Editor’s Note: Today we are introducing a new contributor to Daily Astrology & Adventure, named Shanna Philipson. I won’t try to describe her writing; but she is doing something with astrology, casting it in her own unique light. Welcome Shanna. — Eric Francis
Dear Friend and Reader,
There’s a problem with yer-anus!
Sorry to pull out my third grade humor on you, but around here that’s how they say it.
Yer-ayyyyy-nus! None of that dignified Ivy League tea and crumpets ur-ah-nus for us. No, I live in the South and we’re pretty much the anus type in these parts.
We also like our astrology neatly buried in the back of the local indie paper where it’s read in private, in the john, even at the funky independent local coffee house. I know this because, while I never see anyone openly reading the weekly horoscopes, they do keep showing up in the bathroom of my coffee house–always on the little table next to the spare toilet paper rolls.
I don’t know who does this, but I imagine a church-going, middle-aged mother of three who, ashamed of her addiction to Rob Brezney, must satisfy her curiosity about her weekly destiny in the quiet confines of the women’s room. All this sneaking around shouldn’t surprise me. The South, sadly, lives up to its reputation for repressive conservatism: we do a lot of things in bathrooms we would never admit to our coffee buddies. But I got a strong suspicion we’re not much different than most of America.
Which is why there’s still a problem with Ur, uhm…anus. And no one wants to know about it. Or rather, if they did know about it I’m pretty sure they’d get up a petition and campaign to demote Uranus from planet status like poor ol’ Pluto. Why? Because yer-ayyyy-nus is about to start a revolution.