REAL ASTROLOGY For an Unreal World

Aries (March 21-April 19): Never thought I'd do this, but your horoscope this week is brought to you by The Gap, as in the clothes store. What?! Have I sold out? No. Here's my rationale. The Gap is one of many North American companies that has for years farmed out its labor to Central American sweatshops where workers suffer appallingly miserable conditions. Recently, though, The Gap has led the way in abolishing these abominations at its plants, establishing a revolutionary precedent that's already pressuring other companies to shape up. So what's this got to do with your astrological advice? Two things. I hope it'll inspire you to: 1) be like The Gap in raising the standards in your own milieu; and 2) be like me in reversing your judgment about someone you've always regarded as an enemy.

Taurus (April 20-May 20): You chose Door No. 3 awhile back, only to realize later it was a mistake. Now, against all odds, you're going to get a second chance. Both Door No. 1 and Door No. 2 are once again available. Though either one will lead to a happier fate than Door No. 3, Door No. 2 is the better alternative; the wild fun you'll find that way will last longer than the mild fun that lies behind Door No. 1. I'm afraid, though, that you might settle for Door No. 1 because your disappointment with Door No. 3 has sapped your courage to go after the very best. Prove me wrong.

Gemini (May 21-June 20): It would be a good time to get a dragon tattoo, to demand the belated Christmas gift you were sort-of promised, and to feed hot gingerbread directly into a lover's mouth. It wouldn't be such a fabulous time, on the other hand, to remodel your bathroom, to engorge massive amounts of pork products, or to willingly call down a ton of paperwork on your head. Be saucy, not polite; suave and succulent and spunky, not tasteful and appropriate and sturdy. Your slogan for the week: It's sensible to be sensual.

Cancer (June 21-July 22): For weeks I've been a combination cheerleader and good mommy, besieging you with uplifting news about the year ahead. Keep that in mind as I issue a teensy-weensy warning about what to watch out for in 1996. You will have a predilection, I fear, for the kind of behavior Molly Ivins has diagnosed in Newt Gingrich. "Newt," she said, "is a classic example of what the shrinks call projection: Whenever he accuses someone else of something, he's always doing it himself." I beg you, my fellow Cancerians, to be on guard against this sin. You'll be strongly tempted to commit it this very week.

Leo (July 23-Aug. 22): A performance artist I know explained to me why he clamps clothespins on his nipples during some of his shows. At first, of course, it hurts like hell. But after a while the nerve endings in his nipples grow numb, and his brain unleashes a flow of endorphins, the body's natural painkilling opiate. After a while, he's totally high. I bring this up, Leo, because your life lately has resembled the first few minutes after the clothespins have been applied to the nipples. On the other hand, your life in the next week will be like the first rush of endorphins kicking in.

Virgo (Aug. 23-Sept. 22): Today as I was in the checkout line skimming the horoscopes in the National Enquirer, an almost unbearably attractive creature with a witty mouth and jalape–o eyes sidled up to me and said, "Hey! Aren't you the sweetheart who writes the horoscopes?" Being in the presence of supernatural beauty flummoxed my speech. "Yum," I stammered, though I'd meant to say, "I am." "Would you put a special message in the Virgo horoscope for me?" my hypnotizer cooed. "Yum," I countered, though I'd intended to say, "Yup." "Tell Virgos that this is the year they get the chance to master the Path of the Lover." "Yummy," I replied, eager to do anything my mystery guest required of me.

Libra (Sept. 23-Oct. 22): Omens to look for (or create!) that will ensure a charmed week: 1) a strand of silk drifting in midair; 2) the phone ringing at the moment the water begins to boil; 3) a song sung in a half-whisper; 4) pine needles spelling out a message; 5) sipping a hot drink out under the rain or snow; 6) making love while the sound of late-night talk radio drones in the background; 7) a dream of riding in a car made of pizza and diamonds.

Scorpio (Oct. 23-Nov. 21): Santa Cruz and San Jose have recently been visited by a lovable loon who calls himself Mr. Twister. He dresses up in full clown regalia and goes around putting coins in expired parking meters next to strangers' cars. I don't know the guy's sign, but almost certainly he's not a Scorpio. You Scorpios never do a good deed unless there's something in it for you, or unless it's woven into an elaborate hidden agenda. Of course, I suppose it's possible Mr. Twister is driven by the egotistical urge to be perceived as a saint. Or perhaps he's angling for the splashy publicity that will land him a role in films or commercials. On second thought, maybe Mr. Twister is a Scorpio who's doing exactly what I think you should do this week: combine altruism with selfishness.