I was chatting with friends at a poetry reading last week regarding their impending parenthood.
“So when’s the baby due?”
“Ah, a taurus.”
“Beg your pardon?”
I somehow missed this controversial tid-bit of news–maybe because I listen to actual news–but some astronomer at a conservatory in Minnesota published something to the effect that astrological signs aren’t what they were previously perceived to be, due primarily to a “wobble-factor” (technical term) of the earth’s rotation on its axis as well as a previously un-consulted thirteenth constellation.
“Huh,” I laughed. “That must be pissing people off.” It kind of cracks me up that an actual scientist would bother with this sort of thing really. I mean, I think astrology’s kind of fun. Every now and again, I’ll pull up my horoscope on The Onion, but it’s not like it’s science.
“Incidentally,” my friend says, “you’re not a taurus anymore either.”
I looked it up. He’s right. If this Minnesota astronomer is to be believed, I’m now an – get this – an aries. An aries. That’s not even an earth sign. It’s a fire sign. I checked out the aries profile online. Look at the key words associated with this load of wool:
active, initiating, leading, independent, aggressive, impatient, combative, energetic, pioneering, naive, assertive
Dude. No. No no no no no no. Look, I’m a taurus. I’m stubborn, bull-headed, patient. My inner-cow is legendary and my husband won me over with toast. Taurus. Clearly.
My good friend and colleague Lara ran my charts once and assured me that I am taurus with a side of taurus and garnish of some little bit of water sign in some kind of ascendancy or something. She gave me an appraising nod as if that explained everything about this crazy woman she was sharing an office with (me), and proceeded to explain all the details. I didn’t catch all of it, but I trust the woman’s intuition because if you met her and disregarded it, I firmly believe the universe would slap you around for a bit just because you deserved it.
Let’s review our friend the taurus:
persevering, down-to-earth, stable, stubborn, possessive, prosperous, dependable, physical, sensual
Okay, that’s more like it.
Seriously, people. I’m not pioneering. I hate change. Mom? Dad? Tell the nice folks what I put you through every time we relocated. What I do is dig my heels in and go with the “I shall not be moved” philosophy. I can dig my heels in like no one you know, outside of an actual cow.
Once it got me a guinea pig and a treehouse and I still stomped around for five years complaining about the lack of smog.
It’s true; there’s a certain yarn association with a ram mascot, and I can appreciate that. But ladies and gentlemen, I have one thing to say to you. Moo.
Mr. Scientist in Minnesota, check your frakking star charts again because this cow is not buying. And being a taurus, I know a load of bull shit when I see it.
Addendum: Apparently this Minnesota scientist, Dr. Kunkle, has been widely debunked by a whole bunch of raving people with pitchforks all clamoring about their own generalized personality traits. (Talk about your over-reactions. Geez...) Apparently, most astrologers cite tropical astrology and this Kunkle’s p.o.v. affects the less popular sidereal sort. My point is that wikipedia says I’m still a taurus and I’m going to go along with the consensus of unqualified geeks on the internet. Now I’ll just go over here, chew my cud, and laugh at Minnesota. What kind of name is Kunkle, anyway?