“The common curse of mankind, folly and ignorance, be thine in great revenue.”
Shakespeare’s Troilus and Cressida [II.iii.28]
Aries: There’s an “entertainment district” not far from where I live. It’s a marginally important street with some historical value, and the predominate form of business is bars. Whisky bars. Piano bars. Jazz clubs. A little of everything, but the most important product seems to be distilled alcohol of various form and flavor. I was meandering along, a hot summer night, the moon making its crescent overhead, the bright lights and neon shedding an unhealthy glow to the avenue. As I passed one place “Five Dance Floors!” was advertised. A bored young lady was sitting behind the ticket counter, painting her nails a brilliant shade of red. She was sheathed in a black dress, leaving little, if any, question as to her shape and dimensions. Age? Possibly not even old enough to partake of liquor in the place where she was guarding the door. It was relatively early, the sun had just set, and the street itself still felt rather torpidly warm. There was a hint of moisture, perspiration, along her upper lip. She was obviously getting prepared for another big night at work. Like that young lady painting her nails, you’re in situation where you’re getting ready. Ready for what? I’m not entirely sure. But there’s a strong suggestion that comes with a girl painting her fingernails red and that applies to your Aries situation as near as I can tell. How it plays out? That’s up to you. Never hurts to be ready, though. Know what I’m dreadfully afraid of? One of my male Aries buddies will paint his nails red, and blame me for the outcome of that decision.
Taurus: At one time, it was really cute, as my cat would try to sleep on my head. Sort of depends on the season, too. Usually happens in the wintertime. But with the full furnace of summer going, I’d cranked down the AC the other evening, and it was all of about 68 degrees in here. The cat got all cuddly again, right up to the point where she was trying to sleep on my head. Doesn’t bother me that I wake up with a cat’s butt resting alongside my face. Pet owners put up with a lot of such situations because we find these “cute.” Whatever. So in the middle of the summer, for one night, I was thinking it was like wintertime again. Really quite pleasant, until I decided to roll out of bed and get to work. The cat expressed dismay at losing her warmth, and I was freaked out because it was just so cold outside the bed. You’ve got a cozy nest that you’ve built for your Taurus self, and some anomaly in weather conditions, real or artificial, is going to change that. Then, as you try to decipher what is happening, you find your thinking is a little confused, much like having a cat sleep on your head.
Gemini: I was talking to my Gemini friend. One of them, anyway. “Venus?” she asked, “You just tell Miss Venus she can kiss my….” I let the last part of the quote dangle because I was worried about censors. While I might extol the virtues of having Venus in your sign, I’m not sure that most of my Gemini friends will agree with me. It’s not always pretty. There’s the growing concern, too, of what a Gemini wants this minute because that desire can change with the blink of an eye. For someone unaccustomed to the Gemini mind, and for that matter, the Gemini way of seeing things, then that sudden shift in perception seems strange. I hardly find any Gemini strange, and, in fact, I list most Gemini’s as a favorite. The problem is, in Gemini land, Miss Venus is making merry but other planets are weighing in a little more heavy. There are certain responsibilities that have been shirked for a while, and those are items that need to be tidied up. Loose ends are begging to be knotted together. Now, let’s go back to Miss Venus versus the heavier planets. See, there’s a way to make all of this work coherently together, over the next couple of days, but this is going to be a test of your Gemini ability to take an ugly situation and make it all appear pretty. Goof luck, although, I’m pretty sure, you’ll have a flash of insight and inspiration that that make this work for you.
Cancer: I wandered down the road to see my favorite little Cancer girl and to wish her a happy birthday. It was supposed to be an idyllic scene from life in a trailer park. I was properly prepared with a copy of her natal chart, and birthday card, “You’re not getting older, you’re getting better!” So it’s only about four doors down from where I live, but anyway, I was sure the thought would be worth a little recognition. However, upon my arrival, the home, lifestyle, and birthday celebration was in complete disarray. This one Moon Child had taken it upon herself to do one of those thorough house cleanings. Her brightly streaked hair [I think it was blue that week], was done up in bandana and she was appeared at the door with a mop in hand, “WHAT. DO. You. Want.” Rolled her eyes, apologized for her gruff manner, and then suggested, while the card was nice, she certainly didn’t have any time for “no birthday voodoo horoscope readin’.” Play time, Kramer time, and the real world of chores, they all run together. My best-laid plans availed me naught. My fine Cancerian individuals are stuck at the door of life, looking at some scraggly astrology guy, might be bearing gifts, but still. Personally, I think you should take time out to entertain your neighbors, but then, I’m not a Moon Child. Obviously, some of us don’t understand the tasks at hand for Cancer.
Leo: There’s a new action-adventure film, in theaters now. Or it was in theaters, might have gone to the cable channel or the video store by now. I loved it. Well, mostly I liked it. There were about three lapses in the action when there was an attempt at plot and character development. Bad move, if you ask my opinion. A movie like that, all I want to see are things blowing up, people fighting, guns shooting, more things blowing up, more guns, wanton destruction of public and private property, and, of course, a good car chase. Or two. Maybe even three good chase scenes. Doesn’t even have to be in a car. Planes, boats, I don’t care. But what I want is action, adventure, intrigue, and, in short, violence. Remember that this is the movies, the land of make believe. Those bodies flying through the air? Those are dummies. Or trained professionals. No one really gets hurt. Although, just once, I’d like to see a passenger on a commercial airline really get on board while wearing parachute under a suit jacket. Just to see if it can be done like they do it in the movies. This is all about escape. On summer afternoons, nothing is better than sneaking off to an air-conditioned movie place to enjoy two hours of stuff blowing. What’s great is that none of the stuff blowing up really matters. Think about an escape, just like that. Just don’t pick a movie where they try to work in some plot, too. That can ruin the whole idea.
Virgo: Wouldn’t it be nice if you were like the moon? The moon is a fickle mistress, though, and she’s just making everybody a little irascible these days. Especially your sweet and demure Virgo self. It’s just a phase, but this phase has been going on for a few days now, and you’re quite tired of it. I loved one note I got, “I’m even driving myself crazy,” which, all things considered, is pretty hard for a Virgo to admit. So you can blame the moon for the moods, or you can chose to take some action. Quit driving everyone, including yourself, crazy. There is only so much that can be accomplished, and there are certain limits you have to work with. Instead of trying to accomplish impossible feats, like cleaning out a Stygian mess, set the Virgo sites a little lower. Make the goals a little more reasonable. Jupiter, as always, tends to lend an optimistic flavor to every endeavor, which, compounded by that moon phase, makes you a little crazy because you can’t quite live up to the expectations. I strolled over to the creek and dropped a line, I expected to catch zero fish. I was there for sport and the pleasure of sitting by the gentle creek, not really expecting any fish. My expectations were fully realized, 100%. It was a good afternoon. It was good time. But I set my goals at a reasonable level.
Libra: Summer night, after the Fourth of July. I was stopped, pretty close to midnight, in the middle of a parking lot, a leaf that was moving had caught my gaze. It wasn’t a leaf, though, it was a cicada. You know, the buzz-bomb bugs? The guys who make racket, even on the hottest of days? Supposedly, the life cycle is that the nymph is born on a tree then drops to the ground, burrows under and is dormant for 17 years. Then it crawls out, and throughout my childhood, plus long into my adult life, I’ve encountered the husk of the shed skin of the cicada. To actually see a critter crawling out of that skin was pretty remarkable. It was a great testimony to endurance, and life, and the will to survive. It’s just like watching some nature program, only this was real. That bug was pretty green, too, and I always thought they were more brown or black. Plus, the husk of its former lifestyle? That looked fairly fluid, too, as it worked to extract itself. The creature was almost growing right before my eyes. The tail got out, unfolded and one wing emerged, impossibly long to have come from the husk it was crawling out of. Pretty amazing. That bug was a probably a larva for 17 years, and then, this one summer night decided it was time to be born. The struggle is what reminded me of Libra, more than anything else. There’s a struggle going on, and the will to live, the moral, biological imperative that keeps you ticking is what is at stake here. Will you survive? I can’t say for sure, but I’m pretty sure that one bug emerged victoriously, gloriously, to buzz through the rest of its life-cycle.
Scorpio: There are those, in the astrological community, such as it is, who would have you believe that Scorpio’s are usually indirect about whatever it is that the Scorpio is saying. Being the sign that happens right after Scorpio, but having a November birthday, some folks get confused about this issue of signs when the date rolls around. So I’m not one who will be accused of mincing words. Scorpio’s are, as I’ve found, usually very adroit when it comes to slicing up words to fit the situation. Saying what is needed to be said, but doing so under an effusive cover of verbiage. You’re not one to mince words, but I’d suggest that you consider that very action. The problem is that other people aren’t really listening too closely to what it is that you’re saying. Woe be unto thee who doesn’t hang on the every word of a valiant Scorpio! Yeah, well, it’s a nice idea, but I’m not sure too many folks are going to heed that warning. Plus, cranky Sagittarius astrology writers, oft [wrongfully] accused of picking on Scorpio’s, tend to get long-winded, too. But use a tip from my efforts, the more you mince words, given the present planetary positions? The easier it is to eat those words later. Or, instead of following me, why not try and measure your verbiage more carefully?
Sagittarius: I was standing outside a convenience store on a hot summer afternoon. Previously, I had been dripping wet from a dunk in the pool. At that moment, I was cooling in the shade, slurping on a straw, munching on a hotlink. Good road food, middle of the afternoon break. The clerk was outside, too, smoking a cigarette, talking on the phone. “Wow, look at that one,” he said, as a 1965 Metal-Flake Purple LeMans sauntered past, big exhaust pipes suggesting a muscle engine, “I’ll look at a car before I’ll look at a woman,” he commented to the phone, “man, that one was clean.” Between bites and burps, I suggested, given my luck, that cars are better than girls, too. Less finicky, more dependable, and cars don’t get jealous when you look at other cars with open admiration. It was a touching, funny, and rather candid “male” moment. No foul, no harm. But with folks a little upset these days, and with some priorities placed in perspective, it’s important to see events and people for what they really are. Understand what’s happening. Understand what you’re looking at. Admire the sleek, curved lines of the hood, the way the trunk molds into the taillights. Look at a classic structure from days gone by when cars looked like rocket ships. Back when it was okay for two-seater to take up half the parking lot. Then think about the comments that passed between two makes on that afternoon, in the hot summer sun. Just a passing commentary, little bit of ribald banter, slightly off-color. Fine comments at the time. But not always the right thing to say in other situations. Consider when and where, you speak, and what you say, my fine little Sagittarius friend. Not everyone will appreciate the fine lines of that ’65.
Capricorn: I’ve lived in college towns for so long, I don’t know what it’s like to inhabit place that isn’t funded, in part, by a large university or similar academic institution. So, it’s no surprise to me when I’m buying a ticket to go into a movie, the clerk behind the window has text for an advanced class in comparative religions. This does not strike me as odd. Or some similar, heavy, epic tome — like so many of the standards that are taught in school. Pick a title, you know what I’m suggesting. I was with a tourist, and we were going into a movie, and there was the heavy tome, upside down, spine creased, and the little “used” price tag alongside the title. “Wow,” said my friend, “I’m impressed.” Understanding the whole situation, that theater employees are usually underpaid college student types, and that, as customers, we were interrupting the orderly flow of study, I apologized. My apology did garner a smirk and a shrug from the ticket seller. Trying to do two things, or make maximum use of available time is a noble pursuit. As an employer, though, I have to question what it’s like to know that your front-line customer service representative is also reading on the job. Is this good? It’s tough question. But spend several hours in a theater’s box office and see how it feels. There are two sides to this problem. There are two sides to the Capricorn problems. A little unusual Capricorn diplomacy will go a long way in understanding that there might be no right or wrong answers.
Aquarius: Patience is virtue in short supply in our Aquarius corner. I was trying to explain to a bill-collector that I hadn’t received the statement for the bill he was trying to collect. This is where the whole scene borders on the absurd. I was getting “late payment fees” on a gasoline card, I won’t mention the brand but its logo is a big clam, and the late payment fees were stacking up faster, and higher, than the amount owed. It had been something like three months since I sent in any money. I know, checked with the bookkeeper, and the reason for this delay was simple: the company never sent a statement. I’ll do business on the net, all day and all night, blithely launching credit card numbers into the void, but I refuse to a do a “payment by phone,” which was exactly what that collections agent wanted me to do. After more than one unsatisfactory call, I kept thinking to myself, the perfect comeback would’ve been to ask the agent for similar data, like a checking account number. Reciprocity? Sure. Made sense to my Aquarian mind. So what happened? I paid the damn thing, in full, three months late, and I tore up the credit card. That showed them a thing or two, didn’t it? The caution to my tale of plastic cards is how you manage your resources, and when the right thing, what your Aquarian mind deems as correct, the most correct course of action, including a little verbal jousting with a “customer service agent,” what seems right, might not always be the cheapest way out. However, I was morally satisfied, and I suppose, that makes all the difference.
Pisces: I was passing a vacant lot downtown. There was a ragged set of sunflowers growing along the edge of the lot. In almost every flower that I passed, I noticed, seeing as how all of this was eye-level for me, that a honeybee was busy at work. Odd. Which then got me thinking, where do these bees nest? I mean, where’s a downtown honeybee hive? Now, I’ve had Bluebonnet Honey before, and near as my taste buds could tell, it was from Bluebonnet Nectar, originally derived, via the bees’ butts, from native wildflowers. But how about a form a downtown honey? I’ve seen a swarm of honeybees take over a light pole once. I’m sure some beekeeper was called; he (or she) would smoke the little fellers out and transplant them all to a productive home. All those honeybees, struggling working, being productive. Is there a message there? Think so. They all work together, especially if you’ve ever had a chance to examine a hive, and they all work as if there is but one brain. The challenge for the next couple of days, is to work like that, as a coherent team, instead of as a lone Pisces. Makes a much sweeter nectar when you can work together.
