Total Perspective Vortex
What really happened to Trillian? Theories abound, but you can see what she's really been up to on this blog. If you're looking for white mice, depressed robots, or the occasional Pan Galactic Gargleblaster you might be better served here:
http://www.bbc.co.uk/cult/hitchhikers/guide/.

Otherwise, hello, and welcome.
Mail Trillian here<





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Women, The Internet and You: Tips for Men Who Use Online Dating Sites
Part I, Your Profile and Email

Part II, Selecting a Potential Date

Part III, Your First Date!

Part IV, After the First Date. Now What?


"50 First Dates"






Don't just sit there angry and ranting, do something constructive.
In the words of Patti Smith (all hail Sister Patti): People have the power.
Contact your elected officials.

Don't be passive = get involved = make a difference.
Find Federal Officials
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Words are cool.
The English language is complex, stupid, illogical, confounding, brilliant, beautiful, and fascinating.
Every now and then a word presents itself that typifies all the maddeningly gorgeousness of language. They're the words that give you pause for thought. "Who came up with that word? That's an interesting string of letters." Their beauty doesn't lie in their definition (although that can play a role). It's also not in their onomatopoeia, though that, too, can play a role. Their beauty is in the way their letters combine - the visual poetry of words - and/or the way they sound when spoken. We talk a lot about music we like to hear and art we like to see, so let's all hail the unsung heroes of communication, poetry and life: Words.
Here are some I like. (Not because of their definition.)

Quasar
Hyperbole
Amenable
Taciturn
Ennui
Prophetic
Tawdry
Hubris
Ethereal
Syzygy
Umbrageous
Twerp
Sluice
Omnipotent
Sanctuary
Malevolent
Maelstrom
Luddite
Subterfuge
Akimbo
Hoosegow
Dodecahedron
Visceral
Soupçon
Truculent
Vitriol
Mercurial
Kerfuffle
Sangfroid




























 







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Highlights from the Archives. Some favorite Trillian moments.

Void, Of Course: Eliminating Expectations and Emotions for a Better Way of Life

200i: iPodyssey

Macs Are from Venus, Windows is from Mars Can a relationship survive across platform barriers?
Jerking Off

Get A Job

Office Church Ladies: A Fieldguide

'Cause I'm a Blonde

True? Honestly? I think not.

A Good Day AND Funyuns?

The Easter Boy

Relationship in the Dumpster

Wedding Dress 4 Sale, Never Worn

Got Friends? Are You Sure? Take This Test

What About Class? Take This Test

A Long Time Ago, in a Galaxy Far Far Away, There Was a Really Bad Movie

May Your Alchemical Process be Complete. Rob Roy Recipe

Good Thing She's Not in a Good Mood Very Often (We Knew it Wouldn't Last)

What Do I Have to Do to Put You in this Car Today?

Of Mice and Me (Killer Cat Strikes in Local Woman's Apartment)

Trillian: The Musical (The Holiday Special)

LA Woman (I Love (Hate) LA)

It is my Cultureth
...and it would suit-eth me kindly to speak-eth in such mannered tongue

Slanglish

It's a Little Bit Me, It's a Little Bit You
Blogging a Legacy for Future Generations


Parents Visiting? Use Trillian's Mantra!

Ghosts of Christmas Past: Mod Hair Ken

Caught Blogging by Mom, Boss or Other

2003 Holiday Sho-Lo/Mullet Awards

Crullers, The Beer Store and Other Saintly Places

Come on Out of that Doghouse! It's a Sunshine Day!

"...I had no idea our CEO is actually Paula Abdul in disguise."

Lap Dance of the Cripple

Of Muppets and American Idols
"I said happier place, not crappier place!"

Finally Off Crutches, Trillian is Emancipated

Payless? Trillian? Shoe Confessions

Reality Wednesday: Extremely Local Pub

Reality Wednesday: Backstage Staging Zone (The Sweater Blog)

The Night Secret Agent Man Shot My Dad

To Dream the Impossible Dream: The Office Karaoke Party

Trillian Flies Economy Class (Prisoner, Cell Block H)

Trillian Visits the Village of the Damned, Takes Drugs, Becomes Delusional and Blogs Her Brains Out

Trillian's Parents are Powerless

Striptease for Spiders: A PETA Charity Event (People for the Ethical Treatment of Arachnids)

What's Up with Trillian and the Richard Branson Worship?

"Screw the French and their politics, give me their cheese!"


















 
Mail Trillian here





Trillian's Guide to the Galaxy gives 5 stars to these places in the Universe:
So much more than fun with fonts, this is a daily dose of visual poetry set against a backdrop of historical trivia. (C'mon, how can you not love a site that notes Wolfman Jack's birthday?!)

CellStories

Alliance for the Great Lakes


Hot, so cool, so cool we're hot.

Ig Nobel Awards

And you think YOU have the worst bridesmaid dress?

Coolest Jewelry in the Universe here (trust Trillian, she knows)

Red Tango

If your boss is an idiot, click here.

Evil Cat Full of Loathing.

Wildlife Works

Detroit Cobras


The Beachwood Reporter is better than not all, but most sex.



Hey! Why not check out some great art and illustration while you're here? Please? It won't hurt and it's free.

Shag

Kii Arens

Tim Biskup

Jeff Soto

Jotto




Get Fuzzy Now!
If you're not getting fuzzy, you should be. All hail Darby Conley. Yes, he's part of the Syndicate. But he's cool.





Who or what is HWNMNBS: (He Whose Name Must Not Be Spoken) Trillian's ex-fiancé. "Issues? What issues?"







Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.


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Reading blogs at work? Click to escape to a suitable site!

Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Smart Girls
(A Trillian de-composition, to the tune of Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys)

Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains

Smart girls ain’t easy to love and they’re above playing games
And they’d rather read a book than subvert themselves
Kafka, Beethoven and foreign movies
And each night alone with her cat
And they won’t understand her and she won’t die young
She’ll probably just wither away

Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains

A smart girl loves creaky old libraries and lively debates
Exploring the world and art and witty reparteé
Men who don’t know her won’t like her and those who do
Sometimes won’t know how to take her
She’s rarely wrong but in desperation will play dumb
Because men hate that she’s always right

Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains





























Life(?) of Trillian
Single/Zero

 
Wednesday, October 01, 2003  
I didn't get the television rights to Elton's garage sale. Score another one for the Universe. Elton, you're going to regret not letting me work my magic for you. I can't help but feel a bit melancholy over what could have been. Oh sure, there's still time for a mockumentary, and I'm sure SNL will do something with it. Still. I could have been a contender with this one.

We shall never speak of this again.




(moment of silence)





It's Wednesday, and here at Life of Trillian that means...

Wednesday Real Reality

The Setting: An of the moment art gallery in any major metropolitan area.

The Cast: Artists, artist wannabes, art buyers, critics and hangers on.

The Judges: People you've never heard of who are able to convince the public into thinking they know what good art is or is not. You know, kind of like pop music "talent" scouts (notice I did not reference Simon Cowell) only with more of an edge, better clothes, better haircuts and a vocabulary pretentious enough to back their claims to credentials.

The show could open with pre-gallery opening views of all involved. This segment will endear or distance certain participants to the home viewing audience. Humility and hissy fits will abound.

The artists, some nervous and jittery, utilities mere hours away from being cut off, knowing the difference between maintaining their Montmarte existence and moving back home to Winetka (Willowbrook, Wheaton, wherever) with their parents hangs on the success of this show. Other artists, more successful, older or those with National Endowment for the Arts money under their belts, will be having pre-show parties, being feted by the "art community" at swank restaurants, cool bars or houses straight out of Architectural Digest. Swooning from potential patron to potential patrol like Chinese New Year parade dragons. Or brooding poignantly in a corner.

Then there are those who are forced to go.

The gallery managers. Who make no money, but love art, and work this stupid job for next-to-no money for the exposure to the scene. (See also Debs-Gone-Bad)

The art buyers who have to make the circuit to find fresh, new looks for ads, magazines, websites....you name it. The art buyers are probably second only to the artists themselves when it comes to being jaded by this business.

The socialites who know nothing about art and could not care less but pretend to adore and understand all of it because it's what good socialites do. And their money might score them a few month affair with a young broody artist.

Debs-Gone-Bad, the young girls who come from loads of money and are trying their hand at being democratic idealists - going through the motions of vocally eschewing their parents' capitalistic and fascist values for the shock! and provocation of it all. They're "doing it differently, viewing the world from a different perspective," dating artists. And doing it all in the latest from Anna Sui and carrying their Emily Dickinson in a Prada bag. And going home to their pied-a-terre's courtesy of a trust fund. Which they will turn over to charity just as soon, as, well, swear, they're going to turn it over to charity. Someday.

The spouses/partners/boy-girlfriends/dates of the artists, art buyers and socialites who have at best marginal interest in the artists, the show and art in general.

All of these people come together at the gallery after their pre-opening behind the scenes hidden camera moments.

This is the dangerously boring part of the show. Unless a socialite gets drunk and picks a fight with one of the showing artists. Or an artist "accidentally" reveals something deep, personal and criminally alarming about themselves in a painting. Or an art buyer or critic confides, to the entire viewing audience but not the actual artist, that the work is utter crap and nonsense, and why. Or if one of the spouses/partners/boy-girlfriends/dates is bored out of their mind, has way too much cheap champagne and tells the entire gallery exactly what they think of the art, artists, the "art community" and their spouse/partner/boy-girlfriend/date.

The show will really kick into gear when the performance artists du jour begins their piece. The gallery goes dark. What sounds like the soundtrack to Eraserhead slowly crescendos in volume. A single spotlight grows from soft focus to sharp beam, where a black turtle necked, Beatle haircutted, funky sideburns if it's a guy, Chanel Vamp lipstick if it's a girl, black Kohl eyeliner in either case, artiste with a cigarette mumbles or shouts (depending on their age and attempted purpose) alleged poetry that will add meaningful insight to what is about to happen.

Two people roll into the spotlight. And I mean roll, a la one of those gymnastic Tumbling for Two posters from elementary school. In other circumstances it would be construed as either sexual or wrestling or dogs playing in the park. Or two people rolling over each other in a dark gallery. Onto what we now realize is a piece of canvas.

(The Black Turtle Necked, Beatle haircutted, Artiste with a Cigarette is still mumbling or shouting.)

From another side of the gallery appears a thoroughly disgusted looking middle aged man with a shaved head and beard that would make any Billy goat proud. No one knows who he is except some of the more "knowing critics" who murmur with hushed awe. The crowd parts as if he were Moses. They're all kind of scared of him. Except for the prat boyfriend of a Deb-Gone-Bad who is annoyed at the lack of manners Shaved Head Billy Goat Beard Man is showing and says, a bit too loud, "Excuse me. EXCUSE ME. (glaring at Shaved Head Billy Goat Bear Man) Hell-ooooh?"

Shaved Head Billy Goat Beard Man is really pissed off now (bourgeois prats apparently bring out the rage in him - and really, on this point, isn't there a Shaved Head Billy Goat Beard Man in all of us?). He storms to the Tumbling for Two couple and sort of joins in, but not quite. Just enough to throw some paint on the canvas as the Tumbling for Two couple continue to roll around. Getting really messy and painty. Then Shaved Head Billy Goat Beard Man does a Kung Fu yell, "grabs" paint with his hands and lunges at the Tumbling for Two couple. The crowd gasps in shock. Shaved Head Billy Goat Beard Man does some rather violent finger painting on the canvas, stabbing and jabbing the canvas and the Tumbling for Two couple. He then looks up at the crowd, licks his hands (with paint still on them) sucks his fingers, then spits - first on the Tumbling for Two couple, then at the crowd.

Lights go off. Gallery is dark. No one has a clue what to do. So they stand there silently. Jostling can be heard from the canvas area. A few people in the back of the crowd can be heard leaving. Then a low murmuring from a few Socialites as to the genius of the artist. Sheer genius! Then the lights come on full blast, blinding everyone into green spotted vision. Those who are able to get the heck out of there do so, the others are left to spend the evening pretending they understood and loved the performance or that "it's of course not as good as the Milan experience..."

Add one of those "really important new bands" who are trying to sound like The Jesus and Mary Chain or a bad, low budget version of Tangerine Dream, and you've got:

The Gallery Experience.

The show will have limited appeal, though. Will be difficult to find a network to accept it. Bravo will be offended by the exposé factor of the real art world. Fox will run it for four weeks, where it will attain rave ratings and glorious reviews, but then they'll pull it to show American Idol or Temptation Resort Island Hotel. PBS will only show it if Ken Burns can be a judge. ABC won't like it because it could potentially include real art...CBS will claim to have already uncovered the reality of the art world on 60 Minutes (and Morley Safer will hate it.) NBC....hmmmm. Maybe. What with Frasier ending and all...this has snob potential.

7:16 AM

 
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