He sees you when you’re sleeping; he knows when you are naked

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s! Daily! Horoscope! for Saturday, Saturday, Saturday, Saturday, Saturday, Saturday, Saturday, Saturday, Saturday night’s alright, December 29, 2012.  Happy Birthday to Justin, who turns twenty-four today right here in The City That Loves you (On Your) Back, aka The City Of Brotherly Love Handles.  It is unclear to Us at this juncture, but We may actually lay Our two eyes upon said Justin later in the day, which is not something We can often say about those whom We are wishing well on the occasion of their twenty-fourth birthday.

So, at any rate home is the tailor, home from the tea.  Whatever the fuck THAT means.  Who the hell keeps using these meaningless old sayings, anyway?  It’s not like anybody actually READS, fercrissakes.

Meanwhile, when last We spoke (in depth, anyway (because We are NOTHING if not deep (not real meaningful, but REAL deep))), We were anticipating The Apocalypse.  Which turned out to be not all it was cracked up to be. (Speaking of old sayings, there’s one that has certainly altered its meaning over the years: “cracked up”.  Heh.)

We trust you will forgive Us if We seem to be dithering.  For one thing, We are happy to be typing this on a computer that does at least SOME of what We tell it to do.  And (B.), We are debating going out to run Our daily errands before the blizzard begins.  So if a big long pause happens here, you’ll know that’s what We did.

So did you miss Us?  We did in fact go out to the outside world.  Of course, it took Us so long to make Ourselves presentable enough to do so that the snow had already started by the time We did.  On the plus side, nothing was laying yet.   Which should come as no surprise to anyone who knows Us.  Why, if We would just stay outside for the duration of the blizzard, We could probably prevent ALL the snow from getting laid, as well as Our Own Self.

And now, as many of Our recent e-pisstles have, of necessity, been rather rushed, or e-ncore presentations (as an aside, We were given to wondering on a recent train trip why they had “egads” prior to The Electronic Age.  Shouldn’t they have just been “gads”, which were ultimately replaced by “e-gads”?   (Vacation time shares are still available in Our mind for the months of January and February.)), We intend to wax loquacious on a topic of recent interest to Us all: The Holidays.

(Parenthetically (hence the parentheses), the phrase “wax a loquacious carrot” just leapt unbidden into what passes for Our mind, and We thought We’d Cher.)

Now, lettuce be clear.  Contrary to what Faux News would have you believe, We don’t think there is any War On Christmas.  Christmas is alive and kicking, and looks like it will be so for quite some time.  Naturally, We say “Happy Holidays” just like the next person, but We start saying it at Thanksgiving (which is, you will notice, a holiday), when One would sound like a complete idiot if One said “Merry Christmas”, and We continue saying it all through Hanukkah, when it would be rude to say “Merry Christmas”, because Christmas hasn’t come yet (neither have We, but that’s a digression of another color), but Hanukkah has.   And, quite frankly, We have no idea when the fuck Kwaaaanzaaa even is (or, clearly, how to spell it), but just in case, We’re covered there too.

And what about the phrase itself?  “Merry Christmas”…really?  You wish for Us to be merry for one day, while, when We say “Happy Holidays”, We are wishing for you to be happy beginning at Thanksgiving and lasting all the way through The Feast Of The Epiphany (or, at a stretch, Martin Luther King Day, if you procrastinate about taking your tree down).    And who even says “merry”, anyway?

All that said, however, We would like to address a simple assault on Christmas, which is becoming more and more prevalent in this E-gads E-lectronic A-ge.   Somehow, it is becoming socially acceptable for wannabe hipsters to take to their keyboards and spew endless screeds under the subject line “I Hate Christmas”, in the course of which they slyly mock those of Us who do not:  “Oh?  Do you really still send cards/put up a tree/roast a goose/dress up like the Grinch and deflower a virgin?  I didn’t think anyone did that anymore.  It’s so…Dickensian.” (Okay, We just put that “Grinch/virgin” part in there to see if you were paying attention.)

Now, the “I Hate Christmas” people seem to come in two varieties.  The first are those who think the whole thing is just too much work.  For this lot, We hold out hope, as it is indeed not possible in this day and age to have a real tree with lighted candles, roast goose and boiled turkey for a sit-down family dinner for thirty-seven, homemade presents for every member of said family, wine from one’s own vineyard, and snow on the lawn to order through which one drives in a one-horse open sleigh, whatever the hell that may be, to Midnight Mass.  In fact, it probably never was, except possibly for Queen Victoria.

But Christmas, like everything else, is a thing that evolves and changes with the changing times. Once One convinces these people that they can pick and choose among the traditions (preferably after plying them with some wine from One’s Own vineyard), they will generally come around.

The other “I Hate Christmas” group is much more troublesome and, dare We say, hopeless.   When THEY say “I hate Christmas”, what they mean is, “No one will kowtow to my every whim and vague notion of how this holiday should be, not only for the day itself, but for the twelve days surrounding it.”  This lot is generally best avoided for the entire holiday season (and, in fact, for every other month of the year).  Because guess what, monkey butt?  Unless you are a four-year-old only child (and not necessarily even then), there is no one who feels that his or her primary job is to make sure YOU have a happy Christmas, especially at the expense of his or her own.

Now, We would like to say that We were about to tie this topic up with some neat little philosophical bow, in which We expound upon Seven Steps To Loving Christmas And Having A Happy Holiday Season.  But surely you know Us better than that.  So all We have to say is, next year, if you hate Christmas?  Shut yer fuckin’ fruitcakehole and stop pooping in the punchbowl of those of Us who do not.

KThxBye.

Here is the link with which you may share Our Starzina’s Time of the Month Horoscope: CAPRICORN video with your friends:

http://youtu.be/m3Aa_X_HoVM        

 

We have no time to cope with Kelli’s ass(tromalogical) ho(roscopulations), as We have ablutions to perform, presents to wrap, and wassailing to come a-.  TCBITWWW is comin’ to town! So here are

 

(Your Your-O-Scopes:

 

http://www.humorscope.com)

 

(Meanwhile, why We didn’t think of this sooner, We’ve got no idea, but better laid than necking, as they say (and how right they are!).  For real live actual ass(tromlaogical) ho(roscopular) advice, please visit Our good friend AstroGeek here:  http://agskylab.blogspot.com/.  Our Own epistular musings are of use to you only insofar as making you feel better by comparison, but he will give you actual pertinent advice for your very own lives, based on upon the positions and transitations of all manner of planets, planetoids, asteroids, Altoids™, hemorrhoids, and other heavenly flotsam, jetsam, and Jetsons.  Plus, he knows all about Uranus!)

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Starzina Starfish-Browne was born in the wagon of a traveling show…well, okay, not really. She was actually born in Lowake, Texas, the daughter of a beautician and either a garage mechanic or the town mailman. At sixteen, she escaped her humble beginnings by running off with Doctor Browne’s Traveling Medicine Show and, more to the point, Doctor Browne. Following the dissolution of this unfortunate entanglement (Doctor Browne was a Virgo and Starzina is, of course, an Aries), which produced a daughter, Starzina entered a contest in Soap Opera Digest and won a scholarship to Oxford (yes, in ENGLAND), where she earned her doctorate in the newly-created dual major of Astrology and Human Sexuality. There is absolutely NO TRUTH to the rumor that Starzina’s second daughter has Royal blood, despite tabloid photographs allegedly depicting her cavorting on the Italian Riviera with Princes William and Harry, clad only in Prussian helmets and armbands of questionable taste. Starzina currently resides with her daughters in Philadelphia, the City That Loves You (On Your) Back, where she enjoys Double Coupon Day at the local SuperCruise and “encouraging” the coxswain of the Penn rowing team.