Horoscopes for 10.5.2017

    What have you done? Behold, the heavens do ope,
    The gods look down, and this unnatural scene
    They laugh at.
    Coriolanus in Shakespeare’s Coriolanus (5.3.184-6)

Horoscopes for 10.5.2017



The Scales

So, according to Shakespeare’s Coriolanus, the heavens open up, the gods gaze down and those gods laugh at us mere mortals. Know how that one feels, I’m sure?

Yes, birthdays and cosmic jokes, all at the same time?

Wish I could report otherwise, but there’s a sense that some kind slightly twisted sense of humor would help the most. Normally, Libra would be straightforward, but there’s a weird echo, a sense of having seen this before, only, not quite like this, but close.

Weird sense of humor helps.

Reading my material? I have to be a little suspicious that your Libra self already understands what I’m referring to, the “Weird Sense of Humor,” because, after all, you’re reading my material. Maybe that helps.

Either way, happy birthday, and weird? Yeah, that, too. Just as a birthday gift? That’s a Shakespeare quote taken in context.


It was a really warm fall afternoon in South Texas. September can be brutally warm to some. The lawnmower didn’t work, and the spotty weeds that comprise my front yard were looking mighty scraggly. Not an attractive way to live, no, and I really didn’t feel like trying to start a broken mower. Some, looked to me, Scorpio Suspicions, fly-by-night yard guys offered to do a single, quick hack at the yard.

After mowing the yard, one of the guys looked at the mower, and fixed it, simple trick. Simple, for him. Fixing the mower was bad for the lawn guys business model, but good for me. Only, I’m not Scorpio, and I will probably be too lazy to mow the yard this month, and those guys will get repeat business — because the fixed the lawn mower. Doesn’t make sense, but it kind of does. As a Scorpio, no good turn ever goes unnoticed.


“My kids love broccoli,” she said. Old buddy talking about her classroom where she teaches. All I could think? That’s wrong. So wrong. So very, very wrong. Kids don’t love broccoli — we hate it. Broccoli is the enemy. Florets, stems, covered in cheese, has anyone ever tried cream gravy on broccoli? Still yucky. As I’ve aged, I got to the point, broccoli might be this year’s “miracle food,” but I still won’t touch the stuff. As I’ve aged, I arrived at place where if I don’t want to eat it, then I don’t. Broccoli is a food that I don’t like. Don’t like its texture. Don’t like its flavor. Don’t like its looks. Obviously, I have bad memories of being forced to eat broccoli, and now? I actively don’t like it. That and Brussel Sprouts. I will not eat either item. “Dude, no, Brussel Sprouts wrapped in bacon, it’s really good.”

    I doubt it. I seriously doubt it. You can dip cow pies in powdered sugar, and it still isn’t a beignet — catch my drift?

So when I heard this years crop of kids like broccoli? I think there is something amiss. Something is wrong in the world. Not passing judgement, I had to grow up before I got to a point where I don’t have to eat broccoli if I don’t want to.

Sagittarius: I don’t care what they say; if you don’t want to eat the broccoli, it is not required. Not this week.


Buddy called, headed to the coast for fishing. Asked a question that required a long-winded answer. I started. He said, “Dude, you’re breaking up,” as he couldn’t hear me on his cheap cell phone service.

“No, I’m not breaking up! I love you!”

Kind of knee-jerk reaction and response from me. As Capricorn, there’s a kind of knee-jerk reaction you’re prone to making.

“No, I’m not breaking up! I love you!”

My typical reaction sounds a little desperate, doesn’t it?

That one fishing buddy, asking for some tide and moon indications for fishing? Then the “breaking up” comment, plus my instant reaction?

Think about that before you answer, before that response comes out, and before you say something that might be construed as stupid.

I thought it was funny, before he had a chance to react to my reaction, I was amused.

“We will never speak of this again,” was his remark, full of machismo.

Makes such a perfect way to write about the stuff in Capricorn, though.


Sometimes the greatest influence in the Aquarius life? Sometimes, the greatest influences are “oblique” in nature. Off to one side, a little to the left, or little to the right, a little different from what you’re expecting. It’s one of those weeks. We’re combining elements, too, as — at the end of the this horoscope — Jupiter swaps Libra for Scorpio. Jupiter changes signs.


It’s really kind of simple, where you were looking before? Might not be there. I lost an important piece of documentation. Misplaced it. Wondered if it was stolen, got irate, got upset, looked where I last left it. Wasn’t there. Tore the place up, emptied out a closet, dug through some older materials, wondering if I’d misplaced the documentation. Nothing. Desk got cleaned off, though.

Eventually, I looked back in the original container. There it was, tucked in a little deeper, sort of behind a little flap. No one to blame but myself. Upside? I did get the desk cleaned off. See?


One business associate noted that I was artful in my carefully crafted e-mail messages. This was about a management problem, and I — successfully — complained without it looking like a complaint. Regrettably, I don’t have the right use the letter — really an e-mail — as a display piece. However, any person of Southern Extraction would understand the basic rhetorical device, “Nice Shoes.” As a Pisces, my all-time favorite mutable water sign, you know I love you, right? As a Pisces, there’s a way to complain without looking bad in doing so.

Artfully, carefully complain. Long, loud, and rancorous disputes are just that, and those types of “discussions” devolve — quickly — into a shouting match. Who can be loudest, longest wins? That is not the Pisces way. Subtle, carefully crafted, artful, well-worded letters get a much better response than just yelling.

Even if you are right.


“Can’t Microwave Success.”

Way I heard it. Way I’m passing it along to Aries. The problem being? I have several recipes that involve nothing but microwave cooking. I can microwave success, but this has taken years and years of research, painstaking development, and no small amount of mistakes before the process was perfected. Made a mess, too, more than once.

“Can’t Microwave Success.”

One simple example? Small can of Wolf Brand, No Bean Chili. Teaspoon of cayenne. Small bag of Frito Corn Chips. Combine in a bowl. Cover with a paper towel. Nuke on high for a minute or two. Instant Frito Pie. Who said you can’t microwave success?

“Can’t Microwave Success.”

However, that single recipe took years of trial and error, mostly error, to perfect. Which points out the problem, and with where the planets are at this very moment? “Instant” takes too long for Aries.

Dude, you “Can’t Microwave Success.”

The recipe calls for a paper towel over the bowl because the chunks of meat — or meat like substance — tend to explode on top of that bowl of corn chips. Years to figure this stuff out.


This next year, next few months, this next week? There is some outstanding events headed your way, headed into Taurus, or headed towards Taurus, or about to happen for Taurus. Maybe about to happen to Taurus, who knows, exactly how this should be worded? When I lined up your astrology charts for the coming few days, what I kept thinking, “Make it pretty.” For Taurus?

    Make it pretty.

I’m not the one who should be in charge of this operation, but the idea is to add bows, or frills, or curtains, or dust ruffles, and I don’t even know what a “duvet” is. Or a pillow sham. Not hat my lack of knowledge matters, either. The Taurus “cure all,” and by no means is it really a “cure all,” but as a buffer, and steps that are positive action forward, again, just for this one sign?

    Make it pretty.

Really a simple idea, and how that is done? Tap that exquisite Taurus good taste and dress up, dress down, paint, color, shade, or? Just do whatever it is that you do!

    Make it pretty.

While “pretty doesn’t actively solve problems, it does make this mess a more palatable problem, and therein will be a solution to fix it. How do you arrive at the solution?

    Make it pretty.

You can do it; I know you can.


As a Gemini? You might not be noted for tremendous attention to detail. While I adore that Gemini energy with its fleet of mind and speak? This can create problems when details are concerned. I know you mean to look after the details, and usually, you can juggle a myriad of tasks that would leave a normal person dizzy and confused. However, I have I process the works well for this current state of the Gemini condition: One at a time.

Details are scurrilous pains that require an undue amount of attention, and not usually worth the copious Gemini attention span.

Here’s the trick, attack one issue, one problem, one piece of the puzzle for this week? Attack one item at a time, in order. It’s like a check list, and you have to check off number 1 before you can move to number 2, and no, there isn’t room on that Gemini check list for 1.a, or 1.1.a, or any other kind of splitting hierarchy that the Gemini mind can come up with. One item at a time, in whole.

That Virgo Mars and Venus will tend to leave you a little more scattered, but you can use that. Check list. Check it twice.


Speckled Sea Trout, or “specs,” have delicate mouth structures. Funny, to me, as they usually have a couple of fan-like teeth, right at the front, too. As a fish for eating, they are great, a delicate light meat, best with a minimum of spices. As sporting fish to catch, great fighters with strong escape tendencies. They tend to get way. The bite itself, at times, can seem rather “light.” A tentative little jerk. On more than one occasion, fishing with live shrimp for bait, the bite of the spec felt like the shrimp was just wiggling some.

    Remember: no one feels sorry for the bait.

When I looked at the Moon, important for Moon Children, then Uranus/Jupiter, and so forth? I kept thinking about last week’s fishing trip and the ultra-light bite of the specs. It’s almost ticklish, and takes a deft hand to catch a limit of them little fellers. Fun to catch, but one has to pay attention.

Like fishing for specs under the lights at night, a perfect full-moon activity? Light touch, deft hand, and realize, you might miss a few at first.

The Leo:

This is such a cool shift for The Leo, it’s just not an even one. We left out of the docks, skittered across the inner bay, and the water’s surface was like glass, nary a ripple from even the remotest hint of a breeze. By mid-morning, the breeze was starting to ruffle the waters, and by noon, or a little after? There was some serious chop on the water. We fished all; pictures are on a website someplace.

Wasn’t until the wind kicked up, stirred up the water, wasn’t until them that we got into some action. Took a while. Didn’t happen right away. The legend of the first cast, and catching a fish, as I am reported to be? Certainly wasn’t true on that trip, and isn’t true for Leo, not for this week. However, as Jupiter shifts signs, there’s a distinct breeze ruffling the tops of the waters, and Leo, The Leo, as a fire sign you do well to have some air (wind) feed your flames. Fan your flames. One of those.

Jupiter changes signs. The course ahead for Leo gets choppy. There will be huge rewards, if you fish through the waves.


For me, it was the ultimate in food porn — image of apple pie and a portion of ice cream, vanilla, white, starting to melt over the crust, just barely dripping into the filling. Ultimate food porn. The picture, it was from a diet–recipe site, the image was perfect. I could taste the cold, creamy tang of a sharply sweet vanilla cream as it melted against the then still warm from the oven pie with sharp, flaky crumbs of crust against a super sweet saturated filling, stuffed with apples, and brown sugar, cinnamon, and hint of something different, was that clove? Just a hint? All that from a single image.

With Venus and Mars groping each other in Virgo, there's a kind of appealing imagery that works. However, this is another one of those scenes where the image itself? And what the recipe delivers? Two — totally — different things. Totally. Totally different. The recipe was sugar–free, fat–free, organic, free range, non–diary. No stick of butter for a flaky crust. No cup of refined, white flour for either the filling or the flaky-looking crust. Other than the apples themselves? The rest of that recipe probably tastes like cardboard. To be sure? Healthy. But mostly flavorless, too. However, the image? Amazing what a picture can sell.

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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 KramerWetzel.com.

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