).  Oh, wait, I have no CD’s.  Buy CD’s.

6.  All that stuff from yesterday's list that didn't get crossed off.

7.  Develop some useful apocalypse skills.




Monday, August 6, 2012

Betsy’s List: Day 1

I had breakfast with E-bro the other day, and I’m not sure if it was because he was bored to tears with the details of my day and he meant it sarcastically, or if it was because he found it genuinely fascinating, but he suggested that I create Betsy’s List.  I think it's best to assume he truly meant it, right?

We already have Angie’s List, which is extremely judgmental.  We're not about that.  And Craig’s List, which, though I’m semi- addicted, can be fairly creepy.  (Remember “Dhave”?) Or this, just today:
Home Depot:  I bought a drill.  You helped me choose a new drill since I lost my charger. I needed it to fix my son's bed. You asked me at least twice if I needed anything else, and yes, I did...I should have gave you my number. I think your name is Larry, but to be honest I was looking at your face, not your name tag. So, if you read this, or perhaps someone you know who does, please respond....I've got to know if I read you right! 
Which brings us to Betsy’s List.  It will ultimately be a subscription service, but just to get started, I'm posting this for free.  The pricing will eventually be $35 a month, which is the same as the Very Judgmental Angie’s List, or $5 per year.  (It seems like the year subscription is a good deal, but just so you know, you’re automatically resubscribed, and you can never get out of it.  If you try, you'll be on hold for a long time, and will have to present passwords and credit card information from long expired cards, and you'll get transferred and cut off, and it will be easier to just let the thing keep re-subscribing.)  

It will be my daily to do list.  There are no guarantees that I’ll actually do everything on the list, or even anything.  The list will just be a summary of all the hope that morning brings.

Tomorrow, or one day soon, I’ll explain (if it isn’t already obvious), why you want to subscribe.  Oh, and if you buy a premium membership, you can actually assist with the list, or even check things off.  

August 6, 2012

1.    Drink coffee  (Check.  9:48)

2.    Work on this list more

3.    Move the semi-eaten bowl of granola farther away from the computer.  It smells funny.  (Check.)

4.    Paint the other porch.  Decide whether to use this method:
Note rotting wood while painting.  Realize repair is a bigger job than I'm up for at the moment.   (Yes, that is my left foot.  Note that I do not have gout.)

Find leftover piece of wood in the barn.  Probably from this project  

Paint it.  Yes, that is one of the old method of lawn chair that's very uncomfortable, but hard to get rid of.  Oh, unless you're my neighbor who brought about 4 over and put them in my barn when I wasn't home.  Along with some large plastic red, white and blue tumblers.

Place board over rotting wood.  Looks good, eh?

Unless you look from the side.  But sheesh, if you're crouching behind the barbecue, which is where you'd have to be to see this, you have bigger problems than I do.

, or just slather paint over the rot.

5.    Call Joint Base Lewis McChord and apologize for not returning their call of 2 weeks ago.

6.    Help E. get organized to apply to colleges.  (Step 1, check)

7.    Pimp this list.

8.    Review 2010 taxes.  Did I overpay? Could I get a little rebate that could tide me over til this list really takes off?

9.    If I encounter someone bleeding, apply steady firm pressure until help arrives.  

10.  If the bleeding is emotional, offer other things, like a banana (which I have too many of.  They’re starting to look funny on the counter, and it doesn’t seem like one person should own so many bananas.).  Or coffee, a poem, or free trial subscription to this list.

11.  Drink one ESB (wait til after 5 p.m.).  Read the saying on the bottle cap and become mildly disappointed, because it never was very clever, and by now I’ve read it hundreds of times.  Let that go, and enjoy the beer.

12.  Hunt down R., who apparently has gone "camping" at Cherry Falls.  I notice that the corkscrew is also missing.  Coincidence?  (R. came home of his own accord.  Said he knew nothing about the corkscrew, but thought it was funny that I didn't notice that the bottle of Beck's that's been sitting in the refrigerator for a few weeks was missing.  I'm not a drinker of beer that comes in green bottles, so I would never would have missed it.  I'm glad he brought the bottle home to recycle.)

13. Go to yoga.  Be amazed that after taking about 100 yoga classes this year I still can barely touch my toes.

14. Water the garden, and pull up the peas, which didn’t ever amount to much.  Not a single pea, after that incident with the deer.

15. Fill out my crab catch record.  6 entries, not to boast or anything.

16. Soak my finger, wounded during the crab hunting expedition.

17. Call S. about new work.  (Check)

18. Charge my phone.   (I didn't promise that this list will be interesting.)

19. Swim to stump

20. Clean out the refrigerator, because something smells weird in there.  [R. came home, started to make sausage, and voila, smell was identified and disposed of.  I barely left the couch.  Does this count?)

21. Consider dragging the recycling bins (still full) all the way back up here.  Maybe take a walk around the neighborhood to see what the community norms are on this.  Norm to the community.  Or, find someone else who has also left their bin by the curb for 10 days, and norm to them.

22. Do some actual work for my actual job.

23. Consider who I may have disappointed today, and make amends if possible.

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

Horoscopes: The Parenthesis Edition

I am without computer for 5 - 7 days (gasp!) because I left my Macbook with a boy genius named Curt who doesn't seem to have the ability to grow a beard yet, but I have great faith that it will all go down better than it would have with "Dave".  Anyway, I'm at the library and trying not to jones too badly for a computer. 

Aries (3/21 – 4/19):  If I were young and rich and loved stories, I'd go to Transom's workshop in Nantucket to learn how to create podcasts.  (I first wrote that with "in Nantucket" at the end of the sentence, but I like to  think the workshop applies more broadly than that.)  I do love stories, but the rest. . .   Anyway, they make very few podcasts, but when they post something, it's totally worth it.  For example, consider this:  two blind parents had two blind children, who grew up to marry [other people], and had another blind child.  It makes sighted parenting seem like such a snap.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  The podcast for you, Taurus, is Too Much Information.  Benjamin Walker shares stories of quirky weird stuff that happens.  It's about breaking a babushka-shaped vodka bottle in Red Square, and it's about a translator who's date starts trying to pick up another woman (in the middle of their date) and asks her to translate.  (The annoyed translator doesn't bother to explain that the woman he's hitting on is a hooker.) And it's about humility.  In other words, its about your week.  Listen up.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21):  I wake up each day with so many questions.  How did that blind archer make it to the Olympics?  Will I do anything useful today?  What should I wear?  Should I eat granola today for the 363rd day in a row, or is it time to branch out an have an egg?  Will Obama's attack ads work?  How much is this blog worth?  ($12.64, if I slightly exaggerate the readership.  But, you have to have a willing buyer with ready financing.  Message me if that's you.)   What did those seven contradictory, separate mailings that I got from unemployment, all on the same day, mean?  Are my eyes watery because I got so much paint and grit in them yesterday, or am I just thinking too much about the blind archer?  Gemini, see if you can answer one or two questions, and then just put blinders on, and zoom through the day without questioning too much.

Cancer 6/22 – 7/21:  LA Theater Works is an exceptionally well done podcast.  They post a 2-hour dramatic production every week.  How is that even possible?  Maybe because Ed Asner is involved? Did you know that he's a 9-11 conspiracy theorist, Cancer?  I never was much of a conspiracy theorist, but times, they are a-changing. 

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  The other day I was painting the outside of the house, the way I do in miniature bursts of productivity every day.  (In fact, if my productivity were a dog, it would fit inside a small purse, and be welcome in most restaurants, due to it's unobtrusive nature.)  I was just about to give up and go swimming, when The Author appeared in her paint clothes, and painted along with me.  It was a small miracle, and reminded me that the way is dark, the road is steep, the painting is messy, the house is rotting, paint over tar paper doesn't look half bad, but you are not alone.  Your week will be like that.  You are not alone.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  The other day in yoga, I started thinking, wow, I may have actually acheived something.  My sense of smell is heightened.  I can really smell the lavender eye pillows.  Yep, I'm probably getting stronger in the nose area from all the downward dogs and stuff, I thought to myself.  When I open my eyes, my vision will probably be strangely clear too.  Then I learned that the eye pillows had been freshly doused with lavender oil.  Virgo, don't investigate the back story.  If you think things are getting better, just go with it.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):   I went to see a fine young teen in a production of Thoroughly Modern Millie last week, but it wasn't that easy, because in each scene, she had a different wig and costume, and with my facial recognition disorder, I had to lean over and ask C. every few minutes, "which one is she now?"  And each time, once I knew who she was, I noticed that she was the best tap dancer of all.  That will be like your week.  You'll be the best tap dancer of all.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  I was driving on the road near my house, and encountered an elderly woman sitting on a bale of hay, holding a sign on a stick that said, "Found:  Two Dogs".  She looked serious and a little bit grim, not unlike Whistler's Mother.  (In fact, I haven't seen this woman and Whistler's Mother at the same time, which may or may not be a coincidence.)  I drove back there the next day to look for her, but she wasn't out.  Did she give up, or were the dogs reunited with their person?  Does anyone know?

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21): Do you ever have that thing where you haven't listened to your voice mail for a week, and then you do, and the big army base in the area has called for some consulting?  I hate that.  Sag, listen to your messages. It could be important.

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  I have a friend who struggles with existential depression.  My friend gets up each day wondering if there's a point, and whether anything really matters because we'll all die soon enough.  Capricorn, you can trudge up the mountain, somberly realizing that you're going nowhere, or you can walk along, pick berries when they're in season, sing when you can, make art, find people and things to love, and forgive yourself for being exactly who you are.  It's not selling out to let go of The Big Question.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  Any restaurant who spells it "Fil-A" is probably not filled with your people anyway, Aquarius.  Cross it off the list.  Even the muppets won't eat there.  Hash tag hate chicken.  I am thinking of starting a restaurant called "Egg Keesh".  What do you think?  (I'm learning these good ideas in business bootcamp, which I'm unhappily enrolled in.)

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  There's a breed of dog called the Nova Scotia duck tolling retriever.  Have you heard of them?  They're super focused on one thing, which is you throwing the ball into the water.  Haven't they heard that you're the only one who can make yourself happy?  That's not your horoscope, Pisces.  Before we get to it, though, a question:  is tolling a verb in that dog's name?  Who pays the toll in that situation, the dog, or the duck?   And why do ducks swim over to see the wagging tail of these OCD dogs?  Okay, your horoscope:  this week will be a 9.  You will camp with friends, and eat, drink, and be very, very merry.

I'm excited to report that the author Celeste Ng has selected m y modern love essay to read for the Modern Love podcast next week. Suc...