Voices: Springtime Stargazing
It's officially Spring. The sun is playing peek-a-boo, green things and blossoms are blooming so quickly the progress is measurable, and no one can concentrate.
If the number of empty parking spaces downtown is any indication, an usually high number of people are playing hooky while I'm writing this column.
The rest are no less innocent. We may physically remain at our desks, but we're preoccupied. It's OK - for the next couple of moments, you don't have to pretend. I'm not going to tell. I just chased away one evocative daydream about being lathered with sunscreen only to imagine I'm opening a bottle of champagne during a shaded picnic on a lazy afternoon by the river.
Yes, even the most serious of us tend to get distracted at this time of the year. So, I figure why waste a perfectly good column? You're not going to blame me for stressing you out ruining your spring fever-induced passing fantasies.
Nope. This week I've got one completely unimportant and inconsequential question to pose.
Why does my horoscope keep sucking so much?
This "quickie" from about a week ago on yahoo.com takes the cake.
"Hostages sympathize with captors. Ignore all the judgments. Survival can be fun."
Excuse me? Survival can be a lot of things, but "fun?" I'm living it, honey; I don't want to hear that. It's not like I'm going to sigh with relief, "Oh thank heavens someone understands." Uh-uh.
Perhaps you're of the camp that swallows your horoscope as the word of the new age gods. I'll admit it; I've dabbled. I've freaked over the accuracy of my birth chart and at the familiarity of the stars' description of my romantic compatibility. But I know where to draw the line.
Since when are the horoscopes they print on your Internet homepage or in the daily newspaper supposed to be anything other than entertainment? Give us a little ego boost. Something to make us feel better about having overcome exhaustion and risen from bed that morning. Something to look forward to while we cross out the lines on our never ending to-do lists.
Today's horoscope told me that if I absolutely had to get out of bed before noon today that I should complete my work as soon as possible and go straight home to crash on the couch under a comforter with a pizza.
Are these astrologers even trying anymore? Where's the false sense of optimism and hope? Of course, I had to get out of bed this morning. I had kids to drop off at school and a column to write! Don't you dare remind me that some people have the luxury of lounging around in bed all mornng! What ever happened to the fix that I'm going to turn to day after day without fail? The deceptively insightful ass-kissing paragraph readers can't help but get addicted to digesting?
Sony Pictures' horoscope on the "13 Going on 30" website says I should ignore the advice of my friends and buy the bikini anyway. Now, I don't know the precise percentage of women in this country who look good in a bikini, but I'm guessing they're in the minority. Let's use a little common sense people. You shouldn't need a calculator to figure that blurb is going to chase a lot of ladies away. Sorry, men, but you apparently weren't considered for a moment. Let's cut our potential box office in half (maybe a quarter), too.
The majority doesn't believe its destiny is mapped out in the distant universe or that various forces of celestial gravity are pulling them this way and pushing them that way. They don't want to hear about making sacrifices or that "it's going to be tough today, but it will all pay off in the long run." America gave up on the long run years ago.
When I read my horoscope I want a starlight embrace. Give me some poetry that says everything's going to be OK. Stroke my cheek with empty promises. Tell me what a good girl I've been and how proud you are that I've managed to stay afloat in the quicksand of reality.
Surely that's not too much to ask of someone who can read the heavens.
-- alicia grega-pikul, 22 April 2004
Send e-mail to: apikul@timesshamrock.com.
