“April is the cruelest month”
T.S. Elliot, opening phrase to his epic poem, “The Wasteland.”
Been a while since I’ve invoked T.S. Eliot, but he seemed about right for the current Mercury situation.
Aries: “All you can eat” buffets are tenuous at best. I was in a hotel buffet line the other evening. Usual fare, goes with a travel schedule. I wasn’t too worried, but my previous experience with this one hotel buffet had been less than wonderful. The salad was fresh. More or less. The “pork stew” was serviceable, such as it was, and the rest? Pretty scary. The second time I faced the buffet, I spied something that looked unique and different, looked edible and appetizing: brisket. I helped myself to several slabs of what was supposedly beef, soaked in a sauce of some kind. That plus a salad. At least the salad was good. The “beef”? I was wearing a pair of cowboy boots that are tough yet soft and supple at the same time. Goatskin leather, I think. Hand-made, I’m pretty sure. Italian name, from west Texas. My boots were softer than that brisket. It’s sad state of affairs. I was kind to the wait staff, wasn’t their fault, as I hacked and sawed my way through supper that had the consistency of slate. The salad fixins’? They were fresh, and at least I had the good healthy portion of the meal taken care of. Too bad about the beef. It was a free meal, package deal, so I had to make the best of tough situation. As Mercury spins around and around, and you face tough situations, too, perhaps brisket with more soul than your soles, do like I did, eat the good part. Don’t worry about the tough stuff you can’t cut, saw, hack, chew, or probably, even digest.
Taurus: I’d gone by to see a client downtown. She’s an administrative assistant at a large company, and she’s Taurus. Been with that one company for a few years. She’s up in the ranks, more than just an assistant, in my eyes. When I walked in, she was sitting at the receptionist’s desk, looking after the phones. “We had to let that one girl go, I know you would’ve really liked her, but she was a bit too spacey, never could figure out who was where when.” My client called up some else from the back, and another efficient assistant slid into place at the desk, a smooth hand-off of responsibility. Over a late lunch, the topic drifted back to the “released” receptionist, the one who was no longer working there. “She was directing telephone calls based on — get this — the astrological signs of the executives. Can you believe that?” Not really, but I’ve heard worse. I have an image in my mind of a receptionist playing solitaire with a pack of tarot cards, and using the outcome of the game to direct calls. My Taurus friend chuckled at that idea. We got carried away with images of flaky, spaced-out Austin folk directing calls based on any number of arcane, and possibly useless sets of data. Perfect example of how life in Taurus is now. You’re called upon to fill a position, perhaps beneath you, but someone’s got to do it. Instead of guesswork, though, and instead of basing your judgments on a caller’s astrological sign, perhaps asking, “To whom may I direct you call?” would be a better way to address this problem.
Gemini: I was listening to the radio. DJ came on with a dedication, “This one is dedicated to that Gemini.” I laughed at the radio. No, it wasn’t me making the call. But this week is dedicated to you. Mercury, being backwards and all that it entails? You need a simple dedication. I’m not sure what song I would dedicate to you, though. I was thinking about an opera piece, but those songs are too long. Then I was thinking about a sad, country song. Which lead me to thoughts about happy C&W songs. Which got me to thinking about something with a little stronger beat to it. Something to motivate your Gemini self a little bit more. Which got me to thinking about songs that are built out of other songs, samples and lyrical refrains that mashed together, speeded up, and delivered in way that sometimes enhances the original. Or hammers it, depends on taste. Your Gemini life is like on those randomly sampled songs, strung together without a lot of skill. It is all leading someplace, but the DJ doing the spinning? He (or she) is not a Gemini. So the song doesn’t make a lot of sense, at least not at first, or, as the case may be, not right now. There are at least 16 tracks in the Gemini studio. Don’t try blending too much at once, it just won’t work. Which brings us back to that opera song. Nope, it’s too long.
Cancer: I had a rent car last month, and I’m not sure of the make, model or even the designation. Or color. Anyone with rental car blues knows this feeling. You look out over a large parking lot, and wonder which one is yours. At one point, I just gave up. I walked up and down the acres of aisles, clicking the key fob’s button, looking for a car that would unlock. See: I’d parked rather carefully, next to a couple of vehicles I’d recognize. But they were gone. I might have been mumbling to myself, “I was parked by a two big trucks, one with over-sized tires, now where is it?” Here in Texas, it’s a safe bet that there will be a couple of pickups in the parking lot. I was just upset that the trucks had moved around. Like the good Cancer person, I was sure that they moved just to confound and confuse me; obviously, a deliberate attempt, and naturally, it worked. Trying to identify something? Might not be a rent car of dubious origins, and it might not be a large parking lot under a hot Texas sun, but the sense of frustration about not being able to find what you’re looking for? Yeah, that’s the one. A systematic approach might work best. Wile I was sure I didn’t park at the extremities, I still found that starting at one end and hiking up and down, eventually brought me to the right vehicle. It was, what did you expect, at the other end. Doesn’t matter which end you start at, in that parking lot of life, you’ll find what you’re looking for at the other end. Takes a little effort, but since it was rent car, at least I won’t have to replace the battery in that remote.
Leo: I was watching a crowd of young men, out on the town, posturing, prancing and carrying on like only beer-drinking, cavorting, bragging, young men can do. Might have been as many as a half-dozen, and one of the kids was a little more intoxicated than the rest. His voice was louder, and he was bemoaning the fact that he didn’t have a girlfriend at the time. He was a little louder, a little more strident, and there was a thing, reedy edge to his voice. Plus his words were starting to slur together. As my social interaction study continued, I was basically eavesdropping, I noticed that the other lads in the group began to slow down and eventually, sit down. That one loud, and increasingly obnoxious, lad? Still standing. During the last part of this Mercury phase, think about how he stood apart from the rest. Think about the last man standing, and how he was bereft of companionship. Then think about why he was bereft of companionship. Sit down, shut up, and it’s not a problem. Holding forth, complaining loudly, even drunkenly? That’s not very attractive behavior.
Virgo: “Well, you just fix that ‘Mr. Mercury’ stuff right now. I am so not amused!” (Virgo, on the phone, last week.) Neither of us is amused, but there’s not a lot we can do, now is there? Buck up my dear Virgo friend, this Mercurial Mayhem will be over soon enough. It’s spring, the bass are spawning, it’s great time to get out and fish. In other words, it’s a great time to be away from the drudgery of work. Just about everyone I know, in the last two weeks, has sent me stories of epic proportions, long, winding e-mails about how this and that has gone wrong, at the worst time, and it can all be traced back to mistakes with communications. Avoidable mistakes? I’m not so sure. On the surface, the mistakes look like they can be avoided, but in the real world, I’m not so sure. One of my columns went out, ready for prime time publication, and it got shot back by an editor — Virgo editor — because I’d misspelled one word. Just a two letter word, “as” with an extra “s” added at the end. I missed it. The computer missed it. The copy-editor missed it. That Virgo didn’t and let me explain, she was really not amused. The problem could’ve been avoided, if I’d check my outgoing work a little closer. But it doesn’t always happen that way. Double-check? Sure. But be prepared for an editor upstream from you to pitch a fit because of a simple, honest mistake.
Libra: “Lipless Crankbait” — it’s a fishing term, a name for a kind of lure. I’ve got a whole box just full of them, and sometimes, they are pretty good. Other times, I prefer the crankbait with a lip, as it dives, and shakes, rattles, and supposedly, attracts the big boys lurking under the lake’s cover. The deal is, this week has nothing to do with fishing lures. I just liked that term, “lipless crankabit,” and I liked the way it sounded. Plus, it reminded me of what’s going on in Libra. With Libra. A little less lip would be a good idea. Lipless is even better. It’s possible to bait an opponent with silence. Don’t believe me? Try it. Try not answering that question, or try not pointing out that the boss is clearly mistaken about some aspect of the daily routine. Try not mouthing off at the worst possible time. Try being taciturn. Try to be a lipless crankabit. Most of the “cranks” I use come equipped with two treble hooks. That’s six points with barbs for catching fish. Can take a strike from anyplace, just about, and usually results in a big fish. Try your version of lipless crankbait this week, see if it doesn’t return some good results.
Scorpio: I was watching a Scorpio lady, and she was one of those, kind, gentle souls, a little more advanced in years than myself. A young child, age three to thirteen was cavorting near by. The Scorpio had a cup of coffee, the kind of coffee that’s served hot, hot enough to sear a mere mortal’s lips, but not too hot for a Scorpio, and the child was doing what children are supposed to do: faithfully not paying attention to the parental unit, and bouncing around. The Scorpio casually looked up over her reading glasses, and as the child bounced nearer, that Scorpio lady just picked up her coffee so it wouldn’t get knocked over. The kid, as if there was an internal spring that was rapidly unwinding, sprang off in another direction. That Scorpio just set her hot drink back down. The kid sprang closer again. Scorpio just picked up the coffee. The kid never really hit the table, but that Scorpio was prepared. Obviously a parent, probably had two boys at least, because a bouncing child didn’t bother that Scorpio in the least. Pay attention to this one Scorpio lady’s behavior. Casual, unperturbed. There’s a certain lack of panic in her motions. Obviously, a person who knows what is going on. Given a few planetary dispositions, I’m inclined to suggest that you follow the actions of that one Scorpio’s behavior.
Sagittarius: I’d stumbled into a little dive, not far from where I live, and I’d pulled up a seat, sat down, and started making small talk with the waitress. Maybe it was a bartender. There was a little stage, and a trio was on the stage. I’m not much for live music anymore, as I’m getting too old for that amplified, make-your-ears-bleed kind of thing. Just not into it. So I was thinking about leaving but the music was starting to get to me. It was a classical, Spanish guitar kind of music. Not Mariachi, but maybe flamenco? Something like that. The songs were in Spanish. I thought about sauntering up and requesting “Rancho Grande,” which a Mariachi standard, but as the trio worked through their set, I realized they were playing good music. Fetching. Invigorating. Most important? Not too loud. As I sat there, I kept thinking that there was haunting memory that the music touched? The bass ran up and down the frets, the searing 12-string solo arched out, and then the background strumming, and the door to the place opened. Silhouetted against the late March afternoon’s sky? There was a guy with a guitar case. I went from feeling pleasant to worrying. Just like that. Guy with a guitar case, what if it was full of guns and stuff? Like those movies? Nope, just the next band, showing up for work. Hint: don’t worry about it.
Capricorn: Standard office layout I’m sure: three front desks then a “manager’s office,” which is noting more than a larger cubicle, overlooking the front desks. Seen it before? Car offices, insurance offices, just about every place I’ve been for business does some variation on this arrangement. The deal is, the front line? They’re supposed to handle people like me. And that front line is supposed to provide a buffer zone between your Capricorn self and the rest of us. The problem? That front line doesn’t show up for work one day, or they can’t deal with my problems, or, basically, your front line is incompetent. Or just busy, harried, overworked, underpaid, or lazy. I’m inclined to assume the last one is true. When I was last in such an office, the manager looked up, saw me waiting, saw the worker bee being ineffectual, and rushed right over. Took less than three minutes, which, when you consider that Mercury is retrograde, that’s pretty impressive. Now, you’re not supposed to be the person receiving bad service. You’re supposed to be the manager, got it? You look up and see your minions floundering. Rush to their assistance. You can save the day, if you’re willing.
Aquarius: Aerosmith. Mars, hard rock, old school, noise. Aerosmith. I mean, didn’t they a do Super Bowl or something, a few years back? It’s American rock and roll. Plain, straight up noise. I’m not getting paid to make any kind of push for the band, but think about it. We all have guilty pleasures, certain loud, raucous, perhaps a bit uncouth, kind music that just brings a certain amount of pleasure. Plus, hard rock like that? It can motivate. Mars is a like that. Or, to me, anyway, it seems that Mars is like that. He hits you, like a guitar solo, screeching, and rattling the rafters of the Aquarius arena. Nothing particularly artful, just a catchy lick and a simple lyric. Look: Mr. Mars is a rather active principle, and as long as he’s active, something like some old school rock and roll is important. It motivates. It pushes. It helps get the job done. Besides, you’re probably not sleeping too well, turn on the classic radio station, call up and ask for Aerosmith. I’m sure they’ll oblige. Or do like I did, and pick up a “greatest hits” collection. Sure, it’s dated material, but that really doesn’t matter, now does it? Play something with a beat, play something that’s a guilty pleasure. But follow that beat with some type of physical activity.
Pisces: It pays to be nosey. Least sometimes, it pays. I asked a bookstore employee about questions he’d received. “‘Who wrote those Agatha Christi books?’ is the best one I’ve heard,” he replied. I thought it was both a cute answer and it went one step further in affirming my faith that I didn’t belong in a bookstore as an employee. I’m not sure I could put up with the troubling questions. Okay, so you’re standing in a bookstore, some time over the next few days. You can be one of two people in this situation. You can be like me, doing astrological research, making polite conversation, and attempting to draw out a disgruntled employee, or you can be the clerk. Or, for a third option, you can be standing there, asking who wrote those Agatha Christi books. It’s all a function of Mr. Mercury and he’s going to have a bit of fun yet. Will it be at your expense, or will you be dropping me an e-mail to tell me about the funny stories?
