Horoscopes by the Fishing Guide to the Stars starting 6.5

    "When daisies pied and violets blue
    And lady-smocks all silver-white
    And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue
    Do paint the meadows with delight."
    Shakespeare's Love's Labour's Lost [V.ii.876]

"Mercury in Retrograde 'ere long, methinks..."

Portable Mercury Retrograde

Horoscopes by the Fishing Guide to the Stars starting 6.5.2014

geminiGemini: Right before Gemini starts, I make an effort to work in an early spring fishing trip. Typically, I'll try to hit the Gulf Coast after spring break, but before the summer season hits high gear, full metal summer. At one place I stay -- I'm a guest -- I try to show up with delicacies that my hosts will enjoy. One place, I love that Flour Bluff grocery store, it stocks Illy-brand espresso-roast (and grind) coffee. It's an expensive treat. Way I figure it, place to stay, I'll add a nice touch like good coffee, something better than what the place nominally offers. Three years running, I've bought coffee in the can, at that store, and three years so far, as I've opened that can, there's been a puff of coffee dust that sprays over the counter. I'm not so addicted to coffee that I'd scoop it up and snort the stuff, but I hate to waste expensive grinds like that. This year, this time, this week for Gemini? Vacuum packed coffee, or something similar, and if you're not careful? Being at sea level from a vacuum packed can, coming from Italy? The can opens with a "whoosh!" It's happened before; you've been warned to open carefully. Over the sink, even. Can't say I didn't try to remind you this time.

"Whoosh!"

"Dammit, not again this year?"

Cancer: This is not a good time to buy a lawn mower. "Is Mercury Retrograde?" That's not it. It's more a "retail psychology" issue. Planet thing, too, but the planets? The easiest way to describe this energy? Don't buy a lawn mower, not a new one, not now.

I'll guess that a retail giant would be upset with my advice, as the spring, early summer, it's been summer for a some months now in South Texas, this is the season when the consumers are more willing to part with high-dollars for big-ticket items like lawn mowers. If you want a deal on it? Now isn't the time. "But I need a new lawn mower!" I can hear the darling Cancer implore. "Need" is such a strong word. Want is probably more accurate. And really, is there half of a summer season left in the old unit? Yes, there is. Means that the shiny, new law mower you're looking at this week? Wait. It will cost you about half of what you want to spend, if you can wait two, three months.

Definitely. This is not a good time to buy a new lawn mower.

"But they have it on SALE!"

Sounds like my retail policy, the friends and family discount? Retail price plus 20% surcharge.

Don't buy a lawn mower right now.

The (mighty) Leo: I've grown very fond of local produce, locally produced food, and community supported agriculture. Combine the local chicken farm, with the eternal, philosophical conundrum? Why did the chicken cross the road? Some place, I'd hope near me, there's a chicken farm, probably in the Austin area, where the question isn't, "Why did the chicken cross the road," but, "can no chicken cross the road without its intent being questioned?" With the planets in a certain unordered disarray, there's an established status that needs to be questioned. Ask not why the chicken crossed the road, but instead, ask, "Can no chicken cross the road with no questions as to its intents, philosophical or otherwise?"

Simple riddle, simple trope, easy metaphor turned on its side. As the majestic Leo? Turn it on its side. Not upside down, but maybe, re-frame the same question in a slightly askew view. That was mine, now think of your own.

Virgo: Absolute silence and stillness. What do you hear? There's a cooling fan on this computer's CPU, and that fan just kicked on, but that's not a loud noise, the gentle buzz or whir of the fan's motor, inside the case. There's the sound of my calloused heel, dragging back and forth across the floor, as I nervously think about Virgo, then a certain Virgo pops into my thoughts. There's the gentle shush of distant vehicle traffic, the dull, inner-city throb of a metropolitan pulse.

It's not the loud noises, like a car alarm going off, it's the quiet noises. The noise that seeps in during times of relative "silence." Listen for it. I guess I should do something about the big callouses on my heels, as that's a the loudest non-noise I can hear right now. Or I could learn to sit still. That's not happening, and as a Virgo? What's the loudest non-noise? What does that non-noise mean? In my example, it means I should take a buffer wheel and grind down the callouses on my heels. What course of action does your non-noise suggest?

Libra: There's a general perception that Libra folks tend to waiver in their decision process. That's problematic. Now, this week, more so than before, it's time to be direct, straightforward and appear not to vacillate. No "definite maybe on that" type of comment.

Commit. Commit to making a commitment. Think about committing to make a commitment, for sure.

None of this, "Well, maybe" nonsense. Doesn't work. I will, with alarming frequency, be wrong. Doesn't matter. As a well-balanced Libra, you may be like me, wrong, but at least, if you act like you're correct? Be surprised how far that will carry you.

Scorpio: On several websites, over the years, I collected and displayed images of amusing signs. Got to where people were snapping images of signs and texting/emailing them to me. I try to stick to stuff that's mine, on my sites, easier that way. So I don't have the picture of this sign, but I do have the lettering, "If the door DOES NOT open, DO NOT ENTER." Because it was merely an ephemeral digital copy of an image, I can't say for sure that it was real. However, for Scorpio, the veracity of the sign and the claim itself, "If the door doesn't open, do not enter?" That's your message. No way to know if it was a real sign, or one of those fakes that looks good. Sounds like it could be real. With the planets where they are, though, and you, a Scorpio? "If the door does not open, do not enter."

Sagittarius: I've written about Sun Sign compatibility, and in my readings, who gets along with what is a big deal. I've also learned, sometimes the hard way, that arguing with the Texas weather is a fruitless endeavor. Won't win. Like arguing with women, I won't win. Like Sagittarius, even now, trying to argue with me about weather, women, or Mercury Retrograde. Won't win.

Here's one little tip, only happened once, and I learned from that situation, I had the moral high ground, I was correct, in my argument with a former girlfriend. Even though I was right? I still lost. It's about picking fights we can't win, not now, don't do it. My best recourse in the up and coming situations? Got this from a fishing buddy's wife, "He always agrees with me, but he still does what he wants."(1)

    (1) Dude, we fishing this weekend?

Capricorn: I've long developed a method of working that I've found particularly effective at times like this. I have several sources for "scrap" paper, and I keep a mechanical pencil parked on top of a blank sheet of that scrap. As the day unfolds, I'll get a notion, and write it down. Could be a quote from Shakespeare, could be a website tweak, could be a phone number I need to call back. At the end of my "business" day, I'll check through those scraps of paper. Any un-returned calls? I'll do that before I'll shut down. Some important data on the scrap? I'll transfer that to the computer.

The way this system works? At the end of the day, the papers are all thrown in the recycle bin. Each day, for the next week, I'll start fresh, a small square of paper to get stuff done, a new list. In this way, I don't carry forward any of the garbage, obstacles, problems and issues from the previous day. I'll pretend that I do this all the time, but with Mercury starting a retrograde pattern in the sign opposite from Capricorn? A day-by-day, short task list is more important. Otherwise? You wind up with three or four days of garbage piled high around you. No one wants that. Dump everything at the end of the day, just for the next few days, see if it works.

Aquarius: "You got drunk last night... you swear you saw the devil/Don't you know firewater seeks its own level" (Joe Ely, Firewater on the album "Happy Songs from Rattlesnake Gulch"). Song came up in the mix I've got; Joe Ely is Aquarius, best known as part of the Red Dirt/Austin sound scene. The lick that got stuck in my mind, and the one I want to apply to Aquarius? "Don't you know firewater seeks its own level?" Cure isn't always better than the ailment.

With this pernicious Mercurial Mercury Retrograde up and coming? Consider that line, consider that, "Firewater seeks its own level."

Consider, too, that the cure isn't always better than the disease.

In a few short weeks, this will pass, but until we're done with this one? Might want to hold them instead of folding or calling.

Pisces: I have a certain calling towards peppers. Hot peppers, mild peppers, mostly locally produced jalapeño peppers, but just about anything in the Capiscum family is fine by me. I stumbled across some kind of expensive, Japanese, or Asian peppers called "chishitso" or something similar. I bought a few. The were from Mexico, but allegedly organic, and I figured I'd try them for cooking.

Not so much. Not good at all. There's a strange characteristic of these peppers, one out of ten are hot. The other nine are bland, to the point of boring, with a slightly waxy feel to them. I know. I bought half-dozen, and none of them had any flavor. Tasted like munching on a wax candlestick. I did experiment. I did branch out. I did try something without researching it first. I gave it a shot. I failed, but I still tried. As a Pisces, you've got a similar question. Never hurts to try. One Star Wars nut will pipe in, "There is no try, only do." Give it a shot. You might be more successful than my pepper experiment. Funny looking peppers; I just had to try them. Worthless, but cool-looking.

Aries: Locally, there's this one photographer, and his entire business is built around a single photograph. Highly successful, museum-quality prints, and all that, yes, does good work, great eye, but the bulk of the guy's income came from a single image of a certain rockstar. A single image, and the rights to that single image, made the whole career. Overnight sensation. Never mind that the guy's been taking pictures for years, working, refining, perfecting the craft and artifice of his work. That income, with subsidiary rights, copyrights, magazines, tabloids, newspapers, internets, all of that, from a single image. It can happen. The "overnight sensation" effect is on and around Aries. "But Mercury is Retrograde!" Sure, means that this is something probably already done. Look around. What's here that should make you famous and bring in some money?

Taurus: Most grocery-type stores have demo tables. I've got a client who works those tables. I've got another client who owns the company. Finally, I've been a client. I was in San Antonio, but the "cold-pressed," and "dollar less than other brands" brand of juice was tempting.

"What goes in this?" She looked me up and down, organic groceries, only a single jar of organic almond butter in my basket, she gave me that appraising eye, wheels turning, "Rainbows, pixie dust, unicorns," and she smiled a tired smile. I laughed gently, surprised by the coy, impromptu answer. I tried a shot of the stuff. For some reason, the organic kale, spinach, ginger, green goo? Tastes like lawn clippings to me. Still, I was humored and I humored her back. Some of those juice things are good. This wasn't one of the better samples, but the quick retort buoyed my opinion. Didn't bolster my interest enough to buy, but the idea was there. Something's got to work.

As a Taurus? We're up against some stiff odds. Nothing seems to be working quite right. When all else seems to fail? Humor.

"What's this made of?"

"Rainbows, pixies, hopes, dreams, and a little bit luck," Taurus said, "with small amount of scarce stardust just to make sure it will really fly."

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