Warning: If you're a very naive believer in the zodiac, don't read the next paragraph.
I used to write horoscopes for magazines despite having received no astrological training. I mean, I guess it's not entirely accurate to say that I wrote them. It might be slightly more accurate to say that I jazzed up/embellished/fleshed out the predictions written by a bona fide astrologist. But still. I kinda wrote them. I.e., made them up.
Like most things that require a suspension of disbelief, astrology is something I disbelieve in. Maybe in part because I'm an Aires (a "true" Aires, mind you, not one of those "on the cusp" Aires) and my personality traits seem to bear little resemblance to the Aires dossier. Astrology buffs have been known to spit-take when they learn that I'm a fire sign, let alone an Aires, purported to be the fieriest of all fire signs. Sometimes this is insulting.
So how does a skeptic end up with so many zodiac tchotchkes? When your Finnish relatives give them to you, of course. And I'm not complaining—this guy is supercute.
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