The Chemical Footprint

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  This article leaves me amazed.  The gist:  the air in a movie theater takes on a unique measurable chemical signature based on the emotions of the movie-goers.  It isn't surprising, but nice to have it confirmed.  We've all noticed the way our upper lip smells when we cry, and how it smells different for different sorts of tears (or is that just me?).  But still, exciting!  They should do some of this at the RNC and DNC.  And then bottle it, and bury it very very deep in the ground, not near the Columbia River or anything else important.  Fear is in the air. Pisces, don't get caught up in all of that.  Stay solid.  Every single action stems from fear or love.  You know who you want to be.

Aries (3/21 - 4/19):  Wouldn't it be cool if Hilary would include Elizabeth W on her ticket?Help salvage the reputation of the letter W. It would also be cool if Bernie would throw his weight behind H, instead of fighting til the last breath.  Hey, and on a completely different but identical topic, did you see how men sabotage ratings of tv shows that are aimed at women?  What's up with that?  But that analysis is so damn thorough, it's lovely. The take home: averages obscure the truth.  But you, my lovely Aries, are never average.  Rejoice.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  I'm trying to organize a parade filled with marching vegetables. Write if you're interested! Because, as we know, the vegetables can't have a parade without our help.  And truly,
people, how hard can it be to dress as a potato for an hour, a year from now?  Not hard at all!  Just say yes!!  And if the life form that occurs to you feels like a vegetable, even though it may not be evident, of course it can be in the parade.  Because that's the way we roll at the March of the Vegetables.  If you think you're a vegetable, by all means, use the vegetarian bathroom.  I stole that picture, btw, from the internet and luckily you can't read Russian, because it says something vulgar.  Start thinking about your float, Taurus!

Gemini (5/21 - 6/21): I'm grateful for the protesters who blocked the train tracks and so on, trying to remind us of our precarious, powerful position on the planet, and our dependence on oil.  But getting off oil isn't something we can do at home alone.  Like getting off heroin.  We need help from the top to completely reorganize.

Cancer (6/22 – 7/21):  Does everyone else love RBG as much as I do?  I could read about her all day, and she is one of the rare ones who violates the adage that men gain power as they age, while women lose it.  Be that, Cancer. 

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  I've been reading this blog that I discovered via Reply All, one of my favorite podcasts because it has the best game, Yes Yes No.  (I'm always No, in case you're wondering.).  The blog is filled with long posts, the sort you'd have time to write if you were in jail and didn't have the internet as a distraction.  Leo, in the future, only people filling out life sentences in maximum security prisons will have the focus to write a book at all.  The internet, which I love like a family member, will be the death of literature.  But one day, just like the King of Hearts movie, the literacy will be released.  Do what you can until then, Leo.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  I had my hearing tested the other day, and the nurse said it was great.  They want you to hear 25 decibels and up, and she said I hear from 0-5 decibels.  I was smug at first.  It didn't occur to me until later that hearing things in the zero decibel range is, well, a diagnosis.  Are the voices in my head bothering you, Virgo?  "We take The Inside Voice to a whole new level!" is my new motto.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  I got more dirt for my garden yesterday, and went to the weird place, the one with broken bags of cat food all over the floor.  It smells sort of like fish, but not in a horrible way.  I got a penny in change, and looked at the year.  
"Hmm, 1974," I said, because it's one of my strategies to get a conversation rolling.   
"Really?  You got 1974?  That was the year of the World's Fair in Spokane! I can't believe you got 1974." 
"Wow.  Would you consider yourself a World's Fair savant?" 
"Not really," he replied sadly.
And that was the end of the that. Claim your savant-hood, Libra, even if its debatable.  

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  I was playing a game of "what if" the other day.  It started with encouraging facts about writers who've been rejected, and on to Abe Lincoln who (can this be true? I'm not googling it) ran for president 7 times before he was elected.  And Marilyn Monroe failed
in her efforts as a model / actress at first because she wasn't pretty enough.  It made me think that I wish she'd have stopped there.  Had she not been an abused beauty, JFK might be alive today, and another thing, Scorp, is that women wouldn't be required by law to wear a pill box hat when they're grieving.  I know.  So don't try too hard.  Just hard enough.

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21): My favorite thing of all is the intersection of science and poetry; here is a beautiful example. Makes me want to get up each morning and look for more.  

Capricorn (12/22 - 1/19):   Here's something a little bit sad.  People are confused about who their friends are.  When creating lists of friends, about half of the people that you think are your friends wouldn't agree.  I don't really believe that, though.  We leave our little chemical imprint in the world, and whether weacknowledge it or not, we know who our people are.  Capricorn, look past all the trappings and believe what you already know.

Aquarius (1/20-2/18):  Back to getting the dirt:  We went outside, me and World's Fair Savant-Guy, and I moved the truck to the location he pointed me to, and then I had to do that thing with the board, which is freaky, exhausting, and I've never heard of it before I started buying dirt at this place, the cash only, cat food on the floor place.  Here's how it works:  you hold a piece of plywood in the air, funneling dirt from the wide bucket into the smaller bed of the truck.  Can you picture that?  The formula for the line that the plywood makes would be, well, I guess you'd express it as Y = 0.5X + 2.  Until your arms get tired and then it's like Y = ).3X + 2 Here's a tip:  Even if  your arms get tired (and they will!), DON'T REST THE BOARD ON YOUR HEAD WHILE THE GIANT BUCKET IS CLANKING DOWN ON IT.

PS:  If you enjoy this blog it, it would be great if you either like the FB page or follow it by clicking the "join this site" button on the right.  Thank you!


  1. Do you have to be a local to be in the vegetable parade? I'm a local wannabe, so feel like my participation would be appropriate. I'm thinking a good outfit would include a vegetable hat. You know, like those old hats that had all the fake fruit attached to the brim? But carrots and cucumbers. Maybe I could be a vegetable stand.

    1. Of course you can be in the parade! Local to the planet (or one of the other planets) is all that's required! Take a stand. Be the stand you want to see in the world.

  2. I know about two jokes. Seriously. And one of them is vulgar (okay, they both are) and is told in a Russian accent. It goes like this (imagine in your mind the voices of them women speaking in a Russian accent and I know that you, of all people can):
    Two women are in a field, pulling up carrots. One pulls up a giant specimen, looks at it and thoughtfully puts in her basket. "Dis one reminds me of my husband," she says to the other woman.
    "He vas DAT big?" says her companion.
    "No." The other woman shakes her head in sorrow. "He vas dat dirty."
    I love and adore you. Can we have lunch?

    1. Ha. It's good to know one or more jokes. Now I know one!
      Yes please, let's have lunch. It can be a picnic! Love you too!

  3. Being incarcerated for life for something I didn't do would be infuriating in which case I would actually become a criminal. On the other hand, If I can no longer afford to live a poverty stricken lifestyle I can commit a crime and have a roof, three squares, and medical care. Retirement to the state or federal penal system is not an unthinkable idea.

    1. Hmm, I hadn't thought about that as a retirement plan... I guess it's not Plan A but good to keep our options open, Jono. Maybe I'll see you in the Big House when we're old.

  4. Yikes on that last bit there - did you end up with a concussion or just a vibrating head? Because your head looks kind of woozy in the drawing.

    And now I'm pondering what vegetable I should be.

    1. Ha! No, that's just crappy drawing. I did use my arms and didn't let the big heavy board rest on my head. I guess I've been training for just this occasion with all the downward dog and so on. :-)

  5. Can I be an artichoke? Although I'm not sure an artichoke is a real vegetable, like a tomato is really a fruit. I get so confused. Besides, how would I make myself have a skinny stalk and a big bumpy head. I better start that diet now. I'll worry about the bumpy head later.

    Hey yr blog page is all different. I like it.

    1. Yes, of course you can be an artichoke. If you feel like a vegetable, we don't judge.

      I just switched the template back because I got feedback from a friend that it didn't work at all on a pc, he couldn't even read it. So, back to the old way.

  6. This comment has been removed by the author.


Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Dowdy Church-lady Post

The random edition

Upleveling Our Badassery