Anyway, here’s capricorn’s horoscope for the week of November 24, from Free Will Astrology:

The Golden Gate Bridge spans the place where San Francisco Bay meets the Pacific Ocean. It wasn’t easy to build. The water below is deep, wind-swept, beset with swirling currents, and on occasion shrouded with blinding fog. Recognizing its magnificence, the American Society of Civil Engineers calls the bridge one of the modern Wonders of the World. Strange to think, then, that the bridge was constructed between 1933 and 1937, during the height of the Great Depression. I suggest you make it your symbol of power for the coming weeks, Capricorn. Formulate a plan to begin working toward a triumph in the least successful part of your life.

More telephone conversations like the one I just overheard (well, half of it anyway):
“Hello? — This is she. — What?!? — You have my rabies certificate? — What is the question? — Yes, I am. — Ok, thank you.”

More of my own digital photography (as opposed to things mined from Google):

More or less of the “award-winning,” first-class, top-notch, liberal-lovin’, muckraking, inside (and below) the Beltway, “journalism” you’ve come to rely on as part of your daily, intarweby sustenance! Huzzah!

More blurring the line.

More clever high jinks and shenanigans!

More moreness! Less lessness! More or less more and less moreness and lessness!

I hope you’ll join me!

You are highly emotional and fanatically, yet bizarrely and creatively spiritual. Things that are of this mundane world do not interest you in their original forms (or you have difficulty comprehending them), so you find ways to personalize the things around you, so as to carry your connection to the Transcendent into all aspects of your life. Just look at that steering wheel and those seat covers! You find strong and significant meaning in occurrences others find commonplace. You can be utterly incomprehensible, yet your cadence is hypnotizing. Sex is a strong motivator for you, and you are very honest and outspoken about your libidinous needs. You are largely uncomplicated and predictable, and as such probably make a very good friend. Especially to lards and oils.

You are a lifeless, non-human thing that has been granted the blessing of human characteristics! Where before you would have been “content” in your “unconsciousness,” you are now charged with maintaining not only consciousness, but also a code of morals/ethics. Where before you had nothing but being, you now have being and becoming as well as the desire to tell the difference between the two. More importantly, you now have desire (and either the fulfillment or denial thereof). Where before you had no sense of self, you now have a self and all the doubts and worries that go with it. Now that people around you have recognized your humanity, you can no longer go back to being the inanimate object you were before. Because you are technically not alive, technically, you cannot now die. You get to be human-like forever! Lucky you!

You are tenacious, stubborn, scrappy and unbelievably gorgeous. You have a terrible knack for getting yourself, and therefore anyone who cares for you, into unbelievable amounts of trouble. This usually happens simply because you are satisfying some whimsical itch of curiosity—or because you have a fanatical wish to die at the hands of those upon whom you eavesdrop. You never stop talking, asking questions, making editorial asides, or prying into the affairs of others. Your grammar is impeccable. You crave the attention of the strong, but may be lulled into a delirious state of arousal by the absurdly intelligent. You are secretly a filthy slut. Conversely, it is no secret whatsoever that you are the single most annoying person with whom your friends and colleagues have any contact.

You are calm and thoughtful. You often find yourself surrounded by small children who have a tendency to freak out, and whose eyes and mouths become exceedingly, impossibly large at such times. You clean your glasses while squinting or you rub your chin. You narrowly avoid being hit in the head with flying objects while cleaning/squinting or chin stroking. If you had a nickel for every time someone said to you, “You know, it’s crazy, but it just might work!” you’d be rich beyond your wildest dreams. You have forgotten how many times you have averted disaster by being calm and thoughtful (and also somewhat absent minded). You have forgotten that you have ever averted disaster by being calm and thoughtful (and also somewhat absent minded). Every crisis is a new problem to you. You know what the bubbling liquid in the test tube is. You don’t know how your glasses always manage to get so dirty. You don’t know who these large-mouthed, large-eyed, screaming children are, they’re certainly not yours, you’ve never been married or even really had sex except for maybe that one time with the tenacious, stubborn, scrappy reporter who helped you avert disaster by being tenacious, stubborn, scrappy and unbelievably gorgeous, but no one really knows if the two of you knocked boots, and the loud, orphan children who are always following you around and getting you into trouble just giggle uncontrollably every time you mention her name. Oh well.

You are a seething mass of evil, borne out of the Carven Rim and through the Windowless Solids of Five Dimensions. Your irresponsible whisperings about the Nameless Cylinder penetrate into the minds of the willful and weak alike, and render bold men useless with abject terror. The foetid aura that surrounds you—your stinking, rotten presence—demands nothing less than the full subservience of your wretched minions, whom you send out on loathsome errands, usually to the Disney Store. Gaze not upon us, O thou lumbering chaos!

Despite the fact that an all-star team of designers (hand-picked by an all-star team of designer pickers) spent years agonizing over each and every last one of your particular particulars, and despite the fact that you were crafted with care from the very best and finest and most expensive materials available, and despite the fact the head of the office of the government’s official office in charge of the office of ergonomically correct ergonomics regularly sings your praises (alleluia to the highest!), the fact remains that you are breaking the backs of cubicle-bound office workers the world round. Congratulations.

You are savory and delicious, made out of the most desirable and yummy stuff. That which makes things taste good is reconstituted within you, and amplified—liquefied! You have no detractors; everyone loves you. There is nothing in the world that matches the level of comfort you provide. Just look at those tasty lumps! Filled with delectable morsels, you improve anything through simple contact. Sadly, no amount of oatmeal can prevent the massive, fatal coronary which will inevitably follow said contact.

Your devotion to your own feces is what makes you efficient. And clean.
Clean and efficient.