On leaving horoscopes behind, judging a book by its cover, and really good toast.
And a little bit on the new, horny season of The White Lotus.
Remember when astrology was for weirdos and full moons were for werewolves? Those were the days. The only time anyone would mention the moon phase was when someone had the nerve, the audacity, the guts, to bend over and show us their bare bottom. Mooning, we called it. And when the substitute teacher bent over to pick up the chalk at the front of the classroom, someone would shout out, it’s a full moon tonight! We would laugh. We were innocent. We had no idea that in a few years a full moon reference would no longer be a lighthearted dig at someone’s ass but of transformation, rebirth and for some of us, emotional volatility. We were completely clueless about the mercury kazimis, and retrogrades and stationing directs and all the other planetary jargon that would decide when our electronics would glitch and our plans would be derailed.
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