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Friday, November 1, 2013

And it seems to me you lived your life like a candle in the wind

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s! Daily! Horoscope! for FriedEgg, November 1th, 2013.  Happy All Saints Day to all you saints who are reading this.  We are sure you are both very nice, and hope you go marching in.  Whatever the fuck that means.

This being a daily horoscope, it has felt most peculiar to go all these days running without anyone to whom to wish a happy birthday. But that is all over now…Happy Birthday to David, who turns twenty-four today somewhere in Greater Bostonia.  Happy Birthday also to Beth, who also turns twenty-four today, somewhere suburbanly related to The City Of Brotherly Love Handles.

(Micro$oft Weird™ is trying to tell Us that “suburbanly” is not a word, when it is obvious to everyone that, if “suburban” is the adjective, “suburbanly” is the adverb.  Shut up, Micro$oft Weird™.  We can adverb if We want to; We can leave your friends behind. ‘Cause your friends don’t adverb and if they don’t adverb, then they’re no friends of Ours.)

(Sorry.  Just a little “Safety Dance” to brighten up an otherwise dreary morning.  (And, now that We type it out, how did We never notice that rude reference to “your friend’s behind” ever before?))

Happy Birthday also too to Jen, who also too turns twenty-four today, all the way out in Wisconsin.  And here, We thought We only knew ONE person in Wisconsin, and one person in Wisconsin temporarily at that.

And, last but not Lee Strasberg, Happy Birthday to John, who turns Twenty-Four today, Our SitOnOurFaceBook informs Us, in Phoenix, Arizona.  We were about to remark that that was news to Us, but then We went Googling through the Wikipedia of Our archives, and found this, from one year ago today:

{Insert WayBackMachine sound effects here}

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s Daily Horoscope for  Thursday, November 01th, 2012.  Happy Dia de los Muertos to all Our dead readers out there.  Also to Fred and Ethel Muertos.  And Happy All Saints Day to Our Catholic readers.  (That sort of pales by comparison to “Dia de los Muertos”, dunnit?  Especially if you manage to roll that tricky R in the middle there. (What?  Ricky Ricardo would do it.))

How We got from Dia de los Muertos to I Ruv Roosy, We haven’t got any idea.  (And Micro$oft Weird™ autocorrecting “Ruv” to “Rub” didn’t help matters, neither.)  At any rate, Happy Birthday to John, who turns twenty-four today.  Our SitOnMyFaceBook informs Us that, although he used to be in Africa, he is now in Arizona.  Apparently, he is seeing the world alphabetically. Which (and if you don’t see this coming, you may not know Us as well as you think) would seem to be A Long Way To Tipperary.

Heh.  We kill Us.

Also, Happy Birthday to Beth, who also turns twenty-four today.  In Suburbia.  Which, say what you will, is alphabetically much closer to Tipperary.

(We were about to embark on a long dissertation concerning the distance to Uranus, but We stopped Ourself in the nick of time.  You’re welcome.)

(Having, however, thus cited It’s A Long Way To Tipperary AND Uranus as a geographic destination, We may be inspired to craft an original song about Uranus for Our upcoming Starzina One Ass(tromalogical) Ho(roscopulist) Show, coming soon to a theatre near YOU. (Or near U.  (And Uranus.))

(Is anyone else hearing “U and Uranus” to the tune of “Me and My Shadow” now?  Just Us?  Alrighty, then.)

{Discontinue WayBackMachine sound effects here}

Those faithful Gentle Readers without short-term memory impairment will also recall just yesterday, when We swore to eschew (gesundheit (thank you)) picturing people naked, as follows:

“Speaking of dreams, in the wake of all of Our recent “Picturing People Naked” Weeks, We would like you all to know that, as We move into a brand new month, We shan’t be picturing anybody naked for a while.  No, indeed, We shan’t be Envisioning Allen’s Tomahawk, or Tiptoeing Through The Tulips Of Kevin’s Manscaping, or Picturing…well, We never DID actually SEE Peter naked, but a girl can dream, can’t she?  There will be no more conjuring up images of Lex’s eggroll, only to re-conjure them half an hour later when We are hungry again, and no more imagining what tricks or treats are nestled like sugarplums in OurThreeSons’ Jeggings™. (Is it warm in here, or is it just Us?)

We trust that none of these lovely gentlemen will expire from the dearth of attention.  And We sincerely hope they will keep perusing these e-pisstles, despite their absence from their pages. Perhaps they will even deign to explain how it is that We didn’t receive so much as a single sext after almost of month of this shameless behavior…”

And here We are, a mere twenty-four hours later, torn between (two lovers, feelin’ like a feel (SHADDUP!)) picturing John-from-Arizona-by-way-of-Zimbabwe naked or picturing Our good friend Miss-Udderly-Wisconsin-Dairy-Queen-Twenny-Thirteen naked.

We think We shall have to opt for picturing John naked now, and Our other friend later.  After all, if We picture John naked today, We can picture him with a candle in his cake.

(Oh, please…who didn’t see THAT coming?)

And, after a month of the shenanigantics described above, We did receive the following billet-doux from one of the gentlemen in question yesterday:

I'm sorry I couldn't provide an evidence of my maleness for you, my dear sir, but I do seem to recall a cache of incriminating evidence is already at your disposal. And as very little has changed in the, oh Jesus 14 years or so since that time, I can assure you very little has changed with the exception of a scar which travels from the navel down and provides a center aisle through the crowd around the acropolis, if you get my meaning. I hope that little (ahem) image provides at least a smile.

We have chosen to respond in this forum.  We shall even abandon The Royal We for the occasion:

MY Dear Sir,

Thank you so much for your response.  It was certainly not as “evidence of your maleness” that I requested your headshot (as it were).  Having seen such evidence on a number of occasions lo, those many years ago, I did not imagine that your “maleness” would be deserting you any time soon.

I note your employment of the term “little” three times in the course of one brief paragraph, twice preceded by “very”.  This does not square with my recollection.  However, the “cache of incriminating evidence” (which has certainly NOT reached the disposal) that you mention is much more discreet than you perhaps recall, having been collected at a time before we all ran around with cameraphones in our pants.

You will note that I have protected your anonymity to the best of my ability.  Although it should be clear to all concerned that you are NOT one of MyThreeSons, as causing any one of them to appear naked in public FOURTEEN YEARS AGO would have been a felony.

Rest assured that imagining the “crowd around your acropolis” continues to provide a smile and then some.

Your humble servant,

Starzina Starfish-Browne

Changing gears completely, The Little Show That Could, LOOKING FOR URANUS: Starzina Starfish-Browne’s Comeback Tour ,  (to which We presciently referred in the bit above from the WayBackMachine) will be returning for one night only on Sunday, November 10 at 7:30 at L’Etage.  Get your tickets here:  . Dammit.

And here is the HorrorScope:

In “celebrity” birthdays, both Coco Martin AND Coco Crisp were born today.  Who knew?  Or cared?

Just pay attention today — (Sorry…did you say something?)

that mystery is sure to be resolved if you can just listen to what your partner or friend or customer is saying.  (And we’d’ve made it, too, if it weren’t for those pesky kids.)

Somewhere buried in the words is the gem of truth.  (When We first read that, We read it as “buried in the woods”.  That way’s better.)

When you get a closer look at someone’s plans today, you will see quite a few holes in their way of thinking. (Meanwhile, the preceding sentence becomes much more awesome if you replace “plans” with “pants”.  Especially if you keep in mind the “candle in his cake” euphemism from earlier.)

This is a tough call: Do you burst their bubble, or let them live in blissful ignorance?  (So, essentially, what you’re saying is, if you see The Boy In The Plastic Bubble, do you tell him he’s gonna grow up to be That Fat Guy Who Used To Be John Travolta?)

(Pop culture makes everything so much clearer, dunnit?)

You’ll have to use all of your tact and charm to get what you want  (What if what We want is more tact and charm?  THEN WHAT???)

— which is for them to re-evaluate their idea and not get defensive about the fact that you’re not immediately in love with it. (We’re just gonna sit here and picture a candle in his cake till this bitch shuts her piehole.  KThxBye.)

They need a dose of reality, and you are the best person to give it to them.  (“Piehole” is so too a word.  So there ya go.)

Think about what they want to hear, when they want to hear it and who they want to hear it from.  (How can We think about ANYTHING, after the headache that sentence has given Us?)

Namaste, MotherFuckers.

In gaseousness,

Starzina Starfish-Browne

(Your Your-O-Scopes:

(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:  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!)


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.