Wednesday, November 11, 2009
HOROSCOPE
Posted by Läps Trinity on Wed, Nov 11, 2009 at 4:00 AM
See how the curtains billow into the room, even though the window is closed? That means you have ghosts; or possibly a crack in the window frame. Obviously, I’m going to go with ghosts. Aries, you need to think about who might be haunting you this month, then you should ask them to stop—you don’t need that right now.
TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
Being able to feed yourself is an important life-skill, Taurus. And by “feed yourself” I don’t mean “microwave a burrito.” I’m talking about the honest pleasures of cooking a meal, for yourself and for friends. When’s the last time you had a dinner party? Have one soon, and good things will happen.
GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
Jai alai continues to be my preferred metaphor for modern existence: it’s fast, only right-handed players can do it, and it uses a tiny hard ball. I really don’t have to spell that all out, do I, Gemini? Good. Take those analogs for what they are, and use those lessons in your life. Jai! Alai!
CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
You can smell the snow on the wind—like metal that’s been kept in the freezer… reminds me of home. You know, Cancer, I actually miss shoveling snow: the scrape of the shovel on the driveway, removing layers of clothing as you get hot… Winter’s coming, so you’d better dry-clean your sweaters.
LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
Buy your tickets now. Whether for a winter getaway, Rangers game, or simply “to ride,” you need to plan ahead, Leo. How many times has the thing you really wanted to do just slipped through your fingers, leaving you doing the thing you kind of want to do? That feeling sucks. Quit short-changing your funtimes.
VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
Do you smell sorrel? I smell sorrel. I also smell pomegranate. Do you smell pomegranate? Is there a giant spike sticking out of my head? Why does everything look green? Virgo, if there was, in fact, a giant spike in my head interfering with my brain, would you tell me? WOULD YOU?
LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
Where are all the honky tonks? The raucous saloons filled with loose women and men in hats? I’m asking you, Libra, because now that darkness has fallen across the land, we really need to make sure we have fun in loud, well-lit places, lest we become depressed and lose all hope. Time to party.
SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
I was sailing around the North Sea over the summer, a solo expedition in search of the mythical lundehund, a rare Scandinavian canid blessed with the gift of being able to gossip while still retaining respect among its peers. Nobody likes a gossip, Scorpio, so unless you’re a lundehund, you should ease up.
SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
Have you been down lately? You seem down. Are you eating enough fruit? Your natural inclination at the moment is probably just to eat cheese and potatoes all night long, to fatten yourself up for winter. DO NOT DO THIS. It will make you sad and fat, and I don’t like you sad and fat, Sagittarius.
CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
Where I come from, there is no Thanksgiving in November. As such, with no holiday to look forward to, it really is one of the saddest months: the darkness is oppressive, the weather is cold and painful, without the mitigation of pretty snow… I’m glad I came to America, Capricorn. I do not hate your freedoms!
AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
Don’t give up, Aquarius. As the poet says, it is always darkest before dawn. And, I guess it can’t get much darker than this, right? So you should probably start getting ready for the great dawning! Oh what fun we’ll have, making pancakes, staring at the sun! Dawn! Dawn! The dawn is beautiful.
PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
My dog Lance was struck by lightning. He’s ok, but it blew him 25 feet—luckily he landed in a cab pick-up truck carrying old jean jackets. The weird thing is that I had to follow that pick-up clear across the state of New York before I could get Lance back. All of which is to say, Pisces, cherish what you have.
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