Saturday, September 28, 2013

Horoscopes, Tableside.

Aries (3/21 – 4/19):  I spend a lot of time thinking about other ways to make money.  They aren't exactly "get-rich-quick" ideas -- they're more like, "get-poor-slowly-ish" plans.  Here's one:  a food truck that would hang around near the whineries, and deliver snacks to the tourists/tasters.  What appeals to me?  What could be more basic or important than delivering calories to the other humans?  

I was talking to two lovely people about this idea.  "Are you in?" 
"Yes!" said the LA.  "I'll design the menu and think up food.
"Yes!" said the entrepreneur.  "I can help with the whole marketing aspect."
Then there was this awkward moment where I was supposed to chime in with some important thing that I can contribute.  We still had our hands stacked on each others in the middle of the table.
"Um, I can do the horoscopes, I guess?"

Being the generous people that they are, they were all, "Perfect.  How could we possibly have a food truck without horoscopes?"  I know.  

Aries, just bring what you've got to the table.  Don't worry about whether it fits in or not.  Assume that someone wants what you have to offer, even though it doesn't look like it at times.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  Okay, so I've been thinking about this idea more, and especially how complicated food is.  Buying a fancy truck, getting licensed to serve food, and then buying the food, and all the chopping and dicing and stirring, and if you don't sell it in time, it goes bad.  Oh, and let's not forget about handwashing and latex gloves.  So how about this?  Just the horoscopes.  A truck, or even a small car, that would lurk near the wineries.  When people sitting around drinking fancy wine get bored (of course the do!), they'd text me, and I'd deliver horoscopes tableside!  (I think the term "tableside" adds an element of class, don't you?)  I'd probably need roller skates, or maybe heelies.  Oh, and an apron with a zipper to store the wads of cash.  Taurus, wear your apron this week.  Make good things happen.  Bonus points if you do it tableside.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21): I heard someone talking on the radio, I wasn't really listening,  one of my many problems.  But it turned into something about the first recording of Alexander Graham Bell from 1885.  "How was this sound recorded," asked the interviewer.

"Well, it was embedded in a wax disc attached to cardboard."

Right?  How do people even imagine this stuff?  Be honest, Gemini:  does it seem possible that one can catch soundwaves with wax?  Kind of like sand candles without the sand and the candle?  Some guy is sitting around thinking, "hmm, how can I catch a sound wave?  I captured a bobcat footprint with wax, let me try that...." Gemini, see what else you can capture with wax this week.  An idea?  Motivation?  Hunger pangs?  Loneliness?  Let me know how it goes.  Play it back.

Cancer (6/22 – 7/21):  speaking of Alexander Graham Bell, I was in the field the other day, a million miles from a cell tower, and one more OCD customer called about 53 times in five minutes, knowing full well that there's no cell coverage at his property.  From my end, I watched my coworker answer the phone each time and shout, "Hello?  Can you hear me?"  And then the connection would drop off, and then the whole thing would start over.  If I had some wax, I would have captured it. Cancer, see if you can get by this week just saying everything once.  And everyone else?  Listen to the Cancer people!  They have important things to say, but they're only saying it once.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  The other day someone made a comment about this blog on FB, something like, "Ultimately, another pointless blog."  I know.  I couldn't agree more.  I spend way too much time wondering about what the point of anything is, unfortunately.  That's a bad rabbithole to go down at this dark time, Leo.  Don't do it!  If you pull out the map of possible thoughts, this one has that, "here there be dragons" thing by it. I haven't done anything worthy in years, maybe decades, and I know it.  I have no illusions that making up horoscopes is important.  But I do have a tiny bit of pride in knowing the difference between meaningful and irrelevant.  This blog?  Irrelevant.  But hopefully provides a smattering of amusement.  Leo, this week, find way more than a smattering of amusement.  Drink it up.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  There's a genre of movies called "mumblecore" that I hadn't even heard of until pretty recently.  Now I've seen one, and a second one is all queued up but I keep forgetting about movies.  Like, you sit down, back away from the keyboard and just watch.  I'm not so good at that, it turns out.  I start watching, then just go back to doing math.  Virgo, just about 2 months before I learned about mumblecore, they declared it's over.  Oh, I hate that.  Like becoming a grateful dead fan in 1996.  See if you can stay ahead of the curve this week, Virgo.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):   I've claimed the title of "announcement host" in my household.  I know, it might seem kind of weird to even have an announcement host when I eat about 88 out of 90 meals a month alone.  But still, you can't be too prepared.  So I keep the sign, and I stand tall and announce the things that need to be announced, even if I'm both the announcer and the announcee.  Because announcements are serious, people.  Get serious this week, Libra.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  This year, I planted twenty tomato plants, which may seem ridiculous, but really, you can't have too many tomatoes.  I harvested three tomatoes.  I know.  But that's three more than I would have had if I hadn't tried, Scorpio.  Keep that in mind.  


Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21): I saw this game that someone mentioned, and hmm.  It seems like witty in a box.  I haven't played, but is it cheating?  From their website: 
The game is simple. Each round, one player asks a question from a Black Card, and everyone else answers with their funniest White Card.
They give you the conversation?  Do you see why I think people will stuff my apron with wads of cash?  I would deliver a little conversation, tableside!

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  As you know, I'm pretty interested in genetic testing.  My focus lately, though, has been trying to figure out how to get this guy at my booty call job to spit into a cup.  Because I'm pretty sure he's like, 18 percent Neanderthal!  And I mean that in the fondest way.  Because I am pretty attached to the Neanderthal.  Wide pelvis, language is limited to grunts and gestures. The ideas I have so far:  1)  give him a candy that's really bitter, and hold out a cup when he spits.  Would that get adequate volume, though?  Not sure.  2) Set up some sort of spitting contest, and surreptitiously whisk his cup of drool away for testing.  I know, that might seem kind of inappropriate for the workplace.  Let's just say, this isn't that kind of workplace.  It's kind of a free for all.  This week is a 7, Capricorn.  Enjoy.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18)
:  This looks pretty cool, doesn't it?  But that's not the topic.  The bullies in congress who won't let go of the idea that medical care is only for the rich or the employed.  GRRR.  Debtageddon.  I can hardly listen to the news anymore. A bunch of high-fiving white guys messing things up for everyone else.  I read this short story once where a guy went to sleep as a top-of-his-game man, and woke up as his own servant, and couldn't get out of it.  I wish I had that super power, to inflict swapping people in their sleep.  Aquarius, just try to get some sleep this week.  In fact, sleep through the week if you can.  Not much is going to happen.  In fact, I've been wondering lately why the Milwaukee Protocol isn't sold on the black market as a recreational thing.  You could get put to sleep for a while, and then be woken up when things are better.  I'd sign up fo' sho'.  


Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  I'm very much looking forward to my outing with a dear Pisces this week.  A little singing, a little eating and drinking.  Prepare!  I will too.  Maybe some word games or other festive things.  Tableside. 

Friday, September 20, 2013

Horoscopes: The Bucket List Edition

Aries (3/21 – 4/19):  I saw two slugs this morning on a sidewalk, and their heads were lifted up.  Right?  Did you even know slugs are creatures with a head to lift up?  Or do you think of them as more like slimy, body-less tongues without taste buds?  Me too!  Do the slugs you know normally hang out in cobra pose?  No, I didn't think so, Aries.  But the front part of their little slippery bodies was up off the pavement, antennas pointed toward the vast above. I stopped to watch for way too long (which equals seven minutes), and then poked one of them, and he/she returned to the lowly slug posture that I'm more accustomed to.  I felt sorry for that.  Do slugs have dreams, Aries?  Find some dreams of your own this week.  Look up.  Don't let anyone poke you with a stick, but if they do, rise up again.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  The other day, I was at the gas station and R. pointed out a man sprinkling ashes from a bucket, in a tiny funeral-ish ceremony of one.  Well, two if you count the guy in the bucket.  He walked to the liquor store, applied ashes to the door mat, wandered over to the car vac (25 cents for four minutes!  Deal!), sprinkled a few there, poured some next to the air-in-the-tires machine, and then wondered off down the road, dropping ashes as he went, giving new meaning to the concept of a bucket list.  It's not so terrible to have the welcome mat of a liquor store be your final resting place, Taurus, but it's not your time yet.  This week, imagine yourself as ashes, getting tracked around on everyone's shoes.  Oh, the places you'll go!

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21): Is it too early to go to bed?  I spend much of my life with that question on my mind.  The dark times are here for sure, Gemini.  In the dark times, we paint and read and do math and look for mushrooms and sing and play cards.  Oh wait, we don't play cards.  But we could, Gemini.  We totally could.  This week, practice our circle time songs, and add some to the list.  Sing if you can.

Cancer (6/22 – 7/21):  Speaking of slugs, I saw a slug near the [former] gum wall a few weeks ago, on pavement, several hundred feet away from any vegetation.  What was he doing there, Cancer?  A sorry pilgrimage to the gum wall, only to discover it was gone?  Maybe the wall was in full swing when he left the nearest garden a thousand feet away?  Or did it come out of that weird drain in the alley?  Is this another sign of end times?  Speaking of which, did you hear about the pigeons coming?  So many questions, Cancer.  No answers at all.  Get used to living with the unknown this week.
Tumeric tea, toasted oatmeal with
miso and chanterelles

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  Do you think the opposable thumb is a fair trade for being aware of our mortality?  Do you think the Neanderthals were in love with the Homo sapiens they interbred with, or was it just a booty call thing?  Do you think that it's strange that pears haven't gotten more popular?  I mean, if that twerking video can go viral, why not pears?  Don't think about that stuff, Leo.  Think about easy things, like what's for dinner, what to wear, and how you want to treat your loved ones.  That's what I had for dinner last night, in case you were wondering.  Of course you were.  It was such a pretty color I could hardly stand it.  Your week, in fact, will be so pretty you won't know what to do with yourself.


Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):   I've been having this go around with someone at my booty call job that goes like this:
Me:  Can you please show the grading that you'll do to build your house?  
Him:  There will be no grading.
Me:   I notice that there's 12 feet of elevation change under the house.  How will you deal with that?  
Him:  We won't be doing any grading.
Me:  Hmm, so will your house be sloped?
Him:  No.
Me:  Will you have tall footings on part of the foundation?
Him:  No
Me:  I'm not super spatial, but that doesn't quite add up.
Him:  Well, if I tell you my actual plans, you won't approve the permit.  So I'm not telling.

Right?  People say that out loud?  Like saying, "If I told you the truth, you'd think I was a jerk."  Anyway, tell the truth at all costs this week, Virgo.  And better yet, live so the truth is something you're okay with. 

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):   I have accrued 21 badges and 107,579 energy points from my math work at the Khan Academy.  I am aware of how that sounds.  "I have 12 cats, and 21 badges that I earned by spending a lot of time home alone doing math on the internet, and have you heard about what went down in Roswell?"  It doesn't sound good, and it may be another sign of end times.  For me or the world, it's a little unclear.  But Libra, enjoy the end times, if that's what it is.  Crickets in Carnation, pigeons in Duvall, slugs rising up.  Chin up.
Bridge S. of Duvall, 1932, Thomas Blum

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  I spent a lovely afternoon at the KC Archives, looking at old bridge photographs, which, it turns out, is one of my new favorite things.  I'm not sure why that is.  They frisk me to make sure I have no pens, and the lady is super fussy in a way that causes her to button her very top blouse button, and then they leave me alone in this room with old books and maps where I stay for hours.  I'd recommend it, Scorpio.  



Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21): E-bro was taking my blood pressure at work the other day (in exchange for the mental health counselling that I offer free of charge), when I had this brilliant idea.  "E-bro, we can load up this cart with supplies, and go around the office, offering comfort.  We could do blood pressure screenings, serve cocktails, and bandage wounds (emotional and physical), and we could wear scrubs!"  The idea didn't really take, but I still think there's a niche for that.  A travelling comfort cart.  Who's in?

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  Sometimes when people say "Chin up!" its annoying and sounds condescending, like they don't really get it at all.  But sometimes it sounds super sweet, as if they were saying the whole thing out:   "I know.  I know how hard it is, I know you don't even have bootstraps, let alone the wherewithal to pull anything up at all.  I get that, and I don't judge you for it, but still, let's assume it will all get better.  Start with the chin, just shift it a tiny bit skyward if you can, because even the slugs are doing it."  Hear that or say it this week, Capricorn.  
Another to do list poem


Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18)
:  
I'm all for paying the tolls on the bridge, truly.  I believe drivers should pay for the services we use, and paving a lake is a pretty costly endeavor.  But really, could they make the payment system even a tiny bit easier to navigate?  If your account has in a negative balance, you can't replenish it online.  RIght?  It must be done during business hours, on the phone.  I call, and ask why I can't do this online.  "Because your account has a negative balance."  I get that.  But why can't I pay off my balance and replenish my account online?  "Because your account has a negative balance."  Moving right along... If you ask them (on the phone, of course) to pay off the negative balance and add $30 to the account, they do lots of clicking for 15 minutes and then say, "Ok!  You're good to go!  Your account has a balance of $26."  
"Wait, why not $30?" 
 "Because your account had a negative balance."  
"So, is there a $4 fee in addition to the other fees?" 
 "No.  
"Ok, not to be dense, but when I asked you to pay off anything owed, and then add $30 to the account, why is my balance only $26?"
"Because you had a negative balance." 
And so on.  
I know, I shouldn't drive across the bridge anyway.  Aquarius, the take home here is try not to get a negative balance in your karma or your good to go pass.  Replenish!

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  It looks like we won't be going to war with Syria, which is good.  I feel like I don't get it, the whole thing.  "We're so mad about you killing people that we're going to go kill people to show you!"  Right?  Am I missing something?  Things always look simple to me, maybe it's a capacity thing.  If you want peace, don't freakin' drop bombs. Seek peace this week, Pisces.  In all the ways.

Monday, September 2, 2013

The random edition


Aries (3/21 – 4/19)
:
  People have been remarking lately on the fact that I only have an inside voice, and am not capable of shouting.  (Does it seem like some people only listen to shouting?  But that's a different rant, and so inappropriate for this cheery blog!)  I've decided to call it an Insider Voice, which I think makes it more compelling.  Doesn't everyone want to be an insider?  Aries, use your insider status for good, not evil.  You're about to have a remarkable week.  Don't squander it!

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  I've been doing lots of math for free at the Khan Academy, and I'd highly recommend it if you have a solitaire addiction.  (Ahem.  You know who you are.)  I personally have an irrational fear of global transient amnesia, and I'm trying to innoculate myself against it with math.  Suiting up as a mathlete.  See all the dark blue squares, Taurus?  That's mastery!  I know, it's mostly in concepts like one digit addition, but I will work my way along until many of those squares are all dark blue, and I'd suggest you join up!  How about we have a party when we get a certain number of points?  Anyway, this week, work your way along the tiny and not so tiny challenges that life presents.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21):  Speaking of music, how about Grace and Tony?  I'm a new fan mostly because I like the word, "Punkgrass," but the music isn't so bad either.  But that's not your horoscope.  You, not unlike Diana Nyad, will go on an excellent swim, maybe 110 miles, or maybe just out to the stump with me.  Metaphoric, or actual.  (Does using a stump as a landmark make me look like I have skoal in my pocket?)

Cancer (6/22 – 7/21)
:  I had lunch with N. this week, and an hour or so before we left, I texted him:  "Bring at least 3 good topics."  We met, and I asked what he brought.

"Um, I was planning to complain about my job.  Does that count?  That's way more than three things!"  Cancer, have your topics at the ready, just in case.  (Here are two to get you started:  1.  The milwaukee protocol; 2.  Why does concrete have that certain smell when it rains in the summer?)

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  People, put away your seersucker suits already!!!  That time has passed.  I reminded someone about that yesterday, as in, "last call for the seersucker, dude!"  He said he was too 'other side of the tracks' to own such a suit.  Winter is the great leveler, Leo.  As soon as everyone puts away their white handbags, no one can tell who's who, which is the proper side of the tracks or anything.  You can even be flat on your back for the winter, if that's the best you can do.  (We call that "thinking" here.) But see if you can get up, stand up, stand up for your rights.  This week, and all winter long.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  This isn't a very good picture, but it was one of the most awesome lamps I've ever seen, with lots of little barbies dangling from the ceiling.  The thing about Barbie is that now there's Paleontologist Barbie!  (I guess that happened in 1997 but I think I've been out of the loop for a while.  (Do you understand now why I fear Global Transient Amnesia?)  Anyway, Virgo, pick a barbie, any barbie, and go for it this week.  Be disproportionately skinny, and keep your hair combed at all times!  Just kidding!  But while we're on the topic, my Barbie research revealed yet another Barbie I didn't know about, Oreo Fun Barbie!  According to Wikipedia, Oreo Fun Barbie was marketed as someone with whom little girls could play after class and share "America's favorite cookie."  Why, that is fun!  This week, find some people to share cookies with.  Sure, I'm free, in case you were wondering.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  I went to the grocery store a few minutes ago, and the clerk, who probably knows more about me than anyone (1 pack of ESB a week, weird penchant for the Kombucha, single-ply toilet paper, etc.) asked what I was up to today.  I felt panicky, like, uh oh.  Do I have to say?  Does that happen to anyone else?  Because if I were to tell the truth, which I try to in all matters, even when it completely doesn't serve me (most of the time), I'd have to say, "What I'm up to?  I'm going to make a big list of stuff and not do most of it.  The list, you ask? Here:  

  1. Draw more pollinators.   
  2. See if that plant that I saw this morning turns out to be Triglochin.  It's probably not due to partial global transient amnesia.  
  3. Clean something in my house, even one tiny thing. 
  4. Consider ordering the DNA testing kit.  Spend a bunch of time reading about the options, but don't order anything.
  5. Try to do something nice for someone, even if it's just leaving a carrot out for Jeffrey the rabbit.  (I hope this post doesn't make me seem like Jimmy Stewart.)
What I'll actually do is about 6,000 more math problems (I know.  I can't help it.), and go on a long walk in the woods and maybe a swim, and then come back and stare at my list.  I'm afraid that if I tell the lady at the store the truth, she'll stop selling beer to me.  So here's the answer:  "Yardwork.  Gonna try to get things all wrapped up this week."  She looked happy, like I was just one more productive customer, coming through the line.  That's your answer this week, Libra, no matter what the question.  



Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  I am lucky to have the most lovely daughter on the planet, the sort who will come to yoga with me once in a while.  It's like having a cross between a brilliant, scholarly, kind person and a bouncy pet tigger.  

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  Are we really going to war again?  Is there anything at all we can do to stop it?  Arrgh.  Nothing good will come of this.  But your week?  All good.  Make your tiny corner of the world bright and peaceful, Sag, as you always do.

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  Speaking of gin, I went to a talk by this guy recently, and he got me fired up about doing something with Oregon grape berries.  But I'm not interested in making dull bitter fruit leather (I'd rather eat my old shoes).  But I found a recipe for infusing gin with OG berries.  By the time I got it together, though, the berries on my property were raisins already.  (I know what you're thinking -- what's to get together?  Just buy a bottle of gin and find a jar.)  


But I was at church, and noticed tons of ripe plump berries there.  Each time I mention church I feel compelled to say IT'S NOT LIKE THAT!  I don't believe in woo-woo shit, I know that sex is what creates babies, and every single baby is a holy one, and I believe that when we die we die, and some of us end up in a suitcase in a storage locker, which is fine with me.  I believe this is our only life, and it matters what we do with it, especially how we treat the other humans, and that's what's sacred -- the connections between people, the good will, the forgiveness and gentleness we give and receive.  I don't think there's any supreme being looking out for us, we need to do that for one another.  And it's good to be with other people struggling to to figure out what matters, how to be kind, and most of all, how to forgive ourselves and our people when we fail, which we do, over and over.  So that's what church is. 

I gathered the berries and put them in a jar, and poured gin over them (I bought some new brand of gin because it was wearing a hat!  A hat on the gin! Yes, you read that right!).  And even though I don't really believe any ground is holier than any other ground, I'm pretending that these berries grew on sacred ground, and it's going to make this gin, that was born wearing a hat, special.  And now magic is happening in that jar, and more magic will happen later when it's consumed.  I believe that, even if I don't have the believer gene.  Let your week be full of magic, Cap.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  We're all suiting up for the week ahead, trying to capture the last bits of sun to store in our sparkle suits for the long dark time ahead.  Music, Aquarius.  Gather music, make playlists.  Lot's of them.  Don't be afraid to put cheesy pop songs on them, like this.  Whatever works.  There's no shame.

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  I was swimming with a friend a few weeks ago, and remember that toe ring?  It fell off and now rests at the bottom of the lake.  She spent our swim reminding me that hers didn't fall off due to some malformation of the toe.  Kind of a clubfoot of the toe, if you will.  You wouldn't even know she's got this disability if you weren't swimming together with toe rings on.  I was getting cold, and she suggested that if I only had a toe ring to act as a very small scarf on one toe, I'd probably be fine. I laughed hard enough that I nearly drowned, but I didn't, and here's why, Pisces.  Because I know the back float.  Use it.  You'll need it this week.

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...