Happy Solar Return, America—you’re 250 years young, but you don’t look a day past 1950. Unfortunately, Mercury is in Gatorade until July 23, making communication fraught with misunderstandings, misgivings, and electrolytes. You might notice strange side-eye from your neighbors as you raise the Blue Lives Matter flag, or cheerful conversations about our nation’s proud heritage may become uncharacteristically (if not un-Americanly) awkward. But if you find yourself in a pickle at the barbecue, don’t panic, and do what I always do: Deep throat a corn dog like a Republican candidate on the State Fair circuit—or Lindsey Graham in the Republican Convention toilets. But more importantly than that (and because this column is funded by the NEA, which only supports projects celebrating the 250th—and no, I’m not writing this with a projectile device pointed at my head), let’s gaze at what the stars have in store for you this month, personally, as illustrated by (in)famous figures in American history:
Aries (March 21-April 19)
You’re the baby of the signs, and that makes you none other than George W. Bush. Like Dubya, you invent words, wear a face of unqualified terror when greeted with news of the towers falling, and start wars to impress Daddy Cheney. But because everyone adores a baby, we love watching you try to put on a poncho in the rain next to Michelle Obama. And you’re not without introspection: Just look at your new career as a painter, thoughtfully painting immigrants and veterans you sent to war. We could have used that thoughtfulness 25 years ago, but, like art made by children or goats, your little scribbles are undeniably charming.
Taurus (April 20-May 20)
What better match for the Bull than Jill Stein?* Like our favorite Green Party candidate, you know what’s best for everyone regardless of whether or not it is, in fact, best for everyone. Stubborn and resistant to change, you persevere and persist even if it means flinging the country into fascism (it does). But you’re also one for style and decor, and that white swoosh of hair is as fashionable as Meryl Streep’s Miranda Priestly—if not as tired as The Devil Wears Prada 2. *My apologies to Ms. Stein for not including “Doctor” in her name—a title rightfully earned after eight hard years spent driving votes away from electable candidates.
Gemini (May 21-June 20)
You’re the George Washington of the Zodiac, because you’d never tell a lie. But you don’t exactly tell the truth, either; instead, you’re quite a skilled storyteller, leaving most of us dazzled—and distracted from the cherry tree’s side of the story. Intelligent and playful, you’re only lying through your teeth to hide the fact that they’re made of wood. (Which was itself a lie: Washington’s dentures were made of ivory, brass, gold, and an unholy combination of toothy bits from cows and people, ew. Suddenly an orange spray tan doesn’t seem so egregious.)
Cancer (June 21-July 22)
Nothing says Cancer like an earnest request for your audience to “please clap,” instantly rendering you Jeb Bush. Dubya’s younger brother famously asked constituents to applaud his remarks at a town hall in his failed bid for the 2016 election, and, like Jeb, the Crab’s sincere need for approval is matched only by a crushing willingness to welcome defeat. You are both Barbara Bush’s greatest disappointment and the Jan Brady of the Bushes. “Sure, Jeb.”
Leo (July 23-August 22)
You may have murdered another human being in cold blood—but have you seen those eyebrows?! That’s right: You’re Luigi Mangione, the (alleged) It Boy assassin and future model for either GUESS Jeans or capital punishment. You’ve stolen America’s heart and spurred countless debates over whether murder is morally justified when committed by a hot person. You’re a modern day Roxie Hart, Leo-igi, and if this trial doesn’t end with chorus boys and your name in lights, then whose OnlyFans will I subscribe to?
Virgo (August 23-September 22)
Venus entered Virgo on July 9, marking a first for your love life—I didn’t know you were into pegging!—and aligning you with the Dems’ favorite cuck named Chuck: Schumer, that is. An over-analytical control freak, you’re so set in your ways that you’re more interested in maintaining the status quo than standing up against genocide, the fall of democracy, or your niece, Amy. But now that Venus’s intervention finds you experiencing pleasure for what might be the first time in your life, here’s hoping that vice-like anal grip on power finally loosens up and leads to change—or at least a good movement.
Libra (September 23-October 22)
On your best days, you’re an inspiring and strong figure concerned with fairness and equality; on your worst, you’re secretive, vain, indecisive, and our former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton. You’re probably not an evil manipulator benefiting from a pizzeria-based trafficking scheme; you’re probably just an ambitious woman who hates conflict. So your centrist approach relies on either expert diplomacy or pathological people-pleasing. But back in Michigan in 2016, you could have used a lot more of the latter.
Scorpio (October 23-November 21)
Like Abraham Lincoln, you’re stately, charismatic, and a real sex pot. Now, Lincoln wasn’t exactly a hunk, but while he lacked looks, he still stole hearts with eloquence, tall hats, and a sex appeal as untold as his dark side. The guy knew his way around a twin bed with another man in a log cabin, and he remains beloved in history despite instituting the draft, censoring the press, and ordering the largest mass execution of Native Americans in history. Sly, secretive, sexy, socially skilled, and sociopathic? That’s all you, Scorpio. You should celebrate tonight by seeing a play.
Sagittarius (November 22-December 21)
I hate to say it, Sagittarius, because I’m generally sweet on you—but out of all of ‘em, you’re George Santos. Hear me out: You’re wild. You’re a party girl. You did drag once in Brazil. You can’t resist a little white lie—or fraud. And felonies. Nobody knows how you got into the building, and we can’t seem to get you to leave without expelling you from Congress altogether (slay the house down boots, sis), but at your worst, we can’t look away—and at your best, there’s something downright infectious about you. Um. You should probably get that checked out.
Capricorn (December 22-January 19)
I’m sorry there isn’t a nicer way to say this, but, like Phyllis Schlafly, you’re a c*nt. Your cold, conservative ambition cost us the Equal Rights Amendment and left us with an uneven TV series starring Cate Blanchett. You cite ancestry from Ayn Rand and have established a career blueprint for Ann Coulter and JK Rowling, leaving an entire lineage of icy, scary girlbosses—all of whom could more ethically contribute to society by participating in Jar Jar Binks lookalike contests in Bushwick.
Aquarius (January 20-February 18)
You’re a visionary. You’re a rebel. You’re a little weird. You’re Bernie Sanders and Elizabeth Warren, two emotionally detached, stubborn, and opinionated do-gooders who could have given us the most competent presidential administrations in history, were they not also emotionally detached, stubborn, and opinionated. Sanders came with an army of toxic mansplainers and Warren probably shouldn’t have talked about 23andMe so much, but something about you evokes Grateful Dead posters in the Oval Office and not crimes against humanity. Universal healthcare would have been nice, too, but you just had to be a little weird—and not in the trendy, sociopathic billionaire way.
Pisces (February 19-March 20)
As the resident mystic of the signs, you’re Marianne Williamson, the resident mystic of the Democratic Party. You’re more interested in A Return to Love than Making America Great Again, and you bring a bright-eyed weirdness passing as empathy wherever you speak. Sure, you’ve said insane shit about how HIV/AIDS is a “psychic scream” that can be treated with the power of intention—and according to some of your staffers, you fall into an “uncontrollable,” bear-like rage whenever your crystals get moved by the cleaning staff. You kinda give subtle antivaxxer vibes too, but I’ll take that over our current predicament—along with whatever you’re smoking backstage at debates.
Anthony Hudson is a Grand Ronde and Siletz artist, writer, and former clown. His first book, Lamp Back: Plays and Other Grievances—collecting nearly a decade of Carla Rossi performances and more—is being published this fall by Northwestern University Press.