NO SIGN OF THE TIMES

Because of some recent arcane political event, you might not have noticed the real news that has people in a state of turmoil. As with kids these days, your astrological sign isn't what it used to be:

NASA broke the news early this year ina blog post that explained that when ancient Babylonians created the zodiac over 3,000 years ago, they wanted dates on the calendar to correspond with star constellations. But, there were 13 constellations, and they were working with a 12-month calendar. [...] NASA also pointed out that the Earth's axis doesn't even point in the same direction as it did when the original constellations were drawn, so all our signs have different date ranges now anyway.

However, Steve Bannon will always look like he
was born under the sign "24 HOUR BAR --
NO LIMIT."

It's like those commercials for Ancestry.com with the guy who thought he was Irish but discovered he was German. Or maybe he was Indian when he thought he was Eskimo. 

That unlucky 13th constellation, by the way, is Ophiuchus -- which sounds like an old-school comedy Italian father talking to his good-for-nothing son. "Hey! Get offa-you-chus and get a job!" 

Hey gang, meet your new neighbor!

Ophiuchus, like an unwanted house guest, has taken it upon itself to settle in with the longtime residents of Astrology, Inc. whether they like it or not. Any mail to it can be forwarded to the address of November 29 to December 17. 

This created some concern on my part, since it initially appeared that my wife would be unceremoniously shoved from her Sagittarius plane without a parachute, which would be a flat-out dealbreaker for me.

But it looks like the joke's on me. While she still calls the Archer her chief counselor, my sign has backtracked from Aries to Pisces. This might not seem like a big deal to you, but it has far reaching effects: I have gone from being the bold, headstrong ram to the slithery, soon-to-be-hooked fish. 

Two fish, in fact, in what some regard as
an unnatural sex act. 

Once a powerful, warming fire, I have become a wet vertebrate. No longer is my life's pursuit the thrill of the moment. Instead, I now want to avoid feeling alone, and to connect with others. My vibration, once enthusiastic, is now erratic. Thank you, Ophiuchus, for destroying the identity that I thought was mine for 60 years. 

Or not. According to the noted science journal Glamour, NASA hasn't changed my sign at all:

NASA was merely pointing out why the astrological signs would likely be different if they were created today—because of a wobble in the Earth's axis, the constellations our signs were based on are no longer in the same spots.

Whoa, looks like I dodged a bullet that time! 

Or not again. Because between "enthusiastic" and "erratic," most people who know me would know which best fits. And living for "the thrill of the moment" is about as accurate as claiming a Hindu background. I'm more of the "thrill of complacency" kind of guy. 

Or not yet again. For in my research on this astrological hoo-hah, I discovered this:

Holy cow, that is so me. It looks I've been a Pisces, then, all along without realizing it. Dr. Ophiuchus, whom I formerly considered a quack interloper, was in reality the diagnostician I'd been looking for my whole life.

Unless... I ask for a second opinion:

Well, hell, that's me all over the place. How can one man be in two constellations at the same time? As the experts at Glamour would tell you, it's all comes down to the magic of astrology. Now excuse me while I escape to my world of being a great yet terrible world-famous writer. 

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