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November 1980
Philip gave me the zodiac medallion on the bus. I wanted to control destiny with it. The image of all twelve signs were etched in metal and I could keep it in my pocket. At my disposal. To feel it, to look at it, maybe even to use it. By the third day, though, I wasn’t having much luck and I blamed the coin. By the seventh day, while raking the lawn on a very windy and gray Sunday afternoon, I was convinced that I’d delved into some dark spirit force. As the wind and the leaves picked up, so did my...drama. I took the zodiac out from my pocket, looked at if for just a second, then threw it into the neighbors’ yard, hence ridding myself of the bad luck that was...The Zodiac.
The next spring, it broke Mr. Smith’s lawn mower blade.
I am a determinist. As opposed to a fatalist. I prefer to call my shots. For better or for worse, my locus of control is heavily tilted toward self. And I like it that way – I already don’t have enough control of my own destiny, due to probability; I don’t need to cede any more of it to gods or stars.
But I may actually be in the minority on this. I’ve come across more believers in astrology than disbelievers. From horoscopes to charts. When someone asks me what my sign is, I counter that question with a command: “Guess.” Over the years, two people have gotten it correct. Again, probability.
Of course, they just thought they were indeed gifted.
Yes, I realize this is a blog about orgies, so here’s the sequitur. I’ll research which two signs are in alignment (or whatever the term) during the night of a particular party, then announce that the party is primarily for guys with those signs. The latest Thursday ERUPTION party had, for some reason, a preponderance of Aries and Virgos.
I don’t know what that means, but I’m going to start taking note of guys’ signs, and who relates to whom, and so forth. If anything, it’ll be interesting to see if we can determine any patterns.
It’ll be even more interesting to see if I’ve been wrong.
