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.