Star-Crossed: A New Astrological Chart
Just in time for the cusp of Sagittarius, or whatever
By Ed Goldman
As promised (threatened) in our previous outing, here’s a new all-purpose/no-real-purpose astrological chart to guide your life when you get tired of that GPS harpy always telling you to make U-turns on off-ramps.
We’ve taken the liberty of renaming the usual signs for much the same reason your grocer switches items around in the store just when you were getting used to finding them easily. In other words, simply to be obnoxious:
Airy (formerly Aries, March 22-April 19): Since this sign covers the arrival of spring, why shouldn’t it be named for a place with plenty of light and windows and no artificial air conditioning and maybe a leak or two in one of the windows and a couple of thresholds that definitely could use some shoring up? Airy people are generally non-handy, keep plumbers on speed-dial and think changing the oil in their cars is not why they earned a master’s in basketry studies.
Driven mad
Bull-Puckey (formerly Taurus, around April 30-May 20): Taurus is the sign of the bull, of course, and most horoscopes have enough of that without reminding us, am I right? No, don’t answer. It’d just be B.S.
Schizo (formerly Gemini, circa May 21-June 20): People under this sign have to be greeted twice at the same time because they’re two-faced and probably were in cliques at school. I think we called them “soshes” (long “o”).
Canker Sore (nee Cancer, June 21-July 22): While canker sores are no bargain, wouldn’t you rather be born under that sign instead of under the name of a terrifying illness? I thought so. In fact, I know about you. You like things to be nice, for everyone to get along, for there to never be conflict. In fact, the stars consider you a wimp and a hypochondriac.
Lipo (the erstwhile Leo, Judy 23-August 22): You’re always concerned about your weight but brag you weigh the same as you did in high school. Since you were just as morbidly obese then as now, this is an accurate but perhaps misleading claim. A Lipo is not to be trusted at smorgasbords, receptions serving heavy hors d’oeuvres or free-sample kiosks in shopping malls.
Verge Of (the onetime Virgo, August 23 – September 22): This is the sign of people who seem to be just about to do something noteworthy but probably won’t because they’re easily distracted. Kind of like virgins, their sign’s original meaning.
Librarian (previously known as Libra, September 23 – October 22): “Bookish” doesn’t begin to describe people born under this sign. But the describing doesn’t really have to begin at all because the floor-to-ceiling shelves in their kitchen, bathrooms, bedrooms and ADU pretty much spell out their obsession. As any gastroenterologist would tell you, this sign’s curse is too much binding.
Scorpico (the late Scorpio, October 23 – November 21): This almost sounds like Serpico, the famously heroic detective who outed corruption in the NYPD, was portrayed by the great Al Pacino in the movie but then by the late David Birney in the TV adaptation. Birney had previously co-starred in “Bridget Loves Bernie,” a sitcom that lasted for 24 episodes until someone actually watched it. “Serpico” lasted for just 15 episodes. The connecting thread between both failed shows? The late David Birney. He was an Aries, by the way.
Sagging Arches (whose antecedent was Sagittarius, November 22 – December 21): We’ve renamed this to reflect its status as the final complete sign of the year—and that its adherents are likely very tired by the time they celebrate their birthdays.
Capri Corns (just before Christmas – January 19): While this revised sign sounds like a warning that women who wear cute pedal-pushers in winter will develop corns on their toes, nothing, with the exception of virtually everything Donald Trump says, could be farther from the truth. Capri Corns are persons of interest in most Dr. Scholl store thefts.
Embarrass Us (the fondly remembered Aquarius, January 20 – February 18): If you ever saw the musical “Hair” on stage, you’ll recall it included an all-nude number featuring, uh, hair. Yes, the “Age of Aquarius” show demonstrated once and for all that there’s nothing uptight theatregoers want more than not being thought of as uptight. So some of them shed their girdles, corsets and wigs—as did many of the women in the crowd—and jumped right onstage with cast members who were an average 30 years younger and 50 pounds lighter. In summary, if you were born under this sign, please stay there.
Pie Seize (the once-and-future Pisces, February 19 – March 20): If you must steal pastry, please remain seated at performances of “Hair.”
Ed Goldman's column appears almost every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. A former daily columnist for the Sacramento Business Journal, as well as monthly columnist for Sacramento Magazine and Comstock’s Business Magazine, he’s the author of five books, two plays and one musical (so far).


