Monday, May 26, 2014

Horoscopes: The haplodiploid edition


Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  I ran into someone last week who questioned whether I'm a real astrologist.  Really?  I hope it's clear, Pisces, that I consult the stars, the planets, the retrogrades, the alignments, and the various houses of mercury and cards before I make this stuff up.  

So, back to bees.  They're haplodiploid, which means that the males only have half the genetic material that females do.  Union of egg + sperm grows into a female bee, and unfertilized egg grows into a male bee.  The male bee (drone), of course, has the ability to fertilize a queen. (Alas, the act ends in death for the drone, and a lifetime of fertility for the female, so being a drone isn't all it's cracked up to be.)  

Infertile females (workers, not the queen) can lay eggs that grow into drones.  If you think about that for very long, Pisces, it gets confusing.  (Or is that just me?  Once again, I feel like Algernon.  I know there's something interesting here, but it's just beyond my ability to grasp.)  But a few things that I do get:  a male bee doesn't have a father.  A female worker bee can create sons but not daughters, while the male can create daughters but not sons.  The queen can create either, of course.  But what about the gene pool itself?  Does it seem like it would get smaller?  Does this strategy make bees less able to evolve in response to changing environmental conditions?  And, I dunno, there's something else that bugs me here, but I can't quite pinpoint it.  More later if it ever comes to me.  

But what this all means for you, Pisces, is that it's going to be an interesting week.  Be curious, as we say.  Especially about that little bumblebee nest outside your front door.  Maybe, if you're very very lucky, it will be Bombus occidentalis!  I know!

Aries (3/21 - 4/19):  You're probably wondering how it's going with my whole hotplate life.  Here's the progress so far:  the other day, I looked on the Internet and found that Sears has online scheduling for repairs.  I poured myself a bowl of not homemade granola, (grr), and proceeded to schedule.  First available date is June 17.  Really?  Even for hotplate woman, that's mildly unacceptable, Aries.  Especially because I know it will involve a whole lot of ick, phone calls, and dollars spent.  Next week, though, I'm really gonna hit it hard and climb my way, even claw my way back to the land of the cookers.  I even have a volunteer who will come with me to the appliance store, because we all know how this will end:  I'll go through the hassle-y motions of getting it repaired, but will ultimately learn that I need a new range (I still don't know what that word means, because I AM NOT AN APPLIANCE SAVANT.)  Aries, I am saying out loud here and now that by June 18 I will try my best to be eating homemade granola again.  Make your week awesome like that.  Like, YES, in THREE WEEKS, I'm going to kick a little ass, and GET STUFF DONE.  May it be so.



A souvenir from my journey to the mental hospital
Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  Overheard in coffeeshop:  
E:  What does passive aggressive mean?  
H:  Well, it's when, rather than telling someone what's bugging you, you go into their underwear drawer and stretch out one leg of every single pair, rendering it useless.  

Taurus, do all you can to eliminate cruelty to the underwear (which seems not to have any real advocates, btw).  Be direct, kind, sincere.  Mean it.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21)
:  I'm super excited about a new little series of writing things I'm offering, read all about it!  The first one is for parents.  If you are one, I hope you'll consider it, not because you need it, but because you deserve it.  Claim a chance to relax and think about how you want this gigantic wonderful art project you're working on to turn out.  There will even be yoga nidra!  (I know, Gemini.  You've been wondering: house of retrograde, Venus, mars, star star star water sign blah blah blah.  FER CRISSAKES, WHEN WILL THERE BE YOGA NIDRA?)


Cancer (6/22 – 7/21):  One of my poppies popped this week and I skipped yoga to stay and watch it for a while.  Then I said, sheesh, hotplate woman, get a hold of yourself!  Life goes on, you absolutely must not get distracted by this gorgeous flower, because there is IMPORTANT STUFF TO DO.  So for the rest of the week I carried on as if there weren't a fading miracle happening in the garden.  Don't do that, Cancer.



Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  I was trying to find the word to describe the particular color of the poppy, which, duh, lead me, the way everything does, to the Internet, and I can't find it (the color), probably for at least three reasons, Leo.


  1. My screen doesn't have great resolution because I poured water onto yet another computer, and I'm using one of the old ones from Under the Bed, where I have a graveyard of computers in varying states of decay.  Under the Bed should not be confused with Under the Matress, where the riches are stored.  (Spilling water on a computer, which used to be a big deal, is not anymore.  Apparently, it's just how I roll.  And, I'm painfully, inexplicably loyal to Apple, which is ridiculous if you  have to buy a new computer every few months.  Luckily, I'm extremely wealthy, which may explain my insomnia (lumpy mattress).
  2. Every web page I click on has ads for appliance repair on it, making me feel a little downcast.  Really?  Internet?  What the hell is so wrong with being a legitimate hotplate woman?  I am so buying briquettes, tinfoil, and a shoebox this week.
  3. It's not a color you see much.  If this color were a movie, it would have a tiny but devoted cult following.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  Yesterday someone asked if I have any interest in doing a silent retreat, where you go for some amount of time, maybe a weekend, without speaking.  Um, I think I call that being at home.  Which suddenly made me realize that my life is one long retreat.  That's good, right?  Virgo, this week, consider an advance.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  I'm taking an acroyoga class next week, which is flying therapeutic partner yoga.  It freaks me out (I always pick invisibility, not flying, for my super power).  But I was asked to do it by a friend, who said his wife isn't comfortable with the idea of him doing partner yoga with all the young lovely yoginis, and he can only take the class if I'm his partner.  (Um, that's a compliment, right?)  Libra, learn how to fly this week, and also, take everything that comes your was as a compliment.  What's the downside?

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  Speaking of taking everything as a compliment, someone mentioned that they overheard someone else talking about me: "her blog is so interesting!  You'd never predict that from meeting her!"  I know.  Better on paper, Scorp, but there's no real downside to that.  Oh wait.  I think there is....

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  My favorite Sag has been asking about podcasts, which ones I like.  I like storytelling ones best, because there's really not much more delicious than hearing a good story, well-told.  (Well, there are a few things, but let's stick to what's plausible and within reach.) Here are a few:
  • My new favorite, The Story Collider, about science intersecting lives.  
  • 99 Percent Invisible, a tiny radio show about design.  From wikipedia: "With its name taken from a quote by Buckminster Fuller where he said, "Ninety-nine percent of who you are is invisible and untouchable", the show aims to expose the unseen and overlooked aspects of design, architecture, and activity in the world."  Every single episode, I start out reluctantly (because really, could Roman Mars be someone's actual name?) but end up learning something fascinating.
  • This Week in Science, The Kickass Science Podcast.  Love, mostly.  Three smart funny people talk about research that's been published this week.  
  • Strangers (KCRW).  I think Lea Thau is brilliant and here's a good example of her lovely, generous quirky storytelling.
  • And, this might be my very very favorite, at least today.  The Truth, movies for the ear.


Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  I've been getting a poem a day in my e-mail and not reading them, but saving up for when I can really savor.  The time is today!  Here's a particularly lovely one.  Love and loss, Cap.  That's all there is.  Oh, and there are dogs.  

(Btw, there's a transformational lunar aspect to your ambitious sign.  Stole that from Huff post.  Sounds legit, though.)


Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  Speaking of dogs, my favorite dog story is of a friend who found a stray in her barn.  She located a tag with a phone number, called the owner, and while she waited for him to arrive, played with the dog.  She found him to be smart and fun, which is what we seek in companions, human and canine.  But when the dog heard the owner's diesel truck pull up, he started shaking and cowering, and when the man appeared, the dog tried to hide.  

"Sorry," my friend said, "it doesn't look like he wants to go home with you.  He's my dog now."  And so it went.  Diesel truck man drove away empty-shotgun seated, and she has a new lucky pet who's as well-loved as can be.  Don't you wish more stories ended this way, Aquarius?  Make it so this week.  Write your own endings and then live them.

Saturday, May 17, 2014

Horoscopes: the weird guilt edition and NOT REAL PROBLEMS edition

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  Weird guilt:  That last bit of the toothpaste tube -- it's hard to squeeze out the final three to seven brushings.  (How lazy am I?)  But if I throw it out too soon, sheesh, we all know that's wrong.  There's something attractive about the brand new easy-to-squeeze tube, Pisces.  For the good of our teeth and the planet and a good night's guilt-free sleep, however, we must eke out every last bit of toothpaste before we discard.  I didn't make up the rules, I just enforce them.  (That's what we say in the permit biz all the time, btw.)  Oh shoot.  Pisces?  It turns out I'm writing about toothpaste? Yes, it's come to this.  I'm sorry.  You solve for X, I'll solve for why.

Aries (3/21 - 4/19):  Confession:  I'm turning into hot plate woman.  My stove/range/oven (Grrr, why isn't there one word for the whole damn thing?  Range?  Really?  I don't even know what a range is, and you probably don't either unless you're some appliance savant.  You know that's true.  But the whole thing isn't working.  Well it works for its intended function (it heats up), but an alarm goes off constantly, and there's a message that flashes saying, "Call a certified technician."  Right?  I say this has been going on for "about a week", but it's probably more like 6, and the whole thing fills me with dread for these reasons:

  1. I hate the phone.  There is no other way to solve this problem without picking up the phone.  Well, that, or embracing Hot Plate Woman as my thing.
  2. If I do make a call, they'll try to pin me down to a whole day when I'm supposed to be home.  I know exactly how it goes, and you do too.  I'll wait all day and at 5:45 p.m. they'll call and say they won't be able to make it, but maybe tomorrow.  That will go on and on until we all die.  And there's more, but I'll get to it.  Can you say INFP, Aries?    


Taurus (4/20 – 5/20)Taurus, I know you're wonding how this story is going to end.  WIll she throw out the toothpaste, make the phone call, write another blog post?  The suspense is palpable, as they say.  (They always say things are papable, though, when they aren't at all.)  There are somewhere between two and seven basic plots, and it's unclear which one this is:  tragedy?  comedy? rags to riches?  (Or maybe it's more like riches to rags.) I'm kind of hoping for Stranger Comes to Town, myself, but Taurus, there's no telling.  Meanwhile, let your plot for the week be Overcoming the Monster.

Gemini (5/21 - 6/21): Confession:  I check on my bees too much.  I'm like a cross between Lenny in Of Mice and Men and Clingy Girl in new relationship.  (Do I seem too eager?  Am I calling too much?  YES. if you have to ask, the answer is yes.)  I think about them all the time, wonder if it's too soon to go look, worry if I'm dressed okay, if I smell okay. I spend time in the garden and woods nearby hoping to "accidentally" bump into them.  "Oh, wow, I had no idea I'd run into you here!"  But Gemini, is being eager such a crime?  Capture you're inner Lenny this week.  Pet the kitten but don't squeeze it to death.


Cancer (6/22 – 7/21):  Do you even know what I mean by 
"hot plate woman?"  It's that person who lives alone and watches soap operas from a couch that's covered with cats and hoarded things, and the most complicated food ever prepared comes from a Campbell's soup can, not purchased ironically in homage to Warhol, but as Good Food.  And one burner is plenty.  I am on the slippery slope towards her, but with podcasts instead of soaps.

Have I mentioned that I've spent a few days at a beautiful mental hospital recently?  Sheesh, no, I wasn't a patient.  I was doing research. I bet you didn't see that coming.  Your plot, Cancer, has been "voyage and return".  That's where you go on a journey and come back empty-handed but with more depth of character.  This week, let it be a comedy.  Welcome home.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  There should have been Real Guilt, apparently there wasn't:  These are the conditions that Einstein placed on his wife 
(who agreed to them!).  They divorced anyway.

CONDITIONS
  1. You will make sure:
    1. that my clothes and laundry are kept in good order;
    2. that I will receive my three meals regularly in my room;
    3. that my bedroom and study are kept neat, and especially that my desk is left for my use only.
  2. You will renounce all personal relations with me insofar as they are not completely necessary for social reasons. Specifically, You will forego:
    1. my sitting at home with you;
    2. my going out or travelling with you.
  3. You will obey the following points in your relations with me:
    1. you will not expect any intimacy from me, nor will you reproach me in any way;
    2. you will stop talking to me if I request it;
    3. you will leave my bedroom or study immediately without protest if I request it.
    4. You will undertake not to belittle me in front of our children, either through words or behavior.
Leo, bring your unconditional genius out into the world this week.  No rules.
Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  The thing is, I could spin the whole thing to make me look better.  Like, I'm WAY too important and busy to be held up by a mere repairman.  But that's not the truth.  The truth is, I freakishly avoid appliance repair, in part because the problem is always right at the price point of whether to replace or repair.  I know how it will go:  The repair person will come and charge $150 for a home visit to diagnose the problem, and the diagnosis will be that it needs some part that must be ordered from a third world country that we're polluting shamelessly, and then it will cost $250 to install, and the guy will say, "well, it is already 10 years old (as if that's old); if I were you, I might just replace it."  Does it seem like I've already made up my mind how it's going to go?  But mark my words, Virgo.  It's one of the 2 main appliance plots.  This week, let your plot be one that involves taking a walk to the secret spot with me!

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  More about Hot Plate Woman:  where the guilt comes in is that it's been so seamless to eliminate cooking.  Microwave water for coffee, eat pb&j sandwiches, salad, crackers.  I think of myself as someone who eats well, cooks.  A good cook, even.  Um, hmm.  
Hot Plate Woman self-portrait

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  Confession:  I signed up for Twitter because one of my favorite people asked me to follow him.  I mostly signed up to see a picture of a weirdly formed egg that he tweeted (GRR, I don't even want to be typing that word, tweeted), even though I had already seen the egg on his phone.  I never really got back to twitter.  But I got a few e-mails this week from random people thanking me for following them, which I didn't know I was, so I logged on today.  Turns out I'm following 1,532 people!  And I have three followers of my own, one of whom I know.  Scorpio, not to be creepy or anything, but I would totally follow you in real, not on twitter.

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21): The even sadder thing about the whole Hot Plate Woman biz is this:  I am sincerely considering making a box oven, the way the girl scouts do.  Someone suggested it, I think as a joke.  But really.  With a shoe box, a roll of tinfoil, and a bag of briquettes, I wouldn't be weird hotplate woman who can't make a stupid phone call, but rather a resourceful, off-the-grid person.  I would be cooking my granola and chocolate cake in a shoebox.  More on this in the future, Sag, to be sure.  

Capricorn (12/22 - 1/19):  Joyous occasion:  I'm taking a 5 hour Yoga Nidra class today, which is sort of like learning how to take a better nap, which I think I'm already quite good at.  I've also spent a bunch of time on Adobe Forms this week creating little things for my phone, which has also been rather joyous and more than a little pocket-protecterish.  Your week, Capricorn, will involve a bit of pocket protector, a bit of napping, and a lot of head-scratching, not due to infestation, but rather, puzzlement.  Make the best of it.



Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):    Confession:  I usually use other people's phone numbers when I shop at Safeway to get the discount.  Not because I'm buying creepy stuff that I don't want NSA to know about -- I buy ordinary stuff like bananas and crackers.  Things that a hotplate woman would need.  But if I use my phone number, they say, "Thank you Mrs. Last Name of Ex-Husband That Never Was My Name Anyway."  Now, when I use your phone number, they say "Thank you Mrs. Last Name of Other People", and it makes me laugh, but it's also so damned presumptuous, that assumption that women are property, and sharing a phone number means you're Mrs Somebody.  Not to stray from the point, but I'm not a fan, and will never be Mrs. Somebody Else's Last Name.  (I know what you're thinking, Aquarius.  Duh, is what's on your mind.)






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...