Scorpio (24 October – 22 November)
After months of temptation, you succumb to the Love That Dare Not Speak Its Name. You also discover that its name is “Hubert,” which helps explain his reticence on this score. Be good to Hubert; validate his body-image, his sense of self, his wit, his competence in the kitchen. Before long, not only will he dare to speak his name—he’ll be shouting it from the rooftops! laughing with abandon! twirling an umbrella! Until the men in white coats arrive, of course. Even as he languishes in the psych ward, remember: you’ve given Hubert something those quacks will never understand—an original Mondrian, to be precise. Joke’s on you, Scorpio; it’s hanging upside-down.
Sagittarius (23 November – 21 December)
This week you will start a fair-trade apiary, where the bees get a 30% cut.
Capricorn (22 December – 20 January)
Oh Capricorn—sweet, lecherous Capricorn—prepare for comeuppance. A woman responds to your inane personal ad about how much you hate yoga and how much you love piña coladas (which should be piñas coladas, but hey, you don’t care, you free-wheeling, beachcombing halfwit). This woman, to no one’s surprise, is your wife. Having laughed, cried, and thumb-wrestled over your shared love of unexpected precipitation, you write a horrible song about the experience, which you’d like to think is O. Henry by way of Jimmy Buffet but really just proves that boy do you two deserve each other.
Aquarius (21 January – 19 February)
Excited to attend the wedding of a rich and glamorous friend, you are chagrined to learn that an Elvis impersonator will provide the food while the staff of Marcel’s will perform “Heartbreak Hotel” in broken English. The pork loin leaves something to be desired.
Pisces (20 February – 20 March)
Remember those old Pace Picante commercials? We do! According to them, NYC’s main exports in the ’90s were a.) purveyors of horrible Yankee salsa b.) dudes who think Yankee salsa is OK and c.) other dudes who perpetrate unspeakable acts of sadism on the dudes from column b.). Your job, Pisces, is to figure out which one you are, and be that one.
Ares (21 March – 20 April)
It is very bad luck to say “Macbeth” in a theater. Some states let you off with a warning; in other states, you’ll serve three to five and be forced to run the weekly inmate theatricals, a duty that does not make you popular among the carceral throngs. The moral? Never say “Macbeth,” whether you’re in a theater, near a theater, or even in certain parts of Arizona where theaters are illegal. Instead, try saying “the Scottish play” or “Ackbeth-May” or “the one that rhymes with ‘Sack-death.’” Safety first, Ares.
Taurus (21 April – 21 May)
Even a bull needs a hobby, Taurus. During your current downtime, try new things. Write mean letters to the descendants of Herman Hesse. Read all of Proust, then read it again upside-down just in case. Become an entrepreneur! Learn whittling, ice-sculpting, and eventually candle-crafting. Your new business will boom until Herr Doktor Dieter Hesse sues for harassment, libel, and crimes against the subjunctive. Penniless, you watch the store collapse slowly and with an unpleasant smell, much like your homemade candles.
Gemini (22 May – 21 June)
The partial alignment of Saturn and Mercury prompts a lot of rumors about how “those two always did seem suspiciously intimate.” An ensuing PR nightmare kick-starts your career when Venus’s publicist calls to suggest a staged tabloid relationship. Before long, you’re banging Jaëger shots with James Franco and Jeremy Piven in Park City to drown the memory of how the dame left you for Seth Green, but hey, she’s married to that little troll named Vulcan anyway so de gustibus non est disputandum, right bro? [clinks]
Cancer (22 June – 22 July)
A pickle! Laurence Sterne’s 300th birthday is right around the corner, and you can’t decide what to get him—gardening equipment? a Steve Coogan action figure? a one-way ticket to Languedoc and the lovely Nannette? Relax; any of these will do. The main thing to remember is that no one enjoys his 300th birthday. Best to shoot for jocular diplomacy: “Ah Laurence, your 290th birthday again, eh? How many has that been old boy?” FYI: No matter what you say he will probably still fill your breeches with white-hot chestnuts.
Leo (23 July – 22 August)
If life is a dream, then we must ask: who is doing the dreaming? That is, are we the creators, or is it possible we are merely characters in the fervid brain of some Russian oligarch who burps as he rolls over in the master bedroom of his dacha? If so, do we get any of his oil dividends? These aren’t koans — we’re really asking. Please send tips: firstname.lastname@example.org
Virgo (23 August – 23 September)
Great job with Trevor so far! Keep up the good work.
Libra (24 September – 23 October)
You find yourself in a new, gushingly glorious relationship with a person so attuned to every tremor of your heartstrings that it’s eerie, something reincarnated, rather like the Emma Thompson/Kenneth Branagh dynamic in Dead Again (1991), which hardly anyone watches any more. A shame, really, because it’s very clever and the two of them are so young and, OK, the giant scissors are a bit much but it’s one of Derek Jacobi’s better performances of that era and anyway it’s back on Netflix so do spread the word.
Ted Scheinman is a culture reporter based in Chapel Hill. He has written for the Oxford American Quarterly, the Los Angeles Review of Books, Pacific Standard, Slate, and various other screen- or print-based concerns. His first book of nonfiction will appear via Faber in late 2014. He once gave Sam Shepard his autograph, and Tilda Swinton once served him coffee. (We're really not kidding — click here!) Follow him on Twitter: @Ted_Scheinman.