Friday, January 4, 2013
Aries (3/21 – 4/19): I started this new year by doing two things that seemed like what Real People do. One is that I threw out some old spices, bought new ones, and made a feast. Including triple layer chocolate cake. It's a little hard for my miserly self to buy the new spices, but I did, and now I hang out by the spice drawer breathing deeply. A whole new jar of cardomon pods. I'd like to recommend that, Aries. Does that count for a horoscope?
Taurus (4/20 – 5/20): The other thing I did is take my car to the car wash, first time in seven months. Cars only get a certain amount of dirty, I've noticed. Clean for 3 days, dirty-ish for 12, and then, in a particular form of miracle, they don't get any dirtier forever. (Side note: did anyone love that movie, "You, Me, and Everyone We Know" as much as I did? And that part with the goldfish on the car? I loved that.) So that washing the car was a a tiny bit of a waste, but made me feel alternately grown up, and like a miracle wrecker. Anyway, Taurus don't worry about being a grown up this week. There's plenty of time for that in the future. We can't live in the present forever, you know.
Gemini (5/21 – 6/21): Sometimes I take little notes on my phone, and then never look at them. Ever. So those random notes are about to be put to good use right here. Note 1: Remind Erik. Um, I hope Erik remembered, whatever it was. Gemini, in case you had any doubt, I'm probably not the best one to do reminding. The Geminis are said to be mutable, which is a good thing. Ever going with the flow. But this week, create a tiny bit of flow of your own, and invite me along. I'll be mutable, I promise!
Cancer 6/22 – 7/21: Note 2: "Brian Tolle, None". No idea what that's about. My research has revealed that there's an artist (kind of interesting), and a organizational development guy (kind of full of himself). I have no memory of why I noted that. But given all the hope and joy and possibility that comes with a new year, let's assume it refers to the artist. Let's assume your week will be all about art and not so much about organizational development. I'm pretty sure we know what that means. Shoes.
Leo (7/23 – 8/22): Note 3: The Night Circus. That's one more book that I haven't read. But I read the review in the NYT, which has some beautiful compelling language: "Magic without passion is pretty much a trip to Pier One: lots of shrink-wrapped candles." Let your week be full of magic and passion. Unwrap the candles, fer goddsakes. (And let the record show that passion without magic is a different brand of hell. Like a 2 am trip to Denny's but you're sober. Or an insurance salesman.)
Virgo (8/23 – 9/22): Note 4: You gotta let the algorithm run. Okay, I believe that. I do. But I think this was more of a note for a beer bottle cap saying. Wouldn't you like to open a beer and get that? Long may you run, algorithm. And you too, Virgo. Long may you run, but short may your week be.
Libra (9/23 – 10/22): Note 5: 4000 Hooks. Yet another book I haven't read. It's a true story of fishing and coming of age (have we established for sure that those are different things, by the way?) on the high seas. Would one of you Libras read that and let me know what you think?
Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21): Note 6: Making Toast by Rosenblatt. This might just be too sad. About a young mom dying, and her parents moving in to help raise the children. But I do like stories involving toast (who doesn't?), and days involving toast. In fact, I am going to stop myself right here from going on a big rant about how disappointing it is that no one eats gluten anymore. Remember when you could bring brownies to a new neighbor? Scorpio, forgive me. That is one sorry horoscope.
Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21): Note 7: Halloumi Cheese. I totally remember this, because it was pretty much the best cheese I've ever eaten. It cost approximately $1,200 per pound, but it was completely worth it, even for the marginally employed like myself. You grill the cheese, and mix it with watermelon chunks and a bit of jalapeno pepper and lime juice or something. Sagittarius, get some if you can, even if you need to take out a loan.
Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19): Note 8: Be stopped in your tracks by beauty. I sort of remember hearing that at a lecture and thinking I would do more of that. Right? As if I'm going to read my phone notes and adhere to the instructions? But that's my wish for you, Capricorn. Be stopped in your tracks by beauty. This very evening there was a gorgeous low-hanging pink curtain of cloud or ectoplasm or something other-worldly suspended over our little lake, and I was semi-stopped in my tracks, but really, no, I don't think it counts, because I didn't even get out of the car. Spend your birthday month being awestruck that you get to be on this planet right now. Make art.
Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18): Note 9: Octavia Butler Parable of Sower. One more post-apocalyptic novel that I haven't read, but this one involves hyperempathy. Aquarius, you don't have to read the book, but find a place for hyperempathy in your week.
Pisces (2/19 – 3/20): Note 10: Salad 10 dollars. What does it mean, Pisces? Was I going to buy it or sell it? Is salad a metaphor? Pisces are compassionate and charitable and quick to put the needs of others first. So, if you could just help me figure out about the salad, that would probably be best. Do I owe someone money? Or a salad? Is it you?
Okay, so ends the lamest horoscopes of the new year. We can only hope it gets better. Happy 2013. Thanks for sticking this out.