The Chemical Footprint

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  This article leaves me amazed.  The gist:  the air in a movie theater takes on a unique measurable chemical signature based on the emotions of the movie-goers.  It isn't surprising, but nice to have it confirmed.  We've all noticed the way our upper lip smells when we cry, and how it smells different for different sorts of tears (or is that just me?).  But still, exciting!  They should do some of this at the RNC and DNC.  And then bottle it, and bury it very very deep in the ground, not near the Columbia River or anything else important.  Fear is in the air. Pisces, don't get caught up in all of that.  Stay solid.  Every single action stems from fear or love.  You know who you want to be.

Aries (3/21 - 4/19):  Wouldn't it be cool if Hilary would include Elizabeth W on her ticket?Help salvage the reputation of the letter W. It would also be cool if Bernie would throw his weight behind H, instead of fighting til the last breath.  Hey, and on a completely different but identical topic, did you see how men sabotage ratings of tv shows that are aimed at women?  What's up with that?  But that analysis is so damn thorough, it's lovely. The take home: averages obscure the truth.  But you, my lovely Aries, are never average.  Rejoice.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  I'm trying to organize a parade filled with marching vegetables. Write if you're interested! Because, as we know, the vegetables can't have a parade without our help.  And truly,

people, how hard can it be to dress as a potato for an hour, a year from now?  Not hard at all!  Just say yes!!  And if the life form that occurs to you feels like a vegetable, even though it may not be evident, of course it can be in the parade.  Because that's the way we roll at the March of the Vegetables.  If you think you're a vegetable, by all means, use the vegetarian bathroom.  I stole that picture, btw, from the internet and luckily you can't read Russian, because it says something vulgar.  Start thinking about your float, Taurus!

Gemini (5/21 - 6/21): I'm grateful for the protesters who blocked the train tracks and so on, trying to remind us of our precarious, powerful position on the planet, and our dependence on oil.  But getting off oil isn't something we can do at home alone.  Like getting off heroin.  We need help from the top to completely reorganize.

Cancer (6/22 – 7/21):  Does everyone else love RBG as much as I do?  I could read about her all day, and she is one of the rare ones who violates the adage that men gain power as they age, while women lose it.  Be that, Cancer. 

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  I've been reading this blog that I discovered via Reply All, one of my favorite podcasts because it has the best game, Yes Yes No.  (I'm always No, in case you're wondering.).  The blog is filled with long posts, the sort you'd have time to write if you were in jail and didn't have the internet as a distraction.  Leo, in the future, only people filling out life sentences in maximum security prisons will have the focus to write a book at all.  The internet, which I love like a family member, will be the death of literature.  But one day, just like the King of Hearts movie, the literacy will be released.  Do what you can until then, Leo.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  I had my hearing tested the other day, and the nurse said it was great.  They want you to hear 25 decibels and up, and she said I hear from 0-5 decibels.  I was smug at first.  It didn't occur to me until later that hearing things in the zero decibel range is, well, a diagnosis.  Are the voices in my head bothering you, Virgo?  "We take The Inside Voice to a whole new level!" is my new motto.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  I got more dirt for my garden yesterday, and went to the weird place, the one with broken bags of cat food all over the floor.  It smells sort of like fish, but not in a horrible way.  I got a penny in change, and looked at the year.  

"Hmm, 1974," I said, because it's one of my strategies to get a conversation rolling.   

"Really?  You got 1974?  That was the year of the World's Fair in Spokane! I can't believe you got 1974." 

"Wow.  Would you consider yourself a World's Fair savant?" 

"Not really," he replied sadly.

And that was the end of the that. Claim your savant-hood, Libra, even if its debatable.  

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  I was playing a game of "what if" the other day.  It started with encouraging facts about writers who've been rejected, and on to Abe Lincoln who (can this be true? I'm not googling it) ran for president 7 times before he was elected.  And Marilyn Monroe failed

in her efforts as a model / actress at first because she wasn't pretty enough.  It made me think that I wish she'd have stopped there.  Had she not been an abused beauty, JFK might be alive today, and another thing, Scorp, is that women wouldn't be required by law to wear a pill box hat when they're grieving.  I know.  So don't try too hard.  Just hard enough.

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21): My favorite thing of all is the intersection of science and poetry; here is a beautiful example. Makes me want to get up each morning and look for more.  

Capricorn (12/22 - 1/19):   Here's something a little bit sad.  People are confused about who their friends are.  When creating lists of friends, about half of the people that you think are your friends wouldn't agree.  I don't really believe that, though.  We leave our little chemical imprint in the world, and whether weacknowledge it or not, we know who our people are.  Capricorn, look past all the trappings and believe what you already know.

Aquarius (1/20-2/18):  Back to getting the dirt:  We went outside, me and World's Fair Savant-Guy, and I moved the truck to the location he pointed me to, and then I had to do that thing with the board, which is freaky, exhausting, and I've never heard of it before I started buying dirt at this place, the cash only, cat food on the floor place.  Here's how it works:  you hold a piece of plywood in the air, funneling dirt from the wide bucket into the smaller bed of the truck.  Can you picture that?  The formula for the line that the plywood makes would be, well, I guess you'd express it as Y = 0.5X + 2.  Until your arms get tired and then it's like Y = ).3X + 2 Here's a tip:  Even if  your arms get tired (and they will!), DON'T REST THE BOARD ON YOUR HEAD WHILE THE GIANT BUCKET IS CLANKING DOWN ON IT.



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Horoscopes: Loving Bravely. Right?

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  I spend a lot of time 

Aries (3/21 - 4/19):  


Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  

Gemini (5/21 - 6/21): 

Cancer (6/22 – 7/21):  

Leo (7/23 – 8/22): 

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21): 

Capricorn (12/22 - 1/19):   You know how when a pet dies, there's a period of mourning, but people pretty quickly start asking, "are you going to get another dog?"  You aren't ready, you know you aren't, but then an animal shows up in your life and it's your new pet?  (Exactly the same with loved ones.  You're never ready, and then, whoa, the heart expands.)  So, there was a t-shirt on the road that we all loved because it moved around ever-so-slightly every few days, sometimes looking like a possum, sometimes like a shirt, and some days, unclear.  I dunno why we became so fond of it, because after all, it was just an abandoned t-shirt.  But then it disappeared because someone cleaned the road up, and we were inexplicably sad.  We've wondered, privately, "will there ever be another t-shirt? Could we love it the way we loved that first one?" Guess what, Cap?  There's a blue glove on the road now.  I think we can love it, because that's how love goes.  You love something, it disappears, something new shows up.  There's always more.    

Aquarius (1/20-2/18): I learned about a new kind of quack massage therapy that sounds pretty easy, "Bowen therapy" where you draw a circle on someone's back and then leave the room for 5 or 10 minutes to check FB or play sudoku while their "experience is integrated."  You do that a few times and call it good. Kind of like "I draw the keyhole" without all the running about.  It's not very tiring at all for the therapist, I hear.   But Aquarius, it's not about the easy road.  Life is about rowing the boat, actually choosing things, putting effort into them.  That's where the goodness comes from.

Bonus (Alive now):  What do you think of creating a parade called The March of the Vegetables?  Would that make you weep in the very best way?  LMK!

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