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Your Sign is Your Sign, Or, When It Comes to Astrology, Astronomers Wouldn’t Know Your Ass from Uranus
By Greg OlearJanuary 13, 2011
Today, an astronomy professor at the Minneapolis Community and Technical College, the wonderfully named Parke Kunkle, told a (nameless, far as I can tell) reporter at NBC News something that astrologers have known for hundreds of years.
Here’s the intro to that “news” story:
If you’ve ever read your horoscope, you may be interested in what at least one astronomer has to say about it. Turns out your sign may not really be your sign.
“This is not something that happened today. This has gone on for thousands of years,” said astronomer Parke Kunkle.
The star doctors say Earth is currently in a different spot in relation to the Sun, and its equatorial alignment has changed from 3,000 years ago when the study of astrology began — back when 12 zodiac signs were assigned to 12 different periods of the year.
Those signs you were born into are different now because the Earth’s wobble on its axis has created a one-month bump in the alignment of the stars, according to Kunkle.
“Because of this change of tilt, the Earth is really over here in effect and Sun is in a different constellation than it was 3,000 years ago.”
First of all, no fucking shit. The entire concept of the Age of Aquarius is predicated on said wobble of the Earth (see below), so it’s safe to assume that any astrologer worth his or her horoscopical salt will know that the constellations are different now than they were thousands of years ago.
Second, astronomers are not astrologers. They are celestial trainspotters. They voted to demote Pluto from planet to “dwarf planet,” which no astrologer would do (we know what a whallop that outer planet can pack). Asking an astronomer about astrology is like asking a stage-light manufacturer about Method acting.
Third, most astrologers use the tropical, not the sidereal, method of calculating Sun signs. In this method, the sky is divided into twelve equal sections; the constellations are irrelevant. I’ll let Robert Hand, the world’s greatest astrologer, explain, in a terrific essay called “The Age and Constellation of Pisces,” published back in 1982:
Constellations have not played much of a role in modern astrology. Fixed stars taken individually have been investigated from time to time, but not usually as parts of constellations….
The ancients made a distinction between two kinds of zodiacal sign, the zodia neota, which roughly translates as the “knowable zodiac,” and the morphomata, “that which has form.” The zodia noeta consist of…twelve 30-degree sidereal signs. The morphomata…are the unequal constellations forming pictures of forms in the heavens….
But while the constellations (morphomata) have retained their form fairly consistently from somewhat before Ptolemy to the present, it is quite apparent they were different before that time.
Fourth, and most importantly, even if the morphomata were used, all of modern astrology—and thus, every last word you read about the secretive Scorpio, the stubborn Capricorn, the sensitive Pisces, and so on—begins with Ptolemy’s book Tetrabiblos. Since the sky looks more or less the same today than it did when he was writing, it doesn’t matter one iota, practically speaking, where Aries was in ancient Babylonia. We are what we are; where the stars are located is beside the point.
(Hand, incidentally, and many other astrologers, talk about the “thirteenth sign,” Ophiuchus. Ophiuschus is like the zodiac’s Pete Best.)
As the learned astrolomer observes, this has gone on for thousands of years. The only mystery is why it is news.
So what is the Age of Aquarius, anyway?
The Earth moves in three different ways. Two of these motions you know already, because rotation and revolution are how our basic units of time—day and year—are derived. The seasons, another unit of time, are caused by the interplay between rotation and revolution.
But there is a third motion to the planet, one that takes far longer than the other two: the wobble. Ever spun a top and observed how its top wobbles as the body spins? The Earth does the same thing—slowly, very slowly, but ineluctably.
It takes one day for the Earth to rotate on its axis, one year to revolve around the Sun, and a whopping 25,868 years (give or take) to wobble around completely. One 360-degree wobble is called a Great Sidereal Year—or, more frequently, a Platonic Year (PY).
Now, imagine that you’re up in space, staring down at the North Pole. Also imagine that some celestial cinematographer recorded the Earth making a full wobble in time-lapse photography. What you would see is a point moving in a circle—like the tip of the second hand on a clock, except wicked slow.
Let’s give this circle of completed wobble a name. Let’s call it Dave.
There are 360 degrees to Dave. We mark these degrees in units of twelve—just like we do on a clock. But instead of numbers, we use the zodiac—a series of “fixed” stars near the equator, visible from both hemispheres, by which we track the motion of the Earth.
Continuing our clock analogy, if Dave lives on a second hand, then 1 is Aries, 2 is Taurus, 3 is Gemini, and so on, to 12, which is Pisces. Each of these twelve divisions of the Platonic Year—a Platonic Month, if you will—is called an Astrological Age.
With me so far?
One more thing: the Earth wobbles backwards through the zodiac. So Dave is moving in reverse. Instead of going from Aries to Taurus, Dave travels from Aries to Pisces, and from Pisces to—ta da—Aquarius.
Right now, we are in the Age of Pisces. It has been the Age of Pisces for a really long time. We’re waiting for Dave to break the plane of the 11—and for Earth to enter the Age of Aquarius.
(Sidenote: the term “New Age” is thus derived: the Age of Aquarius is the New Age).
A Platonic Year lasts, as discussed, 25,868 Earth years. A Platonic month—that is, an Astrological Age—lasts about 2160 Earth years. The Earth wobbles about one degree every 72 years. These are just estimates, of course, but they are close.
As if all this Dave business isn’t confusing enough, there’s one more curveball. There are two different zodiacs. The tropical zodiac divides the heavens into twelve equal pie-slices, just like a clock, based on the vernal and autumnal equinoxes.
The sidereal zodiac is based upon the stars themselves, rather than arbitrary points in the sky. Because some constellations are bigger than others, according to apologists of the sidereal zodiac, some Ages last longer than others. And Pisces is one of the big ones. If a regular Age is a two-hour movie, Pisces is Gone With the Wind. It’s a double videotape of a constellation.
Summing up, we know an Astrological Age is roughly 2160 years, give or take a decade or three. We’re pretty sure that we’re still in the Age of Pisces. But we’re not sure when the Piscean Age ends, because we’re not sure when it begins—or, for that matter, how long it’s supposed to last.
When is this dawning-of-the-Age-of-Aquarius business going to start?
Astrologers disagree about when the Age of Pisces began. Here are some hypotheses, in chronological order:
608 BCE Madame Blavatsky
317 BCE David Davison
255 BCE Gerald Massey
125 BCE Thierens
111 BCE Robert Hand
100 BCE Dane Rudhyar
1 CE Paul Council
25 CE Charles A. Jayne
213 CE Cyril Fagan
496 CE Gavin Arthur
Add 2160 years to the start dates, and here’s when the experts suggest the Age of Aquarius might begin. (Note: all but Robert Hand have been dead for at least a quarter century).
1552 CE Madame Blavatsky
1843 CE David Davison
1905 CE Gerald Massey
2035 CE Thierens
2049 CE Robert Hand
2060 CE Dane Rudhyar
2161 CE Paul Council
2185 CE Charles A. Jayne
2370 CE Cyril Fagan
2656 CE Gavin Arthur
Given that living astrologers concur that we are still in the Age of Pisces, we can safety discard Blavatsky, Davison, and Massey. The two astrologers I find the most illuminating are Hand and Rudhyar, so it is telling that they are in virtual agreement.
In short, the New Age is coming. But not until the middle of the century. Unless Parke Kunkle tells a reporter at NBC News otherwise, that is.
You and Dave just popped my Leo bubble.
Dangitt. I still don’t feel like a Virgo.
(Like a Virgo, HEY – touched for the very first time – like a Viiiirrrgo…)
But, thanks anyway for explaining it for us layfolk.
You’re much more Sadge than Leo. And that’s your rising sign. So there.
Your “like a Virgo” lyrics made me snort. Haha.
I was like, “Minneapolis Community and Technical College? Is that even a real place?” I’d never heard of it. Google search revealed that’s because it goes almost solely by the name MCTC ’round these parts (this name I do recognize).
Let them call Pluto what they want to call Pluto. Pluto doesn’t care what they think. Pluto has better shit to do than fuck around with those people.
Anyway. Mine didn’t “change” even according to this guy’s calculations, so I was not too upset, but lots of people I know were.
I shall go forth and link.
I was wondering if that was the community college you wrote about so lovingly awhile back.
Just to clarify: the astronomer didn’t say anything wrong. But the reporter jumped to conclusions big time, and didn’t ask an astrologer to explain, just some random person on the street.
Oh no. I’m an East Side girl. St. Paul suburbs, not Mpls.
I’m not suggesting the astronomer said anything wrong, just taking my passing shot at the demotion of Pluto. It will have its revenge.
Oh… I see what you mean. The part about calculations. I guess I should have said according to the list given.
The dateline said “Minnesota,” which really narrowed it down.
And yes, you are Pluto’s minion. ; )
On a more serious note, I remember having read about it briefly a looooong time ago, but what does the age of Pisces imply?
I mean, given the nature of Pisces, one would expect something much more like what the Age of Aquarius is–at least popularly–thought to imply. Peace, love, and understanding–that kind of…stuff.
I’ve heard that the dawning of the Age of Pisces roughly coincided with Jesus’ birth, or at the very least that Jesus’ birth was somehow significant in that it occurred very early on in the age of Pisces and he was (by some calculations, anyway) a Pisces. That his life & death were somehow extra-symbolic of what that age represents.
But I’m still not sure what that is.
You should really track down the Robert Hand book Essays on Astrology and read the one cited above, on the Age of Pisces. A mind-blowingly great essay. He covers this in some detail, and elsewhere. To wit:
“If the coming age is really Aquarian, it may be an era in which individual considerations, emotional ties of love, and bonds of tradition are ruthlessly rooted out in favor of various utopian orders that are conceived entirely in the head and not at all in the heart.”
—Robert Hand, Horoscope Symbols
Interestingly, the animals most sacred to the ancients went according to the Ages. The Minotaur of Crete coincided with Taurus, and then there was lots of ram imagery later. Fish, which were rarely mentioned previously in religious texts, cropped up around 1 CE; Christians used the ruin as a symbol, supposedly, but my guess is they appropriated it from the pagans and invented the loaves and fishes story as a rationale.
Well, they wouldn’t have had to invent the story–however unlikely that the exact details are true.
A simple connection drawn between what they heard from the pagans and what they heard about Jesus could have resulted in a similar outcome. I mean, these are early Christians, not the Vatican. They are largely commoners. Less likely a case of maliciously usurping a pagan idea and more likely a case of trying to get a variety of ideas from the surrounding religious din to jibe together.
That is, of course, provided you believe they used the fish symbol that way in the first place.
At any rate, that’s neither here nor there. At least not with regard to the conversation at hand. But I couldn’t resist.
Hand’s assessment of a potential outcome of the Aquarian Age sounds a lot like the movie Equilibrium.
Or Jonestown or some shit.
I don’t have the right history book in NJ — it’s in storage — but the early Pauline Church was really really good at doing stuff like co-opting. If I remember correctly, they did this intentionally. The Church is pretty much the world’s first corporation.
Even the Pauline church is much later than the “Early Christians” I’m thinking of.
But while we’re on it, as I understand it, at least part the Pauline church’s motivations for cloaking Christian ideas in pagan symbolism and structuring the church in the style of Roman convention was to make the religion palatable to Roman authorities–in the hope of making Christianity’s adherents seem less radical and thus helping them to escape persecution or eradication–not necessarily in the hope of drawing converts through trickery, though converts may very well have been a hopeful outcome and a nifty boon.
It may simply be a question of where one chooses to put emphasis–a decision that, if we are to be honest, likely stems from a given person’s baseline opinion of organized religion and the Christian church.
I don’t mean to suggest that the early church was evil. Before they started rounding up gnostics and exterminating them, they did a lot of great things, like burying the poor who couldn’t afford burials otherwise.
*throws yellow flag*
That’s a warning, sir!
Wait, why am I being warned? “Kill them all and let God sort them out” was spoken by the Papal legate before the extermination of the Cathars. But that was centuries after the period we’re talking about.
Because this is threatening to deteriorate into a lengthy and tedious argument about the history of the early church (at the very least, if it can be confined to that).
I’ve had my fill of writing many hundred word-long TNB comments this week.
Fair enough. Okay, I’m back to ruminating about why Jake and Taylor broke up.
Well, okay for now… as long as you promise to bring it up again.
The history of the church is fascinating stuff.
Yeah, I was enjoying eavesdropping on your conversation.
your knowledge simply amazes me. the last post you did math and you had strep throat. I’m feeling very un-gemini like right now…. what does that mean? 😉
Thanks, Robin. For all un-Gemini things, I have to see your chart…
alas, i am chart-less
Date of birth, place of birth, exact time of birth, is all I require.
Let the magic IIIIIIN Richard! Let it innnnnn!
Don’t deny your nature. It will only cause you pain.
I tagged this “science” just for you, Richard. : )
I couldn’t think of anything funny to say that wouldn’t be repeating myself. Well, wait.
Greg, your sad devotion to that ancient religion has not helped you conjure up the…
Nah. I got nuthin’. ; -)
Someday you’re going to give up this ruse. When you do, you’re going to have 8 children and become a Wiccan warlock (or priest or elder or whatever they’re called).
Maybe Slade will lend you some Nag Champa. Gloria’s got some patchouli.
I never said I couldn’t accept magic. Just not this particular brand. But thanks for your concern, my friend.
I’m putting my vote in for “Moon Unit Cox.”
For the record, I no longer own any patchouli. Except incense. I could send you some patchouli incense, Richard. And some sage to smudge the evil juju out of your house.
Talk to the hand (of the Guy.)
I’ve never felt quite right with the zodiac sign I was assigned based on my date of birth. I always figured it was because I was premature and was actually more of the personality related to the zodiac sign I would have had if I’d been allowed to hatch in my own time. A friend recently informed me that my hypothesis was incorrect as astrological sign has no connection to conception, just birth. With that theory dashed I am thrilled to find another possible explanation. An potential explanation I don’t really understand but still…
Your friend is right. Astrologically speaking, life begins when you draw your first breath.
Your Sun sign is probably buried in the chart, with other planets more prominently placed. It’s a combination of many factors that can affect personality.
Does that mean astrology believers are predominantly pro choice?
I had the same thought, actually.
I’d guess the lion’s share of astrologers are left-leaning. I’ve read that when Ronald Reagan came out as a practicing astrologer, people were both delighted that someone in power was giving credence to it, but at the same time revolted that it was Reagan.
Some people will just never be satisfied.
But it stands to reason. Republican + Hollywood = Strange bedfellows.
Greggie,
You are some whacked-out crazy dude.
Says the woman who writes her cards backwards.
I don’t know what you’re talking about.
You must really be craaaaaazy.
I’m so glad you posted this. I don’t want to be a Taurus!
With being a Taurus comes great responsibility.
I’ll take the dreamy air sign I’m in now. If I don’t flake out on someone, people are kinda’ surprised. Yay!
(I’m a rare follow-through Gemini.)
I’m totally a follow-through Gemini! I’m not ditzy or floaty, but I am fun at parties. Unless I panic and have to go home because I’ve become completely reclusive and can’t look a person in the eye for two seconds.
Wait. I just became a Taurus.
You are fun at parties. Seconded.
Taureans as a rule have no problem with eye contact. They need to do it to get what they want.
Thanks, Aaron.
I’d rather be an Escort. Or maybe an Explorer…
A Viper would be badass, in both senses.
“Your sign is your sign.”
As a scientist, I laugh at such silly superstitions.
As a Taurus, I am relieved.
I’ve always thought such stargazing is a bit akin to navelgazing, but then again, if everyone had abs like mine, navelgazing wouldn’t get such a bum rap.
Thanks for clarifying, Greg.
Side-related: “Let them call Pluto what they want to call Pluto. Pluto doesn’t care what they think. Pluto has better shit to do than fuck around with those people,” may be one of my favorite things I’ve ever read online.
Love the new Gravatar, Will.
The division of the sky into twelve segments is very much mathematical and scientific; it’s the rest of it that you six-packed-abbed Taurean scientists scoff at.
You missed your calling, Greg. While you’re at this, can you tell me how long a year is sitting on Uranus?
No, but I can list words that rhyme with “Venus.”
[I have no idea what that means, but it’s late.]
All of this was super interesting, but the best part was learning what the hell new age meant. Nice.
You’re a wellspring of fascinating shit, Greg. 🙂
I didn’t know what it meant, either, for the longest time. Cool, huh?
And thanks, Gloria…one always aspires to be a poop-font.
As an Aquarius with Aquarius rising, I’m ready for MY fucking age, dammit!!
Thanks for letting me know I might actually live to see it, although, as it appears, I’ll be too old to enjoy it.
Unless the Mayans were right, and in that case – we’d better fucking start partying like it’s 2011.
If the Mayans were so good at forecasting the future, then where the fuck are they?
bwahahaha
better start partying, kimberly. i’ll dress in drag for that party. hell, i’ll even wear a thong. lemme know.
So tempting, Reno. So. Tempting.
I’ve got 20 days left to decide what I’m doing for my birthday this year. Vegas? Moon launch? 8-ball?
The possibilities are endless…
Fellow Aquarian – I think you need to go moon launch.
Shoot for the stars, Zister!
Why not all three, K-Dub?
Dave!
Greg this was awesome. I love your style. But wait! I love that you covered something that I could give two shits about and made it interesting. Hell, I learned a lot in this short piece. Brilliant! Hey, do you think the stars can predict who will win the Super Bowl? If not, do you think Kunkle can?
Thanks, man.
While Robert Hand’s father, for one, purportedly devised a way to use astrological transits to predict stock trends, I’ve not encountered any reliable way to forecast the outcome of sporting events. Although the Venn diagrams of “football fan” and “professional astrologer” do not have much intersection. (There is, however, something called the Mars Effect that you might want to Google; kinda cool).
With that said, whoever wins the Steelers/Pats tilt will hoist the Lombardi. Pittsburgh was my pre-season pick, but New England looks unbeatable right now. As Chris Berman says, “This is why they play the games.”
I make it a policy to always go with what Madame Blavatsky says.
You know, this is only slightly more fascinating to the average reader, I imagine, than a very long and involved post about Captain Beefheart.
There is a wobble, his name is Dave, and he is my friend.
Sidereal is a really cool word.
I’m with Sean. Blavatsky’s got my vote. Who can doubt the step-grandmother of Waldorf or the Church of Satan? Just saying. That woman packed a punch.
How the hell did you ever come up with the word ‘ineluctably’? And the one Beaudoin mentioned: sideareal. I can’t even spell it, apparently. You should hear my pronunciation skills, though. (WAY worse)
Also, does this mean we’re, er, *I’m* not really gemini? I’m Dave-ing out of control with this news.
I stole it from Joyce, of course.
One of the things about astrology that appeals to me is the rich vocabulary: sidereal (literally, “of the stars”), tropical, malefic, benefic, trine, conjunct, horoscopy, accidental dignity…so many cool words.
You are still a Gemini. Although you were born when a different constellation was seen at the band of the horizon. The actual stars are irrelevant. For all practical purposes, you are a Gemini if that’s what you are.
Blavatsky was, of course, vital to modern astrology. She was the one who tracked down old manuscripts, visited Tibet and India, and generally provided others with a shitload of books to pore over. Although I’ve found her own stuff unreadable.
(Who you should read, Sean, is Dane Rudhyar…he’s almost crazily brilliant).
Dave the Wobble was the band Beefheart was in before Beefheart, no?
Looks like you’re not the only one up in arms about such things, Gregorio.
http://blogtown.portlandmercury.com/BlogtownPDX/archives/2011/01/13/today-in-what-the-fuck-do-you-mean-the-zodiacs-all-different-now
This is a local culture rag.
I got a number of notes about this, so rather than respond to each, I decided to throw up a post. At the risk of overposting.
People are either upset because they like their sign; glad because they hate their sign; indifferent because they’re unaffected; or Richard and don’t care either way.
Richard – the new Switzerland!
Oh no. Now I’m having a huge identity crisis! Sun in Pisces, Pisces rising, Mercury in Pisces. I’m wobbling with Dave…
That’s a whole lotta Pisces, Jude. Water water everywhere!
And not a drop to drink…
Asking an astronomer about astrology is like asking a stage-light manufacturer about Method acting.
I love this. The if>then equation illustrated so perfectly. Seriously, I trust a man who can write this sentence.
(I’m also a Gemini, dammit! No-one can steal my Gemini-ness unless from my cold, dead hand!)
From your cold dead HANDS. Plural, oh twin.
Thanks, QB.
What irritates me about the article is that the author didn’t think to ask an astrologer. It’s not like we’re so hard to track down…one of the top five Twitter feeds is an astrology one. Lazy, lazy “journalism.”
So, I’m still an Aries then? Fabulous! Don’t think I could’ve handled not being the first sign of the Zodiac.
This is all news to me, so when I read the articles online this morning I brought the subject up with a colleague of mine. Said colleague (Taurus) just shot down the whole idea of astrology, the zodiac and horoscopes because he believes it’s nonsense. I’m no expert but he is clearly clueless, a conclusion I came to when he started putting words in my mouth about “his” understanding of it. Literally ramming is opinion at me. Which I find ironic because he goes to church and believes in a deity, so what’s the difference in my believing in astrology and other esoteric systems?
I sent him a copy of your post as well as the link of the Parke Kunkle NBC story, so that he could make up his own mind. I felt it’s pretty useless to argue with someone who only has one point of view and who’s not willing, at least, to listen to the other person’s take on the subject.
I’m still waiting for his response.
Thanks for filling us in, Greg!
Yes, you are still an Aries. (And thanks for your e-mail, BTW).
God/the Universe/whatever you want to call it expresses itself in any number of ways. For me, astrology “works” better than anything Christianity has on offer; it’s a way of soul expansion, through which I glimpse the divine. If your colleague feels that way bowing before a crucifix, good for him. We have to do what works. But don’t scoff at astrology when you spend Sunday mornings worshiping a long-dead Nazarene whose birth story was lifted almost exactly from the Egyptian myth of Osiris. People in glass houses of worship shouldn’t throw stones. First of all, it’s hypocritical; second, Jesus wouldn’t like it.
i swear, it’s as though i am inherently incapable of understanding what you’re talking about when you write about astrology. my brain just does not know how to make sense of it.
I feel the same way about psychology textbooks, so we’re even.
It doesn’t make complete sense to me–but I understand the fascination more now. Love this! Very, very cool.
Thanks, Victoria.
Let me use a literary example: when Tess’s father finds out that the Durbeyfields were descendents of the noble d’Urberville clan, while it is technically accurate, it doesn’t change the circumstances of his life. He’s still who he is, poor, because the circumstances of his life have made it so. A “new” sign is the same thing…while technically accurate, it doesn’t change anything at all (but Hardy is unlikely to have been inspired to write a masterpiece about The Mistaken Scorpio).
Oh, ok. Wait, no… still don’t understand! But I love the whole Dave earth wobble thing. Am I still a Sag? And are you going to write The Mistaken Scorpio?
In short, your astrological “sign” has to do with an imaginary section of the sky at the time of your birth, that astrologers refer to as Sagittarius, but which doesn’t exactly correspond with the constellation of the same name.
And yes, I shall pen The Mistaken Scorpio. In the style of Hardy, it will be incredibly depressing.
There will be dead people (in your book).
I want to be
an acclaimed
Community College Astronomer.
At Community College
you could be an Astronomer
& an Astrologist
& still teach Criminal Justice 101
& coach the girl’s softball team.
& be the Associate Dean!
I’m with you!
“Second, astronomers are not astrologers. They are celestial trainspotters. They voted to demote Pluto from planet to “dwarf planet,” which no astrologer would do (we know what a whallop that outer planet can pack). Asking an astronomer about astrology is like asking a stage-light manufacturer about Method acting.”
Zing! Poor Carl Sagan.
In any event, your explanation made much more sense than anything I read anywhere else. I love how much you know about this shit — You’re a font!
Thanks, Dana. Eric over at Planet Waves wrote a good piece, too.
There’s so much literature about astrology; it really is quite fascinating to go through.
oh now I’m totally flashbacking….me as a little kid with The Fifth Dimension blaring harmonious around my ears…. (I kinda feel gyped that they were singing about the Age of Aquarius too soon, though.)
When I read the article about the “new” signs, I rolled my eyes. If certain traits are “fixed” with each sign, there was no doubt–regardless of the revised dates–what I, er, embody.
Ha….zodiac’s Pete Best.
Thanks for the clarification.
I JUST got that song out of my head.
While we’re on the topic, the lyrics make no sense:
When the moon is in the seventh house…
Whose seventh house? A person? A country? An event? It doesn’t say.
…and Jupiter aligns with Mars…
“Aligns” is not an astrological term. Is it conjunct Mars? Trine? We don’t know. Also, a Jupiter-Mars conjunction is not rare; Mars travels quickly. And, Mars is a malefic planet, so it “aligning” with anything is bad.
Then peace will guide the planet…
Which planet? Jupiter? Mars? Earth? No way of knowing.
And love will steer the stars.
Um, okay.
Thanks, Ronlyn.
Yes.. but it gets even WORSE..
“Golden living, dreams of visions
Mystic crystal revelation…”
Ugh. That’s the bit I hate and I am an Aquarius (even under the ‘new’ zodiac. Yes!)
Let the sunshine in. Let the sunshine. The sun. Shine in.
I’m still a Leo…..not that I would have gone by the new chart. Especially since your explanation makes much more sense.
Thanks, Lorna. Once a Leo, always a Leo!
I love this side of you! And only someone who writes as well as YOU could make this totally and completely interesting! You’ve got me!
Thanks, Jessica.
And hey, it’s a big week for you! Release week! Woo-hoo!
I had no idea this was even a thing until now.
I recently remembered that a friend’s mother, back in the day, ran my Mayan star sign and it came out as ‘Akbal, the Dark Places within the Temple.’ I have no idea what it means, but it just sounds so… badass.
I vote that we call you Akbal Smithson from now on. Anyone second that? Screw it, I’m doing it anyway. No way Garofalo turns down Akbal.
I got excited about “worth his or her horoscopical salt” in this piece. “Horoscopical” is such a good word.
As a very Scorpio girl with a tattoo of the symbol for Pluto on my ankle, I am still bitter about the demotion of my (other) ruling planet. Rat bastards. I am now forced to refer to the tattoo as my astrological Billy Bob. Grrrr.
I have been dying to ask you about all of this “your sign is not your sign” business I keep seeing in the latest trendy headlines. I really like Virgos, and have many Virgo pals, but I am absolutely not a Virgo. It’s been making me a bit mental to be told that I am. Thanks for clearing that up. Whew!
Interesting, I’m also a Scorpio, and I also love Virgos. Many of my good friends are Virgos, most of the women I dated are Virgos, my wife is a Virgo, my daughter is a Virgo, and on it goes.
Which Pluto symbol, the PL one, or the one with the circle up top?
And thanks — I love the word “horoscopical”.
I got the symbol with the circle up top. (No surrey, and no fringe, though.) The one that kinda looks like the symbol for female, but not quite. I was worried the PL would just look like somebody’s initials. Like my boyfriend, Paul Lloyd, or something.
Virgos are awesome. I find their attention to detail, love of cleanliness, organization, and preciseness very appealing. Virgos know the true value of one of my favorite sayings: “If a job is worth doing, it’s worth doing well.” I’ve learned that I can very easily (and completely unintentionally) hurt their feelings, sweet, sensitive souls that they are, so I try to be very gentle with them. I’ve never dated one (probably because I tend to make poor romantic choices… darn those fascinating-yet-flighty Aquarius boys who always break my heart), but I have tons of Virgo friends whom I absolutely adore.
Oh, good…that’s the cool one. The PL is dorky and not much used.
When you show that tattoo off, all I’m saying is that chicks and ducks and geese better scurry…
WHA?
I always thought that saying was, “If a job is worth doing, someone would have done it already.”
Or
“If a job is worth doing, it will still be worth doing tomorrow.”
Haha. Also: “If a job is worth doing, it’s worth making Becky do it for you.”
When we hit that road, hell for leather, cats and dogs’ll dance in the heather! *hides face in shame*
He looks like he’s asleep
It’s a shame that he won’t keep
But it’s summer, and we’re runnin’ out of ice.
[the only romantic lead I ever had]
I didn’t know you ever pursued actor-y things. How cool! Does either of your adorable kidlings seem to be showing an affinity for the spotlight yet?
Prudence is already a better actress than most of the people at the Golden Globes…
But with the help of D.R. Haney’s new book series for children, we’ll make sure they don’t go down that horrible path of doom.
Even with the “new” table of signs, I am still a Virgo…which is kinda funny, because people tell me they’ve never met a more Virgo than me. The buncha jerks say it like that’s a bad thing, too!
: )
Virgos get a bum rap. But as I mentioned elsewhere on the boards, I am surrounded by Virgos…many good friends, many ex-girlfriends, my wife, my daughter, my brother-in-law, etc.
G-money-
This is a w e s o m e. I read your piece before hearing all the hullabaloo about the constellation controversy. Nothing like a fact-based, cogent, wit-soaked smack down.
I was a little shaken to think that I might be a Virgo, having once been accused of having so much Virgo in my chart (?), that I was, for all intents and purposes, a Virgo (and thus incompatible with this woman). Nice to know that the roar of my Leo shall continue to ring through the ages. At least my age.
Thanks, man. I only wish more media outlets paid attention.
Five planets in Virgo, three of them outers, in the First House, with Virgo rising…yeah, you’ve got some Virgo going on, no matter what. ; )