Horoscopes starting 7.13.2017

    That wishing well had not a body in’t,
    Which might be felt, that we, the poorer born,
    Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes,
    Helena in Shakespeare’s Alls Well That Ends Well 1.1.98-100


Austin, this weekend!

Horoscopes starting 7.13.2017


The Crab - the Moonchild

The Crab

Instead of wrestling with the demons? Get all cozy with them. Mars makes nice with the Sun, third quarter moon, makes some Lunar Affected signs disorderly, and there’s always that sense that there’s something just around the corner. Up ahead, not quite here, yet. Back to the sign of the Crab? Happy birthday, as there’s one left. With that’s out of the way? There’s a single, easy way to make this week’s weirdness work. Get cozy with your demons. I know you have some, creatures that lurk just below the conscious mind’s cognitive skill sets. Beastly, possibly demonic–looking, but not always nearly as harmful as one would have us believe, am I right? Invite those demons in, or over, and maybe make them a nice cup of calming tea. Chamomile comes to mind, and for some of those demons? Add a hefty shot of bourbon to the tea. “Wow, this is good,” the wee beastie says, “I’ll just take a short nap,” and the critter passes out. See how this worked?

I have to assume that you’re more than passing familiar with your demons. If it’s an alcoholic demon, maybe not putting the bourbon in the tea is the secret. Just shows that we have to adjust this remedy on a case–by–case basis, but you do understand, the basic solution is to get comfy with those demons.

The Leo:

The Leo

The Leo

One of my stranger affectations in that I have no indoor plants. No little houseplants, no ferns, no flowering pots, no, I don’t have any plants indoors. For a reason, you know? I mean, part of this is from living in a trailer for so long, but part of it is merely because I can, at times, be gone for weeks at a time. Other times, I might be home for months, but then, I get called out of town, and all I have to do is set the alarm then lock the door. When I’m not there? No living critters in the house.

Wait — pause — there is one plant, a tiny cactus–looking thing in a small glazed bowl, and supposedly, I need to water it once a month. I do know it survived this last spring without me watering it — the cactus–like plant — lasted over two months with no care. Kind of makes my point about what I have inside and out. This isn’t really long–term planning, but it kind of is. Choices, decisions, decorating plans, and then, thinking forward about stuff we want to leave in our house. Or not.

As The Majestic Leo, do you want to sully yourself with trivial details like watering the plants? All depends. In my simple example, it’s that decision not have any indoor plants. Simple idea, but with excellent, long–term consequences. Simple choice, simple choices for The Leo, choose wisely.

    Think: Xmas in July, for the Leo. The Leo.



The Virgin

Seems like there wasn’t much of a peach crop this year. I’m used to this being a time when there are tons of roadside stands all selling “Fredrickburg” peaches. Buckets and wooden tubs, all spilling over with peaches that are in various stages of ripening. Some are fruity and sweet, most have just the slightest, like a citrus finish, tang-type of twist to the inherent peachy goodness. Yeah, not as much this year, and I’m not sure what the deal is.

Some years, the peaches, all my neighbors give me some, distant friends stops by with peaches, and it’s like I could run my own peach roadside stand. Other years, like this year? Not so much, I’m not sure what the deal is.

Like Virgo, I suspect this is planetary influence, and like Virgo? This week? Take this as a “Win” rather than a loss. Less can be more, and this week? Less peaches? Might be an example of this being OK with less, rather than more.



The Scales

There are some authors that I read for sheer escape. I want to run away from my reality, if only for a little while. Murder, mystery, mayhem, all of that figures in. Distant lands, future times, that, too, figures in. Just a way of escaping my present situation, if only for a little while. The book I was reading, before writing this horoscope, the book was set in the New England winter with at least three feet of snow on the ground. In the book, there was three feet of snow in the book’s setting. I was burrowed under the covers at home, feeling a chill in my bones even as I realized the AC was set to a balmy and respectful 80º F.

As Jupiter slowly marches along in Libra? There’s a number of planetary influences, but caution with that escape material? Yes, because, like me burrowed under the covers and feeling a chill? A good book can transport you away from where you’re supposed to be.

My phone rang, and it was a client, and I was late for a reading, a scheduled appointment. Not really late, but the client was calling at the perfect time. Me? I was so lost in that book, I forgot. I jumped up and plowed right on into the reading.

After doing this for so long, I can shift into “working” mode fairly effortlessly, and I wasn’t late — just wasn’t sitting at the desk, ready.

That’s my example of the escape material — me, lost in a book’s weird narrative, set in someplace where three feet of snow isn’t uncommon. We have to be careful, with Libra, in Libra, at this moment, middle of the summer? Have to be careful we don’t get too lost in some escape, and forget where we are.




A (fishing) buddy’s kid, I think the kid is about 3 years old, but I might have that wrong. About so high, what age would that be? Anyway, the kid had one of those mylar balloons, from some party, or something. My buddy, the kid’s daddy, told the kid to hold onto the balloon or it would sail away. Kid did well enough getting the balloon into the house but this one place, with its arched, high ceilings and a lazily rotating ceiling fan at the roof’s peak? Can you see where this is going?

Balloon lasted until the living room, then the 3-year-old attention span was diverted, the balloon lifted up, hit the fan and there were shards of balloon everywhere.

Kid was momentarily sad, then the attention went elsewhere.

As a Scorpio, if you quit paying attention, whatever it was that you were so seriously gripping? Like that kid’s balloon? Gone in a flash, and not just gone, but bursted all over the living room, with a not so subtle “pop.”

Scorpio: you have two choices, hold on or let go. If you let go, what you were holding onto is liable to be rent asunder. However, there is probably, like that kid, some other factor that grabs your attention, which, as the week unfurls? Might not be bad to let it go.




Summer time, full on July! Means one thing, for me: Shakespeare in the park! OK, so this varies with location, but there is usually some kind of free — or super cheap — public performance, out, under the stars, in some capacity.

I have seen a bunch of versions of various plays, and I’ve seen a hugely uneven quality to them. However, as a Summer Stock? So worth it. Even the minor roles, even the folks with little or no ability? They all try, and they all try really hard. Good, good stuff. As a Sagittarius, we need something that draws our attention outward. Look for some “Summer Shakespeare in the Park,” in some form or another.

I saw one Hamlet, and the woman, girl at the time, who played the title role? She went on — I think — to star in one of those long–running prime–time drama things. Shows. She was amazing. The rest of the crew? Not so much, but hey, I gave them high marks for spirited efforts. That counts for something. While an uneven performance, at best, one star changes the timbre and temper of the show, and helps lift this up. As a Sagittarius, that’s our goal, seek out that one who lifts us up. My suggestion is sort with “Shakespeare in the Park,” or whatever is available, “Shakespeare on the beach,” or “Shakespeare on the rocks,” or “Shakespeare in the pines,” like I suggested, whatever is there by you.



The Sea Goat

First in Austin, at a coffee shop, then — repeatedly — in San Antonio, I’ve seen the “1836 Map of the Republic of Texas.” The map is slightly different, and there are several versions, you know, map–making and territorial claims were not an exact science that long ago. Of interest to Capricorn, this week? That map of the Republic of Texas. It encompassed all of what is now Texas, plus a portion of the New Mexico territories, one version stretching to the Rio Grande, and including a portion of its headwaters in what is now Colorado. Then, there’s a thin dogleg, up the front range of the Rockies to — looks like — Wyoming. All that was Texas.

Republic of Texas 1845

You’re welcome!

This is about being gracious about territorial disputes, even now. Two places, Colorado and Eastern New Mexico, residents in both places bristle at mentions of Texas, yet, especially New Mexico? That corner is called, “Little Texas.” New Mexico doesn’t matter that much, just became a state in 1912, sort of a recent thing.

I know enough of the history, those maps are proof, too, but I know enough of the history to understand it’s really not worth arguing about. While this situation, in the next week with Capricorn, it’s not probably about disputed territory, like me, you know you’re right, so why bother trying to change a situation? It’s in a bunch of history books; let the other folks figure it out — for Capricorn? It’s not worth arguing with stupid people, not now.



Water Bearer

I live in Texas, and I’m used to a kind of “nationalism” that pervades everything “Texas.” We had regional beer before it was cool, trucks that have titles that include “Texas” in the brands’ name. This is a kind of weird “nationalism” that comes from my state. I’m used to it. We combine elements that often don’t always being next to each other. Happens a lot with our music. I was listening as a rapper and local country (music) kingpin worked together on a song. Amusing results. Maybe not great, not a big hit, but local radio carried it for part of the summer season, part out of a nod to our regionalism, part because it was our summer of silliness, and part because it was good music. As I implied, sort of a local version of nationalism.

It was the music I was thinking of, when I looked around the Aquarius charts: combining elements hitherto unused to working together. Not unheard of in my world, but not always usual. To make this week work better for Aquarius? Got to put two of them together that don’t usually work well with each other. Oil and water? Fire and ice? Aquarius and non-Aquarius?



The Fishes

Comes a time when one wants to make big changes in one’s life, doesn’t one? Crap, I can’t write like that.

Comes a time when, as a Pisces, you want to make big, sweeping changes. Certain times, like now, feel like the best time to start all over. In Latin? Tabula Rasa, a blank slate — wipe that whiteboard of life clear, and start fresh.

Great idea! Not now. “But, but, but–but…” the Pisces suggests.

Not now. I didn’t say make plans for great, sweeping changes, and I didn’t say you couldn’t plot that revenge, or grand gesture of rebellion, or whatever it is. I didn’t say you couldn’t dream about any of this, I’m just suggesting that this moment in time, this place where we’re all at, this week? Maybe a good time not to start out on those big, sweeping changes. I didn’t say don’t plan, but maybe don’t implement those Pisces plans, not yet.



The Ram

Simply put? Change one thing. One ritual, one routine, one stop, like, that’s an idea, as an example? Trip to Austin takes me an hour and half, at least. I break it up with a stop for coffee, two stops, usually. One is place I’ve stopped for many long years, a shop in the middle of busy shopping center. Not really a great place, but traffic, it’s on the way, yeah, it just works out well like that. Now, in my example for Aries? Change it up. One, simple change. I didn’t stop “At the usual place” for coffee.

Did they miss me? Maybe. But I doubt it. I stopped at another, almost equally convenient place, and it was just a little way to shake up the energies. Not a big change, just a little change. Not a traumatic, “You are doing this so totally different, are you trying to kill us all?” No, not that kind of a change, just a subtle adjustment to the routine.

Look, Aries, if my suggestion of a break with your routine doesn’t work out? You can easily go back to the routine, next week. However, I think just a simple, maybe just sideways shift, will help with this week’s weirdness.



The Bull

One year, it was a resurgence in “Super Blue Green Algae,” as a super–food. For a few years, recently, Kale, in all its variations, has been the in–vogue super–food. The new — purported — champion super–food?


I hate broccoli. Not “strongly dislike,” as some might surmise, it’s outright hate, loathing, and I won’t cross the street to piss on it if it were on fire. I really don’t like broccoli. There is no way to prepare it that I like. Won’t eat it, me, acting like petulant little child, but at my age, if there’s an ingredient I don’t like? I don’t have to ingest it, in any of its forms. Not fried. Not baked. Not served on a stick. Not soaked in cheese. Not wrapped in bacon. Not food–processed to near oblivion.

My dislike of broccoli is purely emotional, but I tend to have a physical allergy based on that emotional response. I’ll get a medley of vegetables with a meal, or as a meal, and I won’t eat the broccoli. That simple. I’m sure a therapist can trace this a childhood issue with food and broccoli, but at this stage of life, if I don’t like it? I don’t care if it is a super–food, I’m not eating it. Taste, texture, mere thought of a floret of broccoli? Yuck. Other, stronger words, omitted.

Taurus: my dislike of broccoli is an example of decision, rational or not, that I’ve made. With the planets thusly arrayed? Super–food fads come and go, and next week, broccoli won’t even be mentioned, and we can go back to our normal lives. Until then? I’m adult-aged. If I don’t want to? I don’t have to.



The Twins

I made a “Secret Sauce” of imitation mayo and Sriracha pepper sauce. Having it on some salad, more of my secret sauce than salad, let’s be real, my fine Gemini friend, I realized the secret ingredient in Sriracha pepper sauce? Not cayenne, as some would expect, sure, that’s the hot stuff, but the secret ingredient?


That simple.

There’s a small, local TexMex chain out of Austin — Maudie’s, if you must know — and their tabletop hot sauce, it has the same secret ingredient: garlic. The tabletop salsa is fresh, looks like it was blended that morning, mostly peppers, tomatoes, and onions, plus that undefinable secret ingredient. Which, deconstructing the Sriracha element? It’s garlic.

The upside is that this is delicious stuff. Can’t stop, once I get started. Just gobble it up, whole. Put it on everything, almost everything we stick in our mouthes. The problem being, it’s garlic. Secret ingredient in both sauces. Powerful. Keeps vampires away. Also keeps potential kissing partners at bay, which, in some situations, can be problematic. The solution? Secret ingredient is good, but don’t mix secret ingredient with potential kissing partners. Can either be one or the other, not getting both on the same night.



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. More at KramerWetzel.com.

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