Horoscopes for 7-29-2021

Horoscopes for 7-29-2021

When we grow stronger, then we’ll make our claim;
Till then, ’tis wisdom to conceal our meaning.

Mars enters the tropical zodiac sign Virgo on July 29, 2021 around 4:01 PM (local)

Leo

The Leo The motions of Mars, more than anything else, but I’d also look at Mercury’s inherent influence, but the motions of Mars, Venus, and then, Saturn opposite from you? Reminds me of a buddy, story he told about being broke, desperate, and he bought a scratch-off ticket, hoping for a sign from the heavens. Standing outside the convenience story, lonely summer night, dejected and depressed, he was looking down and almost stumbled across the curb at the front of the store, scraping at the useless lotto ticket. As he was about to toss it away, still looking down, he spotted a folded-over dollar-bill. Wasn’t a dollar-bill, it was a hundred, a C-note. In its way, the universe, or the odd gods, whatever he believed in, and whatever he prayed to, whatever it was? It answered him. Now, being of a service mind, myself, I realize the first correct action is to look and return the found money, but this was a lonely night and no one was in front of the store, so there’s no way to give it back. Obviously, this is a sign from the heavens. Happy birthday. Especially, happy birthday to The Leo.

Virgo

e-mail One old girlfriend, it’s a Virgo thing, she got in the habit of checking my food sources. She determined that a portion of my grocery list came from a ubiquitous dollar store. My own story, and history with dollar stores traces back to old South Austin, to a store front no longer there, and it was an amazing place to shop. Nothing cost more than a dollar, and they had cartons of damn near useless crap, along with golden treasures. What I remember the most? Phone connectors and phone lines. I haven’t used a “wired” landline in maybe a dozen years or more. But back then?

That was one aspect of the dollar places, weird, off-brand, remaindered, scattered crap, all for a dollar, in dark, dimly lit store front that was both musty and dusty. Sneeze. The one safe food item to buy in such a place? “Beef” sticks. Usually known by their proprietary name, Slim-Jims, the beef sticks have no expiration date and therefore, are safe, even from the dollar store. Other foods? Not so much. No bread, no chips, no canned goods, none of that, and the old girlfriend in question managed to toss a couple of cans of soup that had long-expired. I figured, as long as the ends weren’t buckled, the canned food was good. Mars and Venus in Virgo — go ahead and pony up for the good stuff. It’s not that we don’t like cheap, it’s just that the equivalent of an old girlfriend looking at expiration dates will come along. The planets are about releasing what is well-past its prime. I thought the canned soup would last forever. (Use by date? 1998?)

Libra

Music is unique in that it can evoke memories, and music, under certain settings, has an ability to change the chemical structure of the brain. No kidding, there are pictures of peoples’ brains under a brain scanner thing, and classical music has one effect, pop music has another, and the sub-genre of Scandinavian Death Metal, well, as the name implies? That kind of dark, heavy music isn’t what I recommend for Libra. Lots of cacophonous and atonal noise marked with macabre lyrics, yeah, not sure what that would look like under a brain scanner with that kind of music playing. But as Shakespeare once wrote, “If music is the food of love, play on…..” Ironic use a quote, quite out of context. There is solace to be found, though, to help the Libra along, and it is music. I would suggest something, light and more pop-like. Whatever passes for your own brand of pop music? Light, airy, lyrics not too depressing. There’s always one exception, and I got one Libra buddy, and to him? The heavy, thudding, dark, and brooding licks of some variation of death metal works for him. To each his own, but music is the key.

Scorpio

Last week, I started with maudlin pieces — for Scorpio — about the Henry the 6th historical plays. What it was really about was pulling on a thread, seeing what unravels, seeing where it goes. “Doesn’t look that interesting, but then, it kinda is…” Henry 6, the original example of “sequel-itis?” I can’t say for sure, but I’d like to think that this is the first time when a popular play, what we now call Henry VI, pt. 2, the first time it got expanded and enlarged upon, and probably because it was so popular with the theatre-going public, Shakespeare was urged to use that formula to make more. As a numerous fishing buddies are inclined to intone, drawl this one a bit, “You know, if it ain’t broke, then don’t be fixin’ it.” That’s how the plays probably came in to existence, and that’s how Scorpio could be pulling on an otherwise boring thread, and seeing where it might take us. Prequel and sequel? Sure.

Sagittarius

One of my Sagittarius “brothers” had this amusing anecdote about a mini-van, from days long gone.

“That van? The Pontiac? 5 transmissions, 2, no, 3 ac units, carried a case of oil, a quart of transmission fluid, and a gallon of coolant. Their mom wasn’t allowed outside the city limits, that was before cell phones. Always had quarters to call.”

Sounds like it was a “snake-bit.” If it wasn’t for bad luck, there was no luck at all? The whole thing, that mini-van, his kids were small at the time, the whole episode was covered under factory warranty, or something. Didn’t cost him anything but time. Time and time and time. “Time keeps on ticking…” I thought about that snake-bit van and my buddy’s retelling of the toils, tolls, and troubles, and the stories got larger and larger, but he would nod to his wife, a demure and quiet type, “No, it’s true.” Sometimes, our hyperbole conceals unvarnished truth. Sometimes, tough, as Mars oppose Jupiter? Maybe not a good time to buy a mini-van, and not a good time to enlarge on a story, no matter how true it might be.

Capricorn

The website server, the hosting company, passed along a notice that the hardware was being updated, and for maybe thirty minutes, one Friday night like, at 11:30, my sites might be unavailable for a half-hour. This one server has been running, non-stop, with zero interruptions for several years. Not bad, and the advance notice? First notice was at five days, then three days, finally day of the projected outage, so I had plenty of advance notice. However, that Friday night at 11:30, sure as could be, I had something I wanted to do, right at that very moment, to the server. Backend tweak to make everything run better. I could hear a voice in my head, “Right now, really?” Yes, as soon as I couldn’t, that’s the exact moment I wanted to. For a fleeting moment, panic, then worried about my forgetful nature, and then, I slapped that notation on a sticky note and walked away. See where I’m going with this, Capricorn? “You can’t do this right now!” So you want to do this, right now, and that doesn’t work. Not unlike me, you had plenty of notice. Seriously, you can’t wait, what, 30 minutes?

Aquarius

Living in the south of Texas, I find that I am surrounded by a surfeit of most excellent BBQ. It’s an embarrassment of riches, in my mind. I was gnawing on a tired piece of chicken I dug out of the icebox, leftover BBQ from a grocery-store drive-thru BBQ source. Using a sharp paring knife, I was slicing increasingly small slivers of meat, munching as I went, making a pile of leftover smoked chicken for a meal. There was a fine, delicate pepper finish to the flavor. Still lingering, not enough to be hot, but more than just a light sprinkling. A perfect balance, and even days later, this real leftover, might not have made it another day? The flavor was perfect. Smoky, intense with no intensity, and almost subdued. It’s just cheap, smoked bird, I know, but for some reason, local flavor, local talent, an inbred understanding of how “low and slow” works? Add to that a balanced spice palate, done “just right?” That, the balanced spice palate done “just right” is what Venus and Mars in Virgo is about for Aquarius. Spice palate, or maybe it’s another aesthetic decision, but the Aquarius is seeking that balance point. Intense with no intensity. Peppery finish with no after-burn. In the example of the BBQ chicken from a grocery store drive-thru? I think the trick is a lot of black pepper, smoked for hours. But that’s just a guess, and Aquarius suggestion.

Pisces

e-mail Cycles and waves. Notice the cyclical nature of events in Pisces? How it comes in waves, like watching the ocean’s breakers roar and crash against the coastline, and then, as the swell subsides, we’re back to a calm. These all come in cycles and waves. This is part of the natrual cycle of Pisces events, too, and what to do with that? Best choice is to try and gauge the cyclical nature of the events, the good and the bad, and catch the space between crashing events as the safe place to exist. Or, the low spot between the crest of the waves, anything to break this up a little, and make it easier on yourself. I’m all about making it easy on the mutable water signs, that’s for sure. To do that? Realize that Mars and Venus are opposite from you, and the two planets are causing obvious cycles and waves. Ride out those cycles. Watch for the waves.

Aries

Used it before and I’ll use it again. While, stritly speaking, this is more of a Sagittarius allusion, I think it holds up well for the weekly Virgo motions and how that plays out for, and against, Aries. “Not anyone an paint this fence.” The allusion is where we meet Tom Sawyer in Mark Twain’s book. It’s a classic sales piece, and it works, as it plays out along all the proper lines, plus, it shows how situations can change, given different words.

Not anyone can paint this fence, is the expression I use, sort of like verbal shorthand.

It’s meant that the way Aries frames the question, the answer, and what’s up ahead? How that question is framed, and how one approaches the task? That changes it all. Yeah, not anyone can paint this fence. Use it, or beware of it being used on you. I like the example because it’s from a classic children’s book, and an acknowledged master of the American written word.

Taurus

Old buddy used to order his steak the same way, every time, “Knock the horns off, wipe its butt, slice it, and slide that on over.” He liked his meat rare. Bloody, even, cool on the inside. Can’t fault him for that. However, after eating with him a few times, the old expression seemed a bit tired, trite, and over-wrought. I can just see a waitress standing behind him, rolling her eyes at his wordy request. “Knock the horns off, wipe its butt…” Seemed cute to him, cute in a manly fashion, after all, he was ordering steak medium raw. There’s a tired expression that you’ve used, over and over, and that favorite, but possible tired Taurus term? Time to retire it. Or, the next time the impossibly young and yet fetching server-person comes over? “How would you like it, sir?” Just say, “Rare.” That whole, long list of words? Not necessary. Part of this is merely a function of the moon, but more important, as Mars crosses into Virgo, there’s a sense that less is more. Like rare steak, or whatever, for the vegan, ‘al dente,’ same difference.

Gemini

e-mailThe fable, and I’m pulling this one out of my organic memory, so I might have it wrong, and I can’t be half-assed to look it up, even on the web, but the fable? Ant and grasshopper? Ant toils away, works hard, carefully stores supplies for the winter. The grasshopper frolics in the summer sun, bouncing from topic to topic, and plans for winter by thinking, “I’ll do this later.” I can’t remember if this is Aesop or the Bible, either.

Take away for the Gemini should be to think about next winter, and think about what can be done — now — what can be done now for the Gemini future. The reason this pops up as a question and suggestion? Next week, ten days? Your sweet Gemini self runs into the “ant and grasshopper” situation wherein, you didn’t prepare for what’s happeningO now. Meant to. Made note of it, but yeah, no. So, as that unfolds, here’s a subtle reminder that the ant wins, and that there is some action you can take — now — to help prevent further mishap — later.

Cancer

There’s a Moral Hazard in this week’s stars. Is it bad? Therein is the question, and too much of our Moon Child life falls into the land between hard and fast answers, sort of, maybe, kind of, there’s not one right or wrong answer, you know? (Wrong Hamlet quote.) Or let’s try this, you ever get that voice in your head warning you that what you are about to embark upon is really not a good idea? I mean, you know, you hear your conscience loudly explain that this is wrong, might get caught, it’s illegal, or, as the I started with, it’s a moral issue? The moral hazard is about what’s right, what’s wrong, and what’s wrong, but maybe way more fun? For me, this isn’t a tough call. I’ll err on the side of funny and morally ambiguous every time. That’s me. That’s a known quantity. You’re not me, and as a gentle Moon Child, the Cancer contingent should weigh that decision a little more carefully. Might not be the funnest way to go, but the morally ambitious situation? Do the right thing. Might not be the most fun at this moment, but it will offer up rewards, like, you know, later.

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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 trailer park in South Austin. He hates writing about himself in third person. More at KramerWetzel.com.

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