It's written in the Stars

Every now and then I listen to a show on Melbourne's own 3RRR, in which a guest astrologer takes talk back calls from listeners wishing to consult her about their horoscope. Most of the time, this only slightly irritates me, but every now and then she drops a clanger which has me screaming profanities at the radio. I heard her tell one person that, as a result of where the sun rose at the time of her birth, she was looking for "someone to love, or someone to love her". Hey, call me crazy, but as long as the sun rose in the east on the day you were born, that would pretty much describe you to some degree.

Recently a fellow suffering from Multiple Sclerosis rang her, and she asked him a few questions, before giving him advice about his life. Now, quite often, the advice she gives is based more on common sense than any kind of mystical wisdom fromt he relative position of planets in the solar system. But in this case, she began to dispense advice which she was completely unqualified to give, even suggesting that his illness could be influenced by planetary alignments and the like.

This kind of quackery should have gone out along with witch hunts, to be quite honest, and an astrologer should not give medical advice to a possibly terminally ill patient outside of the Kings Chambers in a fairy Tale.

The big problem I have with astrology, is not the lack of evidence to support any relationship between peoples' personalities and behaviour and the time of year they were born. It is not that there is no possible measurable influence a planet could exert over the physical substance of a person millions of miles away, or that there should perhaps be some difference between the signs of the northern hemisphere, where the horoscopes were developed, and the southern hemisphere, where I reside. There are indeed possibilities of forces beyond the understanding of modern science, immeasurable in any way (though if their effects are undetectable, their influence must be called into question).

My major problem with the idea of star signs, is that the dates are wrong. The star sign people are assigned based on their date of birth is supposed to correspond with the position of the sun relative to one of the twelve constellations of the zodiac. Unfortunately, as the earth is constantly moving relative to the rest of the universe, the charts drawn up some thousands of years ago are days, weeks or months out of whack with reality. There is also a thirteenth house in the zodiac, which has no characteristics assigned to it. That of Ophiuchus, the Serpent Holder.

Do people born between November 30th and December 17th have no personality or behaviour? This is the time when the sun rises in the house of Ophiuchus, a lesser known constellation named by the ancients. But what of the Ophiuchans? We don't know. Here's a list of Star Signs and their actual effective dates for the early part of the 21st century. I wonder if it makes a difference to your horoscope readng habits. If you really are a Scorpio, you are in a minority, that star sign in reality only lasts for six days.

Aries- 19 April - 13 May
Taurus- 14 May - 19 June
Gemini- 20 June - 21 July
Cancer- 21 July - 19 August
Leo- 10 August - 15 September
Virgo- 16 September - 30 October
Libra- 31 October - 22 November
Scorpio- 23 November - 29 November
Ophiuchus- 30 November - 17 December
Sagittarius- 18 December - 18 January
Capricorn- 19 January - 15 February
Aquarius- 16 February - 11 March
Pisces- 12 March - 18 April

Patriotism?

In response to a comment (my first ever) in one of my Commonwealth Games rants, I would just like to defend my love of this country. While I don't support the Games for a million and one reasons, it doesn't mean I don't love the slab of rock I call home. I may not get excited when "our Cathy" breaks a world record on the track. I may not spend days in front of the TV watching "our boys in the baggy green" run, bowl and field rings around every other willow smacking country on earth. I may not bat an eyelid when told that Jana Pittman is un-Australian for her behaviour, as I have never heard of the woman, and have no idea what anyone has been talking about for the last month.

But that is why I love this country. Because I don't have to. I don't need to fit some stereotypical model of "what it means to be a good Australian". I am an Australian. My father's family came here and walked for two months to find a place to farm. They stopped by the roadside for a year along the way, and watched as Australians trooped past them to fill up the country with British idealism. My mother's family came in part on a ship, in chains, for crimes long forgotten. And in part as free people looking for a new place to call home, less shackled to the old world Britain so convincingly represents.

I can saddle and ride a horse, drive sheep for days without seeing a town, build a fence, train a dog, tune a motorcycle, drive a tractor, plough a field, clear a paddock, drink a slab on a Friday night, shoot a rabbit, skin and gut it, name a hundred species of native vegetation, and tell you what it can be used for. Is that Australian?

But I am no more or less Australian than someone who flew into Mascot yesterday, and has decided they want to be part of it all. This country is great because the people make it great. The freedom makes it great. The choice makes it great.

So, I don't follow the footy. So I missed every single event of the recent sports carnival. So I question the validity of the government's motivations in dazzling us with circuses. Do I love this country any less than one who zincs up their nose every summer and burns and boozes their way through the cricket season? Who scarves and screams their way through the winter's footy?

I do not, sir, and I resent the inference.