ARIES (mar 21-apr 19)
High summer is upon us, and with it long hot days of noise and sweat and drama: car horns that blast the entire length of the Williamsburg Bridge; blockside beats that get into your viscera and stay with you all night keeping you awake; the earworms of the ice cream truck, eternal, torturous. Fall can't come soon enough, can it Aries?

TAURUS (apr 20-may 20)
There is a bar on Grand Street in Williamsburg, about 30 yards from Berry Street, that has a strictly locals-only policy. Every now and then when I walk by, I'll catch a glance through the open door and see happy people laughing and dancing and cussing and having a good time. I wish I could go to that bar, Taurus.

GEMINI (may 21-june 20)
If your brain were a pirate radio station, it'd be broadcasting freeform jams from a boat in international waters. If your heart was a squat, it'd be in the middle of downtown Amsterdam. If your brain and your heart got together for a benefit party, it'd be a fuck-ton of fun, Gemini... See what I'm getting at?

CANCER (june 21-july 22)
I was about 60 miles north of the Arctic Circle last week, in Norwegian territory, and I ran into some old Sami buddies of mine. When I told them I'd been spending a lot of time in Brooklyn they all got really excited and asked me if Roberta's was really that good. Fucking globalized hipster monoculture, Cancer. (I told 'em no.)

LEO (july 23-aug 22)
Did you once have the funk, Leo? Do you no longer have the funk? Where is the funk? What is the funk? Do we really need the funk to have a good time? If you had to make a choice, about one thing for the rest of your life, would you choose the funk or the mojo? And finally, have you seen my funk?

VIRGO (aug 23-sep 22)
Do you have World Cup fever? I have World Cup fever. I've watched every single minute of every single game and I'm even having dreams that I'm an international soccer star taking the pitch for extra time of the cup final... And then I wake up, and life seems bleak. Don't get lost in dreams, Virgo, live your life.

LIBRA (sept 23-oct 22)
Everybody's always freaking out about more parks, more green, more open space... Well, what about dark, shadowy places, the kind of tenebrous hovels that allow us to be anonymous and inward-looking? Who do I have to lobby to get more of those in the city? I mean seriously, Libra, there are hardly even any alleyways in this bizarro town.

SCORPIO (oct 23-nov 21)
Poor Flag Day. Used to be such a big deal, and then it got its identity changed to Memorial Day, and it became all about the party. But you know, Scorpio, life happens, and instead of moping, I heard that Flag Day moved to Austin and became kind of a big deal. Opened an organic burger joint, joined a roller derby team. Way to 
go Flag Day.

SAGITTARIUS (nov 22-dec 21)
There are moments in life when the future opens up to us in a way that is ferociously, terrifyingly real. For some, this abrupt and total realization of life's finitude (and its infinite possibility) is too much, and they run away from it. Others run to it. What will you do, Sagittarius? (Duh, the latter, please.)

CAPRICORN (dec 22-jan 19)
People don't change, Capricorn. They might realize they've fallen into patterns of unpleasant behavior that are costing them friends, and they might try to adjust these patterns of behavior, but that doesn't mean the part of them on the inside that wants so badly to destroy, has "changed." Just because you can control your impulses doesn't mean you don't have them.

AQUARIUS (jan 20-feb 18)
Dear Aquarius, I'm pretty damn happy about these recent developments, and I just wanted you to know that nothing is more important to me than your happiness through all this... And sure, I'm definitely going to fuck up at some point, but try not to hold it against me for too long. I'm trying, I promise.

PISCES (feb 19-mar 20)
My dog has her head draped across my wrist as I write this, so it is proving difficult to type with any kind of alacrity or spontaneity. As such, each word is measured out slowly, like fine cloth on the eve of a grand wedding. Should I let my dog marry a cat? She really wants to, Pisces, but I find it kind of weird... Thoughts?

ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
So it turns out you can go home again. A recent study by scientists wearing floppy white lab coats has revealed that over 80 percent of people who attempt to find their way back home actually make it. Good news, Aries! Now you can go dig up your lucky spoon from the backyard!

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
Grass between your toes might not be enough to save your soul, but it's probably enough to save your sanity. You've been putting it off long enough, Taurus: get your ass out of the city and take it easy. I'm not talking about a three-day BBQ and beer fest, I'm talking peace and quiet in nature.

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
Gemini, it's totally ok that you anthropomorphize everything in your life, and that you actually go so far as to imbue the inanimate objects dearest to you with personalities (and voices!), but you definitely cannot start dating the kitchen table. Look, I know human beings can be cruel, but don't give up.

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
Do you feel that your life is not your own? That vast, sinister forces are using you like just another checker piece? Yeah, Cancer, I'm afraid you're right. But why freak? Look, whether you believe in the primacy of God, the Illuminati or Higgs-Boson, you're going to die soon, so you might as well live now.

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
An early summer evening, Little League, ice cream, the sound of crickets, the soft, sweet smell of the linden blossoms… AND THEN BLAM-O, tree frogs, millions of them, all over you and your Mustang convertible; you slam on the brakes in vain and careen into a pillow truck. Tree frogs suck, huh Leo?

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
I was playing chess the other day with an Azeri hunchback dressed in an Azzedine Alaia suit (it was old and tattered) and 
I was having a hard time concentrating on the match. Atom looked me in the eye and said: "Will you please stop worrying about Virgo's happiness and pay attention?" 
So I did.

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
The Sargasso Sea is a vast metaphor, applicable in numerous emotional and material situations: "That office is a Sargasso Sea." "That marriage became a Sargasso Sea." "That pond is like the Sargasso Sea." "Libra, the next two weeks of your life will be like the Sargasso Sea." See?

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
The word for dawn is pretty, whatever language you speak. Aube. Aurora. Amanecer. It makes sense, you know, insofar as the dawn has two attributes that appeal to us: it's objectively beautiful, and it takes a bit of effort to see it. When's the last time you really took in the dawn, Scorpio?

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
I used to wanna be a helicopter pilot. Then I wanted to be a cowboy psychiatrist. Then I wanted to be a pool boy. Then I wanted to farm oxygen on the Moon. Then I wanted to be Liv Tyler's personal breakfast chef. Sometimes, Sagittarius, it's important to set realistic goals.

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
The best way to cook a freshly caught rainbow trout is to pack it in foil with butter, lemon slices, salt, pepper and rosemary and throw it in the fire. Doesn't that sound good, Capricorn? Damn. There's a reason why I try not to write these horoscopes when I'm hungry. AND WHAT ABOUT MILKSHAKES!? So good.

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
It's been a little while, hasn't it, Aquarius? Well, I'm glad I'm back, if for the very least to be able to tell you how I'm feeling each fortnight. How am I feeling right now? Besides being hungry, I gotta say the cool breeze coming in off the river has me feeling pretty good. You know, hopeful…

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
The best bartender I ever knew—her name was Hanka—was convinced that water polo was, in fact, a bunch of rich white men riding around on swimming horses. No matter how hard I argued, no matter how much evidence I provided, she refused to believe me. I tell you, Pisces, she was a really good bartender.