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VostromoScope – Pisces

Tuesday, September 18th, 2012

by Vostromo




Ruling planet: Neptune
Element: Bouillabaisse
Symbol: A caper wrapped in an anchovy
Birthstones: Amethyst, aquamarine, dried wasabi


Fans (a word wrapped in Super Secret Double Probationary air quotes) of the VostromoScopes know I’ve been struggling to put the Pisces entry together for quite a while. There are some straightforward-enough reasons for the delay (the RIP of EoP; Chicago meteorology babe Ginger Zee’s defection to Good Morning America; that rerun of New Girl; McKayla Maroney’s smirk; Thursday; the persecution of Pussy Riot in the Soviet Un– sorry, “Russia”; also I dropped a thumbtack) and the inescapable reality that the creative process, howsoe’er crappy the outcome, is not on any schedule known to humankind.

But the difficulty has persisted for so long even I found it unusual: many ramblings of mine I think not fatally unfunny have come into being since the Pisces entry was due, and quite on the fly (is that the same as off the cuff? why?) — so I set out exploring not only Pisces but why I seemed to be suffering from “Pisces block” and no, I don’t mean the time Rihanna’s security guards tackled me, nor Jolene Blalock not returning my calls because she’s “Vulcanizing”.

Today I hit the answer. Well probably not the answer but an answer. Something, at any rate, on which I can pin the blame. OK properly it’s an “excuse” but the point is, figures prove nothing, and that footage is absolutely not clear enough to identify me. I mean, the perp, whoever I am. — it is! Dammit!

In peering into the depths of the list of notable Pisceans, one overarching fact eventually rose to the surface: collectively, you rock. And not Van Hagar rock either – Van Lee Roth rock.

Yeah, there are exceptions to every rule (Tammy Faye Bakker; Michael Bolton; Fabio; Justin Bieber) and there’s probably sport to be made of the fact that the Pisces are the fish into which Aphrodite and Eros changed to escape the wrath of Typhon, the “Father of all Monsters” whose name is to be thanked for typhus, typhoon, TomeTrader and Tea Party. (The derivation of “typhoon” may actually be from the Indo-Chinese tung fung (“easterly wind”) or an onomatopoeia of the endless exhaling after one’s mother-in-law finally leaves.)  Let’s face it: surely a sign whose formative concept is running and hiding in a pond is open to mockery, n’est-ce pas?

I thought so too. But there are so very many Pisceans whose mark on the world is undeniable, epochal, transformative:

– in music and dance: Giovanni Palestrina; Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov; Frederic Chopin; Maurice Ravel; Enrico Caruso; Rudolf Nureyev; Kurt Weill; Fats Domino; Nat King Cole; Johnny Cash; George Harrison; Kurt Cobain

– in art and architecture: Palladio; Michelangelo; Auguste Renoir; Mies van der Rohe; Piet Mondrian; Ansel Adams; Hubert de Givenchy; Diane Arbus

– in science: Nicolaus Copernicus; Alexander Graham Bell; Linus Pauling; Jane Goodall; Erich Fromm; Albert Einstein

– in culture and politics: George Washington; Andrew Jackson; James Madison; Joseph Stalin (who, despite being evil, was incredibly handsome as a young man, which just goes to show you); Harry Truman; Dwight Eisenhower; Joseph Pulitzer; Ralph Nader; Bobby Fischer; Ariel Sharon; Mikhail Gorbachev; Steve Jobs

– in showbiz: Fritz Lang; Carl Reiner; Fred Rogers; Cyd Charisse; Lou Costello; Rex Harrison; Michael Caine; Sidney Poitier; Jerry Lewis; Bernardo Bertolucci; Sam Peckinpah; Jackie Gleason

– in literature: Victor Hugo; Henry Wadsworth Longfellow; Bertolt Brecht; Ted Geisel (Dr Seuss); Anais Nin; John Steinbeck; Jack Kerouac; Anthony Burgess; Tom Wolfe; Edward Albee; John Updike; Phillip Roth; William Gibson

– in ladies with big boobs: Ursula Andress; Elizabeth Taylor; Amber Smith; Jennifer Love Hewitt

– in men who appreciate them: Mickey Spillane; Rob Lowe; Tony Randall (well… maybe not Tony Randall)

— to name just a few!

So maybe my struggle with Pisces lay not within myself, but in my stars: there seem to be an inordinate number of majorly major people born under this sign, and one is led naturally (or as naturally as anything Vostromental can be) to a single question: does this look medium-rare to you? No, sorry, I wasn’t writing to you, I was writing to Becky, who’ll be my server today. Thanks, Becks. Those extensions are completely undetectable.

Anyroad, it was Roald Dahl’s uncle Oswald who cracked the shell for me: the way to ‘pproach the ‘portant Piscean puzzle is not to look at these superfish themselves, but at their collective origin — parents! — all of whom enjoyed getting their freak on the previous May and June. Could there be something in the Spring air that made their frolics extra-frolicsome? Could there be something in the old saw about a young man’s fancy turning to thoughts of the horizontal be-bop (or, as in Sharon Stone’s case, a strained cry of Sure, but first put the knife down…)? Could young ladies be o’ertaken by stealth whilst whacking the dust out of carpets in the lush meadows? What about the southern hemisphere, where it was turning to winter, not summer? — could there have been some panicked rushing to store seeds, if you know what I’m saying? Why does Jon Bon Jovi sound mellifluous when speaking, then sing with an annoying nasal whine?

We may never know the answers to these questions. But this much is clear: NBC has no idea how to properly broadcast an Olympics, and Water Polo is as much an Olympic-level event as I am an astrologer. So watch the twelve-hour Unrated Unending Unendurable cut of Waterworld instead, and thank your lucky pescatarian stars McKayla Maroney can’t see you trying to do The Smirk, because she’s a Sagittarius, and she will shoot you in the face with a poison arrow.


This month’s forecast: Be considerate of others at your place of work, as not all will be up to the challenge your cologne poses. For a change of pace, try looking for love in all the right places. I thought so too, but I didn’t have the asparagus.


An Open Letter to the Minionship:

With this final entry the VostromoScopes as we have known them come to a close. Each Sign has been examined, each nuance explored, each arcane secret revealed. Or not, who can say. But there is nothing more to be learned in re-examining the astrological cycles, just as there was nothing to be learned by reading this crap in the first place. And yet, here we are.

It is My hope to continue bringing you the VostromoScopetacular Experience in a new form from here onward: a monthly forecast, coupled with answers to your most pressing questions. Anyone who has ever wondered about anything — anything! — that puzzles them, be it a question on life, love, art, the Segway, or how Megan Fox can possibly be pregnant when I’ve never met her, is welcome to submit a question to Me by Private Message here at PBS. I will choose the two or three most vexing, beguiling submissions each month and publish an answer to the best of My ability. Which is to say, hardly at all. But there will be words, big ones sometimes, and line breaks, and even more random Matt Lauer references, and altogether it will seem pithy, in a deeply and obviously shallow way.

So until we meet thusly and again, Minions, I humbly thank you all for your time, as I’m sure you all humbly thank Me for the lovely toothbrushes you’ve been using to clean the Moat.

Vostromo out.





Desperately Seeking Sex & Sobriety by Paul Pisces


Fish Soup by Ursula Le Guin


The Typhoon Lover by Sujata Massey


Bud’s Instruction Manual: Learn More then the Basics about Janitorial Floor Maintenance Carpet Cleaning Office Cleaning and More by Richard S. Takasch






VostromoScope – Aquarius

Wednesday, February 22nd, 2012



Birthstone: Amethyst  
Symbol: The Water Bearer (not “The Jugs”)
Ruling planet: Uranus (not mine)
Element: Alka-Seltzer


Aquarius. Nature’s way of saying “Some day, your son or daughter will appear naked onstage.” (NB: In northern California it is widely regarded as code for “We sell broken pieces of common minerals at inflated prices and dig the incense, man.”)


courtesy of NASA

Aquarians are ruled by Uranus (not mine) and this makes them unusual in that Uranus (not mine) is traditionally the bringer of change, but change which must occur within the eternal zodiacal cycle. When Uranus (not mine) passes closest by Earth in its elliptical 84-year solar orbit, sociopolitical, intellectual, and technological upheavals may sweep across our world, be they global or personal. This eternal/periodical conflation is symbolized well in Aquarian Shakira, whose hips swing periodically back and forth — change — while never leaving her body — eternity — though I have tried.




Of course, like all change, some is for the better, some the worse. Global examples include the discovery of fire, the Renaissance, Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address, and Edison’s electric light; but also the 8-track tape cartridge, high fructose corn syrup, and Paris Hilton. Personal examples include Jillian Michaels losing all that weight, Justin Timberlake finally proposing to Jessica Biel, and Jennifer Aniston never losing hope; but also Ashton Kutcher’s taking over on ‘Two and a Half Men’, Oprah moving to LA, and Sarah Palin. Yes, Aquarians are behind it all.


Individually Aquarians are lovers of life and readily embrace challenges, broad groups of friends, new experiences, and strangers just waiting for the bus. They make friends readily, because they are so willing to lend money and cannot grasp the point of, nor correctly spell, “receipt”. But their watery approachability has a dark side — Aquarians often get carried away with the strength of their own emotions, and fall in love easily, letting the tide of passion rush over them, only to notice the seaweed of discord too late, when the piranhas of betrayal hiding behind it have already led the killer whale of loneliness to their inflatable rafts of dashed hope and misery.



So light up some Nag Champa, put on “Hips Don’t Lie”, try on your merkin, and think of England — after all, they’re not looking at YOUR body, they’re looking at the CHARACTER’S body. World of difference, unless it’s really cold.


This month’s forecast: Rooney Mara will legally change her name to Andy Rooney Mara. Sean Penn will buy the Falkland Islands and turn them over to a consortium of Jessica Biel, Jennifer Aniston, Jillian Michaels and Ashton Kutcher, then realize his mistake and re-dedicate them to housing Sarah Palin. You have a container of yogurt in the back of the fridge dating from 1974.




Escape from the Island of Aquarius by Frank E. Peretti


Legends of Incense Herb and Oil Magic by Lewis deClaremont


Wild Flowers of the Falkland Islands by
T.H. Davies, J.H. McAdam and the Falkland Islands Trust


Uranus: The Seventh Planet by Michael D. Cole



VostromoScope – Capricorn

Saturday, January 21st, 2012


Ruling planet: Saturn
Symbol: Goat with a Fish tail (or as I like to call it, Who Spiked the Punch?)
Birthstone: Garnet
Element: You know those incredibly annoying unpopped kernels at the bottom of the microwave bag which you can’t see until you’ve stuck them in your mouth and started chewing and you could bust a tooth on them? Those things.

Capricorn. The most confused, ungainly astrological construct… the duck-billed platypus of signs, if you take away the elegance and grace. Cap… ri… corn. Even the name is awkward, like choosing a bottle of wine for the dinner at which you have a nagging feeling you may have misjudged your date’s sex.

And it’s an anagram of “circa porn” (which goes a long way towards explaining the likes of Jim Bakker or J. Edgar Hoover) — not to mention “I crap corn”. Goodness me.

From Wikipedia: “The constellation is located in an area of sky called the Sea or the Water.” M’kay. Be honest: did you know there’s an area of THE SKY called THE SEA? Of course not — you know why? BECAUSE THAT’S NUTS! But this zodiacal inner-ear dysfunction is evident everywhere: consider the symbol, the so-called “Sea Goat”. Goat — plus fish! FishGoat. Ummm… why is this anything other than what happened to Seth Brundle? Isn’t it what George Bush was railing against, and could he maybe have been right one month of the year? The whole point of goats is that they’re UP IN THE MOUNTAINS! Fish are DOWN IN THE OCEAN! Does nobody see this as something that needs quality psychiatric treatment, or some antibiotics? No wonder you have John Delorean (mega-successful businessman now synonymous with failure) and Mel Gibson (once a lethal weapon on screen, now a lethal weapon off).

And — hey — check it out: “It is the second faintest constellation in the zodiac.” Got that — SECOND faintest. You can’t even get that right. No wonder David Bowie keeps changing his appearance — he’s ashamed.

I’ll give you one thing, though: you are some fine-looking freaks: Bradley Cooper. Faye Dunaway. Ava Gardner. Cary Grant. Zooey Deschanel. Bob Denver. Donald Fagen. Jeff Bezos — aargh! — you see what happens when you try to walk a straight line in the crazy Capricorn world? It’s impossible.

Now to be fair, in your defense, you’ve got some brainiacs among you (Tycho Brahe; Louis Braille; Louis Pasteur; Stephen Hawking; Val Kilmer) and one or two people who have truly changed the world (until I can think of somebody you can at least claim George Foreman, who has helped millions manage to let the fat run off in those little channels).

Further, this sign’s bizarre mammalian ichthyosomatism does confer a singular advantage: it offers its sufferers the greatest likelihood that they will see a given topic from a variety of viewpoints — from goaty cliffside lookings-down to fishy peerings up from under the surface. Thus Capricorns often make outstanding writers: Asimov, Eco, Miller, Kipling, Salinger, Poe, and many others all went both ways. Others have commanding speechwriting and public speaking gifts (Martin Luther King, Larry Csonka) and many achieve success in areas requiring clarity of communication — it’s almost always a Capricorn you hear saying “Did you want to supersize that for a dollar more?” and “If your name isn’t on the list, your name isn’t on the list.”

So I guess the point is, Capricorn, like your poster child Muhammad Ali, you float like a… goat… and sting like a… fish… it can’t be done. I’m sorry.

Moving on.


This month’s forecast: “Work It” will be cancelled. You will get something stuck in your teeth on the 21st that may be worth a large sum of money. Avoid giving birth while taking your driver’s test on the 31st.


Goat: A Memoir by Brad Land


Capricorn People by Aaron Fletcher


Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller


The Persistent Capricorn by Therrie Rosenvald


The Case of the Ill-Gotten Goat by Claudia Bishop


Always on the Run by Larry Csonka & Jim Kiick with Dave Anderson





And for a walk down memory lane……


VostromoScope – SAGITTARIUS

Wednesday, December 14th, 2011

By Greg (Vostromo)


Image courtesy of FreakingNews.com


‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, except Ozzy Osbourne,
Who couldn’t find the bathroom;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that Clay Aiken soon would be there, so we could shut him up.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Miley Cyrus danced in their heads;
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap,
Rather than listen to “Party in the USA” one more time.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up on the sash,
Because you shouldn’t get up that quickly after so much mead.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wandering eyes should appear,
But Marisa Tomei, Elisha Cuthbert, Lucy Liu,
Sarah Silverman, Jennifer Connelly, Katie Holmes,
Milla Jovovich, Kelly Brook, Tyra Banks,
Christina Applegate, Teri Hatcher, and —
Is that Don Cheadle? wtf? —
So I was feeling pret-t-ty good. Note to self: buy more mead.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be Ted Nugent;
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name,
And I’m pretty sure he was thinking:
“Man, what a waste of some perfectly good flank steaks!”

“Now, DASHER! now, DANCER! now, PRANCER and VIXEN!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!
There’s a fully functioning handicapped-accessible toilet
Half a mile away in the strip mall, you can’t make it that far?
I am NOT cleaning all this up every damn year!”

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle,
Like Britney Spears in her heavier phases, they mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and CS Lewis, too,
So maybe he was onto something.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof —
No, wait, that’s just Bette Midler.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney Keith Richards came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes — how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
So clearly he’d been high for hours already. Quel surprise.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.
I have GOT to lay off the late-night mead!

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
‘Cause suddenly it all made sense: Keith Richards was Santa Claus!
That must be what “Jumpin’ Jack Flash” was really about!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know he was still banging twenty-year-olds.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings with autographed copies of “Life”;
Then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
I thought, good thing I used that creosote-removing log earlier in the week.

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
“I’m Sagittarius, half-man, half-horse,
with a license to **** in the street!
Merry Keithmas to all!”

And to all, a Good Night.


What would Keith Richards Do by Jessica Pallington West


A Mother’s Gift by Britney Spears & Lynne Spears


The Bette Midler Scrapbook by Allison J. Waldman
The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis
The Boisterous Sagittarius by Therrie Rosenvald
Sagittarius Rising by Cecil Lewis
Sun in Sagittarius, Moon in Mazatlan by Celia Cooper
And Greg’s new favorite book:
My Gemini Sun Pisces Moon Sagittarius Rising Mental Emotional and Spiritual Thought
by Jamie Marie Hall

VostromoScope – Scorpio

Sunday, November 20th, 2011



Ruling planet: Pluto
Symbol: Scorpion (really, what are the odds?)
Birthstone: Topaz
Element: 2 pts brandy / 1 pt creme de menthe

Sylvia Plath finally writes me back — says she’s “too pure” for me — or anyone. Come again? On what planet does she live these days? Read “The Bell Jar”, she tells me — everything will become clear. Please. I know you, Sylvia. Or thought I did.

Carl Sagan says to me — this is over cocktails at Morton’s — he says: “if you wish to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe.” Oh sure, I say right back at him, that makes perfect sense — to anybody who’s had three gimlets. “Really,” he says, “somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known.” Perhaps, I say, that something incredible is you, picking up the check this time? “It’s far better to grasp the universe as it really is than to persist in delusion,” he says. Obviously so, I reply. Sure isn’t the way I’d have designed it.

Oksana Baiul is coaching my eight-year-old. “Russian split!” she calls out. People lined up around the rink to see Oksana turn to ponder what an eight-year-old can make of that. I‘m the one hiding my eyes. Over and over I’ve been sore tempted to throttle her — how do you expect a child to master something like that? Sometimes, I swear I’m this close to putting a counter-turn on her leg wrap, or swizzling her twizzle. Costs a fortune, though, so I grit my teeth and wait for the sound from the crowd that’ll tell me if we landed in one piece.

Robert Louis Stevenson’s moustache is talking to me. “Politics is perhaps the only profession for which no preparation is thought necessary.” Interesting observation, coming as it does from some horizontal hair on the man’s face. Oscar Wilde said that moustaches were “the evolutionary next level to enlightenment.” So maybe Stevenson’s ‘stache could talk after all. Could be the absinthe. Or both.

Pablo Picasso looks deeply into Marie-Therese’s eyes. “I do not seek,” he says, “I find.” On the bed is a blanket her mother made, rumpled at angles into more than three dimensions. She knows it wasn’t meant to be shared with a lover, not one as earthy and strong and confounding, but when she first stood naked before his brushes, much after she’d stood naked before the man, she felt an unexpected moment of innocence. Curling her arm through the wall she’d reached back to her childhood bed and pulled the blanket into his Paris atelier to wrap around her shoulders. “Only put off until tomorrow what you are willing to die having left undone,” said Pablo, as he sketched out charcoal lines across the canvas. Rather than die she dropped the blanket a bit, baring one breast to the arts, tilted her face towards the sun, and let a novel in Spanish appear, unread, on her lap.

Ike Turner spins a record at WROX in Clarksdale. “On the airwaves for you right now is the great mister Louis Jordan,” he says as he releases the vibrating platter. Sure, he’s not supposed to make announcements, but Frisella always cuts him a little slack on Saturdays. Come September he might get his own slot, he needs to practice. Over in Tennessee, Anna Mae Bullock comes roaring into the world. Ruby had cracked her lip open when the dog ran into her and she tries not to smile at her new baby sister so it won’t start bleeding again. People always wonder.

Owen Wilson is pacing, running lines. Schwartzman claims he understands the “Darjeeling” script perfectly, but Owen’s not convinced. Clearly the opportunity to worship at the altar of Natalie Portman’s derriere is overriding Jason’s normally apt judgment. Or is Owen just missing the fundamental thing underlying this one, which he had no hand in writing? Realistically, nothing much actually happens to anyone, despite their several adventures with poison snakes, thieves, stolen romance… on the whole it’s a journey from here to here again. Previously his characters have learned, grown, changed, or at least dropped dead. It sort of works out, he thinks, because by the time I die, I’m usually tired of working on that particular movie, so I look forward to it.

This month’s forecast: buy Globex, stock symbol DOH







VostromoScope – Libra

Tuesday, October 18th, 2011

by Greg (VOSTROMO)



Symbol: The Scales

Element: Air

Ruling Planet: Venus

Birthstone: Compost, but in a really nice setting


Libra is the only Zodiacal sign that does not represent an animate, living object but a conceptual one: the balance of the life forces, represented by hanging scales, symbolically empty of any particular, specific concerns, as many Librans are themselves. Coming at the time of agricultural harvest, Libra reminds us of the bounty nature provides (Brigitte Bardot, Susan Sarandon, Rex Reed), the hard work necessary to reap it (Gandhi, Lech Walesa, Annette Funicello), the intertwining of man and nature (Enrico Fermi, TS Eliot, Shaun Cassidy), the need to pay rent (Randy Quaid), not to take drugs (Dwight Eisenhower), that some people are just cooler than you (Sting, Yves Montand), that we can all have better thighs (Suzanne Somers), that Darth Vader is actually Luke’s father (James Earl Jones) and that you don’t have to get the most au courant Halloween costume to be awesome (Bela Lugosi).

Librans possess strong personalities, which is a good thing because generally, like an organic potato, they’re not so physically attractive (Mickey Rooney, Tommy Lasorda). They fall into two principle types: “shy/sensitive” (Jean-Claude van Damm) or “lively/quite noisy when drunk” (Carrie Fisher, Richard Harris). Steadfast, often impatient with those that disagree with their closely-held beliefs, they are nonetheless realists, and willing to change opinions in the face of persuasive evidence, such as an unmarked twenty concealed in an offered palm.

As mates, Librans can be dominant of less self-assured signs, but balance this with enthusiasm (Jerry Lee Lewis) and dedication to the object of their affection (Julio Iglesias). As creative artists, Librans are adept at combining the moderate passion necessary to reach a wide audience (Angela Lansbury, Julie Andrews) with the more personal, intimate, demanding passion that true greatness often grows from (Franz List, John Lennon, David Lee Roth). Often they’re just plain crazy (Aleister Crowley, Annie Besant, Evel Knievel).

Despite the quest for balance inherent in their birth sign, Librans can be contradictory in quotidian matters: they hate plastic silverware, but love paper plates. They will help a friend move a thousand boxes a thousand miles, but refuse to learn to play Solitaire. They prefer European movies, as long as they’re edited for television. They see nothing wrong in spending $4.99/lb at Whole Foods for ugly organic potatoes, then cover them in cheap Kraft cheddar cheese or slather them with Hunt’s — HUNT’S! — ketchup. And that may be Libra’s most valuable gift, the most important lesson the sign imparts to its companions: the man with the loftiest ideals and the man with the basest instincts share a place in the common sphere — we’re all just compost in a really nice setting.

This month’s forecast: Boo!



Off Balance by Mary Sheepshanks


Gandhi Was A Libra by Michelle Kennedy


Balance Point by Kathy Tyers


Libra The Cat Who Saved Silicon Valley
by Lincoln Taiz & Lee Taiz


The Chaos Balance by L.E. Modesitt, Jr


Never Love A Libra by Vicki Kamida



VostromoScope – Virgo

Tuesday, September 6th, 2011




Ruling planet: Mercury
Birthstone: Sapphire
Element: Kevlar
Sign: “Be Prepared To Stop”

Virgo is in an interesting position in the Zodiac, coming immediately after Leo, the most forceful of astrological characters — it’s as if “The Biggest Loser” was sponsored by Hostess, maker of HoHos, DingDongs, and SnoBalls: you respect the dedication though the frustration seems impossible to endure. Just a glance at some famous Virgos — Cameron Diaz, Claudia Schiffer, Raquel Welch, Rachel Ward, Sophia Loren, Sean Connery, Keanu Reeves, Hugh Grant — reveals why even the Virgo birthstone is blue.

Virgo is generally considered a warm, welcoming, accommodating sign, which would sound like a bad joke if you didn’t know about Mother Teresa, who, let’s face it, did some decent things without once going into Victoria’s Secret. Indeed chief among the characteristics of Virgo is dedication to service and sacrifice (though I suspect more than a few minds were changed on the way down to the bottom of the volcano). Etymologically “virga” is associated with youth, freshness and inexperience — which is what makes Charlie Sheen’s September birthday so puzzling! — and those born under this sign are almost never found under anything else, at least until college.

Virgos are also held among the more logical and analytical members of the Zodiac, and often enjoy participating in groups gathered around a central idea — AV Club, for example — though they often take great care pondering the ins and outs of topics, the thrusts and counter-thrusts of angles of entry to subjects, before opening their positions to further probing. If you meet a Virgo who seems ready and willing to go head-to-head with you without at least some preliminary manipulation, he or she is probably no Virgo at all! Emotionally, though, Virgos tend to be somewhat private and often keep to themselves — some people go their whole lives without ever encountering one on a deep level.

Lastly, this sign has graciously lent itself to one of the great vaudeville jokes of the age:

Distraught girl: “I’ve lost my virginity!”
Man: “Do you still have the box it came in?”


This month’s Forecast: To avoid misunderstandings, speak only French on the 19th. Those aren’t raisins. Today is the first day of the rest of your week.



The Virgo Club by Suzanne Power


Virgo Implants by Carmen and Theodore Peregrim


John Virgo’s Snooker Trick Shots by John Virgo and Jim Davidson


How to Live with a Virgo a Survival Guide by Daniel T Darmdy


Women Set Free by Wendy Virgo


Demeter’s Dilemma by Lucinda Mitchell