Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Last Horoscopes Before the End


Aries (3/21 – 4/19):  Phew, last horoscopes before the world ends.  Saturday, if we're still around, days will get longer, life will be bright and fun, and everything will be easier.  Am I the only one who hasn't seen Kung Fu Panda?  Should I squeeze that in during these final hours?  Aries, the thing for you to do is stockpile lethal injections.  Someone you love will need it sometime, and it never hurts to be prepared.  You should also sign up for the text message service that will tell you if the Tolt Dam fails.  I'm sorry to start this off on such a grim note, but the world is ending, after all.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  So I made a hat and I have exactly 3.5 stories about it, which is a lot given that I've only had it for a couple weeks.  If I don't come up with any ideas for these horoscopes, we'll probably run through all 3.5, which is a sorry way to go out.  Three and a half stories about a hat.  Rather, Taurus, I'd like to turn your attention to this very precise chart about the stomach flu, which I developed after conducting unfunded independent research here last week.  The point is this:  see if you can stay in the zone of gratefulness as much as possible.


Gemini (5/21 – 6/21): My children have invited me to do some excellent things this week.  R. wants me to go out into the woods with an axe and find something vaguely christmassy, tame it, and bring it inside.  I'm willing, as long as it isn't a holly bush that smells like cat pee.  Or anything that smells like pee of any sort, in fact.  Gemini, have that kind of week.  The kind where you say yes to stuff, and there are no bad smells involved.

Cancer 6/22 – 7/21:  M. also invited me to do something involving an axe, but it's killing old hens. I guess we'll do that as a little family outing on xmas eve, which could sound creepy, but I don't think it is.  Let's hope the axe isn't dull from the first outing, because the Linguist says that the neck of an old hen can be difficult to cut through, which is a bit of a horrible thought.  The whole event is a cross between horrible and a key step in gathering material for writing The Ladies Abridged Guide to Surviving the Apocalypse, which I haven't started yet.  And here the apocalypse is upon us.   Cancer, see if you can get ahead of the curve this week.  Oh, and here's a question:  where are the biographies in the my library?  Can't find.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  Hey, we're already to Leo and no stories about the hat!  Consider yourself lucky.  But I'm sorry, that doesn't leave us with much.  Maybe you could read this article about how to sign e-mail.  So many options, but let's just go back to "From," followed by your name.  I know, it's redundant.  Is  a little redundancy among e-mailers really such a bad thing?

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  I was commenting to R. the other day that the word "smartass" is pretty common, but "funnyass", which is a way better word, is little used.  As in, "that was a funnyass comment about my hat, R."  He was quick to say that you really don't need "ass" after funny, but if you're saying something irritating like, "Well, a broken clock is still right twice a day," then you do need it.  I disagree.  (Not on the broken clock, just on the rest of it.)  Anyway, back to your horoscope, Virgo.  You're practical and diligent, and those are good things, especially all the time.  But for these last days, just relax.  Oh, and should't I see you before the world ends?

Libra (9/23 – 10/22): My daughter has a co-worker who, every day, says, "Hey, if you give me a massage, I'll read the obituaries to you!".  I asked how that's working out, and M. says that the woman is quite good at reading the obits.  We all need something with barter value, I guess.  Me, I will recite King County Code in exchange for massage or pretty much anything.


Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  Okay, hat story.  I'm sorry.  So I show up to meet a new customer in the field, and he's late, and apologizes, but explains that he was listening to NPR about the new marijuana laws.  "Did you know," he says, 12 seconds after meeting me, "that they put pot in peanut butter now?  Oh, I bet you  already knew that." Right?  I'm not giving off the, "hey, you're in good hands with me, your solid consultant" vibe?  So I tell this story to C., and she's all, "Yeah, were you wearing that hat?"  Which I was.   It goes on from there, but let's wrap up with this:  see if you can get a note from your doctor authorizing whatever it is you want.  Bedrest, high fat diet, whatever.

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  So, remember how I was trying to get a job writing the bottle cap sayings for Redhook, and they declined?  Since then, they've changed bottle caps, and they all just say BH.  Which, it turns out, stands for Ben Harris.  Since I'm a researcher, I have learned that Ben was a Redhook employee killed by shrapnel from an exploding keg.  Which is super sad and unnecessary death, but really, is that what we want to think about every time we crack open a beer?  I think not.  Sagittarius, I know you think it's ridiculous, or possibly the word is ironic, that to solve that problem I've switched over to Dead Guy ale.  But at least it's direct.  Solve some of your own problems today.

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  R. comes downstairs this morning and says, "Okay, here's the plan.  I take a shower, and you apply 220 towards starting a fire and making breakfast."   Capricorn, you apply 220 towards everything, so maybe just take a little tiny break.  Light one small candle, or, if you prefer, just curse the darkness.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  So I took my mom to see the Lincoln movie last week, and I invited my uncle along, and all in all it was a pretty good outing.  But I'll say, hands down my favorite part was when my uncle said to my mom, "Wow, we haven't been to a movie together since 1937."  Which turned out to be true.  And the conversation went on from there in interesting directions until the movie started.  Aquarius, go to the movies with your people once in a while.  (Yes, I am your people, in case there was any doubt.)

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  So I was at C & The Linguists the other day, eating my breakfast while they snoozed, and there was a Scholastic book about Galileo on the table that looked interesting.  But Pisces, I don't know how to bring up that I'd like to read it, because it's written at I believe the 4th grade level.  Which might be my level too, but I hesitate to confess that.  Can I say, "Hey, would I be able to borrow that book when your 7 year old is finished with it?"  Or would that destroy what little credibility I have, given the hat and stuff?   Pisces, anyway, this week will be over soon, and next week will be easier, and next month will be even easier.  May it be so.

Thursday, December 13, 2012

The feet

This is my daughter's feet as interpreted by the lovely and talented E, a painter and poet and writer and all around good human.   

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

Horoscopes for the Dark Times


Aries (3/21 – 4/19) I was on an airplane last week and every single person on the plane was very attractive.  I don't need to tell you how rare that is.  I felt like either my vision was poor (which it is, but I don’t think that was it) or I was on an episode of Lost.   Luckily, the plane arrived safely in Chicago instead of crashing on a tropical island.  Or maybe it wasn't so lucky -- I wouldn’t have had any problem getting stuck in a nice climate with those beautiful people.  Not only that, but everyone was really well-behaved.  I was seated between two mothers with infants on their laps.  Right?  That can't turn out good.  But the babies were adorable and they just cooed for a minute and then dozed for the rest of the flight, snuggled into their mothers chests.  That's pretty much how your week will go, Aries.  Lots of beautiful people, a bit of cooing, and a long winter's nap.  Enjoy.


Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  The other night I stopped on my way home from the airport at a wedding, which is a good way to re-enter life.  Hanging out with good friends, eating food, and celebrating.  Even though I was under-dressed and covered with that oily layer of airport grime and the smell of anxious humans confined to a small terrifying metal box, everyone was welcoming and made it okay that I showed up empty-handed smelling like the airport.  Oh, and there was a beautiful handmade cake.  Let that be your week, Taurus.  Friends and cake and celebrating.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21):  Every so often, you get to the part in your life when a big outing is taking a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a small bag of pretzels to a big ugly mall for a picnic.  See if you can make that good.  Celebrate anyway, appreciate the sticky tabletop and the weird christmas music.  If tears come?  Call it weeping.  It sounds better, stronger, more purposeful than crying.

Cancer 6/22 – 7/21:  I was having a beer the other day with a few friends, and one of them said, "Hey, let's go play blackjack in this card room I know about."  How often does that happen?  You don't have to answer that.  So I said yes, and we went to a pretty strange concrete windowless world where the people were glassy-eyed and desperate.  For some reason, I was tasked with cutting the cards all evening because one drunk guy thought I was good luck.  Maybe I was, because I went in with $20 and left with $50.  Anyway, it's the dark times.  Do stuff to shake it up.  Take a card on a 16 once in a while.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  Speaking of the dark times, my iPod, which has an inappropriate amount of importance in my life, died the other day, and I can't even describe how quiet and wrong it is to have no music in the darkest time of the year, but sometimes life is quiet like that, and we have to get used to it.  But the music I'd like to recommend to you, Leo, is Western States Motel.  Toss in a little Fleet Foxes and you're good for the week.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  So, I was at this wedding, and someone passed me in a narrow corridor, saying, "Excuse me.  I just don't want to trip over the cord and cause the lights or the sound to go off."

It's good to have goals, Virgo.  And that's a fine one, not tripping over the cord.  It's within reach, it makes the world a little bit better, and requires some striving.  One of my goals is to not date anyone who needs to be signed out -- from an asylum, work release, whatever.  I'm not saying it's been easy, Virgo, but that's why they call it a goal.  Set some of your own week.  And no, you can't steal mine.  Taken.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  I got in an elevator by myself the other day, and just as the door was closing, a voice called out, "Hold the door!"  So I did, and these two large-ish men walked in, and as the door closed, one of them turned to me and said "What's your name?"  in a demanding tone.  That's not proper elevator behavior, Libra.  But I answered.  (I know.  I disappoint myself with my obedience at times, but that's not your horoscope.)  They asked if I was a medic.  Right?  I'm schlepping around with pants that are sort of falling down, a ratty backpack, a laptop in a canvas grocery bag, wearing a coat from a dumpster.  "No.  Although I may look like it, I'm not a real doctor.  Are you having an emergency?"  They both started laughing really hard, and said Seattle is a great town.  The doors opened then, and I got off, but Libra, this week, be your own medic.  Bring gloves.  And possibly whiskey.  Seattle is a great town.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  There are two kinds of people, Scorpio.  The ones who bring joy, and the ones who suck it.  Thank goodness you're here.  We need more of your kind in this dark dark time. Anyway, your horoscope?  Sometimes, my friends, you have two shitty choices, and you have to pick one or it picks you.  If you can't figure out what to do, imagine what a really cool, functional ethical person would do, and just copy.  The way isn't always easy, blah blah blah.

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  Voyager 1 reached the magnetic highway this week, as you surely know.  I don't quite understand what the magnetic highway is, but I think it's like the turnstile at the edge of the solar system, letting things in and out.  Stay back from the magnetic highway, but if you do get sucked up, get your hand stamped so you can return.

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  Speaking of goals, my daughter set a goal of living where she doesn't ever need to wear shoes, which makes me indescribably proud and concerned.  In a weird bit of, "art imitates life" irony, a beautiful portrait of her bare feet is displayed in our local bar, which seems good and right.  Like, she's the only one allowed in there with bare feet.  Capricorn, take that and make a horoscope out of it.  I'm tired.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  I was at this fancy lunch the other day in a private home, and there was art everywhere, like an original Chihuly and such, and I tried to play my favorite secret party game, CVR, but it didn't take, probably because I was the only one who knew we were playing it, which sounds weird and creepy and disappointing, but really, it isn't.  Perhaps because of all the art.  Anyway, I'd tell you the game but that would spoil it.  Basically, it's a method of getting people off the boring topics and on to something else.  It's that time of year, so I'd like to suggest you make up your own game, and then test it on me.  We should be talking about interesting things, and making stuff, and eating soup.  And bread.

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  Next month will be better than this one, I promise.  The children won't be so sick, and the conversations won't be so difficult, and so on.  In fact, you should have a party.  Sure, I'll come!  (Oh, was that sort of awkward?)

Explaining the afterlife to my dog...

 The other day, my dog asked me what happens when we die.  Gulp. I look at Jasmine and think dammit.  I didn't think dogs knew about mo...