ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
I have been told two “secret beach” stories in my life, and I have reason to believe them both. One was the classic Thailand “train then bus then hike then swim to paradise” scenario, and the other involved blue sand on the south Saharan coast of Africa and avoiding men with guns. Will I get to them both before I die, Aries? No. The time to choose and commit is fast approaching…
TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
Enemies! There are enemies all around us! Beside us! Behind us! In the walls. I may seem a little paranoid, Taurus, but as we’ve all learned by now, fear is probably the chief motivating factor in 21st-century politics, so if you don’t mind, I’ll be using this strategy for the remainder of the election season. If you don’t smarten up and get your shit together, the terrorists will win.
GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
Good times ahead, Gemini. Straight-up, no strings attached. I’m telling you, dude, sometimes good things happen for no reason and there’s nothing you can do about it. Well, you could try accepting them with grace and quiet elegance, for a start. And you could try not to rub your good fortune in your coworkers’ faces. Hey, share the luck, buddy — it’s only right.
CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
Stupid science has put an end to those glorious days when skulduggerist scholars would forge entire museum wings worth of false antiquities to advance their careers or sell on the black market. Now, it’s all like “carbon date” this and “verify” that. Next thing you know [Note to self: insert sign here, xoxo.], scientists are going to start calling into question my horoscopes!
LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
There’s an awful lot of bicycle activism these days, and while that’s pretty cool and everything, why aren’t people advocating for what really makes sense? Yup, we should all go back to horses. First, they are pretty; second, they have cool names like “Trigger” or “Geoffrey” (crazy spelling, right?). Am I right? And another thing, Leo, what’s up with fire containment in space? Am I right!?
VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
Look out! Here comes Hurricane Läps! Gosh, that has a real nice ring to it. Did you know I’ve never had a major storm use my name? It’s kind of sad for me. I met a house lemur once who was called Lappy, but that’s it. Most of the time, Virgo, we can take our individuated isolation as a point of pride, but just every now and then, wouldn’t it be nice to feel like part of a team?
LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
Do you find it as depressing as I do that storage space is one of the largest growth industries of the last decade? And I use “industry” in a very loose way. What has happened here, Libra? Are we nothing more than a nation of Collyer brothers, doomed to suffocate amidst our own possessions, crushed under a mountain of useless bric-a-brac? Time for a fall purge, dude.
SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
Haha. Bad menu translations are one of the best things about traveling. Like when “pork” is translated as “pig flesh.” Yum! There’s also the one that read “all food servers wash hands after defecating.” Good to know. But Scorpio, does your life sometimes feel like a bad translation? As if your aspirations have been muddled and recast in the most ridiculous way? If so, you should sue.
SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
Important life lesson: if you are roughing it and hitchhiking your way across country without any money for accommodation, you lay out your sleeping bag on a piece of cardboard away from the grass. You see, even though it’s soft and cushy, dossing on a lawn will lead to condensation from head to foot — which sucks. Are you really planning a trip like this, Sagittarius? That’s crazy.
CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
So a cub reporter walks into a bar and asks the bartender, who is wearing an eye patch, for three different flavors of daquiri, and the bartender asks the cub reporter if he’s depressed, and the cub reporter says, “Holy shit, have you seen the world today? How can any sane man be happy?” The bartender shrugs, and mixes the drinks in silence. Dark times, Capricorn, dark times.
AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
Don’t you wish sometimes you could jump on that ice floe and follow it all the way to magical happiness? Sure, ice floes are cold and melty, but the drinks are always chilled. Wow, imagine that, Aquarius, a cocktail party on an iceberg! That’s exactly the kind of thing I think you could pull off. And don’t let the naysayers dissuade you — the world needs bizarre and useless projects.
PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
Where have all the good men gone? Are they in the hills, waiting? Are they in the clouds, having a misty tea party? Are they under the sea, tickling the feet of Sunday bathers? I don’t know, Pisces, I’d like to think there are some of them in each of us (ew?), but if we don’t act on what we believe, they will never reveal themselves and will just go on making PB and Js for space dolphins.