Monday, June 8, 2009

Horoscope

Posted by on Mon, Jun 8, 2009 at 9:41 PM

ARIES  MAR 21 — APR 19
Do you miss high school even a bit? I know the horrid mix of hormones, cruelty and french fry grease made for some awful, humiliating moments, but wasn't there kind of a wonderful freedom to youth? A quicksilver torrent of hope and possibility? Or maybe my memories are off. Maybe I'm the one with the problem, Aries. Maybe you're right to just bury all the bad nostalgia. Maybe.

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.

Sunday, May 24, 2009

Horoscope

Posted by on Sun, May 24, 2009 at 4:02 PM

ARIES  MAR 21 — APR 19
Now and then it's pretty important to scratch that itch. You're a human being, right, Aries? You feel, you bleed, you get sad, you forget... so I don't think it's wise for you to be repressing all that, all the time. I'm not suggesting you pull the bandages off all at once — that would be just plain masochistic. One little thing at a time, let the world come to you, and embrace it when it does.

TAURUS  APR 20 — MAY 20
The high plains are no place for a ball gown. The supermarket is no place for a Gatling gun. Aruba is no place for a snowboard. This life is no place for timidity. Listen to me, Taurus, there is no inherent value in your prideful ability to sit tight and weather the storm. You see, it's all storms. Avoiding storms is avoiding life. So yeah, obviously, you need to go out and get wet.

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
Oh it's dark alright. But just because it's dark doesn't mean dawn will come, Gemini. But if you can't sleep, you might as well do something, right? Why don't you put some lentils on to cook? They smell great and they're really handy to have around for curries or stews or soups or even bean salads! And they're also probably the best protein bang for the buck... Not so dark after all, is it!

CANCER  JUNE 21 — JULY 22
It's fort-building time, dude. Pull the cushions off the couch, drag out the comforters, put your underpants on your head and hold siege to the kitchen. For too long the fridge has taunted you, the cupboards have mocked your overtures to peace... if it's war they want, it's war they'll get. Sure, they might have the food, but you have the TV. You can win this fight, Cancer. I believe in you.

LEO  JULY 23 — AUG 22
It sucks to be out of a job. The unemployed life might appear enticing to those of us locked into the 60-hour work-week scurry, but it's not all mid-morning lattes and reading The Economist in the bathtub. Not having money is stressful. There really isn't any way to explain it to the people who've always had a safety net. Get back up and get out there, Leo. You were made to work.

VIRGO  AUG 23 — SEP 22
You know that thing they say about cats, Virgo? Well, basically, a cat has a better chance of surviving a fall from five storeys than it does one from two storeys. You see, given the right amount of fall-time, the average alley feline can right himself to prepare for impact; without it... splat. My point here is that we can get through anything if we just get ready for it... Start planning now.

LIBRA  SEP 23 — OCT 22
It just takes a little particulate to poison the whole system. You can't even see it, but it's there: a small bitter drop that divides and divides and divides until we are all squinting with malice in our sleep, saying the wrong thing as a matter of principle. How do we purify things, Libra? What is the first step toward kindness for kindness' sake? Probably chocolate, or beer.

SCORPIO  OCT 23 — NOV 21
We're always kind of standing on the border between the past and the future, Scorpio, checking our paperwork, exchanging currency, wondering where we're going to stay that night. We are travelers, you know, with all the uncertainty and possibility that entails... But here's a phrase you should learn, that you won't find in any guide book: "There is hope, but not for us." Learn that one..

SAGITTARIUS  NOV 22 — DEC 21
The turducken has become a part of the American holiday tradition, even if it's mainly a punch line or a signifier of excess. But what are we to do in the summer months? I propose a multi-level frozen treat extrapolated from the Baked Alaska: gelato within sorbet within ice cream within whipped cream, each layer flash fried in a paper-thin layer of pastry. Dream big, Sagittarius.

CAPRICORN  DEC 22 — JAN 19
An empty bar in the middle of the day has a gloriously distinctive smell — trying to describe it is like rhyming with orange, but I will try: there's a bit of stable, traces of perfume and popcorn, wet paperbacks, ash, cheap soap. It is one of my favorite smells and it only lasts while the sun is high. And you know, the sun sets on us all, so breathe deep, Capricorn.

AQUARIUS  JAN 20 — FEB 18
I picture you sitting in a deep windowsill, surrounded by pillows and books, maybe a dog is there with you; it is winter, but the light is warm and anyway, you're wrapped in a heavy sweater (maybe it's mine) and a blanket, and there is a steaming mug of tea on a stool beside you. I don't think you've noticed me yet, and that's how I like it. You seem happy, Aquarius, and it is nice to see.

PISCES  FEB 19 — MAR 20
I dare you to climb up on the roof and yell to the sky exactly what you really think, Pisces. No one else has to hear it, that's fine, but you just have to do it. Take your time with this, think about it: how do you feel, exactly? Fuck, even if you're happy, you can just yell that to the clouds and the airplanes and the confused-looking gulls. Release yourself into the wider world..

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Horoscope

Posted by on Tue, May 12, 2009 at 5:28 PM

ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
You're kind of like the Neutral Milk Hotel of cool kids, Aries. You did that one thing a long time ago, which people still talk about; but most of those people actually think you're dead. You need to come up with something to let the world know you're alive (even just to let yourself know). Forget the concept albums, have you thought about a well-timed streak?

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
The next most terrifying animal-borne illness will assuredly be the the Adirondack Squirrel Stutter. The first cases will appear in the Catskill region and will sweep down the Hudson River in a chattering deluge of incomplete sentences and awkward communication. The pandemic will culminate in the collapse of the radio industry. Are you prepared, Taurus?

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
It takes a little bit more than that to make it in this city, Gemini. It troubles me that you actually think you've put in the necessary time and care to be ready for your "big break," as you call it. It takes years of cultivating contacts and waiting for the right moment to strike. I'm still waiting. Yup. Waiting for the perfect time to become rich and famous. Can you recommend an agent?

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
Is this time going to be different? Are you finally going to say, "Enough is enough, I'm tired of missing out on free ice cream samples"? Being assertive doesn't mean you're rude, Cancer, it just means you'll have few excused to complain about stuff. If you don't ever try, you can just blame the world for your woes, and that will just leave you bitter and alone in the end. Is that what you want?

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
Did you grow up on a crescent? A court? An avenue? Or better still, a boulevard, lane or cul-de-sac? Your psychological profile as an adult, some studies say, is directly linked to the psycho-geographical space you first inhabited as a child. Life on a "road" makes you independent but wary; on an "alley," secretive and dirty. You have to know the past, Leo, to change the future.

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
The Devil can't really make you do something you wouldn't normally do anyway. At least that's how I interpret my three weeks of Sunday school lessons from Lem Kock's daughter in the autumn of my tenth year. She was beautiful, Lem Kock's daughter, hair the color of dijonnaise, teeth like Canadian dimes. Oh, Virgo, don't blame the Devil for Lem Kock's daughter...

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
We all know that Nina Simone went pretty much straight-up crazy toward the end of her life in France. She shot at dudes and often wouldn't use fabric softener. Foibles like these, Libra, are, of course, the price of genius. But here's the real trick: just because you have foibles like these does not, ipso facto, make you a genius. Right now, you're just irritating. Get it?

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
Half way is better than not at all. But all the way is the best. You know what I'm saying, Scorpio... a triple is the most exciting play in baseball, but what everyone wants is the home run. Is this getting dirty? Is your sex life ok? Because a healthy sex life is important for happiness. This also includes masturbation. So, yeah, settle for the bunt single if you have to... just get on base.

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
So, you're an amateur cartographer now, eh Sagittarius, ready to explore the world and make maps of everywhere you go... I have bad news for you: everywhere has been mapped. It's been mapped in three dimensions, in four, in two, it's been mapped in chocolate, in butter — you're going to need a radically new angle. And that angle is stuffed animals! Maps made of plush. Do it.

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
Oh how we talk and just let the words come out without any thought to their sharpness, their raw wounding edges. And what seems like a mere scratch at first grows into a blooming infection, spreading through the host until there is no other option but to amputate and cauterize. You know, Capricorn, for a waitress, you can be really mean sometimes.

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
Just because the canoe doesn't look riverworthy to you, Aquarius, doesn't mean we shouldn't take it out for spin. C'mon, you'll love it. We'll pack a lunch — sandwiches, chips, a banana, a thermos of coffee and a bottle of wine — plop the dogs in the middle, and let the current take us into the late afternoon. Not so bad, right? There is no reason why this can't happen...

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
I've never really believed in the soul. The idea of an immaterial, eternal self that exists like hydraulic fluid in a backhoe, animating the corporal machine, seems patently absurd to me. But (and this is a big, important "but"), I understand that this idea might be important to you, Pisces, so I won't make fun of it too much. The only thing I'll say is that your "soul" needs a pep talk. It's flagging.

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Horoscope

Posted by on Tue, Apr 28, 2009 at 3:49 PM

ARIES
Hey, if there's one thing history has taught us, it's that tall people are really successful in fields like library management, horse shoes, politics and netball. Are any of these fields of interest to you in your future endeavors? No, I didn't think so. SO WHY ARE YOU HANGING UPSIDE DOWN EVERY NIGHT FROM THE CEILING? You should stop doing that and find another hobby, Aries.

TAURUS
Really? Was I that bad? I didn't even realize it at the time... I honestly thought everybody loved me. But I guess what you're telling me, Taurus, here in the cold light of day, the cigarette smoke curling up over my top lip and deep into my brain, the alcohol fading slowly into the back eddies of my bloodstream, is that I was an asshole last night. Yeah, well so were you.

GEMINI
Why do they kill horses for things as minimal as a broken fetlock? How can such a perfectly evolved creature, so well fit to do one thing — run — be so disposable? Sometimes, Gemini, even taking the briefest moment to think about the world can cripple you with sadness. That's why it's important to work. I'm not talking any fancy St. Benedict "work as virtue" shit, I mean get a job. Loser.

CANCER
My true love gave me golden boots to cross the vaulted sky. My true love gave me a silver cape that I might hide from darkest rain. My true love gave me a ruby crown that I might pass the Bridge of Sighs. My true love gave me a magic beer to dull the aching pain. My true love also gave me a pretty serious headache, so that didn't really work out. Don't be fooled by fancy gifts, Cancer.

LEO
Are you just making shit up as you go along, Leo? Faking your way through every moment of every day to the extent that you're losing track of what's real and what's fake? Well, here's an important message for you: the line between "fake" and "real" is an antiquated construct devised to maintain a mass immiserated class of workers with no real freedom or franchise. So you're good, dude.

VIRGO
Once, my Uncle Susan ran out into a giant electrical storm with the intent of getting himself struck by lightning. He had this theory that God resides in electricity and that the only way to approach transcendence on the terrestrial plane is to fill your body with pure energy. He is now dead. I can't stress enough, Virgo, the importance of considering the consequences of your actions.

LIBRA
Dude, it's not lame to go to bed at 10pm. As the Buddha said, you gotta eat when you're hungry and sleep when you're tired. The key here, though, is that you shouldn't eat when you're not hungry (not to mention that excessive napping and/or sleeping is a sure sign of depression). Listen to your body, Libra, it knows a lot about itself (but ignore your brain, it is devious and needy).

SCORPIO
Breakfast in bed is more trouble than it's worth: crumbs end up in your pillow case and live there for weeks; egg yolks travel up the headboard in viscous amarillo streaks; thrice-roasted Columbian blend seeps deep into the mattress, caffeinating your dreams... My point, Scorpio, is that sometimes luxury is actually a burden. As Spiro Agnew said: "If you ain't got nothing, you're a poor."

SAGITTARIUS
I've always wondered what kind of guy our Sun is. I mean, he's just one in a billion, like the rest of us, hanging out, trying to get his work done each day (and solar days are loooong). Does he even realize he's sustaining all this life? And if he did, would he care? Is he popular, or is he thought of by the other stars as a little déclassé? And is it weird, Sagittarius, that I'm worried about his mood?

CAPRICORN
The hot times are upon us, Capricorn. This is good because: people wear less clothing, which is totally sexytimes all around; bars and restaurants open their windows and put their tables outside, so you can watch the sexy people; you can let your exotic pets outside. This is bad because: you will be covered in sweat; your friends will be covered in sweat; your exotic pets will be covered in sweat.

AQUARIUS
How fine your garden grows, Aquarius! How broad are your leaves! How bright are your strawberries! How sweet are your peaches! Is this starting to sound like sexy talk? I guess the sap is rising all over the place, don't you know. Well, you should give in. Just do it. Get carnal. Don't think. Have fun. Let it go. Cut loose. You'll only ever be this age once, so you might as well dive in.

PISCES
Sure, we live in boxes. I get the conceit: "Modern life is compartmentalized and our lives are reduced to infinitely regressive units of time and oh how it's all so dehumanizing and wouldn't it be great if we all lived like Arcadian shepherds tootling in the hills of Samothrace." Fuck that, Pisces — I like my box. It has my chair in it, and my books. Can't we just be happy with that?

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

Horoscope

Posted by on Wed, Apr 1, 2009 at 12:00 AM

ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
Do you have nosy neighbors? The kind who invent some flimsy pretense to linger at the door trying to peek past you to see your meth lab/train set/bean bag chair? Or, Aries, and think about this… are you a nosy neighbor? Perhaps the reason so many people obsess about the small, mundane details of the lives of others is to compensate for a lack of vitality in their own.

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
When I was a child I used to go down to the lake. This wasn’t the kind of tiny pine-gilt pond most associate with the word “lake” — it was a giant, freshwater inland sea, and I would sit on the strand staring for hours out over the water, trying to see to the other side. I never saw a thing. But you know what, Taurus? For all those many afternoons I did see a lot. Mainly teenagers smoking cigarettes.

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
You know those people who say “matoor” rather than “machoor” when they’re pronouncing the word “mature”? I don’t like those people. I also don’t like people who try to high five me. I also don’t like people who ask waiters or waitresses “What’s good today?” I also don’t like people who badmouth astrology. Have you been badmouthing astrology, Gemini? Stop it.

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
Whoa, whoa, whoa… I just realized something: It’s stoop season, baby! (Or at the very least it’s stoop preseason.) Have you hung out on your or your friend’s stoop yet? Look, even if it’s 45 degrees out, I highly recommend you throw on a heavy sweater, crack open a forty and take in the early spring life blossoming on your block. Oh, and Cancer? Put on some pants this time.

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
I was recently locked in a defunct dining car from the old Albany-Quebec City train line. I was stuck in there for almost three days. Luckily, there was a box of Ritz Crackers and some old bottles of Genny Light to tide me over, along with a catalogue of designer orchid bulbs. Somehow, despite my depravation and isolation, I was really pretty happy with the weekend. Simplicity, Leo, is good.

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
You know those ancient cultures that have really ornate gestural dance rituals that tell epic foundational tales of love, war and divine retribution? Yeah, we don’t really have those, do we? No, we have the “Cabbage Patch,” the “Butter Churn” and the “Running Man.” Virgo, we need a richer gestural language that goes beyond “fuck you” and “peace.” Talk with the hand, not to the hand.

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
The key to starting a chainsaw, Libra, is throwing it away from you as you pull the starter cord — let gravity do the work, not your shoulder. You should also probably wait until at least sunrise before working the timber. You’ll also need some safety pants. Actually, are you sure you’re ready to handle a big mechanized tool designed to chew through giant trees? You’re a lover, not a fighter, dude.

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
You know what’s really fun? Dressing your dog up like a pirate. What’s that, Scorpio? Don’t have a dog? I have a solution. You can walk around certain neighborhoods in Brooklyn on any given weekend and find dozens of cute little pooches tied up outside of drugstores, bars and sporting goods stores. Why not dress them up on the fly? Superfun! Isn’t Brooklyn a magical, whimsical place!!!

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
We all feel pain, Sagittarius — emotional, physical, oneiric — it’s an ineluctable fact of life that we have to come to terms with. We do, however, have the opportunity to train ourselves in the Stoic tradition and keep our reactions internal. What’s gained by bottling up your feelings? Well, frankly, the main thing is that I won’t have to listen to you anymore, which would be great for me.

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
Look, look, there’s no such thing as an empty gesture. Everything has a meaning, Capricorn, and even if you know that no one’s going to hear what you’re saying, sometimes you still just have to say it. At the very least, you’ll know, and you’re still important. Right? You still think you have a purpose on this planet, right? Jeez, dude, c’mon, don’t quit yet.

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
Ok, Modern Science, I’m ready. I’m ready for flying cars and bionic limbs and computer-enhanced brain function; I’m ready for nanobots to get the stains out of my tuxedo t-shirt and teleportation and silicon capes that will make me sexy all the time. I am ready, Aquarius, for our coming robot overlords. Are you? Quit being such a technophobe and wire yourself in to the future.

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
You should try being a bit more of an asshole, Pisces. I hate to say it, but a little abrasiveness can go a long way toward getting what you want. People may not like you or come to your birthday drink event, but they will want to avoid getting yelled at, so in the end, they’ll probably do what you want. Basically, what I’m saying is more power equals less friends. Go for it!

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Horoscope

Posted by on Wed, Mar 18, 2009 at 12:00 AM

ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
I knew you long before we became friends. I saw you in the street, picking up old newspapers, talking to dogs, folding takeout menus into paper airplanes, dressed all the while in pink coveralls and an old, battered pith helmet. You looked totally crazy, Aries. You still look totally crazy, but now I trust you to do the right thing. You will do the right thing this time around, won’t you?

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
Must you turn every daily interaction into an opportunity for political grandstanding? Sometimes, Taurus, an innocent question about appetizers is just an innocent question about appetizers, and does not require a ten-minute disquisition on the history of the Asturian labor movement at the beginning of the Spanish Civil War. For reals, dude, stop taking yourself so seriously.

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
There are cities across America filled with alleys and back byways, unnamed thoroughfares that go nowhere and everywhere all at once. In the winter we are pulled along on sleds by angry snowcats; in the spring we float down the floodwaters of nostalgia on pizza boxes and guitar cases… One day, Gemini, we will get lost forever, and it will be a happy day.

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
There I am, in the back of the van, thumbing through old issues of Sports Illustrated, sipping on a gin and juice, back doors thrown wide open to catch the sunset, and some old dude just comes up to me and straight up starts talking about the time he went to Biarritz and ate mussels with Princess Grace, and I’m like, “I don’t care.” I don’t really care, Cancer, just do what you have to do.

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
Let’s say you’re an unusually scattered intellectual who’s exiled himself to Paris in the late 1930s to write about art, architecture and the implacable forward movement of history. You find yourself one day sitting out on the boulevard St. Germain, sipping a café au lait, writing a letter to Stefan Zweig as a group of fascists marches by… What do you do, Leo? Do you act?

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
You’ve been on the East Coast for too long, Virgo. You need to loosen the fuck up, go shoeless for a few consecutive days, climb a tree, eat a peach. I know, I know, spring is coming, yadda-yadda, but we all know what that means in New York: dog shit and garbage cooking in the weak March sun. You need to take a road trip south. Seriously, start planning.

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
Storage space is a sad but useful metaphor for modern existence. Just think of the myriad ways in which we try to fill the spiritual void: exercise bikes, fondue pots, VHS tapes of Sanford and Son. But really, Libra, there’s not enough storage room in the world to contain all the objects you need to distract you from the emptiness. Renounce your desires, have a Sanka. 

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
Those were the days, Scorpio. Tree forts, lemonade stands, lollipops and yoyos, puppet shows, The Goonies… What do you miss most about college? And how do we return to those carefree sensibilities? Face it, we can’t just squeeze our eyes tight and wish for the best, clicking our heels as the streetlights wink on one at a time. You see, we can’t ever return to those sensibilities. That’s it.

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
Everyone thinks they’re wise and tolerant. Everyone thinks they have a pretty good sense of humor. Everyone thinks they’re a good driver. Everyone thinks they have good taste in footwear. But you know very well, Sagittarius, that most people don’t have those things. The trick is, you probably don’t either, statistically speaking. It’s time you came to grips with your inadequacies.

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
Buttoned up to the top, or undone to near salacious levels? What’s your mood today, Capricorn, and how are you going to express that through your outfit? You’ve had a hard time communicating your feelings through words and facial expressions of late, so you should move to the sartorial realm. Let your cardigans do the pouting, your shoes do the bitch-slapping. Dress to express.

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
Hey, we should go hang-gliding, you and me. I know it seems pretty dangerous, but think of the adrenaline rush alongside the indescribable experience of flight — don’t you think you need a jolt to the system, Aquarius, something big and amazing to wrench you out of yourself and your routines? I don’t know, maybe just a long bike ride and a spicy curry will do the trick. Maybe.

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
There can be no greater feeling of relief than experiencing your friend’s art for the first time and actually, honestly enjoying it. I once knew a woman who refused to read her boyfriend’s writing; it was really weird, she loved him, and he had talent, but she didn’t want to enter into any kind of critical dynamic with him. I respected it at the time, but it didn’t work out. Lesson learned, Pisces?

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Horoscope

Posted by on Wed, Mar 4, 2009 at 12:00 AM

ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
Can’t you see that flowers aren’t going to cut it this time, Aries? Granted, forgiveness is a great ocean in a flow of perpetual renewal, but you can never really tell what’s going to sink to the bottom and what’s going to glide delightfully across the surface. Well, in this case I can tell that flowers are definitely going to end up in Davey Jones’ Locker. Upgrade to jewelry.

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
Your eyes are wide open, your mouth is shut. Your hair is combed back, your shoes are tied up. Your feet are on the ground, your hands gripped tight. You, Taurus, are ready to rock and roll… But just as you’re set to take the stage you hesitate, your breath held back in an anxious gulp. What happened? Why can’t you follow things to their logical conclusions? Be brave, dude.

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
I knew a girl in high school who was convinced she was a changeling. You know, someone with the power to take any form they can imagine, from professional polo player to goose. This girl (let’s call her Stephanie R. Webb) would show up at a party and start mewling, as if she thought she was a trapped bobcat. We tried, Gemini, to tell her she wasn’t, but she wouldn’t listen.

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
I want a boater, a stripey jacket, a pair of wide-legged houndstooth trousers, a monocle and a sterling silver cigarette case. You see, Cancer, I am about to reinvent myself. Honestly, it’s not as hard as it sounds. Just find some pictures from magazines you like, take them to the clothing place, and ask the nice people to outfit you. Also, try to be cooler and talk with a funny accent.

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
You think it’s bad that Mitt Romney tied the family dog to his car roof, well, get a load of this: apparently the ancient Sumerian Sparvak culture would tie the second-born child to the roof of the car whenever they went to war (which they waged in abandoned Wal-Mart parking lots), using the poor little creatures for ballast and luck. My point is, Leo, there’s always something worse.

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
One man’s vulgarity is another’s man’s bicycle. The world is a small place wrapped in gabardine. We can’t know a thing if we haven’t seen it in the light of day. Have you noticed your weird pronouncements have been getting a little gnomic of late, Virgo? Is there something you’ve been wanting to tell me? Are you trying to speak but it’s just not coming out right? Use a pad.

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
I had a complex, fully developed version of the afterlife when I was eight. (N.B. I no longer believe that consciousness carries on after the biological organism dies, so there.) Basically, Heaven was like an infinite sports stadium in which you could watch whatever you wanted, and angels would come around with your favorite food. Will you sing at my halftime show, Libra?

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
Floating down river on a rickety raft made of candy and foil and magicians’ underpants is not the best way to meet new and interesting people. Sure, you might run into the odd bobbydazzler who jumps aboard at the old mill crossing or what have you, but these friends are not going to last. Ain’t it time you made a commitment, Scorpio, and settled down in one spot?

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
Kentucky or Tennessee? I’m thinking of relocating further south, Sagittarius. There’s just something about the northeast that’s getting to me: maybe it’s the winters, maybe it’s the WASPs… I don’t know. Have you thought about jumping ship, hauling off to somewhere new and exciting? It may seem obvious, but a big change (especially now) is exactly what you need.

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
So you’re standing on a beach staring out in the direction that you think must point straight across to Africa (but in reality you’re actually just looking at the butt end of Cuba), and the sun is setting behind you, and there’s a beer in your left hand. This is it, the end of the world, your last day on earth. Tell me, Capricorn, what is going through your mind? Run with it.

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
That was nice, eh Aquarius? Do you feel at least a little relaxed now? I think you need to put things in context and realize that you function at a basic level of chaotic stress higher than most of the world. So when I ask if you feel calm, I know you’re never going to be one of those people who talks about how “chill” something is, but I just want to know you’re not going to explode.

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
The ancient Romans believed that Sicily was a gateway to Hell, a gray rocky anteroom where lost human souls wandered in search of salvation, only to yield in the end to the maleficent tug of fire and evil. And that is how pizza came to be. The end. Do you know what a non sequitur is, Pisces? Well, that’s how a lot of your behavior comes across right now.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Horoscope

Posted by on Wed, Feb 18, 2009 at 12:00 AM

ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
You should probably scale back your dreams of creating the perfect man-machine hybrid, especially considering your “plan” consists primarily of improvised derma-grafts involving scuba gear, snowblowers and AppleWorks. Seriously, Aries, cognac is not really an effective sedative for the kind of work you propose — I would recommend word jumbles or Civil War reenactment videos.

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
There are the predictable things of which most of us are afraid: spiders, old mansions, psychopaths hiding under tarps in the back of the Chevelle. And then there are the bizarre phobias unique to the individuated consciousness: for me this would include a deep fear of landscaper riots (imagine the carnage). What are you most afraid of, Taurus? Now, go forth and face down your fear.

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
To hell with that, I actually think French can sound pretty good in a rock and roll song. The key, though, is that it be sung by a pouty redhead with a strong Parisian accent. The redhead in question may be either male or female, but must be thin and pretty and possessed of a febrile sexuality always on the edge of burning out. We don’t talk enough, Gemini, about what we want from life.

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
One of my best memories of youth was taking the repurposed VW Bug down the hill for a “carboggan.” Somehow keeping the frame intact, we’d stripped as much weight as possible from the Bug and fitted a big pair of runners to the steering column — it took two of Per Malmqvist’s prize draught horses to get it back up the hill, but we had fun, Cancer. Isn’t that the most important thing?

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
It might be time to change your name, Leo. Look, I guess it’s been going pretty good for you so far (I don’t know, that’s kind of relative) but you haven’t exactly hit it big, have you? I’m normally against making superficial alterations in situations that seem to call for more substantive change, but maybe you need to reinvent from the outside in. Your new name should be Lucky Devereaux.

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
Despite what some people have written in online forums, I am very good when it comes to paying bills. Just because I’ve had the “temerity” to dispute charges that were less than clearly outlined on the bill does not make me a “dodge” or a “cheat” or a “lover of lying naked on bearskin rugs in front of large-screen images of fireplaces.” Don’t believe everything the internet tells you, Virgo.

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
What do you think is the one song you’ve listened to the most in your life, Libra? What track did you play endlessly in your bedroom as a heartsick 15-year-old grappling with a frothy new sea of hormones? Or did you travel overland from Patna to Nanchang in a truck filled with Marlboro Lights sitting beside a one-eyed smuggler obsessed with “Loser” by Radiohead? Well, Libra, which?

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
A sharp knife, comfortable shoes and a bit of soap. That’s all you need, according to my grandfather, to make it through a month in a Bhutanese jail. Are you prepared for the worst, Scorpio? I mean, “rioting in the streets/Hobbesian chaos” worst. You should come up with an apocalypse contingency plan with your nearest and dearest, as in, “Everyone head north and we’ll meet at Jed’s cabin.”

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
That’s a little obvious, don’t you think, Sagittarius? And lord knows we have enough of the obvious floating down the river each day mucking up the shoreline. If you’re going to open your mouth, if you’re going to contribute to the endless flow of noise and fiddlesticks, why not at least try to be new? Better yet, really, why do any of us have to say anything? Too much noise.

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
The best ghost story I have ever heard ends with a pair of gym shoes dangling from a beam in the basement. The problem is that I can’t remember the first part. It’s all fragments now, Capricorn, non-linear quanta of fact and fiction zapping around my brain. They say you can augment your memory with a good diet and focused mental exercises. Wait, why are you in my kitchen?

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
“Piss or get off the pot.” “Fish or cut bait.” These are two very coarse, unpleasant homilies that say the same thing. I think it’s time we rescued the sentiment at work here and reframed it in a more poetical manner, like, say, “Pass the crème fraiche and enjoy your bialy,” or “There’s a knife in the silk!” It’s not easy making up your own truism, Aquarius, but giving up is not an option.

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
Standing at the edge of a tall cliff looking out over the roiling surf you looked deep within yourself and saw there a secret book filled with tiny tiny writing telling you how it was all supposed to be but every time you tried to read that writing your eye lost track of the line and the words swam together and all meaning was lost. Well, Pisces, looks like you fucked this one up, hey?

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

Horoscope

Posted by on Wed, Feb 4, 2009 at 12:00 AM

ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
Wouldn’t it be nice, just once, after all the sad-teeth looks and fallen lap-sits and Winnebago revelations, to finally get what you want? Without having to cajole and dissemble, without having to compromise? Yeah, that’s not going to happen. I know you like to feel that you’ve won an argument or made your point, but what’s the sense in that, Aries, if you don’t get what you want?

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
Wow. You really said the wrong thing back there. That was highly inappropriate. First of all, you have to have a much better sense of your audience if you’re going to make it as a “public speaker,” and wearing a necklace of dead fish heads is also unlikely to endear you to the ladies at the book club. Oh Taurus, when will you let the fire go out on its own? Quit throwing matches.

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
There’s nothing wrong with being a weekend warrior, Gemini. Nothing at all. Nope, it’s fine to defer and delay your passions to a strictly administered time period once every seven days. There’s no reason at all you should feel sad about spending your weekdays thinking about your weekends and your weekends trying to forestall the arrival of the weekdays. Nothing is wrong.

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
Oh glorious guitar anthem, you reveal so much to us about ourselves: how we like to nod our heads in a synchronized fashion; how we enjoy pretending we’re holding an instrument in our hands and that we, in fact, are playing music on the invisible instrument; how we like to stare across the room and lip read. Cancer, will you play me a guitar anthem, that I might feel again?

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 2
Do you still have your Christmas tree up, Leo? Don’t you think it’s a fire hazard? I realize you love the idea of letting the natural world exist inside the house, and that the piney smell of the needles reminds you of purity and innocence and that girl from Maine you met at sweater camp. But I’m here to say that none of that’s worth dying for in a conflagration of Santa flames.

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
Why can we talk about some things and not others? Why do people get awkward and childish when the conversation turns to serious topics, like death and polyandry? Is it because we’re raised with virtual paper bags over our heads, shame-sacks that prevent us from seeing, from hearing, from feeling the wind of truth upon our cheeks? Yes, Virgo, that and all the Splenda™.

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
Sure, I like to dance, but that doesn’t mean I’m prepared to cancan with you in the middle of the streetcar. Libra, your manic “quirkiness” and perpetual desire to be spontaneous and/or filled with wonder belie a deep void. Somewhere along the way you got your ass handed to you by life and now you try to avoid thinking about it by going topless at the Dairy Queen. Is it working?

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
Did you ever hear the story of the diminutive decorator who got wallpapered into the study wall by her overzealous assistant? The pattern was so bright and intense that no one noticed for five years. The study itself was the location of an unusual amount of drama, most of it interpersonal, and people always said it was a degree cooler than the rest of the house. Avoid that room, Scorpio.

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
Shucks and hellfire, Sagittarius, that is too much sand to be carrying all the way to the beach. Why do you have to try to improve everything around you, as if you could perfect the entire world by adjusting the light or propping up the table or switching seats? You should worry more about adjusting the only perspective you can control — your own. Or maybe it is too bright in here…

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
So, that’s that. And here you were about to write a long, stupid letter, half-drunk on such a weak elixir of nostalgia it’s pretty much just all ice water at this point. So. Don’t play the old songs or look at the photographs; don’t recite the old poems, either. Spring is coming you great sack of maudlin waffle, so you best start doing some sit-ups. That’s it, Capricorn, the new year starts now!

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
Fuck the haters, I love Wednesdays. You know why they call it “hump day”? Because that’s when the fun starts, when the anticipation of the weekend is at a perfect mix of the possible and the magical; but mainly it’s called that because people like to hump on Wednesdays. I guess my point here (ha!), Aquarius, is that the simple answer is usually the right one. No need to complicate things.

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
Dude, I think you could use a massive infrastructure investment. Your bridges are rusty, your roads are cracking up, your filtrations plants are crumbling and your water towers are most definitely leaking. You may say, Pisces, that you can’t afford the kind of money it will take to invest in such wide-scale improvements, but I’m telling you that you have no choice. Fix thyself.

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Horoscope

Posted by on Wed, Jan 21, 2009 at 12:00 AM

ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
If you can’t be honest with yourself when you’re writing in your journal, you are totally screwed, dude. Seriously, you’re worried about what people will think of you when you’re dead so you’re trying to make yourself seem cooler than you really are? C’mon, Aries, everyone needs a space where they can be brutally honest, if only to themselves. Confess, and move on.

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
It was a cold, dark night on the mountain. The fire had been washed out in the driving rain, and it looked to freeze come morning. We huddled under an enormous pine tree, stamping our feet and cursing the hard, black night. Time slowed and we sat. The cold was in our bones and your eyelids began to flutter… Then, suddenly, the rain stopped. I started the fire. We lived, Taurus, but barely.

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
I was into heraldry one summer. I designed my insignia and shield, and I even came up with a motto: Semper Asinorum (look it up). My insignia featured a fat sleeping cat (chat lardant) and, when worn prominently on my outerwear, was good for letting people know they should LEAVE ME ALONE. It’s important to project your moods, Gemini. How else will people know how you feel?

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
Bathing in ten cubic yards of daffodil petals might sound nice, but did you ever stop to think that a certain astrologer might be allergic to a certain flower? No, no you did not. There’s a great Llorca line that perhaps speaks precisely to what I’m getting at here: “My throat was parched and my lover gave me cake.” The point is, just because you want something, Cancer, doesn’t mean he/she will.

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
The early video game Pitfall was an affecting multisensory experience available to nuanced philosophical interpretation and third-wave Lacanian analysis: watch out for snakes; avoid quicksand; crocodiles will eat you. Are these not prismatic metaphors for modern existence, apprehending meaning only to release cascades of possibility? Anything is everything, these days, Leo.

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
I am a different person when I’m speaking Spanish. I’m more direct, more aggressive, than when I’m honking out word-pies in English. You should teach yourself another language, Virgo — it might be the reinvention you’re looking for… (Go with something exotic, like Finnish. And then when you meet the only other Finnish speaker in your town/dorm/cell block, you will have a friend.)

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
Deep winter, huh, Libra? This is it: dark, cold. Why bother leaving your apartment, right? I honestly can’t say you should. Look, I love making happy predictions about the future, but I just can’t lie to you: stay inside, snuggle up to your lover/TV/mug of Tab. Build a fort out of cushions, catch up on your correspondence, spy on a neighbor. Whatever you do, please use your inside voice.

SCORPIO
 OCT 23 — NOV 21
One of my all-time favorite concepts is the Vampires vs. Werewolves storyline. I’m a really big fan of the whole “thousand-year-old secret war going on all around us” narrative — it adds a little spice to otherwise dreary days spent shuffling from door to subway to work and back. But have you ever wondered, Scorpio, if the plumbers are at war with the electricians? Could happen.

SAGITTARIUS
 NOV 22 — DEC 21
Don’t let anyone ever tell you that classical guitar is for pansies. I got stuck in a freight elevator once, in an abandoned building in downtown Almeria, with all these guitar students, and dudes just opened up their cases and started playing crazy contrapuntal baroque shit, and they had wine and cheese and olives... Look past the obvious, Sagittarius, and it’ll get you drunk.

CAPRICORN
 DEC 22 — JAN 19
There’s an area in Australia called the Gold Coast where, I’m told, there is nothing but silicon-filled palm trees and obnoxious giant condominiums with sharp twangy accents and all they talk about is having sex with crocodiles and filling buckets with beer and shooting manta rays from atop their surfboards as a thousand didgeridoos play Men At Work on the strand. Don’t go there, Capricorn.

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
Oak trees are truly beautiful things. I spent a week living in an old oak forest in Burgundy, sleeping on a bed of leaves and moss, drinking straight from an ancient spring, sustaining myself on wild boar jerky and trail mix. The sound of the wind through the trees was all the entertainment I needed. Maybe one day, we can go back there, Aquarius, and begin to live again.

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
There’s an old story about Soviet audiences who, when “taking in” a speech by ol’ Joe Stalin, would clap for hours and hours because nobody wanted to be seen as the first person who stopped clapping for the Beloved Leader. But somebody had to be brave and stop right? Yeah, and they ended up in a garbage dump in Omsk. No need to be a hero right now, Pisces. Lay low.

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

Horoscope

Posted by on Wed, Jan 7, 2009 at 12:00 AM

ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
Fox in the snow! I saw a fox in the snow! It was a fierce orange flash just after dawn, sleuthing down the far side of the valley. I held my breath the whole time, exhaling only when it reached the deep shadow of the forest. The rest of my day was wholly informed by this briefest of interactions with the natural world and I was content. Jeez, Aries, you really gotta get out of the city.

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
There are moments when the future is too deeply with us, when we cannot enjoy the present because all we can see is the irreconcilable end, that sharp instant when the lights come up and the fun ends. Some might say you need to internalize the finitude of existence in order to enjoy it, but I just say, Taurus, that you should take all the batteries out of the clocks and cover your ears.

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
“Lover.” Man I hate that word. I don’t even like it when talking about being a “wine-lover” or a “lover of fine cheese.” But I especially hate it as a designation for a romantic relationship. And I know I’m not the only one who doesn’t like it… In fact, I’m pretty sure that nobody likes it and everybody makes fun of it. Which means even my anger isn’t special. Damn it, Gemini.

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
I spent a week last year being followed around by a Balkan brass band. You see, my great Uncle Nestor bequeathed this odd gift to me in his will, reasoning that if we only had a bit of inspiration, a little more kick in our daily lives, we’d come so much closer to reaching our full potential. And you know what? He was right. (Sorry about all the noise, Cancer. But that was my parking spot.)

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
A friend of mine once complained of not being able to start a fight in a bar; his exact words were “You could throw a chair in this place and nobody would bat an eyelid.” I’m not sure why he was so concerned with starting trouble, he just always seemed to need chaos in his life. You see, Leo, each of us has something particular we need from life, the key is figuring out what.

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
I came across a discarded melotron out back of a bargain supermarket in Ithaca over the holidays, and much to my surprise, when I pressed one of the keys an enormous magical sound issued forth, and time… slowed… down. I took advantage of the phenomenon by stuffing my pockets with red licorice. Happy New Year to me! You see, Virgo, with great power comes much licorice.

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
This year, Libra, you need to be a little crazier. Think with your heart, not with that fusty old noodle of yours. There will be mistakes and aggravation, but dude, seriously, you’re running out of time — you need to start making some game-changing plays. Running out the clock only applies in football, not life. As do terms like nickel back, intentional grounding and touchback.

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
Temptation isn’t going away. The world isn’t going to change in 2009. You are still your own worst enemy, Scorpio. But you know what they say, “Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer,” which, you know, is good, because you’re the enemy in question. So how do you keep yourself close? For starters, you’re going to need more mirrors by your bed. A lot of mirrors.

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
Player pianos are a lot like life. As are copper whisks. The same can be said for those dual-purpose fan/light set-ups. I’m also pretty sure that if you ever come across a 1963 table hockey set, you’ll discover it remarkably analogous to this thing called “life.” My point is, Sagittarius, that life doesn’t owe you any explanations, and can never be understood. You know, like cricket.

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
It’s easy to wallow in tears. It’s actually pretty satisfying. Do you have anything — movie, song, brand of jean — that provokes the waterworks? If so, I’d recommend initiating yourself into a good crying jag, Capricorn. You see, things aren’t going to get much better in the next couple months, so you might as well squeeze out the tears now, so you’re eyes’ll be dry when it counts.

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
Diversifying your lotto playing isn’t the “sound financial strategy” I was talking about, Aquarius. We all know 2009 is going to hurt, from the bread line concerns to the tickertape businesses, and we’re going to face serious fiduciary losses, but pouring your discretionary income into little scratchy games is not the answer. Slankets, more slankets… that’s the answer.

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
You want a good time that doesn’t break the bank, Pisces? Take an animal into the elevator. If they’re not used to it, they’ll get all freaky and press themselves close to the ground and make plaintive little noises, kind of like someone who’s mixed the wrong drugs with too much booze trying to get over a broken heart. Dealing with that person is the opposite of a good time, by the way.

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Horoscope

Posted by on Wed, Sep 17, 2008 at 12:00 AM

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.

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Horoscope

Posted by on Wed, Sep 10, 2008 at 12:00 AM

ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
My Great Uncle Louie was a hell of a safecracker in his youth. They say he had fingertips so sensitive he could make out the conversation just by rubbing the phone cord — prodigious physical gifts. The early recognition of natural ability (and/or limitation) is the key to success, and though I realize you’re not 12, Aries, you need to figure out what you’re good at, and just do it.

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
Sure, yeah, I like a good, bracing game of racquetball now and then, but that doesn’t make me ELITIST! It makes me a little sweaty, and my cheeks get all red… Why, Taurus, do we have to impugn the sporting recreation of others and assign it varying levels of class status? Are we so terrified of individuality that we have to depersonalize others by category? Good god yes. Windsurfer.

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
Next time it rains, I want you to fold up a tiny little paper boat with a message of love and kindness on it and send it down the flowing gutter water. It may be destroyed, it may burst into flames, or it may end up in the hands of a sad child — you never know. There is nothing wrong, Gemini, with sending indiscriminate messages of happiness into the world. Just don’t tire yourself out.

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
Purchasing a nutcracker is a sure sign you are absolutely and irrevocably an adult. Have you ever even thought about it, Cancer? It’s ok if you have, you just need to resist a bit longer, sow your wild oats one last time, you know? You’re on the precipice of respectability and convention, so now’s not the time to relax. Try one thing this week that you never have before.

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
Dear god, is there no limit to which people will carry on doing something they are so manifestly bad at? Sure, you might have a good time at karaoke, and, hey! all the people are applauding you, wow, you’re a really good singer, or at least that’s what your mom says! But, Leo, please, this does not mean you should write seven crappy songs and record them. That’s just pollution.

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
They say those who say “I’m bored” are in fact the ones who are boring. But I say those who say that “the ones who say ‘I’m bored’ are in fact the ones who are boring” are in fact the ones who are deeply irritating, homily-spewing life-hacks who are too terrified to think below the surface lest they see the truth and hang themselves. Some days are better than others, eh, Virgo?

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
Did you have a treehouse growing up, Libra? A place you could run away to when life got big or mean? Was it high up in a walnut tree down at the end of Vollmer Street? Did you paint it yellow in the summer of 1987? Was there a copy of the Sports Illustrated with Larry Bird and Magic Johnson on the cover nailed to the lowest branch? If so, can I have my Millenium Falcon back?

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
Oh how we are angry! Oh how we clench our fists into devastating balls of fury! Oh how we feed our rage with the very things we hate the most! Oh how we are tired of it all! Will we ever punch through? Or will we petrify in the molten lava of our own perpetual huffiness? Crikey, Scorpio, why must we (I) address you in the first-person plural? It is making us (me) very angry. 

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
For a brief moment in the summer of 1958, the Canadian parliament considered a clandestine invasion of the Upper Peninsula region of what we now think of as “Michigan.” The incursion onto American soil lasted an hour, at which point three linemen from the local high school team “menaced” the elite “Maple Guard” all the way back to Moosejaw. Never stop fighting, Sagittarius.

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
You know, some people are sick all the time. So that’s why they might be really irritable and easily confused. What I’m saying, Capricorn, is that chronic pain is a deeply invidious thing that sneaks into a person’s life, often without them even realizing it. And they get grumpier and more distant, fragile and reactionary. So, just keep that in mind. (I think my shoes are too tight.)

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
Crap. More dark than light. Cold, squinty wind. Election Day. Oh what horrors the Autumn brings. Have you invested in the sun lamp yet, Aquarius? Hey, when things seem bleak at the prospect of crummy weather, just remember that you’ll now be able to wear all kinds of cool sweaters. With patterns! And elbow patches! And images of neo-natal animals! That will be fun.

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
I once dreamed of becoming a “noted illusionist” but all I ever achieved was occasionally being referred to as “crap, this guy will try to juggle if you pay attention to him for too long.” What happened to the wonder in the world, Pisces? The childlike love of magical-fantasy-fun? Did it leave when we turned 13 and tried hash for the first time? I’m beginning to think, yes, that’s when.

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

Horoscope

Posted by on Wed, Sep 3, 2008 at 12:00 AM

ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
Red Rover was my favorite game when I was a lad in Lappland. Except we called it “Rott Roentgen.” Oh, that beautiful moment, breaking through the pale, clasped hands of my friends, the revelation of human frailty matched with the promise of renewal and warmth. Dear Aries, dear Aries, I call you over… run, Aries, run! Maybe you will break through, maybe not. Oh, but just to try… 

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
Nature is beautiful. There’s nothing quite so breathtaking as cresting a hill and looking out on a perfect pastoral scene. But have you ever gotten really low down on the ground with all the dirt and life and death that surrounds us every second? It’s an ugly inviolate cycle of excression and decay. Sometimes, Taurus, it’s best to maintain a little distance — it allows your illusions to survive.

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
A challenge for you, Gemini, for the fall season: Your mission is to find and wear one exciting article of clothing that your friends and family would be surprised by. You may feel silly, you may feel pretentious, but I think you’ve been traveling a little too long in the slow, comfortable lane. Men, think cravat, bolo or casual cumberbund. Ladies, try white gloves, cape or cigarette holder.

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
Grasslands or jungle? Corvair or Corvette? Ricardo Montalban or George Hamilton? While it is a superficial bit of parlor-room banter, I find a good game of This or That does wonders for the mood. You see, insofar was we face countless options each day, the mere act of choice can be paralyzing. Well, Cancer, when faced with Newman or Brando, you just have to choose.

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
Did you hear about the old hermit shut-in dude who obsessively covered the inside of his Westchester home with Venn Diagrams describing every single social dynamic he’d ever experienced? After Archie Spunt, 73, of Pleasantville, NY, died of natural causes, police found the aforementioned drawings alongside thousands of pounds of saltwater taffy. Get outside and get some air, Leo.

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
What does holiness mean to you, Virgo? Is it a certain kind of detached grace, an inner peace that can withstand the cacophonous assault of daily life? Or is it a refusal to bathe and/or pay for anything? (Seriously, would it kill you to dip into the collection plate to pay for even a portion of your coffee?) Now that God has left us, we’re really going to need to start praying.

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
One of my favorite items of furniture is a sturdily built chaise longue with a set of wheels attached to the back legs, allowing me to reposition myself to get the most sun at any given moment. This chair also served as temporary accommodation when my house fell three stories into a sinkhole. Life is filled with magical objects, Libra, we just have to take notice.

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
What’s with these dudes walking around with no belts? I’m not talking about surfers or hillbillies, I mean regular joes in khakis, their shirts tucked in, their Topsiders buffed — except, without a belt!! I do not like it at all. It makes them look like cheap, molded action figures from South Asia or something. Scorpio, if you see something, say something. And wear a belt!

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
An entire summer spent sleeping under a corrugated tin roof will do wonders for your dream life. There’s something deeply meditative about the resonance of raindrops on metal. I’m not particularly “spiritual,” Sagittarius, but I believe that meditative practice, regardless of its connection to the metaphysical, is good for the noodle. So cross your legs, close your eyes and hum.

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
Side saddle isn’t just for girls anymore! Thanks to a revolutionary design involving computers and stuff it’s now totally possible to ride bicycles in true Victorian comfort — with your legs held firmly together, like how God intended! Oh Capricorn, I know you like to ride as fast as you can and take dangerous risks, but have you ever considered that slowing down might be a good thing?

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
Teenagers are so absolutely brimming with pure self: they are narcissistic performers of self-directed angst every moment of the day. It’s kind of magnificent to watch, like standing just a little too close to the bonfire when you have had too many Tequila Sunrises and your poncho catches fire. It’s worth the risk, though, isn’t it, Aquarius? Just to look so cool, by the fire…

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
I knew a Bavarian ballerina named Julia who walked with a cane and once stole 50K from the Yakuza. She was living with a crazy line-cook from Kansas at the time and was trying to get the money together to come to America… The last I saw of her she was waving goodbye at the edge of the dock. It’s amazing, Pisces, in how many ways our lives could’ve turned out differently.

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

Horoscope

Posted by on Wed, Aug 20, 2008 at 12:00 AM

ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
The area where the hospital disgorges itself into the street is a stretch of pavement rich with resignation and defiance, littered with cigarette butts, newspaper and the racked, battered survivors of modern medicine. It’s not a fun place. But, Aries, if you ever want to see a person truly enjoy a cigarette — which is to say, truly enjoy a moment of freedom — this is the place.

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
Jeez Louieez. It happened the other week... that first cool night of summer, when a faint trace of cold Canadian air comes rilling down across the Midwest, all the way to your own particular Brooklyn street corner — and you can feel it across your upturned cheek: Fall. This year, Taurus, I want you to be ready for all the autumn boohoos, because eventually you’ll drown in that river of tears.

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
Finally, it’s possible: get smarter while you sleep! While I normally counsel against the quick fix, I gotta say that we’re all kind of running out of time, so, you know, whatever gets you through the night. I’m not going to get into the details of the procedure, but I will say, Gemini, that if you don’t think you need to get smarter, you are flat-out wrong. All of us need to grow our brains more.

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
Late last night I was approached online by a death cult looking for members. They call themselves the Thanatonauts and an unwanted chat window just blooped up on my screen with the words, “Hi! Are you afraid of death?” Obviously, I replied, “Fuck yeah!” And then, amazingly, the power went out. I never heard from them again, Cancer. The moral here is to make sure you follow shit up.

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
So close, Leo, I am so close. I am so close to that age when I can simply revert to a single, uniform outfit of clothes, of which I will purchase multiple copies to wear each and every day of the week. Choice is oppression — we fetishize it and obsess over it and it is ruining our lives. That’s why I’m trying to eliminate it from my life. Except, now I have to choose my one and only outfit. Wetsuit? Unitard?

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
Baby, were you born to run? Because, frankly, I wasn’t. I was born to hitch a ride, bum a lift, tag along, roll by whenever and pogo. Does that mean we can never be friends? You see, as you get older you have the opportunity to pick your friends more through objective criteria than uncontrollable circumstance. So really, Virgo, why should you roll with someone who just doesn’t get you?

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
You’ve turned the corner and it’s a dead-end street. The sun is going down and you left your Taser at home, on top of the microwave (next to the TV Guide). There’s a rustling in the shadows and then... who should appear, but your future self, looking shiny and happy! You see, Libra, if you’d had your Taser, you would have juiced your future self and none of this would’ve come to pass.

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
You ever think that maybe life is too long? Seriously, I’m starting to think that, like, 52 is probably pretty close to what any reasonable term limit should be. After that, things just seem to fall apart, and it’s one slow, dokey sled race to the bottom. This is why, Scorpio, you need to speed up all those plans you’ve made and make sure you get them done by 40, so you can retire. Crikey!

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
We all know how Icelandic people pee on shark meat and bury it in the ground and eat it a year later, right? It’s true. (Crazy, I know.) For some reason, Sagittarius, this image comes to mind every time I read your star chart, and I can’t for the life of me interpret it. So, in a highly unorthodox move, I’m going leave it to you to puzzle out the significance. (Let me know, please, if you get it.)

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
Did you ever race paper boats in the gutter? After it rained? I did. Then one time I shrunk myself to the size of a saltshaker using the power of my Dad’s autoshop microwave and a barrel of de-ionized candyfloss. Oh Capricorn, the things I saw… amazing, also feculent. But the one thing I took from the experience, besides a fear of pen lids, was the importance of changing your perspective. Get it?

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
Someday, Aquarius, when I am rich and handsome, I will buy you a horse farm. This may seem like an odd introduction to an astrological reading, but bear with me. You see, you were born for movement, to be out in the world, wind, air, sun; you were born to ride. Sure, I know I can’t promise this to all the Aquarii, but what the hell, it might happen for one of you…

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
A skirl of birdsong. The smell of toast. Piano in a far distant room. Gulls blown in from the outer harbor. A small child looking back over its shoulder through the screen. Blossoms fallen to the cracked sidewalk at your feet. A stack of Vintage paperbacks with a “free” sign affixed. Take some time with your walk to the subway, Pisces, because there’s a lot of good shit out there.

Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Horoscope

Posted by on Wed, Jul 30, 2008 at 12:00 AM

ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19

We roam the aisles of the great grocery stores like ibexes in search of watering holes, wary of malevolent hyenas, pausing ever so briefly to roll away our trouble in the dust of the noble savannah. Ecosystems form themselves everywhere, unbidden, chaos shifting into order into chaos… Aries, do you hate food shopping? Me too. You should try fasting, it may bring you peace.

TAURUS
 APR 20 — MAY 20

There goes your only friend, Taurus. Somewhere in your life someone is drifting away and you don’t even realize how great they are. Sure, you have a bunch of new friends, and life seems really exciting right now, but your indifference to this one person may come back to haunt you. So pay attention, take stock, and make it right. (Btw, it’s me! I’m the one! Pay attention to me!)

GEMINI 
MAY 21 — JUNE 20

Yes, I know, you can drown in a bathtub if the conditions are right. But holy shit, Gemini, you can drown in the ocean, too, so why aren’t there more signs to warn us? The most dangerous things in life are still all around us: heartbreak, papercuts, cowlicks, waxy build up… How is it all to be borne? The only viable solution is lots and lots of padding. So, get stuffing or get a boo-boo.

CANCER 
JUNE 21 — JULY 22

You know what I love more than casserole? Just sitting back and jamming a mellow groove on my electric piano. I’m kind of the Harry Connick Jr. of my apartment building. Sometimes, when I’m feeling bold and bluesy, I’ll trundle my “twinkler” onto the balcony and serenade the inner courtyard (hi Doug!). If you make just one person happy today, Cancer, it’s been worth it.

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22

There’s a new trend sweeping northeast New Jersey: forest poker. I know, I know, you brought her you poker — hahaha. Shut up. Seriously, Jersey dudes be wandering into the woods with cards and just throwing down the Texas Hold ‘Em. Just when you thought the world made sense, Leo, some new monkey wrench comes flying through the window and dings you on the noggin.

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22

Everyone knows you shouldn’t get totally drunk if you plan on stealing a boat. It’s really one of the first things they teach you at theft school. Look, seriously, having an addictive personality isn’t all fun and games. Do you sometimes find yourself haggling with an open bottle of Vermouth over the price of gum? Sad. We all need help sometimes, Virgo. Go get some.

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you still here? I didn’t see you there behind the terrarium. I’m afraid we’re closing shortly. Is there anything I can do for you that won’t take longer than five minutes?” Has this happened to you, Libra? If so, you clearly suffer from being almost crazy, and you should really stop hiding from everyone. Even if you shut your eyes, the scary world is still there.

SCORPIO
 OCT 23 — NOV 21

I cannot get me ENOUGH cowbells. When I wake up, when I’m riding on my Vespa, when I’m eating mussels by the beach, when I’m trapping pheasants with my hands… They help me get through each and every day. Scorpio, do you have a magical percussive element that inspires and protects you? I think it’s really important to collect as many meaningless talismans as possible.

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21

I used to be obsessed with the last words I’d ever say. I know we don’t all get the chance to actually plan our final speech, but as medical science advances at a dizzying pace it becomes ever more likely I’ll have the chance to utter something profound and unforgettable as I drift off into the great dark sea of eternity. And those words? “Sagittarius, love’s a comin’!”

CAPRICORN 
DEC 22 — JAN 19

I see that wry little smile on your face. Don’t think you can fool me into thinking you feel nothing. I don’t have these goofy antennae taped to my helmet for nothing — I can see things others can’t. And I can tell, Capricorn, that you know a hell of a lot more than you’re letting on. Are you storing it all up to use in the future? Or are you just that tight-lipped? C’mon, let me in!

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18

Despite what infomercials and Prussian fairy tales tell us, people can change. It’s choosing to change that’s the hard part. For example, science has repeatedly told us that some people have the ability to fly, and yet we choose not to because of the insurance premiums. Is this timidity any way to live? No it is not, Aquarius. That’s why we should just fly away.

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20

What’s with dogs wearing hats these days? I’ve seen a whole bunch of breeds — from Mastiff to Maltese — sporting a variety of hats, from beanie to homburg. Hell, I’ll admit it’s cute, but I think the hats are impairing the dogs’ hearing, because none of them will listen to me. Pisces, beware of overinterpreting external data as contingent upon yourself. That’s paranoiac narcissism.

Wednesday, July 9, 2008

Horoscope

Posted by on Wed, Jul 9, 2008 at 12:00 AM

ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19

Have the dog days begun yet? Is that now or August? And why do you keep wearing shorts to dinner? Don’t you have any proper cotton pants? This is not a goddamn beach blanket bingo, this is New York City, and I’m telling you that if you’re not careful, rats will bite your bare legs and roaches will nip your flip-flopped toes. Don’t let that happen, Aries! Get yourself a suit of armor.

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20

I knew a girl once who loved barn dances. Seriously, she was an English country girl from Lanarkshire or something, with a real peaches and cream complexion (mainly peaches, actually). So she’d wax on and on about the fun they’d have gavotting amongst the haystacks in old Master Tewksbury’s barn, getting dizzy on cider and treacle. Taurus, try not to talk so much about yourself, ok?

GEMINI 
MAY 21 — JUNE 20

She was some piece of work alright: dress made of Peruvian fire moths; triple-decker chignon shot through with rare Kentish twill; bassinette made entirely from Ipswich bone-marble. She had a smile like a shiv and a kiss like a tourniquet. I was in trouble and I didn’t even know it. Do you ever find yourself spitting out noir monologues in the middle of the night, Gemini? You’re my anti-hero.

CANCER 
JUNE 21 — JULY 22

You remember that goofy black-and-white Kenneth Branagh movie where the scissors come sliding across the floor and it’s real scary because it looks like the dude’s gonna get slashed across his plum English mug? It took them three days to get that shot. You see, Cancer, what we learn from this is the virtue of patience. If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right. Ghost scissors!

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22

The bald man with the downtown teashop told us we are all made of stars. And while that’s a real pretty thought, we have to be a little more honest about the whole thing: we’re also made of dirt and old magazines and chicken bones and crazy. We are not stars. We are people, a messy midden of scattershot hopes and castaway lottery tickets of the soul. Apes, Leo, naked apes.

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22

I killed a snake last summer. Almost a year to this very day. They say that when animal spirits are angry they return to the earthly plane for one hour every year on the anniversary of their demise — so yeah, I’m pretty frigging worried about a ghost snake right about now, Virgo. What I’m trying to say is don’t let your old mistakes come back to clench their venomous teeth around your ankle.

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22

You make a better door than a window, Libra. That’s an old expression that essentially means, “Get the eff outta the way, dumbass.” So please, you’re standing in the way of your own happiness right now, and if you don’t move, you might lose it forever. Happiness, in this case, is symbolized by a herd of wild bulls that will gore you to death if you don’t flee. 

SCORPIO
 OCT 23 — NOV 21

What’s the first thing you’d do if you could shrink down to the size of a Star Wars action figure? I’d get myself on a pool table for a game of Australian Rules football. That would be awesome — I love the weird tank top uniforms they wear. Have you ever thought of going to Australia, Scorpio? Or at least shrinking yourself to five percent of your normal size? Same thing, kind of. Change!

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21

The size of the headphones really says something about the man. Specifically, how much money he has relative to his capacity for shame. Normally, the more money, the less shame — this is a sad constant in the world of talking monkeys. It’s too bad, Sagittarius, that we aren’t descended from birds or fish or something — animals with cool talents. Nope, we just smash stuff good.

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19

The heavens smile down upon us in strange and beautiful ways. Just the other day, in fact, I was walking down the high street when what should I encounter but a young turtle out for a stroll. I asked the turtle his name (Tucker, incidentally) and if he had anything to say about your future. Well, Capricorn, he angled his beaky gullet toward me and croaked: “Invest. INVEST!” So there you go.

AQUARIUS 
JAN 20 — FEB 18

Spanish, Portuguese… same thing, right? Well, dear Aquarius, it turns out they’re not. They have different words for different stuff and they make your mouth do totally crazy but separate things! Also, one is spoken in Brazil and one isn’t (I forget which is which). Do you ever go through life operating with a set of truths only to discover you had things reversed? That’s about to happen.

PISCES
 FEB 19 — MAR 20

They say you’re supposed to let go at some point or else you won’t be able to move on with your life. But what does moving on really entail? Is it like reaching the top of some hill and finally being able to see a great distance in the green valleys beyond? What if you enjoy the upward hike? What if you want to carry your grief like a stone? Well then, Pisces, that’s what you do.

Wednesday, July 2, 2008

Horoscope

Posted by on Wed, Jul 2, 2008 at 12:00 AM

ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19

Ever feel like nobody wants you? Like you’re a dented can of diced tomato at the back of the shelf in a bankrupt grocery, hidden by empty beer cans and years of dust? How do you roll yourself off the shelf, down the cracked lino floor and into the street… and freedom? Well, Aries, I think your best bet is to keep fermenting until the can blows up, knocking you clear out into the living world.

TAURUS
 APR 20 — MAY 20

Achieving spiritual actualization can be as simple and random as getting stuck on the milk run from Mombasa to Nairobi in the fall of 1959. It’s about an 18-hour trip and there’s no room to lie down, or even sit, and the train stops at every bloody acacia tree on the plain. But as grueling as it seems, Taurus, an experience like this can set you free — and you won’t even know it’s happening.

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20

Homemade garage museums, seen from the roadside, can seem charming and eccentric, and can remind you of the great, quirky individualism that has always made America such an interesting, if not fucked up, place. But things aren’t always so delightful when you cross the threshold into the shadowy mania of the lawn-chair obsessive. All I’m saying, Gemini, is be careful out there.

CANCER 
JUNE 21 — JULY 22

If you have, in fact, rescued a child from a burning building, this horoscope is not for you. Otherwise, listen up, Cancer: you have some serious living to do. And by living, I mean listening: listening to your inner voice, to your outer voice, to the voices all around you, to the music coming from 2B, to the wind through the trees and, most importantly, listening for a child’s voice crying for help.

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22

Yeah, it’s alright. I understand. You got a little hot under the collar — that’s not uncommon these days… these hopeless, humid days: we’re all in debt and our cousins are getting blown up and shit’s falling apart all around us and sure, it may have been inevitable, but it’s our lives, people. Our lives are coming to fruition during the bad times.  But Leo, Leo! Your anger is a gift.

VIRGO 
AUG 23 — SEP 22

I had a vision after work the other night, Virgo, as I was crossing the Brooklyn Bridge: there before me, all across the Island of Manhattan, I beheld a thousand swirling souls, the spirits of the Friday after-work drinkers gyring up into the freshly bruised sky, lightening with each cold beer, each vodka tonic, spiraling together into gentle eddies of banter and flirt. Go now, and drink.

LIBRA
 SEP 23 — OCT 22

What’s the hold up, Libra? The plan is in place (and I think we can still agree it’s a pretty good one, no?), the materials have been purchased (metaphorically, of course), and, most significantly, your training is complete. So why are you cooped up in your bathroom staring at the mirror? You know I can’t actually be there with you on this one, right? It’s gotta be a solo job, old friend.

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21

Sometimes if you’re feeling lost or bored, it can be fun and revealing to put together a starting baseball line-up from your nine closest friends; or if you’re one of those freaks with tons of friends, you can find spots for relievers and coaching staff. You see, Scorpio, there are only nine kinds of people in the world, and the best way to see their true selves is on the diamond.

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21

Seriously, a new Depression is on its way… So, what are we going to call our new Hoovervilles? Chimptowns? Bushburgs? Dubyavilles? I kind of like Chimptown. What kind of hobo are you going to be, Sagittarius? Are you going to be one of those Boxcar Willie types, riding around on a train with a harmonica? Or a Bindly Joe, wandering along the backroads? Time to plan.

CAPRICORN 
DEC 22 — JAN 19

What is your weird obsession with performing self-surgery, dude? Do you really think digging a bullet out with a spoon and then sewing up the wound with hippie hair will give you the sense of personal satisfaction you so desperately seem to crave? Whatever happened to a nice evening with a cup of tea and the crossword? You need to set more reasonable benchmarks, Capricorn.

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18

Eyes closed. Ears open. Hair up. Mouth agape. Arms akimbo. Fingers crossed. Shoulders hunched. Knees knocking. Shins splinting. When the body revolts, it is not a pretty site. It becomes dangerous to travel by foot and the only way to get a good look at the interior is by pontoon plane. The rivers burst the banks and the capital chokes with desert sand. Flee, Aquarius, flee.

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20

It looks like you’ve gotten past that performative phase of creative grandstanding, Pisces, and I’m proud of you. I’m talking about that teenage compulsion to broadcast your artistic dreams: writing furiously in your journal on the bus; singing along to the opera on your iPod; sketching on your napkin all through dinner… We get it, you’re artsy, but let’s see you finish something.

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Horoscope

Posted by on Wed, Jun 18, 2008 at 12:00 AM

ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19

It’s easy to get lost in the woods, Aries. It can even be fun. But if you’re serious about letting go, about truly testing yourself, you gotta leave the map at home. It’ll be scary, I know, but the first time you make your way back to the clearing, back to the warm glow of the campfire, the sense of satisfaction will be more than you dreamed it ever could be. Also, I’m gonna need that map.

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20

You know that old saying, “Be careful what you wish for”? Well, I think it’s dumb. You should wish your goddamn heart out:  you could wish for an airplane or two mouths or the power to turn books into ice cream — they’re just wishes, Taurus, so why not? Seriously, why do you have to be careful? And between you and me, I think one of your wishes may soon come true (the one about cheese).

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20

You and I both know that we’re not always nicest to those we love most. In fact, we tend to reserve our worst behavior for our best friends. Why is that, Gemini? We have it all backwards: the world is brutal enough to deal with, from the subway to the supermarket, to add to it all with sniping and bitching. So try this: be mean to strangers for a change, and nice to the important people.

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22

The mind’s eye is a terrible thing to waste. Err, I mean, mind your Ps and Qs. Wait, no, I mean, who’s minding the store? Love is a minefield? Mind over matter? Look, I’m sorry Cancer, I’m having a hard time here, there’s been a lot of kooky action in the Van Allen Belt lately which is throwing the stars all for a loop, and it’s messing with my mind. Oh, oh, I got it: what’s mind is yours!

LEO
 JULY 23 — AUG 22

What if the dead didn’t actually really die. I know that sounds crazy, but what if they just moved to a different neighborhood, like Hunt’s Point or East New York or someplace weird like that. And they’d just hang out in coffee shops reading old books, trying on each other’s scarves and gloves (they’re always cold), going about the business of forgetting the living. Sorry Leo, but it’s possible. And sad.

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22

I used to think umbrellas were just a little bit fey. They’re kind of like weird inverted corsets for circular alien streetwalkers. Or something. But then I got really drunk one night and passed out in the gutter. I woke up to the meditative pitter-patter of light rain skirling across an umbrella. Some kind soul had covered me. You should do more cinematically nice things for people, Virgo.

LIBRA
 SEP 23 — OCT 22

A solid kick to the shins is actually a pretty good way to settle an argument. Ok, ok, violence is bad, yadda yadda, but you know those discussions in which two people are so clearly fighting over two completely different things, and they don’t even seem to actually hear each other? Man, I hate that. So I just go and kick everybody’s shins. Um, You weren’t one of those people were you, Libra?

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21

Have you ever thought about a career change, Scorpio? Something like a con man (or woman) or maybe a lifeguard? You may say it’s the humidity, but I think your current course is really draining you down to empty, and if you don’t stop now you might not ever be able to fill it again. Time to seriously consider an alternative fuel source. By which I mean start driving an ice cream truck.

SAGITTARIUS
 NOV 22 — DEC 21

You remember in the old 60s Batman series when the Dark Knight (ha!) and the Boy Wonder would scale buildings using special Bat rope, all hunched over together like little old ladies? Well, it turns out they weren’t actually doing that! They filmed the whole thing sideways! Take that gravity. Sometimes, Sagittarius, if the trick works, and nobody really knows it’s a trick, it’s fine.

CAPRICORN
 DEC 22 — JAN 19

Have you seen jungle gyms these days? They’re all covered with rubber and don’t have any pokey bits and there’s this big poofy padding laid out beneath them. Lame. When I was a kid, jungle gyms were built out of old gallows and cinched together with barbed wire. And let me tell you, Capricorn, we sure as hell didn’t play on ‘em at night. Or in the day. Nope, we just watched em’. Silently.

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18

Being a Gaucho ain’t what it used to be. Time was you could saunter into Buenos Aires fresh off the pampas, bolo tie pulled up tight, and find yerself some intelligent romantic company. These days you mention Borges or Epictetus and they just stare. When does nostalgia go from pleasant aching feeling to nauseating fever? Right about now, Aquarius. Was anything ever any good?

PISCES 
FEB 19 — MAR 20

Being a tough guy and dealing with pain is one thing. It’s kind of exciting and if you really concentrate, the adrenaline can usually get you through. But the trick is chronic pain, which is really just about irritation. It is really hard to live each day with a little cocktail umbrella stuck in your shoulder. So, Pisces, instead of being a grouchy “hero,” why don’t you just deal with it and cheer up?

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

Horoscope

Posted by on Wed, Jun 11, 2008 at 12:00 AM

ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19

When life gets tough, we like to think of the universe as some particularly malicious agent that’s out to destroy us with trial after trial. This is our way of contextualizing the unfairness we perceive — something or someone must be out to get us. Well, Aries, that’s poppycock. It’s all random, and there’s no reason to suppose it’ll get better. There is no balance, just chance.

TAURUS
 APR 20 — MAY 20

I would hazard that this time you might be underthinking your situation. I’m normally of the school that encourages spontaneity and instinct (yeah, we’re all a bunch of zen hippie surfer trustfund types), but hold on, Bodhisattva — maybe you need to get a bit more rational, maybe even draw up a pro/con chart or some shit like that. I know it’s not cool, Taurus, but try to be thoughtful, k?

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20

Can science save us? Will we ever be able to time travel? Will we ever be able to breathe in space? Will there ever be a hangover-free Christmas morning? I don’t have those answers, Gemini, but I can tell you one thing: at the heart of all scientific breakthrough lies the unflagging ability to dream. Are you flagging these days? Where does that word even come from? Happy Flag Day, dude.

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22

So I’m writing this from a tiny trailer parked out back of a Hardee’s about six miles outside of Oxford, Mississippi. It’s hot. My hands smell like bear glands. My coffee tastes like back issues of People. In short, Cancer, this isn’t looking good. I offer the sad reality of my life to you, that you might gain some perspective from its pathos, and stop complaining about your own.

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22

Beach! Yeah! Let’s go to the beach! Maybe we’ll get sand in our veggie wraps! And we will forget to put sunscreen on the thin band of skin between our waistband and t-shirt! And a large man from Wales will get drunk and beat us up! And it will be the summer of 1993! We were younger then, but kind of sad! Man, Leo, sometimes it’s just best to forget, right?

VIRGO
 AUG 23 — SEP 22

Big deal, Virgo, you know why the sky is blue, and how rain works. Way to go captain smartypants. But do you know why you’re having trouble hanging on to money? Just because you can rattle off the theories of the world’s great economists doesn’t mean you’re good with a buck. Ok, it may seem both obvious and impossible, but the key is planning ahead. That’s it. That’s all.

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22

You may think it’s all fun and quirky to have a “make your own ice cream” party but it’s really a bad idea. It’s messy. It takes a long time. And it doesn’t taste very good. EVERYONE WILL HATE YOU. I’m sorry, Libra, but just because you have an idea doesn’t mean you have to follow through on it. Keep an idea book, write them down, and maybe act on them once and a while.

SCORPIO
 OCT 23 — NOV 21

The heart, as an organ, is really pretty ugly. It’s gnarled, asymmetrical and it’s always clenching, like a fist or the mouth of a judgmental spinster. The liver, on the other hand, is slick and has a beautiful monochrome sheen — pretty nice looking as internal organs go. Does this gross you out, Scorpio? Then you should apply to law school and give up that doctor dream. You’re welcome.

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21

Have you ever tried to make coffee using one of those giant-ass, turn-of-the-century Italian steampunk contraptions? Preposterously complicated; also, delicious. Preposterilicious! Do you see what I’m getting at here, Sagittarius? A long, difficult process that yields a sublimely edifying result? No, that’s not it. Portmanteaux. The combination of words. Sooo fun.

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19

Where do you stand on using your childhood lunchbox as a playful signifier of perpetual youth and all the creative latitude that entails? Did you just tell me to fuck off? Good for you. I respect that. You’ve really grown up, haven’t you, Capricorn? No longer will you wander the childhood byways that shaped your adult self. Well, all I can say is keep running. Get as far away as possible.

AQUARIUS
 JAN 20 — FEB 18

Oh dear. I read somewhere that over the last few years Spanish business culture has been trying to reconfigure itself closer to the American model. Translation: no more two-hour lunches followed by a nap. That fucking sucks. Now we’ll just have more stressed out, hunch-shouldered people squeezing onto subways, getting really angry really quickly. Oh Aquarius, what can we do?

PISCES
 FEB 19 — MAR 20

The key to a happy life is being able to fit all that really matters to you in a single Honda Civic glove compartment. Everything else is kind of bullshit, and half of the stuff you think is making you happy is really just making you sad. Try it tonight, Pisces. And if you don’t have a Honda Civic, a basic toaster oven will work, too. Just don’t turn it on. Ok, get cramming!

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