For the Week starting: 7.26.2007

"Time travels in divers paces with divers persons."
Shakespeare’s As You Like It (III.ii.125)

    Venus begins a retrograde pattern this next couple of days — the original post about the retrogrades is here. Upcoming events, information is here. And in the news, here.

leoLeo: I can’t exactly explain the physics of the question, or why this works this way. What I’ve noticed, time and again, on a hot afternoon in the middle of July, I’ll be on one of the lakes, in a boat, and it’s not really that warm out. The air temperature is close to 100, or maybe higher. The water temperature, since most of these lakes are nothing more than cooling ponds for power plants, the water is close to the same temperature as the air, 80 to 90 degrees, and really, too warm for the fish.

But while we’re on the boat? In the middle of the lake? Even with no breeze stirring the sodden air? It still feels pretty good, not exactly cool, but not too hot, either. So it is enjoyable, even if it’s the middle of Texas in the middle of a hot summer month. However, once we head back to shore? Once we’re off the water? It gets uncomfortably hot. Pull the boat out? And as soon as the boat is out of the water? Hot. Miserably so.

I’m sure there’s an emotional logic here, as well as a scientific theory. But I’m not interested in the facts, just the feelings. To effectively deal with the Moon, Saturn and the Leo Birthdays, there’s got to be a way to put yourself in a position wherein — if you’re not actually on a boat in the middle of a lake — you’re in position that’s like that, a spot where you can feel like it’s a little cooler, a little easier to manage the heat of the situation. Something like that.

virVirgo: I have a finely tuned sense of the absurd. Perhaps this is dues to some undue influence in my astrology chart. Perchance this is accredited to my upbringing. Maybe it’s the sum total of my life experiences, which, for the last decade, has included listening to clients. Anytime I think I’ve heard it all, I get one more illuminating tale told to me by some party, and there’s always a new one.

This isn’t a challenge to the Virgo folks to come up with new tale of woe, misfortune, mistaken identity, or worse, love gone awry, as it typically occurs, during the next six weeks. Instead of worrying about it, well, some Virgo minds will worry, but instead of letting "worry" rue and ruin the day, why not borrow from my set of mental tools? There’s an easy way around this problematic Venus thing that starts here, in Virgo.

Hone your sense of the absurd. It’s going to get tweaked in the next few weeks. It’s really that simple. Enjoy calumnies and embrace the weirdness quotient. There is a longer term influence at work here, too. I was — in typical Virgo fashion — doing a load of laundry while ruminating on your horoscope. Some change shook loose out of a pocket of some article of clothing that was heading into the washing machine. Pennies from heaven, I think to myself. It’s not much, but it counts. See how absurd this can be? That’s the point, too, as embracing the little absurdities? That’s how we can all face this incoming Venus non-event.

libLibra: I’m a guy. Some have suggested that I’m no more than adolescent male trapped in an adult body, but I can’t vouchsafe in either direction on that question. However, I do understand a few of the mysteries of life. And some mysterious situation, items, potions and such, I can’t fathom — not that I would want to, either. Most males are aware that there are lotions and potions, scents, and "girl stuff" in every woman’s medicine cabinet. Items that we, as mere males, can never understand. Necessary things, too. But what they are, their uses, and meanings? Mysterious stuff. Don’t question it.

I can’t tell an exfoliation scrub from a defoliation rinse, and those are just two examples. I haven’t a clue. I’m pretty sure this sort of material has existed since the dawn of time, too. Some caveman, back in our distant past, was just scratching his head, wondering why the cave woman was doing what she was doing. As a guy, I can’t understand the plethora of objects and ointments, nor can I even begin to understand the mysterious nature of the "girl stuff." Given my years, it should be easier for me to comprehend, but what I know is that I don’t know, and as a reasonably sentient being, I know that I shouldn’t begin to plunge into these mysteries. So I don’t.

As a Libra, male or female, you understand one, if not both, sides of the question. And as a Libra, understand that you either do, or don’t, get it. The meaning. As a guy, it’s pretty simple for me, I don’t get it, and I will never get it, and I just understand that I don’t understand. Perhaps this is clue on how to deal with Mercury’s waxing influence, Saturn and Mars lining up against each other, or worse, the way Venus is maneuvering. Either you get it, or you don’t, but in either case? Trying to explain isn’t worth the effort.

scoScorpio: A long, black limousine-looking town car, pulled out of a parking lot and stopped, blocking my route on the sidewalk. Slowly, mysteriously, a tinted window quietly slid down, and there was a familiar Scorpio face. Hair was longer than I remembered, but she was a merry Scorpio, and she hadn’t consulted me in ages. Okay, so this was the middle of July, and I was about to enter restaurant to meet a client. "Kramer, you’ve got a shirt on!"

Yes, I was wearing a shirt, and on a hot summer day, that is, indeed, a tad odd. When that Scorpio hung out in the old trailer park, months would go by before she’d see me in anything resembling proper attire. So the shirt, and me, semi-formal by summer standards, attired was a little unsettling. Maybe not so bad, but I had to admit, the vehicle suited her. Black. Long. Low-slung. Menacing, in an (Scorpio) understated manner. Consider that kind of approach, and I’m not suggesting that you rush out to purchase ore lease a limousine-style gas burner, it’s more along the lines of the mysterious and slightly menacing look. There’s a stylish affectation that comes with such an approach. It can serve you well, in an understated way. Let Scorpio actions speak for themselves.

sagSagittarius: Venus tweaks our fine Sagittarius sentiment in a slightly harsh manner. It’s not as if our epic Sagittarius lives are not rounded out with a few miscues and missteps. But between a backwards Jupiter and backwards Venus, worse yet, Venus is starting her errant path in the incipient stages of Virgo, there’s going to be a more than usual chance for the wrong word — or gesture — at the precisely the worst time imaginable.

We were fishing , one time, and it was just like this: a school of bass would start popping off the starboard side. My line was off the port side. I’d reel in quickly, only to have the school chase the bait over to the port side. Didn’t matter where I cast, the fish seemed to know it. No sooner did I land a cast where the school was, then, like magic, they’d move off to the other side. I was wondering if they were employing wee, tiny "fisherman finder" radars. Like a fish finder, only, just for whatever it was I was throwing in their directions, that school would appear on the opposite side of the boat. Taunting. Teasing, as if they were toying with me.

That’s what this next couple of days feels like. Doesn’t matter where you put the bait, it’s right out of their reach. Almost comical, if you can find the humor in it. I can, but then, I’m all about fishing. Catching? That’s problematic in the middle of this summer.

capCapricorn: I ran into a Capricorn buddy I hadn’t seen in a few weeks. She was, at the very least, a little bit distressed. Not too much so, but it just seems like there’s been one item after an other, the usual material that I associate with her Capricorn chart, and all of this material seems to have piled up. She’s just now digging herself out of the morass of this last month.

What happened, eventually, her fingernails popped off. She usually has those acrylic, French-styled, perfect for scratching the cat, kind of nails. But stress makes the fingernails ‘sweat’ extra oil, and that causes the glued-on jobbies to come unglued. To some folks, this might be serious. To me? Wouldn’t bother me a bit. Bothers the cat, though. Which is really the point, too, because this isn’t like, an end-of-the-world scenario, it’s more along the lines of an excess of personal, Capricorn angst as evidenced by a whole set of fake fingernails coming unglued.

It’s summertime. It’s hot. Time to let the nails be free to breath, so to speak, and that reaction to the stressful last couple of weeks? Time to figure out how that’s a good thing. Venus is going backwards, but it’s not going to be that bad, not as long as you find a way to get around the results.

aquAquarius: I was in a sporting goods store, once noted for its vast array of fishing equipment and supplies, with a buddy and his wife. I needed some specialty hooks and a particular flavor of plastic bait. I was looking a "smoke salt & pepper metal flake" wiggly bit of plastic. Probably a "bass assassin," but I don’t recall the brand name. Good bait, and I was low on supplies.

My buddy, he fingered a package of blue metal-flake baits. "Here, these work great. Matches her eyes." Package cost less than two bucks, I bought it. I tried those blue jobbies a few days later. I watched as the fish expressed zero interest in the color, the presentation, the motion. The beauty of living so close to a clear body of water is research and development, as I get to watch what works, or, for that matter, doesn’t work.

Like those blue ones. Nary an interest. I could dangle them right in front of the fish, and the bait might as well been invisible. Maybe it was. Maybe the local bass are color blind to blue. The lesson I learned? Maybe, just maybe, buying fishing lures based on some guy’s wife’s eye color isn’t the best way to go. Then, too, there’s the idea that maybe, just maybe, I was being led astray, so I wouldn’t catch all the fish. It’s a possibility. Trial and error proved that my original supposition was correct. I’m not saying you can’t trust your friends’ advice, but maybe weigh their color selections against what you know in your own, Aquarius mind.

pisPisces: We were sitting in a little Tex-Mex place, somewhat south of where I live. I looked at the waitress, "Pisces, right?" My date rolled her eyes. The waitress almost dropped her order pad, "How’d you know?" "Oh, he does this all the time. Don’t pay any attention to him." I countered with two years, then a possible range of dates for the birthday. The Pisces server was aghast. We ordered. I was doing a quick mental calculation, much to the chagrin of the person I was with.

But she did pester a little, "How did you know?" Trade secret, really. Or the idea, that I’ve done so many charts, that I finally recognize certain characteristics. And although she didn’t remember me, I’m sure I’ve seen that waitress before, someplace else. Maybe at a bar or a party, and that’s how I knew the year and so forth. I rattled off a prediction when the chips arrived, and she was in a better mood.

I doubt the prediction for that server will come true, though. There is no prince charming — he died in the 17th Century. He hasn’t be resurrected. But the qualities of a prince charming, maybe with tarnished armor, or an old nag of a horse instead of a mighty steed? That could be happening sooner than you think. Don’t shoot the messenger, either. I’m just saying that there is a solution to an immediate problem, and the planets will deliver. Like that Pisces delivering a plate of Tex-Mex cusisine.

ariAries: The "power ballad" has a long and much-revered position in the annals of rock music. Seems like it’s one of those songs that gets included in every metal band’s repertoire. Probably leaked over to other genres as well, but I was thinking about the sad, dolorous musical lament, as generated by every metal group with decent street credit.

Now, I’m going to suggest that it’s a good time to pen your own, Aries-head, metal power-ballad. Doesn’t have to be a sad song, doesn’t have to be ten or twelve minutes long, doesn’t have to have sonorous — or gratuitous — guitar solo. Maybe a good drum beat, though, as the martial beat is still present in Aries. So do up this "power ballad" tune, and consider that it’s going to be your personal anthem for the next few days. You can owe your inspiration to Mars, or the sun slipping along into the first part of Leo, but either way, you’ve got the source material for your own power ballad. Be Aries-proud this next week.

tauTaurus: Me and a buddy, not named "bubba," were standing outside a little hamburger stand. Hot summer night, usual crowd, I expect. Guy and his date (girlfriend?) walk up behind us. Guy was wearing a certain brand of T-shirt with the name of a casino in Las Vegas, and that brand is best known for it’s scantily clad women.

My buddy looks over, and asks the guy if he he’d been to the casino, and then my buddy notes, that he had, and the women weren’t nearly as attractive as they were at other locations. Now, the guy who was wearing the t-shirt, he agreed with my buddy. Guy talk, short discourse, didn’t take too long. But the girlfriend? Or date? She was looking a little irritated with the exchange. I don’t think she was on the trip to Las Vegas, and I don’t think the real story about how the guy wound up with that t-shirt matched what he told her.

I could be wrong, but the sneer, snarl and concomitant body language suggested that there was trouble in paradise. Such as it is. I can’t say she was a Taurus, as our conversation was interrupted by the number on my burger ticket. But I was figuring that the guy had a little bit of fast talking and pleading scheduled for his evening, after chatting with us. I tend to divide the signs into three parts, to gain a little more accuracy with forecasts. In this situation, there is an interloper, the offended party, and the guilty party. You’ll be one, this week, maybe get to play all three, but which one? That’s for you — and Mars — and your voice — to decide.

gemGemini: I fished one lake, one morning, probably last week. I used a brand of fishing lure called a "Gay Blade." Worked pretty well. Wobbles, weaves, attracts fish. So the next morning, with that lure still attached to a pole, I flipped the lure into the lake behind Shady Acres. I could see some bass, a gang of them, cruising along, looking for some breakfast. Probably brunch, as the sun was getting up there. Those fish? Up to no good, as is their wont. I placed a couple of casts that brought that one wobbling lure right back in front of those bass noses. The lure itself was making me hungry, it looked that good.

The Shady Acres Gang would have nothing to do with it. One particularly accurate cast, and I was able to dredge the bait, weaving and shaking, right in front of that gang. No luck. Made them scatter, in fact. Either the action of the lure, or maybe the trademark name, or maybe the phase of the moon? Something about the lure spooked them. What worked well, one day before? Didn’t even have a chance, not the next day. Different locations, different fish, different conditions. I’ve had luck changing up what works, but as I returned to the trailer–house, I was thinking about the name of the lure. Mention it in certain circles, and there is much snickering. So I got to wondering if that had something to do with the fish scattering. Maybe not, but who can tell? Be careful, a Gemini needs to be culturally aware, politically correct, particularly with planets like this week’s. What worked before might not work now. Why? Might just be the name.

canCancer: I was fishing the other morning. Some surprise, that. I tossed a lure out, and I started wind in the line immediately, and due to the mechanics as well as the physics of fishing line, the line looped around a knob on the reel. I stopped and undid the line’s extra, offending loop, and proceeded to take up the slack. Felt like the lure had sunk far enough to hit a snag, so I pulled harder.

Fish on (the purported purpose of the exercise). A simple mistake and error in my handling resulted in a fish. Wasn’t really a big one, but it was one of those fighters who doesn’t let go. I was wondering, what goes through its wee bass mind? "Why is my breakfast pulling me towards the shore?"

That one was a head shaker, and just as I got him near the shore, about to hoist him up for a picture, he unzipped himself from the bait. However, I had to call it a lucky mistake. The line, the loop, the extra time for the lure to flutter towards the bottom of the creek? All paid off. Little mistakes, or simple miscues, or even just a slight timing problem? How you handle the situation is what works for you. Like me, you’re going to make an error. Judgment, execution, some misstep. However, also like me, this might just result in what you’re trying to do in the first place, and like me, it might be a successful mistake. All depends on whether or not you stop and cuss, or just handle the little exigencies.

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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