Capricorn (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): You know that bad luck charm left over from the lonely struggles of childhood? You're finally ready to lose it for good. You know that black magic you practiced on yourself in adolescence? It has thoroughly exhausted its power to divert you from your birthright. Think I'm exaggerating, my ripe friend? I most certainly am not. You're a walking advertisement for the only kind of freedom that money can't buy. No one, not even lawyers or politicians or ex-paramours, can stop you from dreaming up the biggest, best, most original sins ever.

Aquarius (Jan. 20-Feb. 18): I feel guilty trepidation about asking you to tone down your eccentricities. I, of all people, am supposed to champion your peculiar genius, right? However, would you please not wear your favorite Day-Glo lime-green shirt and plaid overalls when you meet with the intriguing newcomers hovering on the outskirts of your world? It's not that they're closed-minded; just that they (not to mention you) would benefit from a more gradual introduction to your specialness.

Pisces (Feb. 19-March 20): If you were a car, I'd advise you to get your spark plugs replaced. If you were a telescope, I'd say, "Aren't you overdue to have your mirror polished?" If you were a politician, I'd beg you to dose yourself with truth serum. And if you were a fluffy white cloud with an ever-more-graying tinge I'd shout up, "Quit waffling and turn into a rain cloud already!" If you were a flaming idealist with barely a practical triumph listed on your resume I'd proclaim, "Time to head for the trenches!" And if you were the kind of person whose love life had begun to resemble the maudlin pop songs on the Billboard charts, I'd ask you to consider the possibility that you're being subliminally programmed, and then I'd scream, "Turn off the *&^%$# radio!

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