Astrology is crap. Yep, pure and steaming. Wikipedia does a pretty good job of summarizing the history of astrology and noting the scientific objections. No point in reiterating that article here.
There have been several occasions when I have been asked “What is your sign?” Maybe this is just selection error, but it has invariably been an attractive female asking the question. I even parodized this in a playlet I wrote a few months ago. Well, it happened again this week. Usually, I respond “My sign is: "Yield,” or “Stop” or, “Do Not Pass.” But, if that fails to discourage, I generally say “Guess.” I offer the qualifier that some day this is going to get me in trouble. I know that they have a one in twelve chance and, eventually, someone is going to nail it. I’m sure that they will nod with a self-assured, self-congratulatory grin, smugly thinking they actually have supernatural powers. Remarkably, even after several tries, not one of these women has ever guessed my sign. One even tried, after several failed attempts, to stack the odds by guessing that I’m one of the fire signs. (Astrological signs are divided into four groups of three, Fire, Earth, Water and Air.) She didn’t even get that right. Pfffft. When I spill-the-beans and tell them my sign, they usually say something like, “Ah, yes, it is so obvious now.” Hmmm. Anyhow, in the latest encounter when I said “guess,” she coyly said, “I don’t know you well enough yet.” Later in the conversation, she quite craftily interrogated me about my interest in snow skiing. I explained “That I used to love to ski, I learned in Colorado, which has some of the best skiing in the world, lucky me.” Perky innocent smile. Fluttering eyelashes. “So, did you like to ski on your birthday?” Nice try, crafty cold-reader. Increasing the odds, are we? I don’t think I encouraged her when I explained that the doctor who delivered her had a stronger gravitational pull on her than the Sun, the Moon, any planet or constellation. But, apparently, at least according to this source, I’m wrong about that. Matt Springer calculates that Jupiter has about a 20-fold higher gravitational pull than the average doc, but the pull of both is vanishingly small, or, as he puts it, “Twenty times pretty much nothing is still pretty much nothing, but still – Jupiter wins.” Well, phooey on me! That’s what I get for trying to counter pseudoscience with an unreliable source.
She never did venture a guess of my sign. Ah well, no loss.
So, ladies, I say, if you really want to make a fashion statement--wear a brain. Nothing is more beautiful in a woman than intelligence. Skepticism is the new black! If you want to attract my attention, be rational, nerd-girl, and I just might fall in love--or maybe I'll just spank you with my slide ruler.
There have been several occasions when I have been asked “What is your sign?” Maybe this is just selection error, but it has invariably been an attractive female asking the question. I even parodized this in a playlet I wrote a few months ago. Well, it happened again this week. Usually, I respond “My sign is: "Yield,” or “Stop” or, “Do Not Pass.” But, if that fails to discourage, I generally say “Guess.” I offer the qualifier that some day this is going to get me in trouble. I know that they have a one in twelve chance and, eventually, someone is going to nail it. I’m sure that they will nod with a self-assured, self-congratulatory grin, smugly thinking they actually have supernatural powers. Remarkably, even after several tries, not one of these women has ever guessed my sign. One even tried, after several failed attempts, to stack the odds by guessing that I’m one of the fire signs. (Astrological signs are divided into four groups of three, Fire, Earth, Water and Air.) She didn’t even get that right. Pfffft. When I spill-the-beans and tell them my sign, they usually say something like, “Ah, yes, it is so obvious now.” Hmmm. Anyhow, in the latest encounter when I said “guess,” she coyly said, “I don’t know you well enough yet.” Later in the conversation, she quite craftily interrogated me about my interest in snow skiing. I explained “That I used to love to ski, I learned in Colorado, which has some of the best skiing in the world, lucky me.” Perky innocent smile. Fluttering eyelashes. “So, did you like to ski on your birthday?” Nice try, crafty cold-reader. Increasing the odds, are we? I don’t think I encouraged her when I explained that the doctor who delivered her had a stronger gravitational pull on her than the Sun, the Moon, any planet or constellation. But, apparently, at least according to this source, I’m wrong about that. Matt Springer calculates that Jupiter has about a 20-fold higher gravitational pull than the average doc, but the pull of both is vanishingly small, or, as he puts it, “Twenty times pretty much nothing is still pretty much nothing, but still – Jupiter wins.” Well, phooey on me! That’s what I get for trying to counter pseudoscience with an unreliable source.
She never did venture a guess of my sign. Ah well, no loss.
So, ladies, I say, if you really want to make a fashion statement--wear a brain. Nothing is more beautiful in a woman than intelligence. Skepticism is the new black! If you want to attract my attention, be rational, nerd-girl, and I just might fall in love--or maybe I'll just spank you with my slide ruler.
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