Horoscopes: things to worry about


Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  The woman I saw at a coffeeshop, wearing high heeled cowboy boots, bleach blonde hair, and tight shorts that didn't cover her ass completely.  Which is worrisome enough, but she was with a pale-faced schlub wearing baggy gym shorts down to his knees and a gigantic wrinkled tee shirt.  How does that work?  There's a lot to worry about in this story, Pisces, but the worry I'd like us to focus on is the "women against feminism" movement.  Really, people?  "Um, yeah, I think equal opportunities are a bad idea -- I would prefer to have limited choices, make less money for the same work, and most especially, have no control over reproducing!  (Have I mentioned that my boss, a high-fiving, 6-figure income white guy, asked me what the double helix is?  How do you explain that it's one of the greatest scientific mysteries solved in the 20th century without making someone feel out of the loop?)



Aries (3/21 - 4/19):  The other day, I found a note in the wall in a missing brick in this building.  I hope to contribute notes myself.  This will be an important tool for communication in the near future, but I worry that someone will fill in the hole, or no one will read the notes.  Aries, do what you can.  Even a thimbleful of something is good.  (I think that's what the starfish said, right?)  


Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  The CDC, which seems to be a little cavelier with stuff.  Diseases and the like.  For example, were others disturbed by how they accidentally shipped the most deadly strain of bird flu to some unsuspecting chickens in Maryland, and that anthrax business?  How about the live polio that was found in someone's desk drawer or something? Sheesh.  No problem, Ebola.  Welcome to the Americas.  You're in good hands.


Gemini (5/21 – 6/21):  The possiblity that random, unpredicted things will occur.  Like, the orbit of the earth will change -- our planet will go off in some new direction that doesn't involve a 24-hour day, heat from the sun, or people in gorilla suits wearing headphones, dancing to advertise a mattress sale. 


Cancer (6/22 – 7/21):  My favorite LA, who had this conversation with me the other day:
LA:  There's something I need to talk to you about.
Me:  Yes?
LA:  I think you should consider women.  For dating. Etc.
Me:  Um, I think it's been pretty well established that sexuality isn't a choice....
LA:  I know, I know.  I understand that it's not your first choice.  But it could be your second choice!
Me:  Um.. 
LA:  Look, just keep an open mind.  Second choice isn't bad!  Open your heart to that possibility. 
Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  The fact that conservative, non-scientific people are procreating earlier and more abundantly than the thinkers.  I was going to say, "follow that out for a few generations", but I think we're already there.  Ok, but Leo, I have another worry to share.  People here in our town are arguing over this building.  Right?  One group has been interested in protecting it for a decade or more; they started before the blue tarp was weathered into useless shreds and the barn was beyond repair.  A new group has recently become interested, and bickering has ensued.  Arrgh. 

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  I'm worried about turning into one of those people who just, oh, how do I put this --- well, for a shy person, I seem to be inviting strangers to do stuff.  Example:  I invited a woman I'd met about 3 minutes before to go have a drink.  Right?  (SEE, LA?  That's an open mind! Although really, it's not like that.  It's just that you meet nice people, and you shouldn't let them slip away.)


Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  
Lawns.  WTF, people?  I've grown so weary of the loud, polluting, tedious chore required to keep the stuff short that naturally grows tall.  I've always found this disturbing, but I just learned that Americans spend $40 billion a year on lawn care, compared with $47 billion on childcare.  I have an idea!  Let's quit with the lawns and pay the people who raise the children twice as much.


Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  I was hanging out in proximity of a bunch of young people last weekend, and every time I came upon one, I would say, "Do you have a passport?  Show it."  Why, you ask?  Because I am a patriot!  And that's what we do here in America (pronounce that like Sarah P. does, okay?  I don't know how she would spell it.)  When young, hungry, scared children knock at the door of our country, rather than offering stuffed animals, food, shelter, goodness, we ask to see papers, and if they don't have them, by golly, we get them involved with our court system.  So I'm starting that right here at home.  
Summer in a bowl.  To be captured in a jar,
and released when the time is right.

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  Benjamen Walker, who I have a huge internet crush on.  He's brilliant and funny and quirky-smart, and gets to have a plural name.  I'd like to hang out with him and listen to the radio together.  (Benjamen, I hope that doesn't sound too creepy.) But I do worry that harm will befall him, because that happens.  People die every day.  Listen to the podcast:  Benjamen Walker's Theory of Everything.


Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  One thing I am absolutely not worrying about is botulism.  Because I'm doing all this crazy fermenting, capturing all manner of summer in a jar and adding salt from the ocean and whey from the cows, and I can hardly believe how fun and easy it is.  No boiling jars and pectin and blah blah blah fear of death.  Just food and bubbling and pure creativity in a jar.


Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  Okay, another thing I worry about is E. Readicker-Henderson, because I have a minor b0ok crush on him/her (See, LA?  OPEN TO WHATEVER. ) Ok, never mind, there's a pic and he's a he.  Or at least he passes, beard and all.  He's the kind of writer I wish I were, the book is packed with words like this: 
"To make their honey, the bees have endlessly sampled the landscape, pulling the best moments from growing flowers and the warmth from the sun.  For us to do any less, to put any less care when we are choosing the honey for our table, would simply be ungrateful." 
Big sigh.  That's the kind of sentence I wish I had written.  And I so hope no harm befalls E. R-H.

Comments

  1. Ok, I just watched Patti Smith sing You Light up My Life while I was investigating Benjamin Walker and that definitely was the weirdest thing I have seen all day...

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  2. There's a building in Lloyd that used to be a store back in the early part of the 20th century and an old lady who lived in our village went crazy for it and got all sorts of grants to restore it and now it sits there and she's dead and no one can do a thing with it. No plumbing, no heating or air conditioning and meanwhile, there are people living in trailers with big holes in the walls and floors.
    Okay. That's all I have to say about that.
    I love you.

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  3. I'm glad you write the kind of sentences YOU write. Amen. Or should that be Amin? Because there's only one of them in this comment.

    Off to check out Benjamen's Theory.

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    Replies
    1. P.S. What is in the bowl? The colours are gorgeous.

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  4. I have been out of blogland for a while, just started back, so decided to check out all my favourite blogs.....and I was just reminded why I love your writing so much! I missed you!

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  5. I'm with the bees and also the lake for continuing to cool us off, even when we run hydroplanes all over it, scaring the fish and ducks and horses.

    BTW-Patti Smith can sing anything and make it hers and weird. When I'm in Tuscany (see how seamlessly I snuck that in?), I plan to make all of italy my canvass for, um, eating and drinking and swimming in the pool. Oh yeah, and visiting some famous art in Florence.

    And Patti can make one syllable words into two. It's a singer thing.

    Love and all,

    Beth

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