“And do as adversaries do in law,
Strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends.”
Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew [I.ii.257-8]

Libra: I have a personal guideline I try to follow. I’ll pass this along as a thematic element for the next couple of days, in fact, a good set of rules to adhere to.

“If I have to do it, then it should be fun and educational.”

Towards that end, I mean, I do make a serious effort, whether it’s technical aspects of astrology or web pages, or even how to answer the current generation of “smart” phones, I make a concerted effort to ensure that I find a level of amusement in the tasks.

Make it fun, entertaining, or at least, educational for myself. I like to see how I’m getting something out of the process.

It’s not a one way street, one side of the highway of life and I don’t just go careening down my side of the road with no thought or engagement. There’s got to be some stuff to stop and gawk at, maybe a book to read, or pictures that mean something.

It’s a two-way street. Give and take. I realize it feels a lot more like take instead of give, but find the joy therein. There is pleasure and lesson, and a way to make them easier to chew, if you let yourself find the amusement. One of the biggest troubles I’ve seen with my Libra friends? They all seem to lose track of the joy.

Scorpio: Sage advice from the Scorpio corner, “Never corner something meaner than you.”

I’d be the first to suggest that there’s nothing meaner than a Scorpio. However, that doesn’t stop someone from setting up a situation wherein you’re going to feel like you’ve been cornered. Won’t be me, trying to corner a Scorpio, that’s for sure. I’m not willing to risk the damage to body, mind and soul.

Think about it, though, as Mars and Venus, New Moon, Saturn — all of that? Let’s just say you’re, no, work it this way, imagine you’re a normal, happy, well-adjusted dog. Then imagine that you’re chasing a car. Don’t see that much any more, but we can all pretend for a moment, that the Scorpio dog is chasing a car. What happens when the car stops? What do you do then?

That’s a variation on the theme of cornering a critter thats meaner than you. What do you do with it, once you’ve got it? I don’t think you’re going to get cornered, that’s not it. I think you’ve got the upper-hand, the better position, but like that dog, what do you do with the car if you do catch it?

Sagittarius: One of my little buddies was going to the doctor to get some work done. He didn’t want me to discuss his procedure on the web since it’s kind of embarrassing, for him.

One of those long tubes with a camera at one end, but you didn’t hear it from me.

We got to the doctor building and he had to run to the bathroom, one more time. I was standing at the elevators, doctor’s office was the sixth floor, so I was waiting. Another person walked over and patiently watched while I toyed with the phone, glancing up at the elevators. I didn’t do a thing. Never pushed a button.

Waited for a long time, I was, after all, just waiting on Bubba who was in the can, on the can. Going to the doctor for his can, too, I guess.

Didn’t hear it from me.

The part that was fun, for me, I didn’t touch the button, I just stood there, waiting on my buddy. The other person stood there, and waited, too. My friend shows up, hobbling and complaining, and I push the elevator button. The other person looked at me. Elevator door popped open.

Didn’t hear it from me, but a Sagittarius can’t make assumptions this week.

Capricorn: This week has tone and flavor. More than anything else, I’m reminded of the great rock-anthem ballads. The power ballad from the metal set. A heavy metal power ballad.

One of those love songs, tragedy condensed into manic screaming, since, let’s be honest, the bulk of the singing on heavy metal can sound like screaming.

There are several components to a good Metal Power Ballad. Story line. Pain, guitar solo. Strong backing drum. All of that. Then there’s the epic duration. Pop songs used to last about two-and-a-half minutes. Length grew to three, four and five minutes, but a good Metal Power Ballad? Minimum is six minutes, while many last much longer, up to ten minutes.

Get one of those jam bands on stage? Yeah, never mind. That’s old news. You have a week that’s going to stretch out like a heavy metal power ballad. Better bands, usually include one (1) ballad, and if true to form, it’s on the third album. This is a traditional musical element since the 1970’s, so it’s not that odd, not anymore.

The reason for this week like heavy metal ballad? Time stretches a little too long, the solo, while it’s good, it’s still too lengthy. The lyrics themselves? A little melodramatic, out of context. Take away one element, and it all looks kind of lame. Leave all the pieces where they are. Works better that way.

Aquarius: Ennio Morricone is credited with writing the musical score to a number of great “Spaghetti Westerns.” There’s a lonely sound, and what’s more amusing, it’s supposedly an American theme while the movies were filmed with European actors in Spain by an Italian crew, and never mind. I just find that bit of cinema-based trivia greatly amusing.

The theme song for “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly” cycled up on my playlist, as I was looking at your chart. Think about the diverse and really, divergent elements in that music. It’s Western and Central, for that matter, European interpretation of the Western American mythology.

Confused yet? Should be.

The opening credits to any of those movies would be a good place to start. Lone rider, stretched, against a supposedly “Nueces Strip” kind of land. Only it’s really Italy, or Spain or something, but never mind that. It’s the feeling, the empty spaces, all alone out there in Aquarius land. You’re not alone, but that doesn’t matter. It’s the feeling of the lone “hombre” with no name, wide-open spaces. Cowboy up, Aquarius — in the best Spaghetti Western fashion. After all, Clint Eastwood? Gemini.

Pisces: One of my hidden fears, one of those nightmare-like scenarios that plays out in my brain from time to time? Dark nights, cold winter nights, or, just like the other week? I cranked the AC down a lot lower than I should’ve? Way below my usual 80, and it was just a cold night — perfect for these thoughts.

Terrifying scenes, zombies, carnage and destruction, playing over and over in my mind: musical theater. A musical. One of those scenes where the entire cast on stage bursts into song!

For some reason, it’s scary to me. It’s a private fear, one that I wouldn’t make public but can you just imagine, you’re in the market place, in a store, in a hotel lobby and suddenly, staff and guests turn in unison, and break out in song. Song and some choreography.

Just frightening. I’m male, white and straight. No rhythm and poor fashion choices. That’s me.

Stuck in the middle of a song and dance routine, straight out of a musical staged fifty years ago, or even further back. Private fear made public. I’ve been open about my fear. As a Pisces, this is less about a fear and more about being caught in the middle of song and dance that you don’t know the steps, don’t know the tune, and you’re stuck, wondering, why some really large lady is singing.

Aries: Hold up there. Just hold on a second. Just wait a minute Minute’s too long. Wait a second. Thirty seconds, maybe, okay. Just hold up. Hang on for just minute. Give me, like, about thirty seconds, okay?

Pause.

That’s what this is all about. The final quarter of the moon phase, the new moon eventually rocking Saturn, all that stuff shooting off in different directions? If you scatter yourself too thin? Nothing will get accomplished. Nothing at all. Hold up.

Pause. Wait one friggin’ minute, okay? Just halt. Stop. Chill. Wait.

Pause. Hold on, not quite yet. Close, but not yet. Just hold up there for a second, okay?

You can either pause, or something’s going to slow you down. As an Aries, it’s much preferably that this is a pause by choice instead of being held up by some other person. So? So hold up there for a second.

Pause.

Taurus: Last place I lived that had a dishwasher, I mean, like a real machine that does the dirty dishes, I don’t mean, like a girlfriend who washes the dishes because, let’s face facts, that would probably be me washing the dishes, so anyway the last time, it’s been decades now, that I lived in place with a working dishwasher, I remember how it was when some article, like a saucer or the underside indentation on a plastic tumbler, I well recall how that would always collect a little bit of water, and that’s what it’s like for our dear Earth Sign (Taurus) because Mars and Venus are poking through in Scorpio, a water sign which is opposite your fine Taurus self, and that’s like that little remanent water on the top of the saucer, or it could be that plastic tumbler, but you reach for it, and little drops, a small splash of water gets on you, and it isn’t really bad, just a minor annoyance, at least for slob like me, it’s no trouble at all, the secret to a successful week, when the water spills over into your life, don’t react badly, just reach for a dishcloth and dry yourself off and then dry off the offending dish, and try to say this whole thing in one breath.

Gemini: I’m not a beach person. I don’t “do” beaches. Haven’t since I was very young. I do like the coast, but that means fishing, usually inshore fishing, as I’ve found that’s the most fun for me, most fishing action for time invested. More bang for the buck. So my collection of beach towels is a little odd as I don’t use them at the beach. However, I do use them.

Typically, in the spring, summer, fall, I’ll keep a towel draped over my desk chair to keep it dry. Coming in from swimming, hopping out of the shower with a great idea, all wet activities and all protected by the beach towel. So I don’t use it in a standard way, like, going to the beach and spreading the towel out in the sand and laying there. No, not typical. However, the towel does get used. Often as not, well my office is private, but I consider the colors a useful addition, makes the workspace prettier.

That’s what this is all about, too, a simple addition, change, or maybe a non-standard use of a piece of equipment. Like beach towels on office chairs.

Cancer: Old folk wisdom, “Sometimes you get, and sometimes you get got.” While I’m loathe to use old-fashioned, home-spun mannerisms like that quote as astrological advice, there’s an element that just fits.

It’s about what you’re expecting to get out of the next seven days. I can’t make this stuff work better. There’s much Cardinal Air pressing down on your poor, sweet, kind, gentle Cancer self. Between that and the Scorpio flavors? You can come out ahead, but there’s a point where subterfuge is the best way. I’m not saying you have to be overtly sneaky, but moving quietly, that helps.

Maybe not so much about employing stealth as much as just not doing the “Peacock” thing. The male Peacock spreads a huge fan of feathers that really does draw a great deal of attention. So try not drawing attention. Otherwise, you might get “got” this next couple of days.

Leo: If you will be patient, I need about ten days for this, I know, it’s a weekly scope, but this one requires ten days. It’s a very nice Leo horoscope, provided you follow my advice to the letter. During the next seven days? Keep quiet. Your co-worker, boss, minions, children, friends, one of them, maybe more than one, will start mouthing off.

Watch. Listen. STFU. Shut up.

Whatever message you need to hear, read or see? Be quiet.

There’s a time to make a stand and this isn’t the time to make the stand. Next seven days. Now I promised something really, really, really, I mean, really that good? Yes. That good. Instead of the usual big, huge, “ginormous” Leo-centric production? Stay silent the next seven days? I’m betting, around ten days from now, you get to pop off with the loudest of cracks. Only do so quietly. There are times when our indoor voice, us, being quiet can make more noise than the loud version.

What do you get in ten days if you good for seven days? You get the best of all ripostes, the highest of good, for a mighty Leo. You get to tell someone, “I told you so.” However, for the next seven days? Quiet.

Virgo: In Elizabethan England, Theaters weren’t allowed to advertise, not in the modern sense of marketing. However, in Shakespeare’s era, there was a way around this potential problem. Flags. Black pennant was tragedy, white pennant was comedy, and red was history play. ‘Red’ meant ‘history,’ probably because the history plays were so bloody. At Shakespeare’s Globe – Bankside (Southwark, London, UK), they still fly pennants; however, they also have a huge office and staff dedicated to more modern versions of marketing, like the web and other forms of outreach.

As a Virgo, you need to fly a flag, a pennant, really, not even a whole flag, and there’s a message that goes with the flag. This isn’t, like, a coat of arms, or hand-lettered message on your flag. I’d follow that Elizabethan model and just use a color. Don’t want a tragedy and if history had taught us anything, don’t really want to repeat any history.

That leaves a white flag, but that’s more modern surrender, so that’s out. Green? Blue? What color and what are you trying to tell the rest of us?

Run it up the flagpole and see who pays attention — better yet — see if anyone pays admission.