For the Week starting: 1.11.2007

Fishing Guide to the Stars
by Kramer Wetzel
(c) 2006, 2007 by Kramer Wetzel for
For the Week starting: 1.11.2007

"Well said, that was laid on with a trowel."
Shakespeare’s As You Like It [I.ii.96]

Mars moves into Capricorn. Travel schedule is here.


capCapricorn: I had some classical music spooled up and playing at home. I wanted something to help take the edge off some rather high-octane coffee. As one might expect, especially given my bizarre tastes, some rather raucous "Texas honky-tonk" music spilled over into the classical set. How that happened, I’m unsure. Probably a setting on the computer, or the player, or something. Or maybe it was the Capricorn influence at the time. I’d like to think it was the player’s fault, rather than anything I’d programmed into it. But that one song interrupted the peace I was aiming for. Gave me an extra jolt of energy, and it was one of those mornings when that extra jolt wasn’t really called for.

Likewise, when you least expect it, up pops a musical track, or Mars, and that musical lick, or Mars, slams into the Capricorn quiet. Bliss is shattered. Welcome Mars. He’s a bit of troublesome lad, that Mr. Mars. He’s got a mean streak, and he can be a little vicious. I got up, poured some more coffee, and sat back down, legs bouncing with the rhythm, and me, not really singing along, but mouthing some of the words. Yee-Haw. Now, to deal with Mr. Mars and his influences? As soon as that song was over, I went back to a little bit of Beethoven, and not the usual stuff, but one of the lesser-played symphonies. #2, I think. Helped even out the my coffee buzz, and it might help with Mars, too.

aquAquarius: Standing in line, waiting on a cup of coffee to be made expressly for me, I watched a young couple, he chatted on the phone, she pulled out some lipstick. They ordered coffee drinks, and then she turned to me to announce that "Lip-something" lip-something was no good. It was from a big-name brand of stores that are noted for lingerie. Which was even more amusing, as the effects of that particular house-branded lip gloss, or lip stick, or whatever it was, that stuff made her lips stick together. Which was not to her suiting, not at all.

She was Aquarius, and it was a bright December morning, and she and her companion, mate, spouse, or date from the previous evening were cavorting in a familiar way. He didn’t say much other than to order a drink, after he rang off his phone. But she chattered away about that brand of lip-something that was just no good because it made her lips stick together. There was part of bright tattoo poking upwards from her low-rise jeans, ample exposed flesh (this was in Austin, where some December mornings make such apparel okay), and I wasn’t sure.

I did ascertain that she was, indeed Aquarius. But think about a lingerie company that sells a lip stick that help keep the lips sealed, literally sealed. Sealed shut. Then, as the next few days unfold, think about the idea of something similar for yourself. If you can seal it up for just few minutes, you can hear the most interesting comments. But it’s a matter of being quiet. I can’t say that I would endorse the lip gloss route myself.

pisPisces: There’s a little Hispanic teller, works at the bank I use, and I find her just the cutest. Other than a name on the name tag, and the fact that she’s a Pisces, I know nothing else. Can’t tell if she’s married, or what age, or anything other details. I don’t know. Not that an absence of facts has ever posed me with a problem, and I’m sure, to her, I’m account number such and such, or just that weird guy who wanders in from time to time. "Next," she said.

"Hi. I just want to give you some money, you do take cash, don’t you?" I asked. In jest. She swept a stray strand of her brown hair out of the way, "You have a deposit slip?" she was trying to be friendly, but apparently, she’d suffered enough fools and didn’t want to worry through some of the details. Or maybe my humor went right over her head. Or under her radar. One of those. Or maybe, my joke wasn’t funny. Or perhaps, in our litigious society, she can’t appreciate humor in the workplace. I handed over my deposit, and for a change, I kept my mouth shut. No more attempts at what I would call humor. I did mention she’s a Pisces, right?

Hence the lack of humor. It’s not that Pisces are all frazzled, but there’s been one too many weird guys trying to make light of a dark situation, and you’re just not in the mood to deal with us. Me? I knew when to face failure, and I just surrendered my deposit, gathered my receipt, and ambled along my way, thinking, Pisces. Poor Pisces. No one understands." A little levity can be nice, but there’s a problem, too —

ariAries: I was up early, and I was marking the sun’s location, as it rose like giant, orange orb, over the river’s water. Morning coffee time, I poured hot water into the coffee pot, and then stopped. I hadn’t placed any ground-up coffee in the pot yet. Sort of hard to make coffee without coffee beans. I omitted one step in the process, and everything got a little out of rhythm, but most important, to me, was marking the position where the sun was rising. It’s just a little different than the place where it was the week before.

In the course of the winters’ days, there’s not so much that you’d notice it, like, each and every day, but over the two weeks since Xmas and all, the sun’s rising in a slightly different place, to me, marked by a branch. That morning, the other day, when it was so still, and I forgot the coffee? The sun’s gradually moving into a place where it will be kinder and gentler to Aries. However, there’s still a little remnant of tough energy, and the new moon, fast approaching? Again, it’s like that "boil water, pour water in coffee pot," and then realize there isn’t any coffee beans. Just have to back up and start all over.

tauTaurus: The calendar year is next to useless for me. I tend to look at the year in cycles, wherein the shortest day of the year is the middle of the cold, dark times, and then, from that point forward, there’s a gradual rebirth and rejuvenation. Simple pattern, repeated over and over throughout the years.

Problem is, the calendar year started January 1, and that wasn’t the best time for a dear Taurus to be making those outlandish New Year resolutions. Not enough sticking power in your stars. However, with the advent of Mars into Capricorn, and the approaching lunar phase, there’s a chance to start fresh for the new year. I realize we’re already ten or twelve days into the new year, but let’s consider starting from scratch. As in, scratch the old resolutions and come up with a whole, new batch. In the next couple of days, there’s going to be a good time to do just that, plot the forward course for Taurus. Good enough? Think about the fresh start the calendar affords us, then think about doing your own fresh start as the moon and Mars play nice.

gemGemini: Such sweet relief comes in many forms. As documented elsewhere, a good chicken-fried steak is one form of relief. The problem is that said platter of southern-fried goodness has a few problem, too, like excessive calories, or trans fats, or some other kind of something that the nutritional experts assure me aren’t always as good as those elements seem. In the past, that hasn’t interrupted my ingestion of southern-fried goodies.

But the point wherein one has to weigh the emotional comfort of the food against nutritional value and potential health risks is at hand in Gemini land. Time to decide, is the comfort of the chicken-friend goodness really necessary? Or would some other menu item be better, although, the other menu items might be lacking sheer emotional comfort? It’s all about what makes you feel better this instant and weighing that against what makes you feel better the next time you see your medical notes.

canCancer: I had a friend of a friend, really, just a client, who wanted to buy a reading for another friend. Gets kind of convoluted, but I’m used to folks "gifting" readings. However, my little Cancer friend who doing the gifting? There was a set of instructions that went with the reading, as if to dictate what I was supposed to say. In my mind, I figured that I was being directed, and for the price of reading like that? To say what I’m told to say, instead of delineating a chart the way I see it? I’d have to charge a lot more money.

In a case like that, I’d be mouthpiece for someone else, not really an intuitive consultant, "And tell him to get rid of that loser girlfriend of his, that he needs to go out with a good friend and how he would get along with a Cancer much better than that other witch." Could be a sticky ethical problem. Not to me, as it was just another reading, and I do them all the same, with what I bring to table, and I don’t add in the material that someone else wants added in, not at that price. Yes, I can be bought, but not at that price. The whole scenario, and it’s repeated over the years, comes back as an example of what a good Cancer can — and can’t — do. This is less about romance and more about trying to stack the deck in your own favor. And how you do that. What’s ethical?

leoLeo: It’s not so much the sound that you make, sometimes, it is the sound you don’t make. That’s what I was thinking about when I flipped around the mighty Leo chart. Instead of adding to the ongoing soundtrack, think about taking something away from the ambient, background noise. Instead of madly dashing to turn on the stereo, the truck’s 8-track, the TV, the radio, the satellite radio, the whatever you plug those Leo earphones into? Instead of rushing to fill the void with more noise, consider that there’s a time — and place — for a little quiet.

Conversing with a darling Leo, I remembered that she always played recorded music when driving. Always. Tons of it. And when I was working along, looking at where the planets are, I kept thinking about what to do to deal with this. I was going to suggest Beethoven, probably #5, but then I thought about what was happening in my trailer, in Shady Acres, just a little south of the river. The tunes were silent. I’d run the computer’s jukebox for second, to get a sample of something, but then, I was also enjoying the quiet. This is less about what’s in front of you, as to what’s there, off to the side, that you’re missing. So for the next few days? Silence, Leo dear. It’s not always about fishing, you know. Sometimes, a little quiet allows you to hear better.

virVirgo: If I could find a virtual lava lamp, I’d plug the image in here. But I’m kind of picky about the links I run from this web page, although, that has been questioned from time to time, but really I only link that which looks interesting to me. As such, the image of lava lamp was a good one. Or real lava lamp, one of those almost useless pieces of furniture that has an eerily calming effect. It’s about meditation, not pop-culture. Or pop-art. Because this is the Virgo message, the computer generated lava lamps weren’t good enough. I wanted a high resolution, low bandwidth version.

Then I got distracted, which is part of the problem.

My search for a lava lamp that fits your needs is part of the problem, but it’s also part of the solution. Virgo needs to calm down some. There needs to be a degree of rest, contemplation, maybe a soothing glow from a light source that changes and mutates as its fluids change shape and form, then reform. Consider that image of a lava lamp. Consider something like that with a calming effect on your psyche. Pause long enough to soothe your somewhat frayed nerves. As Mars heads towards Capricorn, you’re going to calm down and shoot off in a new direction, but not until Mars hits Capricorn does this happen. And until then? Consider something to calm your nerves, like pointlessly staring at a lava lamp. "I’m thinking, that’s all," you have to say.

libLibra: What I don’t know, or even pretend to understand about how a certain gender thinks, or why some aspect of life can attain monumental proportions of importance, what I don’t know can fill volumes. So I didn’t understand the "bad hair day" scenario, but it seems so appropriate to explain Libra’s energy. Hair looked fine to me. Short, blond, cute, a slight upturn to hair that was normally straight, but then, with what’s left of my curly hair, it doesn’t much matter. Not an issue for me.

However, for Libra? That "bad hair" scenario seemed to ruin a perfectly good outfit. I couldn’t tell. Maybe I’m not observant enough. Maybe I wasn’t looking in the right place. Maybe I wasn’t looking at her hair at all. Or maybe, the Libra perception of what was important and my perception of what was important, maybe those two items don’t line up. Which is the problem with the next few days. Sun’s still in Capricorn. That means there will be a small irritant, or large source of trouble and consternation to the Libra camp. The addendum to the problem, though, and what makes this either better or worse, depending on one’s point of reference, is the fact that rest of us outside observers don’t perceive the problem to be that much of an issue. In fact, it might not be that much of issue. Except, of course, to the well-heeled Libra.

scoScorpio: I was listening to some old rock and roll, actually, I think the stuff is categorized as "new wave," and it dates from the early 1980’s. Don’t ask, I have no idea, it was late at night. Pop music. Radio killed video star. But that’s not what I was thinking about, despite the pop lyrics in the background, I mean, if this trailer’s rockin’, don’t come knockin’? Never mind.

The musical link for a Texas artist, a Scorpio, in fact, out of the Houston area: Lyle Lovett. He has this one song, and it’s about how he (the song’s narrator) is the guy who reads the paper over your shoulder. "No wait, don’t turn the page yet," is the specific sample I was thinking of. It’s not pop music. It’s not really country music. Lyle Lovett is one of those anomalies, it’s a Texas music thang. But that song and its introductory lyric, "No, don’t turn the page yet," I was linking it to Scorpio, above and beyond the artist’s birthday.

It’s a sense, a dry, soft delivery that is smooth as silk. And yet, if you do it just right, remember, keep it smooth and dry, understated elegance, and you can get what you want. The point being, though, it’s going to be a bit of stretch to hit that understated elegance. Do it right? Can be good. Can be a hit — a big Scorpio hit.

sagSagittarius: My trailer in Austin has all of about 200 square feet. Maybe a little less. Not a very big place. Cold winter weather gets to me, after a spell. I can only spend so much time, locked in the embrace of a computer’s screen. Only so much I can do. I realize I need to clean the place a little, and the walls get yellow with cigar smoke because I’m too cheap to open a vent to the cold outside. But what’s required, and this flies in the face of conventional astrology wisdom, is some excuse to pick up and leave. I’m not suggesting a long trip. I’m not intent on trekking half-way around the world this week, but after feeling caged for a while, it’s time to move. Mild days punctuated with cold nights, it’s wintertime here.

Herein lies the key for Sagittarius happiness — at this juncture. Move. Doesn’t have to be a lot, but as Mars shifts into the Sagittarius Solar Second House (right, like I have a second house), it’s time to get up and get out. Again, this goes against conventional wisdom, and individually, I can’t recommend it, but for Sagittarius as a whole, this is a time to move. For me, it was simple journey, just out the door to the post office, along the trail for spell, just an hour or two away from the confines of home. Just a short change of venue like that did wonders. When I got home, the trailer was no longer dank and dusty, cold and bereft of companionship. Felt like home, But to appreciate home, I had to get out. Same deal applies across the line to our Sagittarius selves, just move.

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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