Time for Pisces

It's been brought to my attention that the recent Pisces horoscope was really lame.  So were all the other ones, but at least they were longer.  So, my dear Pisces, all three of you, here's your very own long horoscope.

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  I was talking about Daylight Savings Time the other day and mentioned that when my kids were little, I had a rule that once we're on the new time, there will be no mention of the old time.  But as I was explaining this, the young people looked at me like, "Wow, we're so glad you're not our mother."  And I realized that it did sound unnecessarily irritable.  Like, really?  No one was allowed to even mention that we changed the clocks?  I know.  I'm not proud of that.

But I used to find it tiresome, all the: "But it's not really bedtime, because on the old time..." or, "I'm hungry now because yesterday it would have been dinner time," and so on.  I'd go on a rant, "CHILDREN!  We're on this time now.  We are so not the kind of people who continue to cling to the old time.  Keep up!"  

Last year, I accidentally made a comment about being tired after we switched times.  R. just looked at me and said, "Go to your room."   

But that's not your horoscope.  

Our beloved town is clamping down on time travel.  First, someone took the sign down.  Now they've fenced off the portal.  I'm not sure what this means.  But if you see someone stuck behind a fence this week, actual or metaphorical, free them if you can.  Or at least stand near the fence and read aloud.  Do what you can to provide comfort, Pisces.

Horoscopes, The Sinkhole Edition

Credit for the idea and the art to my talented friend.
Credit for the quote, of course, goes to the one who said it

Aries (3/21 – 4/19):  I know a highly quotable person who says stuff that belongs on tattoos, so you'll see a lot of that here.  I stole this idea from a friend.  I have no creativity myself, but I know people.  Speaking of tattoos, I was in a hottub the other evening when a young military punk offered to show his tattoo.  I said yes.  Of course I did.  So he pulled off his bathing suit to reveal a tattooed ass that wasn't nearly as good as the one to the left.  I think it said "Cash Only".  Anyway, Aries, the point is, if you're going to get a tattoo, don't make it tacky.  Oh, wait, no that's not it.  The point is: just say no when people offer to show a tattoo, at least this week.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  Silicon Valley is in the business of making forgetting extinct through use of the cloud and other technology.   I read that in the NYT, so it must be true.  Meanwhile, they've discovered forgetting receptors in the uterus.  The uterus has a lot to forget.  Trust me on this.  It turns out that forgetting is an actual ability, and it also has come to light that I'm gifted in that area.  Anyway, will someone tell those people?  Forgetting isn't so terrible!  But ... if one of you is still searching for a science project, maybe you could evaluate how uterine remembering could solve the population crisis.  Store those contractions in the cloud, see what happens.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21):  JJ just called and told me a story about someone's large fleshy arms touching him accidentally.

"Can we make a new rule about that?" I asked.  "That's creeping me out.  For thirty days, please, no mention of the fleshy arms.  I need a break from that disturbing image."

"I'll try," he said unconvincingly.

I learned on the Internets, (where everything is true), that you Gemini people won't take crap from anyone.  This week, don't take inadvertent contact with large jiggly arms either.

Cancer 6/22 – 7/21:  I was at a restaurant the other day and asked some men who were seated at the other end of our table if they could please use their inside voices.  Luckily, this was met with laughter and offers of free drinks rather than how it could have gone down.  But Cancer, I'd like to emphasize my belief that one of the most important parental responsibilities is to teach your people about inside voices.  (Side note:  I heard a creepy thing that teachers say about "six inch voices" which I is when your voice only projects six inches.  That's taking it a little far, even for me.  Maybe I'm feeling a bit sensitive because I was at a meeting recently with someone who told me,  "Your voice would be better for pillow talk than making a point at a meeting."  Is that awkward?  YES.)  Anyway, Cancer, can we make a stand for the IV (inside voice) this week?

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  Rice has 50,000 genes, and humans have 35,000.  That's the kind of thing we should think about every day, lest we get too cocky about ourselves.  We have the ability to laugh, sweat, weep, yearn, hope, send text messages, cook with bok choy, waste time, use the very same ingredients to make either paper mache or pie crust (right?), and participate in science fairs.  Rice, we have no idea what it can do, but it must be that plus thirty percent.  And rice looks so simple.  Leo, don't be fooled by that.  Every single thing is complicated.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22): How cool is this?  The first science fair participant.  Not to mention one of my favorite young people, because he's smart and curious and kind and has complete and appropriate grasp of the Inside Voice.  (Please forgive the video quality.  Taken with a smart-ish phone.)

Libra (9/23 – 10/22): I was texting with R. the other day, and said something like, "Yes, my son..." and it suddenly occurred to me that people might think I'm trying out for pope.  (Are there tryouts?)  Anyway, Libra, if you're going to the conclave (I so wanted to use that word), please let them know I'm not available, I'm super busy re-reading customer e-mails and making tattoos out of them.  

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  Make your mark this week in a watery, slurry-ish way.  Unobtrusive and easy-going, but not.  I mean that in the very best way, you remarkable Scorpios.  Think Colorado River.  Speaking of slurry, I don't know if everyone remembers this, but the caterpillar actually dissolves into slurry in that cocoon, and reformats as a butterfly but retains memories from being a caterpillar.  How cool is that?  So, if you're feeling slurryish, it probably means you're about to be a butterfly.  With memories.

In

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  Last week, I met The Boyz for a beer, and within about five minutes, they were arguing about something that neither one of them particularly cares about.  Seriously, they debated for about, oh, maybe 3 hours, or at least it seemed like three hours, about whether a parent should allow a young adult to take a break from college if they want to.  One of them doesn't have kids, and the other has Tiny Children.  It just reminds me that debaters debate.  But even though I was bored, I was bored in the most remarkable way, that way where you don't realize you miss people until they're boring you to tears.  Right?  Have a good week, Sag.  May the wind be always at your back.

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  The other night I woke up from a horrible nightmare in which I'd received a text message that said, "5242".  I knew that was the code for "someone you care about is going down in a sinkhole." I know.  During the daylight, that sinkhole incident is just one more weird thing about Florida, but apparently it captured my psyche.  In the dream, I wandered around frantically looking for my person, but I didn't know where they were, and I was afraid that I might get sucked into the sinkhole myself.   I woke up in a sweat and told my companion about it, who laughed hard, saying without saying: "Really?  You actually dream you're a text-rescuer?".  It was a good way to wake up -- to have someone fondly poke fun of me and laugh out loud.  But it didn't quite dispel this vague sense of dread that someone's getting swallowed by a sinkhole.  Strap yourself to something before you go to sleep at night, Capricorn.  Beware of the undertoad.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  Aldous Huxley said, “Most men and women lead lives that are so painful, at the best, so monotonous, poor, and limited, that the urge to escape, the longing to transcend themselves, if only for a few moments, is and has always been one of the principal appetites of the soul.”  Aquarius, see if you can quench that appetite.  Transecend transecend transcend.  Oh, and if you're looking for a safe and legal method?   Alternate Nostril Breathing.

Yep, same guy.  How can you not be a fan?

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  You thought I'd write a whole post without nagging reminding you about the science fair?  We have a deadline coming up.  NEXT FRIDAY.  Is the suspense killing you?

Hope and Wonder

Does it seem like everyone's tired?  Tired of politics, and wars, and the fakey sequester game, and traffic, and going to crummy places like Target to buy things we we wish we didn't want or need.  We're tired of having no time, and too much e-mail, and too many obligations and we're tired of the corporate bureaucratic hassles.  We're tired of memorizing PIN numbers and passwords, we're tired of advertising plastered everywhere, we're tired of all the papers that come into our homes. They creep in through the mailbox and our kids backpacks and our bags and other places too.  Everywhere you go, people want to give you papers.  Our houses are filled with these papers that we think we'll deal with sometime.  Because it might be important.  I want to throw every single paper in my house out, just to see what happens.  And I'm personally tired of the weird deadlines that I didn't sign up for, like taxes and car tabs and garbage day.  Oh, and this week I was tired of hearing about the pope.

But besides being tired, we're  hopeful.  We're a hopeful people.  We keep getting up and caring about each other and the planet one more day.  And this is almost ridiculous.  But it's all we've got, this hope and wonder and caring, and it propels us forward towards the next thing, towards the next moment when we'll exhale and just think, damn, there are some lovely humans on the planet.

Speaking of lovely humans, I'm currently on a weird writing field trip to a semi-horrible place that's like one giant strip mall plopped down on what used to be an estuary.  It was undoubtedly a gorgeous spot at one time, the kind of sacred place where saltwater meets old growth forest, but now it's more like salt water meets Staples and Old Navy and Costco.  But anyway, that's not the point.

The point is that I was a bit horrified by it here, because I feel like I should get in the car to cross the street since it's just so big and pavement-y.  In fact, it seems like I should wear a car like clothing.  It's awkward to go outside without a car.  Inappropriate.

But I found a tiny yoga studio, and there were my people, doing downward dog, and exhaling, and being kind.  I took a class, and at the end, I didn't act on this impulse, but I wanted to ask the people in the class what they're going to do today, and see if I could tag along like a stray dog.  I think I should get points for not acting on that, right?  Oh, and then minus points because I got a little choked up when we were saying goodbye.  Really?  Is that how I am?  Sheesh.

I talked to my sister today and she said we should think about "appreciatives" but by mistake, she said it in an odd way, as if she had an Italian accent.  And as if it's even a word.  She meant things we're grateful for, but I liked to imagine us in Italy, sitting down with a glass of chianti and sharing appreciatives.  I'd say how grateful I am to have her for a sister.  Oh, I get a little weepy thinking about that too.  (Weepy, as you know, elevates the whole thing to a spiritual plain.  It makes it into an experience, unlike the criers, who are just weak.)

But anyway, back to the wonder part.  I'm sort of wondering how your science fair projects are coming.  I haven't started mine yet. Speaking of weird deadlines that you didn't sign up for, how about if everyone picks their project by March 15?  The Ides of March?  Does that give you enough time?  I am so excited about this, by the way.  You wouldn't believe it.

Mandatory!

Sheesh, I'm a little shocked that I haven't had any takers for the science fair.  Do you realize this will be a big part of your grade?  I know!

AND, there will be amazing prizes.  Possibly certificates with really cool fonts (has anyone seen the movie, "Helvetica", btw?  Me neither.)  Or a trip.  The winner could go with me to Home Depot to buy more rat traps, which might not sound like a very good prize, but trust me, it will be fun.  Second prize might involve circumnavigating something with me, like a small lake or a donut.  (Do you like how I worked myself into all the prizes?)

So, start thinking about questions you have that only science can answer.

Here are some things we're all wondering about, to get you thinking:

1. What's the effect of one thing on another?  Like, add a household chemical to something else.  Watch, wait, create graphs.  Take pictures.  For example, you might put an egg in a vat of something.  And as a control, don't put another egg in that same something. 
2. How can we accelerate growth?  Of trees, vegetables, hair (wanted hair), mold.
3. How can we retard growth?  Of unwanted hair, mold, weeds.
4. How can we improve the human brain in effortless ways that involve things like chewing gum, smelling something, or napping?
5. What's going on with the tiny stuff we can't see in our kitchens, like atoms and bacteria?
6. What are some home remedies that can be concocted by recombining DNA?   (See this post to get started.)
7. And so on.  The list is endless. 

The Return of the Science Fair

The other day I got a text that said, “2:00.  Today.” I assumed, as usual, that it was a coded message, and one of my people was in distress.  (Does everyone do that? Believe that any slightly unusual text is being sent from a hostage situation?) It turned out to be an invitation to the science fair, which I attended. It brought to mind this problem with our world, which is that you don’t get to participate in science fairs after a certain age.

If you liked high school English, you can be in a book club.  If you liked math, you can sit home drinking alone and do pre-calculus problems on the internet.  (Oh, is that just me again?  Why did I even have to say "pre" calculus?  Shouldn't I have pretended I was farther along at least?)  Coffee houses across the land have amateur poetry readings.  But there’s no forum for the amateur scientist.

 There are sweet details in the science fair abstract that never appear in professional science.  Like, “I come from a large family, and we drink lots of milk.  So I decided to study milk for my project.”

 And the methods are super sketchy in a charming way.   One project involved determining whether a small detention pond could generate hydroelectric power.  The methods involved, “Each night at 6 pm I looked through the chain link fence with binoculars to see what the water level was.  One night I couldn't do that due to technical problems.”  (I'm still wondering what possible technical problems could occur with that scenario.  Fog on the lens?)  Do you see what I mean?

 There’s also that factor of labeling a person, “the subject” when you know it’s just their little sister, who will pretty much do anything to hang out with the big kids.  Even if it means being “the subject” of an experiment.

But I learned a lot.  For example, if you’re trying to improve your memory and have the choice to chew on a rubber band, peppermint gum, or fruit gum, pick fruit gum.

Anyway, here’s the deal. We’re about to have a science fair right here.  Don’t you have some questions that only science can answer?  About how things grow, or the affect of one thing on another?  I hope you’ll participate. I promise to post all of your projects.   (I hope this isn’t just me again.)

Confessions and Miracle Retraction

So, it turns out that the egg miracle (see Capricorn) wasn’t a miracle at all. Just one more fraudulent thing on the internet. The sad fact is that even though I’m all about data and not prone to believing in miracles, I really would enjoy a miracle right about now (who wouldn't?), and if it involves eggs, why, so much the better.

 This is what happened. I looked in the refrigerator for a few days, maybe 8, and didn’t really have much good to eat, so kept doing that, “I’ll just have some cheese and crackers, and later I’ll go to the store.” But eventually, it was so stark that I photographed it. (I know. Please don’t comment. Try, if you’re able, not to judge. I am totally aware that I’m that person, the one who imagines miracles where there are none, and photographs the inside of my own refrigerator. I’m reluctant to confess that I also practice saying, “ohm” in front of my ukelele tuner because I like it best if we all do middle C at the beginning of yoga. But since I'm confessing, I won’t hold back.  Yes, I do that too.)

I know, it's blurry, but really, do you see an egg carton?  No, me neither.

But I’ve been losing stuff lately.  I’m losing family and friends and objects and I don’t like any of it.  I tried to make juice one day, which I do most days because it's a good thing to do when what you have in the refrigerator a handful of carrots, one tired chard leaf, a few pieces of kale, and an elderly shriveled apple.  But I couldn’t find most of the parts of the juicer.  Giant plastic parts.  How do you lose stuff like that? 

Or this:  How is it that I lost my pants?  And three days later I find them sitting on the bench at the yoga studio.  Awkward?  Not to mention all the tedious things I can never find, like my car keys and my hat and a clean pair of socks. 

Anyway, Cake Boss & Co. stopped by to work on scrolls, and upon arrival, she opened the refrigerator, which was mildly confusing because she’s eliminated everything good from her diet (coffee, beer, wheat.  What else is there?).  And she discovered a second egg carton with six empty spaces.

I know.  It makes me feel like I’m one of those quacks. The next thing you know, I’ll confess that the horoscopes are made up.  Oh, you knew that.  Stick around for ways to lose belly fat.  Remove unwanted hair and grow wanted.  

But it was a miracle anyway, because some scroll work happened, and science fair projects involving eggs got started.  I spent the afternoon trying to make a picture of the virgin out of egg shells, but suddenly remembered that my life is finite and tossed the whole thing in the compost.

Anyway, back to my facial recognition disorder.  I was sitting in the coffee shop the other day with C., and she moved across the room, maybe because I was talking too much or maybe it was something about her back.  Anyway, this woman arrived and looked familiar, the way everyone does, but she greeted me by name and sat down and started talking.  I had no idea who she was.

She started asking me questions, like, “What are you up to these days?” I wasn't  sure where to begin.  Like, has it been a week or a year or a decade since I’ve seen her?  I said some things, but she seemed to already know  everything, so I tried to turn the tables and learn about her, but that was awkward too because again, I didn't know where to begin. I e-mailed C. across the room:  “Look up.  Who am I talking to?”  But she was writing a book and not even a tiny bit distractible, which was hard for me to fathom, but that’s a different post.  Eventually, the unknown woman left, and I asked the barista who she was, but she had no idea either.

Now, every time I’m a tiny bit bored, I try to figure out who she is.  I was at a party last night, and every few minutes, (mostly when people talked about Star Wars movies, but lots of other times too,) I’d look at C. and say, “I’m thinking about that woman right now, in case you’re wondering.” 

In the town where I live, everyone is connected by about 1.5 degrees of separation, so I looked around the party to see who was from my town, because odds are high that they’ll know her.  So I was explaining the mystery to the few people who might help me figure this out.  (I didn't tell the part about the egg miracle, because I didn’t want to seem too sketchy -- I stuck to the mystery woman part), when the Linguist leaned over and said, “This isn’t a very good story; they’re just listening because they think you’re cute.”

“Is that good news or bad news, do you think?”

He didn’t say anything, but just took a long drink.  Anyway.

But the real take home is this:  during one of the moments when I was actually listening and not busy missing people or trying to figure out who the woman is, I heard people talking about their Internet Service Providers (I know.  And my story isn’t very good?  You see what I mean?).  Someone said, “Hey, I’ve got ten down and one point five up.”  I have no idea what that means, but it definitely seemed like a good thing by the way he said it.  It seemed like something I should be able to say with fluency.  So.  My ISP, in case you're wondering?  Ten down, 1.5 up.  

If anyone knows a woman with brown hair who drank coffee on Friday, let me know.

Random Horoscope-like Stuff

Aries (3/21 – 4/19):  I did a little mapping project the other day, and one minute into it, the tape came off the spool, and rather than looking like the first class consultant that I pretend to be, I was that sketchy person crashing around in the bushes in the pouring rain with a wad of plastic tape, doing both ends of the tape, which involves, as you surely know, Aries, attaching one end, crashing along a compass bearing to some distant other end, tugging on the tape, having the first end come unhooked, going back and starting over, with the wad of tape getting increasingly tangled.  This, my friends, is why I can charge such high fees for my important services.  BUT.  The difference between a giant ball of yarn and this tape is that the tape is numbered, and in theory, at least, you can get some direction.  An idea of where to head for the great untangle.  Do the great untangle this week, Aries.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  So, I know, this blog is turning out to be all about one particular customer, but seriously, he's full of material, and I'm not.  Most of it I can't write about, but I will say that although I suppose I have some OCD traits myself, he's so far out of my league that I don't even try to keep up.  Is it wrong that I only answer calls from him about 3 times a day?  And, is it wrong that I say, "I was out in the field," when in in fact I'm just napping?  That's a form of field work, right?  My field is napping.  And is it okay if I lie, or do I have to say, "yes, I turn the ringer off because I'm so tired and you call way too much?"  Taurus, do we have any vacations planned?  Or parties?  I know someone who has those umbrellas for umbrella drinks.  I can hook you up.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21):  So, David Foster Wallace's widow created a Forgiveness Machine, where you write down what you need to be forgiven for or what you want to forgive, and the paper gets sucked into a vacuum tube, macerated, and voila.  It turns out that people got pretty freaked out by doing that, and Karen (the artist) herself was too chicken to try it.  I imagine I have a million things to be forgiven for, some that I don't even know about.  There's a beauty to the machine idea, like someone out there could just put something together, and poof.

Cancer 6/22 – 7/21:  Need I write about my other almost-customer, the one who was having a delineation emergency (right?) and wanted me to come out with my stupid wad of tape within 2 hours of our first contact, and when I delayed by a day, she ended up canceling because her "significant other"  (Was that the lamest phrase ever to come out of the 80's?) is "apparently moving out."  Apparently?  Okay, funniest movie ever is Down By Law, and there's a part where the woman is in a total rage, throwing her boyfriend's (Tom Waits) stuff, breakable items like an album collection, out the window, screaming about what a loser he is while he sits quietly on the bed looking down and then finally says, "Um, so does this mean we're breaking up?"  That's all I could think about when this woman said her SO was apparently moving out and the project was cancelled.  In 24 hours, she couldn't see that coming?  I don't have a horoscope for you, Cancer.  Maybe watch that movie.  See if it's still funny.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  Each morning I lie in bed and decide what kind of clothes to put on, and then try to use that as a guide to remember wtf I'm supposed to be doing.  "Oh, right, I'm dressed for yoga."  Or, "Oh, I'm dressed for going to the library."  (Right?  That has an actual outfit?  Why yes.)  Today, it turns out I'm dressed for dealing with the compost in my truck.  Looks like I got off track.  Tomorrow for sure.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  I got a text the other day from one of my favorite people, who, by the way, I haven't seen in forever, that said, "Please come over some day 'cause playing together just creates total queers."  I like to think I'm one of those people whom you'd text when you're stuck in a weird hostage situation.  You'd send me a coded message, and I'd solve the riddle and send someone out.  But I was stumped, and had to ask him for the answer, which is that it's a mnemonic for the geo timescale.   It seems like I'm probably not the one to text after all.  How 'bout that beer, though, Virgo?  I was even in Ballard the other day.  Drove right past Gorditos.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  This story was recommended by David Plotz, one of my imaginary friends, and as he predicted, it blew me away.  I'm pretty sure you won't be able to stop thinking about it if you do read it, so don't say I didn't warn you.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  Wake me up when the book of William Gaddis letters comes out, will you?  Here's an excerpt: 

Of course the problem is setting the goals in the first place; many enough ‘successful’ men end up drunks for having fulfilled goals the world set for them and then finding they’ve fulfilled nothing in themselves; many enough kids end up junkies for having decided the world’s goals aren’t worth trying for and being unable to set any of their own. A few fortunate combine the two (I don’t mean drink and drugs, but meaning your own and wordly goals), and your education and growing up now are vitally important because learning the world’s goals (even marks in school) gives you the material to form your own—and don’t misunderstand, I don’t mean that by your 16th birthday you should know whether you want to be a poet or an astronaut, but only have a hungry curiosity in all directions for anything that brings you and your mind to life.

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  I have four chords now, but still can't play that song, which is the whole point of all this, right?  Bb?  Really?  I need more fingers, but they need to be smaller.  Eight-limbed pose in the hand area, which I suppose I could work on.  But really, it's just about naptime again.  Tomorrow for sure.

The only thing that could improve this miracle is if the egg shell looked like the Virgin of Guadalupe

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  Okay, a small egg miracle just happened:  I had no eggs, and then I bought a dozen.  I made 6 hardboiled eggs, because there's no downside to making lovely units of protein that fit in your pocket.  I ate one while it was still hot.  Not because it smelled good, of course, but because it was so pretty.  I'm absolutely sure that happened because there's a shell and my mildly burned tongue as evidence.  I go to put the remaining eggs back in the carton, thinking I'll use the empty  space to distinguish the hb from the raw, and when I loaded them all up there was no space.  I know.  I'm sitting here, looking at the shell, and looking at the carton, and scratching my head and wondering.  And thinking how lucky I really am.  The mystery of which came first pales in comparison, Capricorn.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  "Cavitation occurs when the tension of water within the xylem of plants is so intense that water vaporizes, and dissolved air fills the vessel elements."  I know.  That happens a lot, I hear, but don't worry, this isn't really the season for that.  Phew.  Aquarius, avoid cavitation when possible.  Instead, just exhale normally.

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  So I'm reading Veramo by Cesar Aira, and it reminds me of being in my twenties, you know when you read all that stuff by Milan Kundera and Gunter Grass?  (Oh, just typing the name Gunter Grass conjures that horrible scene with the eels.  Uggh.)  But Veramo is about a typical day in the life of a government worker who does taxidermy in his closet at night.  But he has problems, like getting paid in counterfeit money, and gouging out a fish eye to put in a piece of glass, but making the hole too big, and putting the fish back in water and having it swim around even after it was dead.  Pisces, for some reason that reminded me of you.  Your horoscope?  Don't gouge out the eyes.


PS -- Do these seem even a little bit like real horoscopes?