By Steve Weinstein
By Devon Maloney
By Tessa Stuart
By Alison Flowers
By Albert Samaha
By Jesse Jarnow
By Eric Tsetsi
By Raillan Brooks
ARIES [March 21–April 19] In a comedy sketch called "One Leg Too Few," a one-legged man comes in to a casting agent's office to audition for the part of Tarzan. The agent is as diplomatic as he can be given the fact that the role would best be played by a strapping young man with exceptional running and leaping skills. "It's possible that no two-legged men will apply," the agent tells the applicant, "in which case you could get the part." Don't be like the one-legged man in this story, Aries. While I usually encourage you to think big and dream of accomplishing amazing feats, this is one time when you should respect your limitations.
TAURUS [April 20–May 20] As I was meditating on your horoscope for this week, a song popped into my head: "Sexual Healing." I instantly knew it was a message from my unconscious, meant to be delivered to your unconscious—a perfect action plan for you to pursue in order to be in maximum alignment with the astrological omens. I encourage you to come up with your own interpretation of what "sexual healing" means for you, maybe even write your own lyrics. If you'd like to listen to the original for inspiration, do it. PS: You don't necessarily need a partner to conjure up the cure.
GEMINI [May 21–June 20] You probably get e-mails that close like this: "Sent from my iPhone." Keep that detail in mind while I tell you the dream I had last night. In the dream, all of my Gemini friends had sent me poignant e-mails that said, "I've got to get back to where I started from," or "There's something really important that I've got to do, but I can't remember what it is," or "I hear a voice calling my name, but I don't know who it is or where it's coming from." And each of their e-mails ended like this: "Sent from my iSoul." I suspect my dream is in perfect accordance with your astrological omens, Gemini. It's time to go home, in every sense of the word.
CANCER [June 21–July 22] My name was "Robbie" from birth till seventh grade. But as my adolescent hormones began to kick in, I decided I needed a more virile stature. My name became the punchier, sleeker "Rob." But with every year that passes, I find myself heading back in the direction of "Robbie." The severity of my youth yearns to meld with the tenderness I've been cultivating the past decade. I want my paradoxes to harmonize—my blithe feminine qualities to cooperate with my aggressive masculine side, my bright-eyed innocence to synergize with my restless probing. So you can call me "Robbie" if you like, or "Rob," or sometimes one and sometimes the other. Isn't it time for you, too, my fellow Cancerian, to circle back and reclaim an early part of you that got lost along the way?
LEO [July 23–August 22] The Clash launched its career in 1979. With its dissident lyrics and experimental music, it aspired to make an impact on political attitudes. But then one of its songs, "Rock the Casbah," got so popular that college fraternity parties were playing it as feel-good dance music. That peeved the Clash's lead singer Joe Strummer, a Leo. He didn't want his anthems to be used as vulgar entertainment by bourgeois kids. I sympathize with his purity, but I don't advocate that approach for you. For now, relinquish control of your offerings. Let people use them the way they want to.
VIRGO [August 23–September 22] "The trouble with life isn't that there is no answer; it's that there are so many answers," said Ruth Benedict. That's always true, but it's especially apropos for you right now. You're teeming with possibilities. There are so many ideas eddying in your vicinity that you may be hard-pressed to pick out just a couple. My advice: Let them all swirl for a few more days, then go with the ones that you feel will last the longest.
LIBRA [September 23–October 22] Jack Mytton was an 19th-century eccentric whose wealth often shielded him from the consequences of his odd behavior. One of his adventures came on a night when he got the hiccups. Thinking he could scare himself into being cured, he set fire to his pajamas. In the ensuing mayhem, his hiccups disappeared, but he burned himself. I bring this to your attention, in the hope it will dissuade you from attacking a small problem in a way that causes a bigger problem. For now it's better to endure inconvenience. Don't seek a quick fix that causes a complicated mess.
SCORPIO [October 23–November 21] I will ask you to make everything wetter; to be the personification of fluidity. If you're stuck in a dynamic that is parched, add moisture. Be ingenious, not rash, as you stir up dormant feelings in people you care about. Remind those who are high and dry about the river that runs through them. (A good way to do that is to reveal the river that runs through you.)