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Your highly impersonal weekly horoscope, localized

Watching the planets, so you never have to go outside

Check your horoscope
Check your horoscope
By Ron Judd Executive Editor

Confession time: I don’t get people’s slavish devotion to horoscopes. The underlying … craft, or whatever you want to call it, is dubious in my skeptical mind. Sorry.

But as a writer, I’m more offended by the average astrologer’s typical delivery method — namely, what appears to be an extremely random introductory bit about some obscure fact of the universe, very loosely connected to what passes as a brief drip of advice. 

In the if-you-can’t-beat-’em-parody-them spirit — and with tongue firmly in cheek, recognizing that people find value in all sorts of things that are, as the astrologers say, “more subjective art than objective science” — I’ve decided to take a stab at it myself. Try these out, and please don’t sue me:

ARIES (March 21-April 19): “People crave deeper meaning,” a CDN staffer blurted recently in the newsroom, explaining readers’ love for a personal weekly horoscope. “Well, they’re not going to get any from this column,” the editor response-groused. I don’t think you, Dear Aries, should be quite so dismissive. But it’s good to be appropriately skeptical about big decisions in life, such as finding the right tax accountant, or deciding once and for all whether Busara is better Thai than Wanida. 

TAURUS (April 20-May 20): Famous U.S. President and underrated subtle genius George W. Bush once said, “Too many good docs are getting out of the business. Too many OB-GYNs aren’t able to practice their love with women all across this country.” This makes an important point: George W. Bush had the intellect of a Scentiva-brand disinfectant wipe. But your takeaway, Taurus, should be this: Wiping away past indiscretions will be an abnormally critical — possibly mind-altering — consideration for you as you make important pressing decisions about love, pasta sauces and acai bowl add-ins.

GEMINI (May 21-June 20): Oh, the humanity! One day, you’re questioning the nature of consciousness and pondering the time/space continuum. The next, you can’t even get a parking spot at the frickin’ Trader Joe’s in Sunnyland. It’s what you do, Gemini, and your active mind should serve as a signpost, with one arrow pointing toward enlightenment, the other toward Season 4, episode 12, of “Suits.” Read the credits and follow the directions!

CANCER (June 21-July 22): As a snot-nosed third-grader, yours truly once intentionally kicked a red rubber ball (and unintentionally, his sneaker) up onto the roof of Cherry Valley Elementary School in Duvall. What signal was I sending to the universe? I don’t remember; my shoe was untied and that Keds is probably still up there, lodged in a gutter. But it might have been, “Here’s your ball, universe! Roll with that!” The same applies to you, Cancerian. And if the message is heard, the rewards will sustain you through 2024. Or possibly not.

LEO (July 23-Aug. 22): People often ask: “What made you want to write horoscopes?” My response: “Are you high? I have a master’s degree in history with an emphasis in battle footwear from the Peloponnesian War. A guy’s gotta eat.” Of course, you would never say this, Leo, because it would leave you feeling hollow, not to mention pondering sandals woven from pig-gut, and all the chafing, blistering and toenail fungus that goes along with that. Put this behind you! Pretend you just hatched from an egg — or better yet, from Bellingham’s (Iconic) Acid Ball. The shell shards are fleeting reminders. Roll and roar toward the Granary!

VIRGO (Aug. 23-Sept. 22): Let’s say you blow up a balloon. And then instead of knotting the balloon, you let it go and it zooms around the living room making a hilarious jet-farting sound until it lies, spent, on the rug, like an abandoned redevelopment plan from the annals of the Port of Bellingham. Which one are you, Virgo? The balloon or the plan? Or maybe you are the annals? What is an annal, anyway? Does it matter? Exactly what I’m saying. If you would only listen. Cut loose and fly straighter, Virgo!

LIBRA (Sept. 23-Oct. 22): This just in: Mosses are non-vascular plants in the division Bryophyta. They absorb water and nutrients primarily through their leaves and harvest carbon dioxide and sunlight that creates food via photosynthesis. Should you not be doing the same? We all know the answer, Libra. Why don’t you? Drink up, spew out, emote and live large! Or something like that. Whatever. Moss be moss, you be you.

SCORPIO (Oct. 23-Nov. 21): Something tells me August will be important to you. But I was wrong once. We’ll see what happens.

SAGITTARIUS (Nov. 22-Dec. 21): Did you know that dung beetles feed on feces? Or that they can bury dung balls 250 times their own mass in one night? Then you know what dung beetles have in common with K Street lobbyists in the Lesser Washington. What do you do with that nugget, Sagittarius? Bury it or carry it? The world is your wee lil’ wheelbarrow! 

CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): There are two kinds of folks in the world: Those of us who put on a sock and a shoe, and those who put on a sock and a sock, then a shoe and a shoe. What you need to know about this, Capricorn, is clear and two-fold: Downtown Bellingham parking is free on Sundays. But Hardware Sales is inexplicably closed. Ponder.

AQUARIUS (Jan. 20-Feb. 18): In 1987, the late country singer Merle Haggard’s hit single, “Twinkle, Twinkle Lucky Star,” the last of his 38 hit singles, asked of the heavens: “Can you send me luck from where you are/Can you make a rainbow shine that far?” It was a hopeful balance to a broad range of other Haggard hits with forlorn lyrics, including, “Back to the Barrooms” and “Think I’ll Just Stay Here and Drink.” Surely you can relate, Aquarius: Are you reaching for the rainbow or sliding under the stools? Note: If you are Garth Brooks, or if this is a life-threatening emergency, please drop this column and dial 911 immediately.

PISCES (Feb. 19-March 20): The original “mood ring,” introduced to hapless dupes worldwide in 1974 by an American jeweler, used a thermochromic stone containing liquid crystals that turned color depending on body temperature, offering perhaps a glimpse into the wearer’s mood. This led to many startling revelations, including the shocking fact that nearly every human in the world was in a really, really bad mood while gutting fish resting in a tub of ice water. It’s also definitive proof to you, Pisces, that moodiness is a stepcousin to gutting; keep the ice at bay as long as you can.

Ron Judd’s column appears on Fridays;; @roncjudd. 

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