Oh Lord, won't you buy me. . .

Whilst poking around the Henry Ford Museum in Detroit, I came across the "Guitar and Cars" exhibition. I had just about recovered from seeing the ZZ Top car used in their videos when I heard the familiar wails of my beloved Janis!! With my heart in my throat, I rounded the corner and nearly fainted when I saw her car! My daughter looked at me and said: "Mum, you're crying!"

I said: "But it's Janis!!" Needless to say I made a bit of a spectacle of myself but I don't care. Someone handed me some tissue and I continued fawning over the very car Janis had driven. here's a better view without me in the way:

And a bit closer to see the detail. . .Remember, this is where the goddess herself used to sit!!

I still can't believe I got to see Janis' car! And the funny thing is that I didn't even know it was there--I just bumped into it.

To celebrate Janis Joplin and her Mercedes Benz, here's a very special Saturn conjunct Uranus in the 2nd house joke:

A highly successful young executive received a promotion and decided to reward himself with a new car. When the dignified, dapper and impeccably groomed businessman arrived at the Mercedes Benz showroom, the salesman looked at his expensive suit and shoes and suggested the Executive Model.

"Yes, I like it," said the executive, after looking it over. "I'll take it today. I have a business conference in another state. I have just been made vice president of finance."

"But sir!" said the salesman. "We can give you so many accessories and extra options! I'm sure it is worth waiting a few days. After all, CARS have personalities! We do our best to match the CAR to the DRIVER, sir! This car has only the basics! I CANNOT sell it to you without the all of the fine..."

"No, no," said the executive quickly. "I like the car as simple as possible. Nothing extra. I insist! ONLY THE BASICS! NOTHING! And PLEASE do not argue with me!"

"Very well, sir," said the salesman, but he shook his head and sighed.

The executive drove out of the showroom and soon he was on the interstate. He was enjoying the luxury of his new car, when, out of nowhere, he heard a voice a mocking voice but he was ALONE in the car!

"Are those Brooks Brothers shoes you're wearing, pal?"

"Who said that?" The executive nearly hit the roof with surprise.

"I asked you a question! I'll bet those shoes cost five hundred dollars, huh? And are those SILK socks? Mighty fancy, mister high and mighty executive! A little TOO fancy for me!"

"They cost seven hundred dollars and yes, they're Brooks Brothers and yes, these socks are silk. What am I DOING?! Am I losing my MIND?!" said the executive.

"Well get rid of 'em - NOW. There no place for shoes and socks like those in HERE! You think you're special, don't you Pinstripes?" said the voice.

"Who ARE you?" said the executive again.

"Mind your business. Get barefoot!" said the voice, growing in strength.

"I will NOT!" snapped the executive angrily. "Leave me alone! I--I AM going insane! I'm arguing with my CAR!"

"Yeah - well, you might you say YOU are MY DRIVER!" snapped the voice. But the voice kept up the harangue for an hour, yelling and mocking so that the executive could hardly think or drive. He found himself in a losing battle...

"I am an executive. I am wearing a business suit! I am on my way to a conference! I HAVE to wear these shoes!" he cried.

But the voice mocked and yelled. "It looks like I'm gonna have to DRAG you off that high horse, Mister SUIT AND TIE! Even if you come off kicking and screaming" said the voice. And he continued with a barrage of insults.

Finally, after an hour, the beaten down, exhausted executive yelled: "I can't stand it anymore! You win! You want me to go barefoot? FINE! Then BARE FEET IT IS! Anything to SHUT YOU UP!" And he untied and pulled off the brand new polished black captoe shoes that he had bought that week and had shined that morning, and then peeled off his silk socks. Without slowing down, he stuffed the socks in the shiny, expensive shoes and threw them out the window on the highway. "That's $750 that just went out the window! Are you satisfied?!" yelled the executive.

"There!" said the voice. "Now don't you feel better without those stupid shoes on?" said the voice cheerfully.

"No!" said the executive angrily.

As he rested his bare foot on the accelerator, the voice said: "Now let's talk about that necktie... Hermes? Or is it Armani?"

"Oh no!!" whispered the executive. "Not again..."

"Well?" snarled the voice. "No fancy silk neckties in THIS car! And are those cufflinks?! With a monogram! And a Rolex?! And I'll bet you're wearing suspenders under that suit, huh? Well!"

"Yes" said the executive reluctantly. "YES! Why do you CARE?"

"You think you can dress like THAT in this car?! I think NOT! Now get that necktie off. NOW! NOW!" The harangue began again. An hour later, the window opened, and one by one, the desperate and bewildered executive threw out his $150 tie and the matching pocket square, his monogrammed cufflinks, his braces, his Rolex and his tiepin. "And is that a cashmere overcoat in the back seat? With a silk scarf? And what about the briefcase?!"

"No! No!" cried the executive. "Why are you doing this to me?! Let me alone!" But soon, the overcoat and scarf were thrown out on the highway, followed by the $1500 briefcase, which opened, throwing papers everywhere.

For a moment there was silence - then: "Now for that nice, dapper pinstriped BUSINESS SUIT you've got on, Mister Big Shot Corporate High Flyer!" said the voice.

"Oh, no!" gasped the executive. "Not my SUIT! This was made for me in London by Savile Row! It cost $2,500!!"

"Well, and who do you think YOU are?!" said the voice in disgust. "That smart suit has to GO! No suits in this car. Period. Never. And that white shirt. Is it starched. And the underwear . . . designer shorts I'll bet! Everything has to go! Lose those spiffy PINSTRIPES!! NOW, Mister Hotshot!"

The harangue went as the executive begged. Finally, he saw a barefoot derelict along the highway. He pulled over and called out to him: "Will you swap my suit and shirt for your clothes?" Within minutes the shaking and frightened executive was wearing the rags of a bum.

"OK!" said the voice. "Quit that high-paying, high-class job and sell your condo and your stocks...and no arguments!"

"Quit my job!" said the executive. "Please...I just got a promotion."

"And give away all those fancy suits and ties and shoes you have back in your closet. And don't tell me you don't! I KNOW the TYPE! Call a charity NOW! Give them everything! Even the tuxedo and the patent leather pumps you were going to wear to the corporate black-tie dinner!"

"How...how did you know...." gasped the executive. The executive, now a broken man, barely kept his hands on the wheel as the voice yelled and bullied him to come down off his high horse. He called his office and told his stunned boss he was quitting. Then he sold all of his assets and gave the money away. Then he gave away all his clothes.

"Fine!" snapped the voice. "Hey! There's a KMart! Go in and buy a sixpack of white socks and three pairs of overalls. Get movin'!"

The stunned executive followed those instructions.

"There's a help wanted sign! Get yourself a job as a garbageman, and make it snappy!" said the voice sharply.

"A garbageman! Me...." Exhausted, disoriented and stunned, the executive took a job as a garbageman. Two months later, the former exec arrived at the Mercedes showroom to return the car because he could not afford the payments. The salesman did not look surprised when he saw the formerly dignified, confident and impeccably groomed executive reduced to collecting trash and dressed in overalls, and he showed no surprise when he heard the strange story.

"What did you expect? I TRIED to warn you! Look at the name of the MODEL you bought!"

And the garbageman looked at the bill of sale: "Mercedes Benz - STRIPPED-DOWN EXECUTIVE MODEL"

Rodeo!

After an exhausting year both professionally and personally, I'm starting to unlax and rewind. All I can say is thanks, I needed this! I'm spending time with my family and friends in the USA (where I was born) and I'm enjoying just being still. As I said, I really needed this as I know come September, we'll be off the starting blocks once again and we'll have to hang on tight until the end of July. . .again! As John Fogerty once said: "Sometimes I think life is just a rodeo. The trick is to ride and make it to the bell. . ."

Despite being American born, I have never been to a rodeo. So my friend Chris took me to a 4H fair to the annual festivities. As horses can't talk, I'm not sure how they feel about rodeos but judging by their reaction to their riders, I think the pretty safe assumption is that they enjoy having a good kick and throwing cowboys on their asses. This got me thinking about all manner of metaphysical philosophies like wondering if the gods enjoy watching we humans taking a beating. I began wondering if they place bets on who's going to bite the dust the hardest and stay down and who's going to get up, brush themselves down and get back on the horse that threw them. I guess we'll never know if they really do take bets but I think it's a safe assumption that an audience really does favour the guy that takes a bad fall, limps out of the corral and then shows up a few minutes later for round 2 (or 3 or 4). As I say, I have a bit more time to philosophise these days. I'm going to look at biting the dust in a whole new light from now on.

In honour of holding on, here's a Saturn in 8th house joke to mark the special occasion:

Two cowboys were sitting in a bar when one asked his friend if he had heard of the new sex position called rodeo. His friend says no, what is it? Well you mount your wife from the back, reach around and cup her breasts with both hands. Then say, "Boy, those are almost as nice as your sisters". Then see if you can hold on for 8 seconds.

Re-united

Well, here I am again, back in the good old US of A!!

It's been quite a week: I finished school, got the Astrology Quarterly out, got into--and out of airplane--had a family reunion and my 25 year high school reunion! How did I get so old??? Above is me at my, er, best. What can I say?? It's as good as it gets!!

I do have Transit Uranus conjunct my natal Chiron and to be honest, I was a little worried about this one. I mean, I've had enough unexpected pain in my life, right? Right? But this transit reminds me that past wounds do heal. On my reunion night, I met the young man who made sure I understood exactly where I stood in society all those years ago: he made sure I didn't forget I was a half breed, dirty Indian in shoes that weren't Nike or Reebok, that I didn't play tennis nor was I pretty (or thin enough) to be a cheerleader or clever enough to get to the Ivy Leagues where everyone knew he would end up. Nope, I was destined to be no one of particular interest. Twenty-five years after he made this so abundantly clear, I bumped into this boy at our class re-union. He was fat, not so attractive, had a big old pot belly and was still just as obnoxious and unpleasant as he been all those years ago. In other words, it seemed the lessons the rest of us had learned about being nice, playing fair and learning to live within limitations had completely washed over him. "Oh, I lay floors for a living," he boasted to me, "I have a company worth several hundred thousand dollars." He didn't show enough interest in me to ask what I did for a living but I told him anyway:

"I live in London England," I started.

"Oh my God!" he interjected. "I'm a major fan of Paul Weller! Do you know Camden Town?"

"Know it?" I said, "I live there."

"Do you think I might be able to come over for a visit? I need an address. It's always been my dream to meet Paul Weller!"

At that moment, it would have been really tempting to stick the boot in, to laugh in his face and tell him how glad I was that he never lived his dream. But I didn't. Instead I told him about how I got to London, how easy it was and how glad I was that I did it. Yeah, he's an asshole but there's no reason for me to stoop to the same level.

In honour of learning from the past, here's a little Saturn opposite Neptune joke. . .just to keep reality in check!

A man took his wife to his high school reunion. He thinks to himself that although she isn't the best looking woman in the room, they've at least had a fairly successful marriage. Then he reminds himself that he had a very successful career, they had four fairly bright children and though neither career nor children are anything to boast about, at least the mortgage is nearly paid off. He then remembers his house: well, it's okay as far as houses are concerned--at least they had never been without a roof over their heads. As he looks around, he suddenly realises the other men in their far more expensive suits...and their bulging stomachs. Proud of the fact that he weighs just five pounds more than he did than when he was in high school, he says to his wife, "Hey! I'm the only guy here who can still wear the suit he wore when he graduated."
She glances at the well-dressed crowd, then back at him, and says, "You're the only one who has to."

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. . .

It's so good to be home!

I'm just about hanging in there. It's that time of year again--when I start falling asleep at the dinner table (you know I'm tired when that happens!) and feeling too tired to blog.

OK, if you've been following and checking in, then you must be dying for a joke. Here's a special Jupiter conjunct Neptune in the 9th joke for all frequent fliers everywhere. . .

A Mormon was seated next to an Irishman on a flight from London. After the plane was airborne, drink orders were taken.
The Irishman asked for a whiskey, which was promptly brought and placed before him.
The flight attendant then asked the Mormon if he would like a drink.
He replied in disgust, "I'd rather be savagely raped by a dozen whores than let liquor touch my lips."
The Irishman then handed his drink back to the attendant and said, "Me too, I didn't know we had a choice."

Go Susan!

I don't watch a lot of TV but I do plan on watching Britain's Got Talent. It seems that this has been a particularly interesting season, thanks to our Susan. I'm a little bummed that Gregg didn't get through last night but I'm pleased as anything that 2 Grand are through to the finals. I don't think they'll win but they'll certainly give us something to feel good about.

I don't want to say anything bad about any of the contestants. Except I hatesaxophones. Being a trumpet player has made me permanently repulsed by woodwinds who use spit-sodden reeds to play their instruments! And I especially don't think saxes are musical instruments--they're toys! You just blow through one end and wiggle your fingers. No skill involved!

Anyway, enough of that!

GO SUSAN BOYLE!!

Oh and here's a little sax joke.  Let's call it Neptune conjunct Saturn:

Before the 2001 inauguration of George Bush, he was invited to a "get acquainted" tour of the White House. After drinking several glasses of iced tea, he asked President Bill Clinton if he could use his personal bathroom. When he entered Clinton 's private toilet, he was astonished to see that President Clinton had a solid gold urinal.

That afternoon, George told his wife, Laura, about the urinal. "Just think," he said, "when I am President, I could have a gold urinal, too. But I wouldn't do something so self-indulgent!"

Later, when Laura had lunch with Hillary at her tour of the White House, she told Hillary how impressed George had been at his discovery of the fact that, in his private bathroom, the President Had a gold urinal.

That evening, when Bill and Hillary were getting ready for bed, Hillary smiled and said to Bill: "I found
out who pissed in your saxophone."

I is a publishing phenomenon!

OK, my parents always told me it was wrong to boast but I'm going to do it anyway!

After the most hair-raising few months ever, I finally got the Astrology Quarterly out! Here's some photographic evidence that yes, I am the editor:
And, buried in this very issue is also my own article, complete with an editorial mistake that I did on purpose just to get a bit more attention (OK, that last bit is a lie).

Also, I am now an international writer because I appeared in ISAR's latest edition! Ya want proof of that too, I can feel it:Wow, if only I got paid to do this!

OK a few Jupiter jokes with maybe a Saturn connection or two. . .

Q. How many editors does it take to screw in a lightbulb?

A. Only one; but first they have to rewire the entire building.

Q. How many managing editors does it take to change a lightbulb?

A. You were supposed to have changed that lightbulb last week!

Q. How many art directors does it take to screw in a lightbulb?

A. Does it HAVE to be a lightbulb?

Q. How many copyeditors does it take to change a lightbulb?

A. The last time this question was asked, it involved art

directors. Is the difference intentional? Should one or the other instance be changed? It seems inconsistent.

Q. How many proofreaders does it take to change a lightbulb?

A. Proofreaders aren’t supposed to change lightbulbs.
They should just query them.

Q. How many writers does it take to change a lightbulb?
A. But why do we have to CHANGE it?

Q. How many publishers does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
A. Three. One to screw it in, two to hold down the editor.

Still lovin' Susan!

I haven't gone off the Boyle but another Britain's Got Talent act has caught my eye: Gregg Pritchard. Just as I was wondering if Gregg really was a Castrato, I realised he reminded me a bit of my favourite fallen idol Boy George who was released from prison this week. Thank you HM! I still hope I get to meet Boy George in real life--he was the reason I moved to London after all. Not really. OK, it's true. Viva l'amour.

Which kind of brings me to my joke. You know how French nouns can be masculine or feminine? Well, I was thinking English should do the same! What fun! Let the gender identification for English nouns start right here!

In honour of getting confused about whether or not an item is a boy or a girl, a few helpful Venus conjunct Mars jokes to help:

FREEZER BAGS: They are male, because they hold everything in, but you can see right through them.

PHOTOCOPIERS: These are female, because once turned off; it takes a while to warm them up again.They are an effective reproductive device if the right buttons are pushed, but can also wreak havoc if you push the wrong Buttons.

TIRES: Tires are male, because they go bald easily and are often over inflated

HOT AIR BALLOONS: Also a male object, because to get them to go anywhere, you have to light a fire under their butt.

SPONGES: These are female, because they are soft, squeezable and retain water.

WEB PAGES:Female, because they're constantly being looked at and frequently getting hit on.

TRAINS: Definitely male, because they always use the same old lines for picking up people.

EGG TIMERS: Egg timers are female because, over time, all the weight shifts to the bottom.

HAMMERS: Male, because in the last 5000 years, they've hardly changed at all, and are occasionally handy to have around.

THE REMOTE CONTROL: Female. Ha! You probably thought it would be male, but consider this: It easily gives a man pleasure, he'd be lost without it, and while he doesn't always know which buttons to push, he just keeps trying