Nurse the Hate: Hate Astrology

I do not believe in astrology.  Believing in astrology is really no different than praying to Zeus or lighting magic candles.  I am not sure why people nod their heads in acceptance if someone at a party says “Well, Jim is a Gemini, so you know the way they are!”  If that same person were to say “Well, apparently Jim angered Zeus because he’s got car trouble again.” It would result in quick glances around the room to coordinate that person being forcefully taken to a mental health ranch.  Sometimes it isn’t the main action of things but rather the small details that get you into trouble.  If you read your horoscope in the paper at the coffee shop counter it’s all frivolity taken with a mental note that a “five star day” is about to happen.  Meanwhile if you pop a Ouija board out at your work cubicle, a team of men in white lab coats will be affixing electrodes to your testicles by nightfall.  It’s a tough break for our friends on Mt. Olympus.  The Age of Zeus has passed.  Like square dances, Spanish Inquisitions, and good old fashioned gladiator contests, these pagan customs have gone away.

The very concept of astrology is hard to defend.  For example, all people born on a monthly sign can’t possibly be fighting with their romantic partners because that sign’s horoscopes said “trouble with romance!” right?  Sagittarius:  You will have great financial problems this week.  It would seem that folks would notice that one out of twelve people were experiencing something like financial distress at the same time.  “Hey Larry, isn’t your birthday the same as Jan’s?  It’s crazy that both of you lost your life’s savings at the same time!  I mean Jan with the chinchilla farm and you on a copper mine!  What are the odds?  Hey, are you crying?”  The whole idea is crazy.  Things I believe in more than astrology:  Santa, Bigfoot, and Jim Morrison’s death hoax conspiracy.  Things I believe in less than astrology:  Yeti, Moth man, and effective health insurance. 

Yet I cannot explain why each year around my birthday my entire life turns to shit for a few days.  Anything I have in the “good” column somehow becomes a disaster or unmoored.  I have a long history of epically bad birthdays.  Many of these were entered into with the best laid plans but ended in unmitigated disaster.  The details change year to year, but the outcome is all the same.  I have looked for commonality and the only thing I can come up with is the date frame and my own participation.  Now I must admit, it could be me.  I just got a new license and on my new photo I kind of look like a douche.  It struck me that I most likely always look like a douche as the picture seemed a fair representation of my appearance.  It really troubled me so I decided to put it out of my mind in the same place I put “untimely death by heart attack” and “horrible penis infection”.

I went to work out with my trainer guy as I continue to get my knee right.  I put on my new shoes that I had purchased on total impulse last weekend.  The design is sort of weird for me, and I now call these shoes The Shoes of The Future.  My trainer looked at them and said “There you go man!  Get outta them Dad shoes you had!”.  Wait…  I had “Dad shoes”?  I thought the shoes I had were the same as everyone else.  I had Dad shoes?  Why the fuck hadn’t anyone told me.  Then it hit me.  I might have a lot else going on I don’t know about.  What if my entire self-image is completely off base?  Like I thought I was this indie rock singer media and wine guy but in reality I am Douche Dad Shoe Guy.  It’s a lot to take on.  Compound that with everything falling down on top of me, and it’s almost too much to bear.  I did my workout in my Shoes of the Future and contemplated this new world of reality I inhabit.  Everything I know is wrong.

I walked into a Starbucks.  I ordered some rocket fuel espresso.  I waited for my order.  There was the daily horoscope cut out of the newspaper and taped to the counter.  Of course I looked at my sign.  “You are walking through glue.”  Sonofabitch.  I have to believe in astrology now?  I looked down at my dress shoes.  They were probably Dad shoes.  I walked outside looking douchey.  I felt the glue under my feet.