“Taste your legs, sir, put them in motion.”
Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night [III.i.79]
Aries: I have a relationship with particular fish. Not a Pisces, probably an Aries. The fish was, I’m guessing, born in the sign of Aries, best guess, about three-four years ago. It’s a she. She was born in Aries. This relationship has to do with the fact that I’ve caught her two-three times? Maybe more? The first time, I was happy, and that was more than a year ago. I’ve never managed to get her picture, at least, not a very flattering one, because every Image I’ve got of her shows one of my lures in her mouth. Her big mouth. Betsy, the big-mouth bass. I grab her up by the lower lip, snap a quick shot, and put her back in the water. So it’s relationship, hunter and hunted. Fish and fisherman. I don’t swim in her lake, and she doesn’t walk on my land. Works well. We don’t spend too much time chatting, either, although, I’ve been known to talk to the fish while in the water, from time to time. Just the way it is. Relationships are a big issue with the Aries these days. I just hope that your Aries relationship is as amicable as mine.
Taurus: Unlearning old habits is difficult, at best. In my formative years, I did desktop publishing as a way to make a little extra cash on the side. I was forced to learn about typesetting from the old school, so I developed the typing habit of putting two spaces at the end of a sentence. It’s habit I’ve carried forward, right up to book manuscripts, and this column. But computers are a lot smarter than old linotype machines, and a computer doesn’t really deal with hot lead for rendering a page. Unlearning how not to add two spaces at the end of sentence has been one of the toughest typing tutorials I’ve had to be learn. Old habits die hard. Or refuse to die. Just a point that’s bound to come up, now that the Sun is moving himself on into Gemini — unlearn some old habits.
Gemini: “Taste your legs, Gemini, put them in motion.” With apologies to Shakespeare (et al), think about going from a position where you stand around, typically called “management,” to a position wherein action is the driving force. Action? Aren’t Gemini always in action? The perpetual motion machine of the zodiac? Sure, but that doesn’t mean that your Gemini self is as active as you normally are. This last little bout of “Taurus Time” has slowed you down considerably. By Saturday morning, though, you’re “good to go.” Ready. Willing. Able. I was fudging, just a little, on that date, but I wanted to give the planets enough time to catch up with you, and to let the natural rhythm of the planet cycles a chance to catch up with Gemini. Good to go. The weekend starts a month-long party. That’s good news. Birthdays, special birthdays, abound. More good news. Big parties, wild times. Get out of your trailer, and have some fun. It’s in the stars. “Well, it’s about damn time,” one of my Gemini buddies was muttering. I couldn’t agree more.
Cancer: What are the odds? I mean, ever feel like the odds are just stacked against you? Like, no way out, right? I buy two kinds of lures: cheap and expensive. No, see, the cheap ones? I consider them throwaway lures. I tend to catch a lot of trees, snags, tires, old auto parts, whatever, and not all of those come up easily. So I use the cheap ones, as I’m less interested in catching fish, and more interested in practicing. Then, for the real deal, I’ll tie on a good, name-brand, expensive lure. Just to see if the performance lives up to advertising. Does having a big-name on the side of the box really catch more fish? Looks like it should. But the end of the day? I’ve snagged and lost more the expensive lures than the cheap ones. Oh no, the cheap ones are still in the tackle box, perhaps those lures have weeds and other snagged material hanging from the hooks, but the cheap ones last longer. Sometimes, a cheap imitation is better than the real thing. Cost a lot less, too.
Leo: I saw another good Leo t-shirt the other afternoon: “I’m so close to perfect it scares me.” As well it should. How do I know she was a Leo? I chuckled at the shirt, smiled and, of course, I asked. Leo. Just figures. Fits, too. Leo is probably as close to perfect these days, right? Wrong? What’s wrong? I like it like that, “so close to perfect it scares me.” A little self-aggrandizement never hurts. I realize that you would really rather have someone else tout your talents, but that’s not the way it’s working. What can you do? Not a lot. I realize that you realize that the t-shirt slogan carries a bit of truth. However, you’re also going to discover that there are some folks who don’t agree with your fine Leo self. We can’t change them. But you can wear a t-shirt that carries a good slogan for yourself. I know it’s marketing, but in times like these? You do what you have to do in order to get the message out.
Virgo: I had breakfast, two mornings in a row, in a little place with a Virgo server. Sweetest young lady, with a Virgo penchant for being virgo-esque. That perpetually disturbed look. Big, brown eyes, full of wonder, merriment, and a troubled look like there’s something wrong. There’s not something wrong, there’s just the planets, shifting around. Gemini and Virgo is an unlikely match yet there’s something to be said for it. However, this also includes some tension. The next week is basically good, but there’s a small degree of tension, a thought bouncing around in the back of the Virgo mind, and that tiny voice keeps suggesting that you should be looking over your shoulder.
Libra: The big “fishing annual” arrived last winter. One item stirred my curiosity. “Quick Hit Catfish Dip.” What it was, after I read the advertising copy, was a bucket of some kind of noxious fluid for dipping catfish bait in, gives it that added, extra-awful scent. Nasty stuff. Just putrid, I’m sure. But before I read the copy, before I looked it up? I was wondering, maybe it’s a batter for frying? Maybe it’s a special preservative, something to dip the catfish in, after it’s been caught? The names of items, especially with a cursory glance, can be a little misleading. Therein is the caution. Names can be beguiling or misleading, or in some cases, exactly what it’s supposed to mean. But some item require a little deeper digging to get to the real point. Advertising copy is designed to hook you, like that catfish dip. Careful that you don’t react too strongly to the mere mention of some product’s name.
Scorpio: It’s not an original story, but one that was liberally lifted from a client. Since it is a springtime story, such as it is, and it just fits to make the person in the tale a Scorpio. “Spring day, the windows were open and a beautiful Monarch butterfly flittered in, riding on the breeze. ‘Look, a butterfly!’ I exclaimed. Suddenly, my Aunt Scorpio was there, ‘Isn’t that nice,’ and she impaled it on a straight pen.” Another specimen added to the Scorpio collection of dead critters, run through and stuck in a little display box. The biggest problem with this tale? Some folks just don’t get it, with that impaled butterfly? Permanent collection, forever preserved under glass. Some folks don’t get your Scorpio sensibilities.
Sagittarius: One of my buddies was watching me horse around with a cutting instrument. “I’m not sure, Kramer, are you stupid? Or just crazy?” Since I don’t think I’m stupid, that only leaves the other half of the binary question. My sanity might be questioned, and that’s a fair interrogatory for all of Sagittarius these days, way the things are going? Are you stupid? Or just crazy? The difficulty lies in the binary nature of the question. It’s an either-or situation. Binary. Render a decision. Personally, I’d go for the “crazy” appellation. “Crazy Kramer,” nice alliteration. Some folks would suggest illiterate, too. But wait: see — when it’s all over with, you’ll look “crazy like a fox,” all though, on the way to that destination, the plain crazy term might apply. I’d suggest you follow what your muse dictates.
Capricorn: I keep waiting, and ya’ll aren’t reporting back fast enough about good things happening in the Capricorn world. I’d be upset, but that would be a great waste of valuable time and energy, getting all bent out of shape because there isn’t all the good things happening in your world, not like there are supposed to be. I spun the dials on the astrology clock and keep wondering why there isn’t more good news. I finally isolated the problem, I think. It has to do with patience. Or a certain lack of patience with the Capricorn corner of the world. With all the cardinal planets making a push on the Capricorn corner, there should be a point, I believe it’s called the Tipping Point, where your stars commence to align in more auspicious manner. Between Saturn (in Cancer) and Jupiter (in Libra), there should be something that gets knocked loose. What? To me, it looks like a break of some kind. To me, it looks like there’s an opening that you can exploit to your advantage. So as the next couple of days begin to unwind, look for that break. Might not be a big opportunity, but it’s the start.
Aquarius: I stepped out onto the dock, in the predawn hour. I had a huge mug full of herbal tea. For some reason, phase of the moon maybe, I was awake, just enjoying the view. A big fish splashed, almost under my feet. I watched while that big bass jumped again, about ten feet out. Then again, thirty feet away, off to the right. One more time, arcing back to the left, but much further out, the silver side of the fish flashing in the starlight, rolling over to indicate a very big bass. I thought about hustling inside and fetching a pole, but I didn’t have anything correctly rigged. So I just sat there and watched while that fish went through a morning run of sorts, describing a lazy half circle around my position. Eventually, I go to the end of the herbal tea. Eventually, I did fetch up a pole with a topwater lure, and all I could hope was that the lure was fetching enough to catch that fish’s attention. Didn’t work. Fish was probably too big for that lightweight rig, anyway. I did spend a harried minute, trying to analyze the fish, its movement, its locations, the way it was jumping, looking for that pattern. Near as I could tell, that fish was doing one thing: teasing me. But in the predawn calm? There’s a certain type of serenity to the whole scene. Catching that fish, that morning? Probably would’ve screwed up the rest of the day. Sometimes, for the fisherman, the fish, the Aquarius and the target? Sometimes, we just need to eyeball each other for a spell.
Pisces: The expression, “No shit, true story” usually precedes a tale that has dubious origins, doubtful resources, and improbable claims. A stretcher, as we like to call them. What actually happened: I was talking to a passing fisherman, he was putting along the lakefront, where I live, and I was idly fishing off the dock. I had a big one, she got away. I recounted my story to the passing boater, and we exchanged tips on what baits work (Bass Assassin). A few days later, the tale I’d recounted showed up on a website, a local electronic version of bass fishing tips and tales. My story. Verbatim. Including the slight amount of hyperbole about the gear, the size of the fish, the water conditions, the bait I was using. Only, this tale was attributed to some other person. My best estimate is it was that guy in the boat. I only told two people that story, and one was a trusted confidante, one of my fishing buddies, and his handle wasn’t attached to the posting on the website. Draw your own conclusions. However, I’d be a little extra careful about what tales you tell, or retell, as you never know when something will show up online.
