It must have been a slow news week last week, because one of the biggest stories was the news that the Zodiac might have shifted, causing almost everyone to be a different astrological sign (there’s some sciency business behind this, I think, but honestly, who cares that much?). There’s even a new sign – a snake-ish thing called ‘Ophiuchus’ (which I think is my new official stripper name). Because of some sort of planetary shifting happened, I would apparently no longer be Aquarius, but instead an organized, competent Capricorn.
But then, by the end of the week, other astrolog-type-people came forward to say no, the planetary business wasn’t true, everyone is still what they are.
So Huzzah! I can stay Aquarius. Which is good, because I am quite fond of it at this point.
Basically, if you think of the Zodiac as a classroom, while Leo stands at the front of the room performing, Virgo obsessively rearranges her pencils so they all line up exactly right, and Cancer stares moodily out the window writing sad poetry in his head, Aquarius is the kid in the corner wearing a cape who won’t stop eating the chalk. Basically, Aquarius is the Leaf Coneybear of the Zodiac, who might one day cure cancer, but probably by accident. Aquariuses are, to put it simply, odd. And oddballs don’t like being told that they are now supposed to be something functional and mainstream.
I was prompted to write this post because I was on The Selby blog (does everyone look at The Selby, at theselby.com? They should – it’s awesome, just great photos of various people’s living spaces, and one of my most favorite anthropological voyeurism blogs), and saw photos of the house of George Lois, who is (I think) responsible for brand identities or something, I’m not entirely sure. But looking at the photos, I felt like I was looking at a kindred spirit. And although I have no idea what sign he is, I would put my money on Aquarius.
I salute you, fellow oddball.