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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or Search by State

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Contact The Media
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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

 
Tuesday, November 11, 2003  
I've lived to see another day.

One of the worst flights I've had in a while.

Confirms that while I am no more afraid of flying than I ever was (not at all) I have reached the firm conclusion that I do not want to die in an airplane. And as I tried to explain to Arthur this morning, just because I do not want to die in an airplane doesn't mean I am afraid of flying.

I simply do not want the faces of terrified strangers to be the last thing I see. I do not want the screams and panic and prayers for salvation and frantic calls to loved ones of said complete strangers to be the last things I hear.

Beyond that, I don't really care how I die.

I just do not want to do it hurtling through the air in an uncomfortable bus filled with hundreds of complete strangers all panicked and fearing for their lives.

There are lots of situations other than flying that present the opportunity to die with a bunch of panicked strangers. But I can't think of many, or any, offhand, offering the unique situation of prolonged element of fear and anguish as falling thousands and thousands of feet in the air, waiting for the inevitable crash and burn or at the very least, de-pressurizing of the airplane.

A guy I dated in college rented one of the Faces of Death movies. Thinking it would be a fun night of entertainment. "We gotta see this!" I, being younger and more gung ho for this sort of thing, and more willing to sacrifice personal integrity for the sake of the relationship, watched it. We broke up a few months later, and I trace the beginning of the demise of the relationship to that evening.

He loved these movies. Loved them. And while I'm always up for a good scary movie (I keep forgetting to mention, the third in that series, by the way, cracked me up, the Signs and Michael Jackson and Eminem slams alone were worth the price of admission) I love a good scare your socks off movie. Either to laugh at the stupidity or to get that rush of fear.

But I'm more of a suspense fan than a terror/slasher fan. So maybe I should have known, even back then, this relationship would never go anywhere. After we saw that movie, it was all this guy talked about. I had moved on from the movie about 20 minutes after we started watching it. Death is never pretty, I think is the point to be made in these movies. Um, yeah, okay, I think I grasp the concept. Move on. But no. This guy wouldn't let it go.

He loved publicly teasing me about it, mistaking my boredom for fear. So after mid-term break, just before it was time for him to consider purchasing a gift for me and attending holiday events together, we had a fight. An out and out "for the last time I am not afraid of that stupid movie, I'm just over it and bored with it and would rather watch and talk about something else" which escalated into a "it's not you, it's me" conversation. Which escalated into weeks of me rehashing the whole thing always ending up at the same weird place: "he broke up with me?!" In hindsight, it was a classic pre-holiday gift and event break-up. But at the time I was left thinking, "he broke up with me because I didn't share his enthusiasm for Faces of Death? He broke up with me?"

To my friends and I, he became known as Faces of Death, or FOD. I soon forgot about him (except as occasional proof of my disastrous dating history) and went on to lead a productive life without him.

But oddly enough, as I was falling thousands of miles per second, with horror stricken faces around me, for the first time since college, I thought about FOD. And how much he would enjoy this. This is probably his preferred way to leave this mortal coil.

Now that I've lived to tell the tale, I'm wondering if I should get in touch with him to share this story. To relay to him in excruciating detail, the worry, the fear, the panic and terror of my fellow passengers. He'd undoubtedly think it was "awesome, dude, way to go! Did you get any video of it?" (he annoyingly called me dude, too. and yet he broke up with me). And on second thought I don't have the sort of patience I did back then. FOD will stay firmly forgotten in my past. At least until the next time I am in a situation filled with panic stricken people fearing for their lives.

After we regained safer airspace, and the cabin was being cleaned, one of the stewardesses complimented me on how calm I was during the whole ordeal. She surmised that I must have a lot of flying experience or am an unbelievably calm person. It occurred to me both are true. I have been through very similar experiences (worse, in fact, which to anyone on my flight yesterday might be difficult to imagine) and remained fairly calm in those, too. I accept that when it's my time to go, it's my time. But the sadness and sympathy I have for the rest of the passengers who are not ready to go, who do not have this sort of acceptance, is too much for me to tolerate. I'll go quietly. Passively, even. But watching all these others resist, fear and fight it is not how I want to go.

And then it occurred to me: What if my apathy toward death could be enough to bring down the whole plane. Hey. Weird things go through your mind when you're falling through space. The thought that I might be calmly taking all these tormented souls down with me made me feel guilty. Sort of hindered my passivity. "Oh all right, then, if the rest of you do not want to die, I'll live, too." I know. Big of me. Very adult.

I'll have to die another day. And hopefully another day in which one of my last thoughts is not about FOD, or any other long ago boyfriend.

And today I still muse upon my current numeric gestalt:
Weddings attended this year: 3
Weddings attended since mine didn't happen: 5

Men I've bona fide dated this year: 3
Men I've bona fide dated since HWNMNBS: 5

Coincidence? Conspiracy? Dawning of the age of Aquarius? Nothing at all?

9:51 AM

 
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