TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
Did you know that Alan Alda almost wasn't famous? It's true. On his way to audition for the role of George Plimpton in Paper Lion, he ran into an old high school flame. The two chatted for a bit, rapt with reminiscence, and Alda suggested coffee. It wasn't until the old flame noticed she was late for an appointment with her florist that Alda recalled his audition. Fate is everywhere, Taurus.
GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
I was driving around upstate New York last week, and the frequency of road kill was a real bummer: deer, raccoons, cats, ground hogs, a possum, a real estate agent, two Jehovah's Witnesses and the entire line-up of the 1986 Washington Generals. All of them had just wandered out into the road, and now they're dead. It reminded me, Gemini, that life is precious, so we must live it.
CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
Castles in Scotland are way overrated. Sure, they might appear glamorous and romantic, all those kilts and knotted brows, the mighty stags and mist-shrouded highlands, the sabers and the whiskey, but those places are cold and damp. Not sexy. It's like trying to get busy inside a giant stone fish. You can do better than that, Cancer. Spanish-style L.A. bungalow is the new hotness.
LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
The image of Virginia Woolf's suicide is particularly haunting, among all the sad lady writer suicides (Sylvia Plath, Anne Sexton). One can very easily see her, proper and quiet in her London overcoat filled with stones: a quick indrawn breath as she steps into the cold River Ouse, walks slowly against the current, head held up, eyes straight ahead. And then, gone. Now I am sad, Leo.
VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
The big question, Virgo, is whether or not you should cut your hair. I, for one, think you should. Further to that, you should consider yourself lucky that that's the most pressing thing you have to worry about at the moment. What if you had to decide whether or not you'd fly into space to save the Earth from an asteroid? That would be tough. Bruce Willis tough. Are you that tough?
LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
"Stone Temple Pilots, they're elegant bachelors/They're foxy to me, are they foxy to you..." Steve Malkmus had a whole treasure-trove of free-associated lyrics plucked from the corn-syrupy soup of his subconscious, but that one has to be my favorite. Because, Libra, though I always hated their music, I did find STP pretty foxy. Sometimes we need artists to tell our truths for us.
SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
Greater men have given in to less temptation than you now face, Scorpio. I admire your resolve, your flinty ability to ignore your corporal desires, your tenacious dedication to prudence and propriety. But are you having enough fun in your life? Fun is not something you can plan for; occasionally you have to be available to its partner, spontaneity. OR YOU WILL DRY UP AND DIE.
SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
We've all dreamed at one time of owning a flying bicycle. Some of you have thought to use your imaginary flying bikes for good (saving kittens, delivering ice cream to people in highrises), while others obviously lean toward mischief (putting kittens in trees, stealing ice cream from highrises). What will you do, Sagittarius? With great power (or a flying bike) comes great responsibility.
CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
The Solstice is nigh! King Arthur shall awake and smite the enemies of the British Kingdom! Faeries and fauns shall flounce o'er the Manhattan avenues! Mead! Thou shalt drink mead! And the flowers will rise up and march across the Manhattan Bridge in row upon row of bouquet! This is my favorite time of year, Capricorn. The sun never sets and crazy shit happens. Woot.
AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
Crazy ups and downs are what you're all about, Aquarius — that pretty much goes with your sign. The key to surviving that roller coaster ride, though, is remembering this duality at all times. So when you're flying high, you're always aware that things could crash; and, more importantly, when things look grim, they'll eventually turn around. If you can really internalize this, you'll be fine.
PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
Step on a crack, break your mother's back. I had a brief week-long run in the fall of my seventh year when I pretty firmly believed this to be a true fact about the world. So each day, as I walked to and from school, I danced along the sidewalk avoiding all the cracks. Until Jason Richie knocked me into Pam Dawber (no relation). My mother was fine when I got home. Stay rational, Pisces.