Friday, October 25, 2013

Why do the Berkshires seem dreamlike?

Aries (3/21 – 4/19):  I took a red-eye flight the other day, and bought a neck pillow at Hudson News on an impulse, spending about half of what I saved by taking the red-eye on the stupid pillow.  It turns out, my friends, that the problem with air travel has almost nothing to do with neck comfort, and almost everything to do with being squished into a metal box with too many humans (some with fairly high percentage of Neanderthal, not that I'm judging) and the possibility of an untimely demise.  But Aries, take comfort where you can this week, even if it costs $32.73, and is a placebo made of memory foam.    

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  I'm fairly obsessed with the Voynich Manuscript these days.   I don't think it's unhealthy (yet.).  Here's what's compelling:  1.  It's a mystery (who wrote it, what does it say, and why was it written in code?)  2.  It's a book.  3.  It has completely charming illustrations of round naked women in bathtubs and plants; and 4) it's very old.  What's not to like?  Taurus, there will be a lot not to like about your week, but do your best to find what's good.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21): I had the occasion to see my neice being carried and bounced around on a chair this week, and I'd like to confess that I was especially proud because she was the only one who could sit up there, clapping along to the music while drunken (ish) people bounced the chair above their heads.  Everyone else, when it was their turn, seemed to clutch the chair for dear life.  This week, Gemini, be the person who claps rather than clings, even if you might die doing it.

Cancer (6/22 – 7/21):  I was at a party recently where I knew almost no one.  Everyone there seemed to be a techy person.  "Do you write code?" someone asked me.  "No, but I write horoscopes."  It turns out that's a good way to get everyone to walk away and leave you in peace to drink quietly.  Which isn't so terrible.  Your week won't be so terrible either, Cancer.   

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  I heard recently that not being able to identify the smell of peanut butter with your left nostril at 20 centimeters is a predictor of Alzheimer's.  I'd like to be able to give myself that test, but I suppose that would be cheating.  ("Ok, self, I have something on a spoon, 20 centimeters away from you.  Close your eyes and guess what it is.")  But maybe it's okay to cheat on things like that -- Is there much difference between that and positive affirmations?  If you're going to be a cheater, be that kind.  Do what you must this week.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  One thing I learned this weekend is that I come from people who stuff cookies in their pockets when they depart from a festive event.  I'm not sure whether to be proud or alarmed.  But another thing I learned is what happened to the family photos.  My cousin snagged them and decorated his apartment with pictures of my sisters and I when we were little, and my kids when they were young and so on.  I cannot begin to convey how hilarious it is for this single guy to have decorated his "love shack" with these photos and my dad's medical diploma and other memorabilia.  When people come to his house and see all the kids, they say, "oh, is this your family?"  And he just says, "Yup."  Okay, I'll just say I'm totally lucky that he's in my family, that's for sure.  Virgo, if you're taking a bubble bath and someone calls and invites you for a drink, get up already!  Put some pants on and go meet them.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):   A friend told me she had a dream about me that we're calling, "Big Hair, Big Love."  I didn't hear the details but I gather there was lots of product involved.  Libra, focus on the big love without the big hair this week.  Enjoy.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  I hate to make this all about the neck pillow, but we haven't talked about neck pillow envy yet.  You know you've had it.  You're about to get on a terrible long flight, and you see people looking smug, wearing (I know!) their neck pillows as if that's cool (which it's not, if there's any doubt.)  But still, you feel a bit insecure, like, shoot!  I should have a neck pillow.  I should hang out with the cool kids!  In second recess, I should play tag instead of sitting in the corner drawing horses.  (Oh, wait, I didn't mean to say that.)  But here's the truth:  the neck pillows aren't so great as a neck support, but they do work as a calming comfort object when you're too old to clutch a stuffed animal.  Scorpio, no clutching this week.  Drop everything and breathe.

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21): So, one of the things I'm enjoying about the Voynich Manuscript is that it's written in code, so I'm reading a lot about codes and ciphers.  And I had a moment, after learning a few new codes (well, they were new in the renaissance) of thinking, I'm totally going to write in code.  TheI remembered that I don't have anyone to write in code to, or really, any secrets.  But still...  And then, in the most freaky coincidence, I spille on my keyboard, and now the letters are all scrambled.  S only works sometimes, and e doesn't work at all, and so on.  It looks just like code.  Making me wonder if there is indeed a god!  If one were looking for signs...  But it's painstaking, because I have to find the letter I need elsewhere, and copy and pste it.  Here's this paragraph withwout doing that.  

 ROSeTTA STONe
o, on of th thing ˆ'm njoying about th ◊oynich Âanucript is tat it' writtwn in cod, o ˆ'm rading a lot about cod and ciphr.  And ˆ had thi thought of how fun it would b to tart uing cod, bcdau ˆ larnd a fw nw onw.  ·„ll, thyw rw n inw th rwnaiancw...TWhn ˆw rwmmbrwd twhat ˆw don'tw havw any on twow wrwiwt tow inw cowdw, owrw anyw cwrwt.  Butw twill.... And twhn, in thw motw fraky coicidnc, ˆ pilld br on my kyboard, and now th lttrw arw all cwrwambldw.   onwlyw owrwk omwtimw, andw  bcwomw , andw o onw.  ˆwt lowok .  o, that' hy htr on't b horo...

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19): It's much effort to write, Cap, so I'll offer this up.  












Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):   In Japan, sales of adult diapers exceed the sale of baby diapers.  That is one sorry fact.  But it did make me wonder -- do adults ever go for the cloth, the way I did with my babies?  Right?  You just don't hear of a diaper service delivering to old folks homes.  Business idea: a truck with diapers, horoscopes, and permits.  Sort of like alchemy only different.



Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  I know, Pisces, you always get slighted. So with great effort, I'm writing something just for you.  The thing about being in a choir when you can't read music is that it's challenging. I don't know the notes the way musicians do, so I have to attach little stories to them.  Like, C is what it sounds like in yoga when we do the three ohms if no one is flat.  And the low D?  That's what it sounds like when you're about six, driving across the midwest in the back seat of an un-airconditioned station wagon, bored to tears, and you lean your head against the window and just open your mouth and make that sound, partly to see what it sounds like, and partly to annoy your sisters.  Enjoy all the notes this week, Pisces.

Oh, and the answer:  On account of the frosting.  

Saturday, October 5, 2013

Apocalypse Training

I did some apocalypse training yesterday with the LA, and it went better than we could have imagined.  For starters, it was a gorgeous day, and we're at that part of the year where you can taste the end of the light, the sun being a giant glowing reminder of our mortality.  Nothing lasts. But it was that bright blue sky, and a cold crisp morning where you sort of wanted mittens but then after a few minutes could strip down to a tank top.  But that's just the setting.  If you're a lazy reader like me, you can skip this part.

We met early in the morning at the launching spot for our secret location, and I brought this map that I covet, because you can't get it without knowing someone.  Now that I have the map, I like to think that I am someone too.  Oh wait, it might be on the interwebs.  When I give it out, though, I don't give a gigantic lecture about how no one helps maintain the trails like I do.  No, I don't do that.  I just offer the map, and say 'enjoy'.  That almost makes me a better person than who I got the map from, except the fact of me noting it takes away any virtue, and the fact that I don't ever help her.  Kant wouldn't be proud.  Damn purists.

The spot.
I can't reveal where the spot is, because, well, for one thing, the LA would kill me.  I guess when dying is the "for one thing", you don't even need the next thing.  But here's a picture of it.  If you figure out where it is, you definitely have skills to offer our team, so that's okay.  

We'd never been there before.  After a few hours, we got pretty close, but right when we got near it, we heard a man's voice.  Right?  We're in the middle of nowhere.  But he turned out to be a fish biologist collecting DNA samples on the Chinook, and he seemed pretty amazed to see us there too.  We decided that even if he figured out where our spot was, it wouldn't be so terrible.  There's always room for a young handsome science-y fish biologist on our team, yes there is.   If he finds us during the apocalypse, I'm okay with that, especially if he wants to talk about DNA.  The rivers, and I can't name which ones, were swollen with fish in a way that neither of us had seen in a long time.  Definitely a good trait for an apocalypse spot:  protein all over the place.

Those dark shadows are Pink Salmon, Oncorhynchus gorbuscha
We got to where we planned to cross the river, to get to the actual spot.
"Hmm.  L.A., this looks pretty sketchy. We have to cross 60 feet on a slippery bent log over a river that's pretty much in flood stage, and on the other side the log gets skinny and lands on a steep slippery rock that we'll have to scale, and it's suspended over a deep raging pool."  [Sheesh, LA will kill me if you figure out the spot based on this description.]

"Betsy, when it's the real apocalypse, we won't have a choice.  We'll have to cross anyway."

"Or," I said, "we could just stay on this side, even in the apocalypse!"

L.A. looked amazed. "Wow!  I guess we could!"

So we found a sunny spot and had a picnic and even had a few little sips of the Holy Oregon grape-infused gin because it seemed like the perfect day and the perfect spot to test it for done-ness.  It's done, and pretty yummy if you like drinking sweetened pine needles, which it turns out I do.  We ate all the good things that no one eats anymore:  gluten, and cheese, and salami, gin.

"Betsy, one thing:  I don't want to spend the apocalypse doing math."

"Ok, fine.  Bring cards."

"I only have one deck of cards that I don't want to wreck, because my dad gave them to me when I was 14."

"It's that or math.  Your choice."

The to do list got longer.
63.  Photocopy playing cards, laminate.  Store originals in a safe spot.
We decided we can cross the river when the water is lower, and have summer apocalypse grounds.

"I think we'll need wetsuits to cross, though, because even in the summer its only about 40 degrees."

"Look, this is the apocalypse!  There won't be wetsuits.  And, you'll be carrying twice your body weight in salt; wetsuits will be too much trouble."

We passed the day in this fashion, gathering chanterelles, watching fish, laughing and planning.  On our way back, we saw the person who gave me the map, and after enduring the customary lecture (no one helps me take care of the trails!), we drove around and practiced our stealing skills by sneaking around on private property and gathering mushrooms.

"If someone confronts us, just say we're missionaries, and we've come to talk to them about The Word," I said.  "People leave you alone when you say that.

"Yeah, but we look like hippies, and we have giant bags overflowing with mushrooms. . ."

Luckily no one stopped us.

We ended the day by meeting Mr. L.A. for a beverage.

"Are you guys serious about this stuff?"

I think he got mildly alarmed when we told him he needed to build a bucket and pulley system out of salmonberry bushes to cross the river, and seriously concerned when LA revealed her plan of our children procreating with each other to carry the species on, in case we're the only Homo sapiens left.

"Of course we're serious!  We've been working on it all day. I can't tell you how many people want to be on my team!," the LA said.

"And I'm going to do permitting!  Post Apocalypse Permits, it will be called.  Because I'm pretty sure the government will be even more shut down than it is now, and it will be up to me.  Oh, and if the boy biologist joins us, we may also offer genetic testing."

"Why can't we just stay home during the apocalypse?  Why do we need to abandon our house and slog through the woods dragging 50 pounds of salt and then sleep outside?  I'm sleeping in my bed, apocalypse or no."

L.A. cozied up to him.  "We'll defend our property for a while, babe.  But when it gets bad, which it will eventually, we'll go to our spot.  Do you have a gun?  Just for rabbits and stuff.  And we'll need to figure out what to trade with the Tulalip tribe, because they'll make it too.  We were thinking snowberry tapioca?"

Anyway, that's the news.



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...