Astrology: Something to do when there's nothing to do
Astrology is, like, the stupidest sport of all. But it is a very popular sport as I can attest to. Having worked at a major chain bookstore that I'm not allowed to name on my blog but it wasn't Barnes & Noble so you figure it out, I can personally vouch for the slipshod appearance of the astrology section on a daily basis (as opposed to, say, the poetry section), an appearance based on the high volume of disorderly customers making a mockery of careful bookseller attempts at alphabetization and presentation in their desire to learn more about what is hidden in their souls or also just to stalk other people by looking up their birthdays and reading lies about them. Take me, for example, I am really not as crazy as the book makes me out. But all the good things they say are true, of course. All the same, I think I am going to keep my birthday a top secret affair from now on. It usually is anyways, so adhering to this new policy should be fairly easy to maintain.
In other news, I think the smell of the now removed decomposing dead cat is going away, although sometimes I still get a sense of it, sort of like a phantom limb. Also, my roommate who I previously had reason to believe was the so called Mad Cat Stabber of 54th Street is going out of town this weekend to visit "friends." If a dead cat shows up while he is away, I suppose he will be exonerated for sure. Or, conversely, maybe some dead cats will turn up where he is going. I guess we'll never know. I sort of miss the cat, though. On its first day of death, at least, it was full of scruffy cuteness.
In news other than that, drinking is also a sport. And it takes Visa. Drinking while reading astrology books or making astrology charts is therefore a double sport. Sort of like discus hurling and synchronized swimming all tied up in one. And yes, synchronized swimmers have to be in really good shape to hold their breaths that long, yada yada yada. But hopefully you see my meaning. Go world.