Horoscopes for the week starting 3.4.2010

“Truth has a quiet breast.”
Shakespeare’s The Tragedy of King Richard II [I.iii.100]

Fishing Guide to the Stars
by Kramer Wetzel
For the week starting: 3.4.2010

Mars begins an un-retrograde process of rebuilding what has been rent asunder.

“Kiss me I’m one-fifth Irish.”

Pisces: “You go out with a guy called ‘Kramer,’ and weird, it just goes with the territory,” a date was explaining, “not like I figured dating you would be anything normal, whatever that means.” Not a Pisces, but that weirdness quotient? That’s very much present. Some Pisces will insist that there’s a “Kramer quotient” present, too. That much?

I’ll deny it. It’s not really me. It’s a combination of events that stack up planets and energies in strange ways, and that’s strange, even by the Pisces standards. Which are generally fairly liberal, in the weird way. Isolation is the solution.

It’s your birthday week, and everything is inside the Pisces circle is a screaming “Party!” However, everything outside the Pisces circle is gently suggesting to tone it down. Dinner for two, not two hundred. Quiet evenings with a one, Pisces-friendly person of interest. Not a barroom full of half-strangers. I’m just saying, tone it down. Work in the quiet time. You can enjoy adequate — even by your standards — enjoyment. Just take it easy.

Aries: One morning, last week, I went to the post office to fetch up the mail. Bills, more bills, no money and a returned package. My tax forms I’d sent off to Mr. Tax Forms guy, the accountant. Mailed them a few days earlier, one, I didn’t have sufficient postage, so there was that pesky “postage due” issue, and a second deal? Have to hand a package over, if it weighs more than 13 ounces or something.

I was a my usual, merry self in the long line that afternoon. Spent more time waiting on the postage than anything else that afternoon. One person behind me got disgusted and stormed out as only a well-heeled Latina can do. A person who can make more noise without uttering a sound. Sighs, heaving breasts and the click-click of high heels on post office floors. Punctuated by the swish of a dress — for added emphasis.

As Mars turns around in his apparent position, you can wait behind. I’ll let you cut in front of me, but we’re still going to wait to get up to the next available teller. Really, less than 20 minutes, but it can sure seem like hours, can’t it?

Taurus: Size matters. In the coming spring months, as we all roll tentatively closer and closer to the most glorious time: Taurus, what happens is that the fish get bigger. Right now, the bass are swelling with eggs. Makes for good fishing, but I like to wait until the females have dropped their eggs. Likewise, with coastal fishing, the little runts are just now yearlings, and not quite big enough to keep (and grill).

I was thinking about this because most the lakes around here have a 20-inch minimum on keepers for bass. Likewise, the coast? Minimum 20-inches for Red Drum (Redfish). The big deal right now, it’s less of a big deal, it’s more about what’s going on with the planets, but those fish sizes matter.

On many occasions, too often to mention, I’ve laid a fish down on the ruler, only to have that fish not quite make the notch in the ruler. Doesn’t matter if this fresh water or salt water, just not quite close enough is a deal killer. Back in the water the fish goes, usually followed by a grumpy, “Grow up” command from me. Mars is befuddling Taurus endeavors. Way it goes.

Throw them back and catch them another day, what I say.

Gemini: As a Gemini, I’m sure you’ll understand. Sometimes, quantity is more important than quality. I was with a buddy, fishing, tucked up into a cove, kind of tight, sort of the first of the pre-spawn movement, and there was an old, dead tree laying there, in the middle of the creek. “Just drop it on the other side,” my buddy pointed to tree’s trunk.

I slung it side-handed, and missed, fell short of the mark. I reeled the little weighted bait back in. “Hit it,” he told me. I did hit it. I hit the tree trunk, the water in front, the bank, the willow branch that was overhanging, and some protruding roots. I just flailed away until I finally got the bait to arc over the branch and land where I wanted to go. Something — must’ve been a huge Large Mouth Bass — struck at the bait but spit it out before we had chance to become acquainted. Just the way it goes, some days.

Took me six, maybe seven tries to get that in the fish’s mouth. But I did. Might take six or seven tries for Gemini, too. Getting everywhere but right where you want it to be? Deal is, planet-wise, you could catch the fish by next week. If you’re luckier than me.

Cancer: In these “modern times,” this is a hard image to paint, but I’ll try. On older, “retro” vehicles, first gear in a standard transmission, on some vehicles, it’s a not a smooth “synchro mesh.” Old truck I used to drive was like that. Had to be at a complete stop and even then, it was ticklish affair, trying to coax the shifter into first gear. Required a deft hand, a little force, some swearing, and even then, there would sometimes be that horrendous sound of metal-on-metal grinding. Gear teeth not engaging in the proper sequence.

I have no idea if you’ve ever had the pleasure of wrestling an older vehicle like that. Without power steering, no power brakes, and shifter that is balky as a first wife? It’s all problems, all the time. There are joys, too, as the appreciative stares and then, too, the added advantage that the mechanical aspect of the vehicle is simple and easy to repair.

However, must be a dead stop, or guess and gauge the gears just right to hit first (gear). No, not without problems, but then, the computer chip never had a bad day in that old truck. Anyway, I was thinking about searching for first gear at a dead stop. Pretty much describes what’s happening in your sign, my fine Cancer friend. Slow to a complete stop and see if you can horse that into gear without the grinding noises.

Leo: I was waiting at a stoplight, busy downtown street. In as much as any city in Texas can have a “busy downtown street,” I mean, I’m sure we seem kind of tame compared to real cities, but no one walks in LA and I’m too scared of NY.

The guy standing — sort of — by me, we were headed in the same direction, he punched the “walk” button. Punched it a second time. Called it something about “Pinch-Hay-Way,” that I didn’t understand, and he then he punched the button again. Sort of slapped at the button.

What I’ve observed, and I’m willing to pass this along to my little Leo friends? No matter how many times you push, punch, slap, or curse the button? Once the electrical relay has been triggered, it will work when it works. When it’s set to work. Not one iota of time before. All that cursing, jiggling, dancing, swearing, punching and cajoling? Doesn’t matter one bit to the button or the light’s timer.

Virgo: Pisces is the sign that’s on the other side of the astrological “wheel.” It’s a water sign. Virgo is an Earth sign. I tend to think you’re grounded in reality and, well, opposites are what they are.

The problem with this next few days is that your ideas might come a little unglued from reality. In one case, a buddy made a fishing jig that was two-headed, eight-legged, crawfish-crawdad-crayfish combination. Only one tail, but claws and legs, and it wasn’t natural looking. Didn’t bother the pair, not once, but twice, he landed 6 and 8-pound bass with his unnatural creation.

Bass, they can be provoked into biting instead of just feeding, and I’m sure that’s what made my buddy’s creation work. Too many legs, too many heads, not enough tail, just scary — and plainly resembling nothing in nature. But it worked. And results speak for themselves.

Even though I see you as a little unglued in the reality department these days? Like my buddy’s homemade lure? It worked. I’m just giving you a fair warning that I do suspect you are a little unglued from the planet earth — which doesn’t mean you can come up with a winning combination, but if no likes it? Can’t say I didn’t try and warn you.

Libra: I was idly pacing up and down a local dock, other afternoon. Pole in hand, I was languidly casting a jig out, and slowly reeling it back in. I wasn’t expecting any fish, as I had this one timed just about perfect. Like with this Mars thing I’ve been hammering about for a while? Like for Libra, this week? Last quarter moon, and so on?

I got to the lake about an hour too early to expect any fish to show up. I had time to record a message, return a client call, and try a new lure. Then the moon would shift signs, and I knew it would be “fish on!”

True to form, true to my prediction, true to my own, internal clock and time-keeping, it was about an hour. Then, back-to-back, a couple of good strikes, one fish, pictures on the website, etc.

If I knew I wasn’t going to get any fish before that, why did I bother? For one, I didn’t know, not for sure, and for two, I liked the daily solitude and quiet of the lake in the middle of the week, no weekend warriors out making a mess.

Look, think about me, casually strolling up and down that dock, more practicing than fishing, and more just be relaxed and enjoying my environment instead of getting worked up over pressure to perform. Your week is like my hour before the moon shifted signs. You’ll feel it this week, as matters seems to stretch to infinity.

Scorpio: I ran into an old buddy, a Scorpio. I asked him how it was going, and his reply? I don’t like to prey on the misfortune of others, but, what he said? “My mom. My girlfriend. I was supposed to meet Mom the other afternoon, at the bar, and when I got there, traffic was a bitch, you know, my Mom was drinking. With my girlfriend.”

The rest of the story is kind of a sad song about drunken secrets and lengthy, forgotten conversations, and histories that neither mothers nor children would like to hear. Me? I was amused. Not a significant other, not a horse in that race, and you have to feel a little sorry for the Scorpio lad. Not a happy occurrence.

Family members, not just moms, started in on the the “When he was little” stories, and those can be problematic. Add a layer of barroom camaraderie? Think about how badly this can go. Mars is slowly turning around, slowly changing his position and slowly picking up the pace. How bad can this be?

Add that layer of alcohol on top of the problem. The more I heard, the better the story got because reality, and sane judgement, departed early on. Maybe that makes it not so bad. Like Mars.

Sagittarius: “Expect the unexpected” is almost a trite expression. I was flying in from a short business trip, and while I was in line to catch a cab at the airport, at the disembarkation area, I noticed a pick-up, big, diesel rig, towing a trailer. A horse trailer. Not a small horse trailer but a long one. Seeing that at the airport, this was a while back, but I noted it.

What was odd, with the rich and abundant ranch land here, is that a horse trailer in traffic at the airport? It’s not odd.

Weird that it’s not weird. Amused my thoroughly cosmopolitan self, but as a point of fact, I guess it’s really not that odd. I can’t see trying to negotiate that kind of trailer in the tight airport, no parking zones. Could be me. I didn’t see any horses in the back, either, but if there were? Even better.

Just, I could see this happening, bringing an old friend to the airport to meet a returning family member. I slid in the backseat of a cab, and that’s the last I saw of the horse trailer. Or that one. “Expect the unexpected,” due to a stellar influence, that doesn’t work. Odd? Sure. Odd in context? Not really. Out of context? Weird. Expect the unexpected.

Capricorn: I was at the movies, other afternoon. There was special deal, with my ticket. For a dollar, I could get a candy bar. Had to be a certain brand of candy bar, and it’s not an item I’m particularly interested in, I mean, it’s more paraffin, refined sugar and chemicals, and less chocolate, which, according to the ancient oracles, that stuff is the food of the gods. The chocolate, not the other ingredients. Sugar, high-fructose corn syrup, vanilla extract, and some of the contents?

Some of what’s that stuff in the “chocolate” bar? Derived from petroleum products. Oil. Not like a bean oil, or fruit oil, but an “oil out of crude oil” oil. Yeah, weird. Why I try to stay away from reading the ingredients as that will ruin anything, this isn’t about what was in the candy bar, this is about the offer, for only a dollar and the ticket stub.

Since when did that seem like a good deal? Speaks highly for my one Capricorn friend’s method of using a big purse to carry in food and beverages. We’ve only been kicked out of one theater, and the movie wasn’t that good, anyway. This isn’t about the movie — more about the price of the candy at the movie. Think about this: the same candy bar, at the high-priced “convenience” store across the street? The candy bar cost less than a dollar there. No coupon required. How easily do you fall for marketing ploys? Click here to find out.

Aquarius: The general malaise that is called “The Flu” got its name from the Italian, “influenza,” which, presumably has something to do with the same word in English, “Influence.” One unreliable source suggested that the term is derived from the concept that — early on — the cause of the illness was “influenced” by the stars. As if.

The stars don’t spread diseases. Or general malaise. Or even specific maladies. What the stars do influence, though is tone, timbre, time. The tone is one that’s like a song with no timbre and only time will cure this bad tune.

In plainer words, the last quarter moon is making life difficult, especially going into the coming weekend. After the weekend is over? There’s a bright spot. Not a solution, but a more clear pathway that gets lighted up. However, this won’t be clear until the weekend is over. I can’t make it happen faster, it’s just how I’d read that influence from the heavens.