Tuesday, May 04, 2010
Horoscope, Week Of April 30-May 6
Horoscope, Week Of April 30-May 6 by Jane Cassady
(Sorry this is posted so late everyone. My account was hacked into!)
Taurus: I asked a Taurus what she hoped for when she reads her horoscope and she said “I don't believe in horoscopes, I like Psalms.” Well, I know when I can't compete, so let's look up a nice one: “He will be like a tree planted by the streams of water, /that brings forth its fruit in its season,
/whose leaf also does not wither. /Whatever he does shall prosper.” Neat!
Gemini: Make a list of all the furniture you'd like to find on the side of the road. Include measurements, color, and number of compartments. Go for a walk on garbage day, fill up your flea market dance card, find Freecycle penpals.
Cancer: As you know, the Lorax speaks for the trees. Who speaks for the daffodils as we lop off their heads in early spring? Who's the spokesperson of bridges? Maybe the hollering wren I saw yesterday. Take up for the tea cups, the patio stones, the weekly Pennysaver. Bless an inanimate cause with your lovely voice.
Leo: Oh, Leo, I hear the edge in your voice but I'm not worried. According to the calendar, this is grumblings high tide, but beds are being made up for you in the Bed and Breakfast of the Soul. Snarl all you want, give folks the what-for, anything. I promise you, you'll snuggle up soon.
Virgo: In her memoir Helping Me Help Myself, Beth Lisick spends a year immersing herself in different self-help programs. She mostly had a lot of fun being a good sport, but she had trouble with the idea of putting on a nametag at the programs' events. She felt like pinning, for instance, Richard Simmons Celebrity Cruise to her shirt would somehow alter her identity. (I felt a similar sensation this week when I changed my coffee to half-decaf.) Anyway, this week, put on the nametag, see what happens.
Libra: This Book is Not Required is mandatory reading for all incoming freshpersons at Delaware State University. Zenning out on the inventory is just one of the delightful activities available to me as I fill in for a few days in their bookstore. Also: opening up Zane books (blush!) to random pages, wondering why my wife is asking her boss for the “tender report,” and remembering the register codes after three years off them. Let's hear it for the comfort and magic of jobs.
Scorpio: What's your idea of a good time? Playing Pictionary with Tim Gunn? Shuffling the element-deck with Mendleev? Researching the culture of mimes? Making collages out of only jewelry advertisements? Setting arbitrary goals and then meeting them? In the immortal words of T.I.: “You can have whatever you like.”
Sagittarius: Speaking of Tim Gunn, this week, “Go with your viscera.” Ignore the thunder clatter of advice striking your limbs and decide with your guts. You always do, and it really does seem to work out. (Of course me saying this is also advice, so what can you do?)
Capricorn: Today is the last day of the Twin Peaks Art Show at Pirhana Betty's Art Market. For the opening, they had a pie contest, and the sight of those judged and traumatized crusts at the end of the night was too much of some. This time, they have announced their intentions to JUST EAT THE PIE. Need I say more?
Aquarius: How do you like your sleep? Camping style-- endorphin drenched, damp and wary of bears? On the other side of the sunrise, after a meteor shower with your (as it turns out) soulmate? Taking the blue Tylenol for no particular reason? In a solar-storm of afterglow? Drunk after a Di Chirico Exhibit? Having forgotten to blow out the candles? This week, you are a sleep-taster. Become a connoisseur.
Pisces: When you send away for Sea Monkeys, they come with a packet marked “Sea Diamonds,” which is actually a salt that stimulates the brine shrimp's sex drive, making them all seem so much more lively. Pretend your art is a Sea Monkey's sex drive, and someone just dumped the diamonds into your little tank.
Aries: Make friends with the songs in your head. Refrain from speaking of Traumatizing Things. Become a euphemist until the schisms are healed. You have no need for bluntness. Answer only in whispers, if you answer at all. (Aries was brought to you this week by the Radiolab Podcast and by the book Crazy Like Us by Ethan Watters.)