The Zodiac Buzz-Killer

In case you haven't heard, you're not you anymore. Nobody is who they were anymore, because after 23,000 years of just sitting around aligning all over the place, all the Zodiac stars have moved. This is the type of pronouncement that is known, in scientific circles, as "bone stupid."

See, according to very calm, flowing-robe-wrapped people with names like Tawny and Holar, the Zodiac is a system for defining who you are and how you act, based on where the stars were on your birth day. The Zodiac was formed 23,000 years ago, at 4:12 on a Thursday afternoon, by invisible energy auras that regularly speak to Tawny and Holar. This is the type of admission that is known, in legal tests for mental incompetence, as "self-incriminating."

But now, suddenly, we're told by some Zodiac observers that the Earth has shifted on its axis, possibly due to epidemic numbers of obese Americans. And this little cosmic jiggle has rifted a rift-shaped rift in the sidereal (but not the tropical) ecliptic coordinates as measured by arc degrees per century along the precession of equinoctial points, resulting in a disambiguation, causing car dealers across America to create Final Disambiguation Sales That Won't Last Long. (Excluding Tags, Title & Rift)

The Zodiac, of course, is that branch of pure science based on the predicate that there are only twelve types of people, a proposition which can quickly be debunked by anyone who's ever been out on a date. I personally know a woman who was seventeen different people, often at the same time. I can distinctly recall one shape-shifting episode involving a hapless waiter who forgot to put the salad dressing on the side. It was downright clinical; it was Lizzie Bordenesque. The waiter may have survived, but after what he went through, I really hope not.

Now, to be fair, there are plenty of other Zodiac types who are calling foul. They say this "new" Zodiac is a load of bunk, which means they think the original Zodiac is not a load of bunk, and this is the type of situation that is known, in literary circles, as "a delicious irony."

What is perhaps most fascinating in this ongoing Zodiac versus Zodiac battle is this: according to the Zodiac Redux gang, there's now a whole new star sign, bringing the star sign tally up to thirteen. According to their (ahem) research, the Universe had originally (ahem) created thirteen Zodiac signs, but those meddling Babylonians decided, about 3,000 years ago, at 4:12 on a Thursday afternoon, to just whack one of 'em.

(This is what can happen when you let people run around naming themselves Nebuchadnezzar without insisting on an immediate psychiatric intervention.)

This restored star sign is called Ophuchicus, or possibly Ophuichus. (No, I'm not sure. Lighten up. I mean, it has been 3,000 years, as of last Thursday, now hasn't it? I don't remember what shirt I wore yesterday.)

Just as with the correct spelling of the new star sign's name, the internet is similarly unhelpful on the proper pronunciation of Ophuichus. O-fook-something, O-fuh-something, something-Cuss. But be careful. Mispronouncing a word like that in public could prove rather embarrassing. I remember once being at the cookie counter in a popular hamburger joint, and I badly mangled asking the clerk for a Mother Fuddrucker's Fudge package.

I nearly got arrested.

And you can find almost as many legends about how Ophuichus got nominated to the Zodiac star chamber in the first place. One is the tale of a human named Tiresias (born in darkest antiquity, at 4:12 on a Thursday).

Tiresias, as the legend goes, was a very wise man. One Thursday afternoon, while walking through the woods, he saw two snakes mating, and because this paragraph is not about the legend of my life, he did not run away screaming. Instead, all very-wise-manliness notwithstanding, Tiresias poked at the snakes (see "bone stupid").

And in that wacky way that things often happened in darkest antiquity, this silly snake-shoving nonsense got Tiresias turned into a woman, assumedly a very wise woman who would know to leave naked snakes alone. Life went on for Tiresias, but with different tax deductions.

Years later, back in the woods again, the (former) guy poked at two more mating snakes, because that's what guys do, even if they're not. And, of course, she got turned back into a man, which is exactly what she deserved to get, after poking at innocent reptiles while they're doing the Humpty Dance.

But the Universe wasn't through with Tiresias yet. Later that Thursday, he somehow managed to irritate Zeus' wife, Hera the Olympian (of the Charleston Olympians), possibly over a sloppily-dolloped salad dressing. Hera got furious with him and, in her trademark, short-tempered immortal way, took away his eyesight and left a really small tip.

Somehow, all this angst caused the Universe to change the poor mortal's name to Ophiuchus (literal translation: "Phudrucker"). And finally, on top of everything else he or she had been through, he got shoved up into the sky to wrestle with a giant python for all eternity. At last, that fateful Thursday was over for Ophie, and this is where we get the expression, "TGIF."

Anyway, before you start running out to Big Slade's Body Art And Hepatitis Clinic to remove your "I'm A Sagittarius So Don't Tread On Me" tattoo (boy, is that gonna leave a mark), you should get some qualified Zodiac advice from a qualified Zodiac advisor (keep in mind that they won't all be named Tawny or Holar). And don't worry: they're everywhere. According to calculations performed by astronomer and astrophysicist Carl Sagan, there are billions and billions of internet websites dedicated to bilking you out of a few star-bucks.

And no, this is not a plug for Tawny's website. As far as I know, we've never dated.

I do wonder, though, if I ever dated Tiresius. I mean ... you know ... in-between snake prods.