ARIES (March 21-April 19): Nine-year-old Fatima Santos told the San Francisco Chronicle her opinions about the movie Toy Story: "If I had to make a movie like this, I would make it funnier. I would make Mr. Potato Head look funnier that he already does. I would put his hair on his legs, his shoes on his head, and his arms on his face. His eyeballs would be on the place where his arms are." In the coming week, Aries, I advise you to engage in Fatima's enlightened style of cockeyed thinking. According to my analysis of the astrological omens, you have the power and the mandate to improve pretty much every scenario you're in by making it less predictable, more rambunctious, and just plain funnier.
TAURUS (April 20-May 20): During one phase of my life, I walked a mile five days a week to get to a bus stop. On the last stretch of the journey, I had to pass a shabby house next to a vacant lot. On the porch was a German shepherd, always unchained and in a state of irritation. After some close calls, when his agitated barking propelled him perilously close to me, I arrived upon a technique that settled him down: I sang nursery rhymes and lullabies. "Three Blind Mice" was his favorite, but there were others that also calmed him sufficiently to allow me safe passage. Something comparable may work for you, Taurus, as you navigate past the crabby wretches and twitchy pests and pathetic demons in the coming days. My advice is to shift the energy with a charming bit of innocuous play. Avoid confrontations.
GEMINI (May 21-June 20): According to anthropologist Robin Dunbar, it's impossible for any of us to have more than 150 friends. The human brain literally can't process the intimate information required to sustain more than that. But if there were super-freaks who could crack that limit, it would be members of the Gemini tribe, especially during the coming weeks. You now have an uncanny ability to cultivate bubbly connections, be extra close to your buddies, and drum up new alliances.
CANCER (June 21-July 22): Let's say I was the director of a grade school play that included outdoor scenes, and you were a student trying out for a part. My inclination would be to offer you the role of the big oak tree, which would be on stage for much of the show but have no spoken lines to deliver. Would you accept my invitation with enthusiasm, and play the part with panache? I realize that on the surface, it may not seem like your performance would be of central importance. But as director I'd hope to be able to draw out of you a vibrant commitment to being steady and rooted. I'd rely on you to provide the strong, reassuring background that would encourage the actors in the foreground to express themselves freely.