1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8 etc.

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  I found myself watching this video the other day.  Please don't click on the link because life is short, and, contrary to the title, you will believe what happens next.  I don't want to spoil it, but it's a love story, of sorts.  Your week will also be a love story.  A great one.  May it be so.

Aries (3/21 - 4/19):  Hey, speaking of the elements (love is an element, right?), the Smart People figured out how to make a substance for 3D printers that's lighter than frozen fog.  Big sigh, it makes my heart pine.  Why?  Well, for one, using frozen fog as a unit of weight.  I'm accustomed to the ordinary units of measure: pounds and ounces and fuck-tons.  But being delicate enough to discern the weight of frozen fog, arrgh.  It's a mixed blessing, Aries, but be that.  Feel the pain of a dandelion aging and turning to fluff, but keep on getting up anyway.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  I've been taking a picture of one frame from a beehive every few days, which I thought I could make into a little time lapse movie, but it turns out that I'd need to take pictures more frequently and from the exact same place.  Duh.  I'm not so great at consistency and exact sameness, as you may have noticed.  So here's the movie, so far.  Blockbuster, to be sure.

A few cells of capped brood

Capped brood gone, one large queen cell

More capped brood, and still the queen cell

Even more capped brood and a bunch of queen cells.

Anyway, we call the queen of that hive, the one that's about to be beheaded, Mary, because yes, those big white things are queen cups.  (Not to be confused with her hearty next-door neighbor, Queen Lucrezia, who will sting any rivals and end up with more honey.)  Anyway, the little worker girls spend so much time tending their queen that they know right away if she's not at the top of her game, and create themselves a new one.  Wouldn't it be cool if it worked that way in the workplace?  All the little worker bees would just create a new boss when the time is right?  

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21):  I'm reading a book about the Fibonacci numbers, which is fascinating and I'm learning useless things that I'd like to use, which is somewhat of the metaphor for my life, but let's not go into that today, Gemini.  But here are two cool things you should know:  

1. The sum of any ten consecutive Fibonacci numbers is always divisible by eleven.  Do you care?  I think yes!  Because here's a scenario:  what if the apocalypse happens (or should I say, when the apocalypse happens), and you need a number divisible by eleven, and all  the stores are closed, the government has broken down into fragments of a former cubicle infrastructure, and algal blooms are covering all the swimming holes?  Yep.  You know the answer.  You're welcome.
2. I heard this on a podcast, turned out to be incorrect:  the greater of two consecutive Fibonacci numbers divided by the lower equals the golden ratio.  I checked this out, and it really doesn't occur until the 27th number in the sequence, but then it pretty much holds true after that, at least if you don't go out too many decimal points.   This, my dear Gemini friends, makes me realize that 27 is the auspicious number we've all been waiting for.  I think if you're up for it, you could start a religion based on this number.  And here's a tip:  Petronious, a great hedonist and fashion advisor to Nero, was born in 27.  I know.  Remember, you heard it hear first.  

Cancer (6/22 – 7/21):  I'm told that the world cup is half full, or possibly runneth over.  Is runneth over a unit of measure?  I know it sounds like a tired out question, but what would the humans get done if we stopped worrying about sports and hair and shoes?  Seriously.  Your song lyric, Cancer, is from Son Volt:  "May the wind take your troubles away. Both feet on the floor, two hands on the wheel, may the wind take your troubles away."
 

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  I was on the Huffington Post the other day, and this popped up.  It's disturbing enough without the "You May Like" tag.  Really, google?  I have perhaps googled smoothie recipes at some point, and I've grown a few placentas.... Leo, the point here is that we don't always know what's going on.  Two data points don't make a line.  Try not to assume.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  I got this little anonymous gift in the mail this morning, four tiny plastic beer steins.  It made my day, maybe my year, even though it came with $1.83 postage due, and when I opened it the postal lady looked sort of sad for me, like, really?  You went and rummaged in your car seats to find change for that?  But yes, I did.  Thank you, whomever you are.   I'm not exactly sure if there's a message in there?  Like, "you should drink more and worry less about the Fibonaccis?"  Or, "I owe you a beer, here's four?"  Or, "You should take up the hobby of making tiny dioramas out of bar scenes?"  But thank you, from all the sides of my heart.  (What's so great about the bottom of the heart, anyway?)

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  It's completely beautiful here;, every single day has some sky and light and it almost never gets dark except in our heads, but if we look around, arrgh.  It's almost too much beauty to take in.  

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  I was visiting a customer who I've known for years as he's permitted and built this complicated house; he and his family have lived in it for a year or so now, but they've decided they don't like the sink, so they're planning to buy the lot across the street and build.  I'm so far at the other end of the spectrum that I can't even SEE their end from here.  I don't even know enough about sinks to have an opinion.  But, in case you're wondering about my stove/oven situation, I actually made two phone calls to the same repair guy (audible gasp, please), and the second time I even left a message with the error code (F-7, in case you're wondering.)  That was a week ago, and I expect he'll call back any moment.  So I'm kinda busy, Scorpio, waiting to hear what F-7 means.

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  Do you know those people who talk about themselves in the third person?  I can't tell what that's about, but it creeps me out.  Even the term, "third person".  Right?  That's kind of weird.  But I'm WAY off topic, Sag.  The topic is that picture, which was taken by this photographer, and it's what happens when you stand in the same spot and photograph the sun every day for a year; its called an analemma.  I'd like to recommend you do that this year.  Every day, one picture.  You might need a pinhole camera or something, I'm really not sure.  I just know what happened to Icarus.


Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  When my kids were little, we used to read a book over and over; I don't remember the whole plot, but on about page 15, a camel yawns, and I have a pretty strong sympathetic yawning response, which my kids got a huge kick out of.  It got so they could just say, "Page 15" and I'd yawn.  In fact, I'm yawning just thinking about it now.  But I just learned that people who score high on empathy tests are more likely to contagious yawn, so I guess that's good-ish.  Cap, keep being Zelda/ F. Scott-ish, but stop before you end up in full blown, mental institute craziness.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  I believe, at my unshakable core, in the goodness of people.  I think everyone does want to be good, do good, care, be part of something bigger and better than their own miniscule or gigantic needs.  And when it looks like people aren't acting well, I assume I don't have all the information, that there's probably a scar or situation under the behavior, an invisible force at play.  Your lyric, Aquarius, is from Josh Ritter: "Every heart is a package tangled up in knots someone else tied."  Not much you can do about it but be gentle with the knots; treat them with care.