For the Week starting: 6.1.2006

Fishing Guide to the Stars
by Kramer Wetzel
(c) 2005, 2006 by Kramer Wetzel for
For the Week starting: 6.1.2006

“All our oraters are dumb when beauty pleadeth”
Shakespeare’s “The Rape of Lucrece,” line 29

Mars heads into Leo in this next week.

Aries: I’ve got one friend, and when she says, “I’ll be right over,” that can take between half an hour and two-plus hours. Way she is. It’s a matter of understanding what language she’s speaking, and what always boggles my mind is that she’s an independent contractor, self-employed person. In her professional life, she’s as punctual as can be, but in her private life, I suppose, because of the rigidity of the professional side? I guess that’s why she’s a little disconnected from consensual reality. Could be me. But I also know, when she says, “I’ll be right there,” like she just did, I’ve probably got time to throw in a load of laundry, maybe clean the kitchenette, scoop out the cat box, or maybe, I won’t see this person at all. It happens. You can either be me, this week, with plenty of chores to fill in the time while waiting on a friend to show up, or you can be like my buddy, and she’s always late. Some folks — like me — understand. Hint: not everyone is like me.

Taurus: Barton Creek is legendary, in and among Austin residents. Rightfully so, as the spring water is a constant 68 degrees, and usually, just about as clear as can be, with visibility reaching 5 feet or more. I stopped by for a late May swim, more like a dunk in the creek to cool off, and there was a young lad there, fishing. I’ve fished that creek. Many times. The fish are amusing, at best, and weathered veterans, at worst. In other words, there’s nothing that those fish haven’t seen. So me and this feller (a Taurus, too, if that even matters), was dragging a lure through the water. We chatted about fishing. I let on about a few spots I know, for us bank fishing types, and we watched as fish would give chase to his lure, but the fish would never bite. Close, but not quite. It was amusing, to me, and the poor kid was getting frustrated. The clear water? As we watched those fish chase but not strike? With the planets where they are, you’re running into some similar fish. Or people who are acting like those fish. Chase, hint, tease, but never deliver the goods. Now, you can be like that one Taurus kid, getting all worked up, or you can adopt a more “Kramer and Taurus” fish-like approach, slightly more philosophical, you know? Besides, in that clear water? Just like us watching the fish, the fish were probably watching us.

Gemini: I always enjoyed the “If your birthday is today” series, commonly found in popular media. I’m also very sincere when I want to wish all the Gemini friends many happy birthdays and so on (and so forth, et cetera, &c.) As I’m fond of saying, “S’all good, baby, s’all good.” Drawl it a little. Maybe stretch a vowel or two. Is it all good? Yes. There’s some movement in planets that have a direct and indirect impact on the Gemini lifestyle, but all of these planets, as they shift around? It’s just driving certain very Gemini-like characteristic to the forefront. What the heck, it’s your birthday time, right? Therefore, celebrate as only a Gemini can. Big goals? Sure, that too. Big plans? That, as well. Maybe a little overbooked for the entertainment portion of the birthday? Good thing you’re a Gemini and you can be in two places at once. If that’s an obstacle, then I’d suggest you’re not embracing your Gemini-ness. Get comfortable with a lot of action, as that’s what’s coming along, one way, or another. Wait, wait, that didn’t sound too ominous, did it? It wasn’t supposed to sound bad. Like I said, it’s all good.

Cancer: A friend called up the other afternoon, then she showed up, and we headed out to grab a quick bite. She brought her dog. Boyfriend. Call him what you want, he’s a typical Sagittarius (four-legged kind), usually minds pretty well. Does have a tendency to be a little overly friendly, but that’s okay. When he gets close to the cat, she just hisses. AS we wandered the streets and trails of Austin, up and back to the burger stand, on that sparkling evening in May, I watched the dog. He stopped at every bush, tree, signpost, and at least once, he found something that he wanted to roll in. That earned him a good jerk on the leash, but other wise, we just let him go where he wanted, within the confines of the leash. As we walked along, I noticed that the dog was covering about three times as much ground as we were. He would nose to the left, sniff, angle to the right, sniff, look, nose to the left, and he was really making tracks. Lots of them. He turned our short walk into a several-mile endeavor, for himself. Now, as a male, I could sort of understand, but as a human, I couldn’t. It wasn’t really late, but the sun was setting, and that dog tirelessly lapped up the miles. I Was worn out from watching him cover approximately three times as much area as we did. You’re either like that dog, tirelessly covering three times as much terrain as everyone else, or you’re like me, getting exhausted from just watching someone cover three times as much terrain as need be. Personally, I hope you’re like the dog, tirelessly covering the extra ground, exploring, and generally having fun. But I suspect you’re like me, getting worn out from the dog’s actions, and that constant tug on his leash.

Leo: One thing’s for sure, the myth lives on. I ran into this again the other afternoon during an exchange of e-mail with a client. There was some sexual banter, certain overtones and undertones, and for that matter, I was approached with an offer. Maybe. Sort of veiled, then again, sort of not. I’m either in a relationship, or I’m not, and I’m not for a very good reason, or I’m dating, but I’m not fooling around with people who depend on me for my business services. Just not a happening thing. I’m too old, or maybe, I’m too immature, but I’m not the right one. If I were younger, more foolish, or if I was more confused about who and what, and all that stuff, I might. But I’m not. Restraint. It’s an important quality when I have to deal with as many face-to-face situations as I deal with. Mr. Mars? He comes screaming into Leo next week. After the weekend. Mr. Mars is player, and he’s going to excite more than just the Leo libido. He’s going to stir up all matters of “stuff.” He’s having fun. I’m having fun, too, but that’s not what’s important. It’s okay to banter and tease people, but be careful: not everyone is as likely to say “no.” And the flip side of the teasing and taunting? Just from personal experience, it’s not a good thing to tease a Leo; the results are bad for the non-Leo people. Careful with Mars and his energy.

Virgo: I live in a university town. In a location that does have a few college students. (And at least one grad student that I know.) I was under the shade of a Mulberry tree, fishing the other afternoon. Under the Live Oak, there was a group of kids, students, I’m guessing, from their chatter about classes, exams, teachers, and the presence of a case of beer. Queue up, “School’s out for summer,” a perpetual favorite. I’m guessing that this is typical chatter, but as they watched me fish, one of the lads beginning spinning a yarn about a duck and a particular kind of lure, and then came the improbable part, about the interaction between that lad, the duck, and the lure. I’m guessing that the beer had something to do with this. I’m doubting that anyone could have hooked a duck, flying through the air, with spinner-bait. On purpose. Not being a drinking man these days, just listening to the idle banter, I would’ve raised an eyebrow, but I had a nibbler who was working on my bait, and that held some of my attention, besides eavesdropping on the students. If you’re careful, and if you listen correctly, you can hear some pretty good stories. Use that Virgo-like quiet to let the other signs spin some fantastical yarn about hitting the duck with its wings flapping, and knocking it out of the sky. Sounds a lot like a tall tale, if you ask me. But the other guys in the group, I think they believed it. Do you?

Libra: “Any luck today?” One of my neighbors was strolling alongside the river, “I just needed to get outside, I’ve been staring at my computer screen all day,” he continued. Libra lad. He paused and took a drag on a cigarette. I’m sure your fine Libra self understands the sentiment, the idea of just getting out from behind the desk. Or the counter. Or computer. Or whatever it is that has you trapped. Just want out. Me and that guy exchanged a few pleasant comments, and he allowed as how he was going to get a fishing pole one day and join me. He snickered, “You’re the ‘fishing guide,’ you can show me where the fish are, right?” sure. Just then, a I got nibble, then a more solid strike, and I was sure I had nice little black bass. As it turned out, I reeled in a large Bluegill. Not quite a foot long. But it was a fish, and it was fighter. To some of my friends, that fish would’ve been a keeper, too, as a decent panfish fryer. My Libra neighbor was impressed, or, at least, he seemed to be. “Yes, going to come down here with a pole, one day soon.” I doubt you’re strolling long the shores of Town Lake, beside Shady Acres, and I doubt you’re smoking. But the idea that you want to be someplace, anyplace, but than where you’re at? Looks good. Then you encounter someone, like me, who happens to catch a fish, even if it’s just a panfish, and it all looks so good. I’ll suggest that your counter, the computer, the office, whatever that item is that has you trapped? Not much longer, I’ll promise, and you can be out here fishing. Might even catch something. Soon. Very soon.

Scorpio: This happened on a fateful evening in May. It was such a perfect example, too, I couldn’t pass it up. I was fishing in the river, and one of my neighbors, a tree-hugging old hippie type, was chatting with me about stars, fishing, and so on. I caught a big one. Not that big, but one the little pole, it was big enough to make for an interesting fight. I hoisted the fish, on the end of a small hook, up into the air, and I was attempting to get my grip on his lip so I could get a picture. So I was chatting with the neighbor, who making disparaging noises about the fish and how that hook must hurt, damn tree-hugging hippies, plus I was reaching for a camera, and the fish was still flopping pretty good. Me and that fish? We have a long history together. Much shared hilarity. Plus, the other evening? New chapter. I was using a little Aberdeen hook, maybe a #1, tiny gold hook. The fish evaded my grasp, gave a mighty flip of his tail, slapped me, the hook bent under the pressure, fish flopped back in the lake, and the hook itself — now bent wide open — flew up and hit me in the face. On the chin. I now have a new scar, from a fish. Mighty fine fighter, that one. I hope we tangle again. The neighbor, not a Scorpio, wanted to say something about how it served me right, but I was laughing. I rather enjoyed the encounter even though blood was flowing freely from my face. Some days, the fish win. The neighbor was going to make a point about “fish rights” and respect for the environment, but I was laughing too hard to follow it. Besides, I got what I deserved, just a tiny nick. You have to let the other guys win occasionally.

Sagittarius: I caught a decent little buck the other afternoon. He was couple of pounds, healthy and full of fight. Just the way I like my fish, coming out of the lake here. I’d like them a little larger, but what this guy lacked in size, he more than made up for in fight. He took my bait, partly because, I’m sure, he was hungry, but I think I also teased him a little, and he was just irritated enough to take a big bite. I hoisted him up, got his picture, cut the fishing line, pushed the hook through, and got ready to take another picture. He took a might flip, and he flopped out of my hands, landing on the dock. I addressed the fish, “Dude, that’s got to hurt.” He didn’t care. He flip-flopped around for a moment, and I finally used my barefoot to nudge him off the edge of the dock, into the lake. As a parting shot, from the fish, I got a tiny puncture wound from one of the spines, on his back fin. A little single drop of blood, my blood, oozed out. I ignored it. I put the worm back on the hook (4-inch June-bug color with blue metal-flakes). The fish got a cool lip piercing, a photo-op, and he had a chance to draw the fisherman’s blood. A good day for both. Fair is fair, and as Mars approaches Saturn, in Leo, a compatible fire sign, let us consider what’s fair. Might want to be a little more careful with sharp objects, too, like that fighter’s back spines.

Capricorn: According to the lore, probably more like urban myth, the “Infantry Journal” once ran a list of warnings, and this bit is purportedly taken from their magazine: “A five second fuse lasts three seconds.” I rather doubt you’re really in a combat zone, but due to a couple of planets, you might feel like you’re in a fight. With a device that has a label that suggests it has a “five-second fuse.” Might be your own Capricorn fuse, too. It just seems like that fuse, yours, your Capricorn munitions, or that fuse of someone close to you? Seems like it’s a little shorter than it’s supposed to be. That’s the fair warning for the time being. If you set off the device with the short fuse? Don’t plan on counting to five or ten, before it explodes. Best you can get to? Three. There are two options, and my preferred plan? Should be your first plan? Run. The second option is to put as much distance between you and the short fuse as quickly as possible. I see something like this happening, “I’m gong to count to five, and you’d better be out of here,” and now you know, you’ve got to the count of three to get out of there. Time, even a short two seconds, can seem very elastic under planet pressure like this.

Aquarius: I was reading a thriller type of novel the other evening. Big book. Long one. Maybe I’m not such a fast reader, either, at least not when I’m enjoying a ripping good yarn. Te double-cross, that was telegraphed early in the plot, turned into a triple-cross, and as of now, I don’t know how it’s going to turn out, as there’s at least a 100 pages of story left. Don’t spoil it for me, I just hope the good guys win. Since it’s fiction, I’m sure they will. The protagonist is one of those thoroughly modern creations, part good-guy, part (much to my pleasure) smart-ass. Works or me. I read several hundred pages the other evening, stayed up late doing that. Which meant, when the cat pushed me out of bed for food, I was a little bleary-eyed. Much the same way you’re feeling, due, no doubt to Mr. Mars (now in Leo). You’ve got, maybe a hundred pages left, and the plot is just starting to reach a frenzied pace, and you’re really interested, but there’s also the rest of the Life of Aquarius that needs tending to. Sometimes, you’ve got to put the book aside and try to get a little rest.

Pisces: I remember when, it was a certain Pisces speaking, would say, “I really like this job.” It was the later shift, started at, like, around 11 in the morning. Still an 8-hour shift, but the hours were agreeable. But with summer and summer vacations approaching, there was call for some rearranged schedules. More hours, that’s good, more work, and thereby, more money. But the problem was the hours. “I’m not liking this being AT WORK by 7 in the morning,” the Pisces was saying. I understand that there’s a slight disruption to your working schedule. I understand that none of this is going the way you want it to go, not exactly. I think it would be nice if you just did what you wanted to do, and folks handed you money. But the job is important, you’re needed, and the extra hours, even though it’s not precisely conducive to your ideal working situation, the hours are good. Well, sort of good, anyway. This is more like a temporary summer schedule, and you’re the one caught taking up the slack for someone else. Sorry about that. But look on the bright side, the next couple of paychecks? They should be a little more healthy than usual.

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copyright (c) 2005, 2006 Kramer Wetzel, for

About the author: Born and raised in a small town in East Texas, Kramer Wetzel spent years honing his craft in a trailer park in South Austin. He hates writing about himself in third person. More at

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