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

 
Friday, December 19, 2003  
Life Imitating Art
One of my all time favorite movies is Planes, Trains and Automobiles. From the roll of the opening credits to its close, that movie never, ever ceases to entertain me.

The opening scene always grabs me. It is ever poignant in my life, past, present and sure to be future. Steve Martin and a colleague are in an enormous board room, huge conference table, with the Boss (waayyyyyyy down) at the head of the table. The Boss is looking at composition boards. One. Then the other. One. Then the other. One. Then the other. Nary a word is spoken. Looks of hope grow and falter on Steve Martin. He looks at his watch. Boss seems to be in another world. Or doing this on purpose. A way of exercising his power in his role of The Boss (or The Client). It's before a holiday and Steve is trying catch a flight home. The Boss can't decide, they break for the holiday, and so begins the movie.

It's those opening moments of the movie that grip my heart. (Okay, there are a few John Candy moments that always, always make me cry.) Why are the opening credits so heart wrenching for me? I live this. This is my life. And so do a lot of other people. It's a painful scene played out over and over hundreds of times a week the world over.

Welcome to the wonderful world of advertising/marketing/design/selling your soul.

If you're in The Biz, you know exactly what I'm talking about and you're nodding in knowing recognition. Everyone else: That scene is the epitome of The Ad Biz. In all it's unspoken glory, that's really what it all comes down to in the end.

And that was my life yesterday afternoon. Insert me in Steve Martin's role and that is how I spent four and a half hours yesterday afternoon. Fun, huh? Jealous? I wasn't trying to catch a plane ("You'll never make the 6:00...") but dinner with other colleagues. Kind of a big deal. Boss Man was completely aware of this obligation. He was in fact supposed to be at the dinner as well. He didn't care. He didn't have to care. He's The Boss and he can be late or not show up at all if he chooses. But me, well, I'm NOT the boss. If I'm late or don't show up, it will not be good. It will get back to my boss and others in my office. Others who pawned off this holiday tour of duty on me will not be pleased with me shirking the obligation and responsibility. There were a few people in my office who were even jealous of me going to New York the week before Christmas. Apparently they think it's all fun and games and shopping and ice skating. Truth is, I'm on my own dime and time from this morning until I go home. Had I not scheduled some personal time off and used a hotel rewards account to pay for the extra nights in the hotel, I'd already be home and expected back in the office as I type this. I would have been trying to make the 6:00 to O'Hare. Yeah. It's a glamorous job. But consequently, to avoid the frustration, aggravation and stupidity of the people in my office, I fulfilled by professional obligations. And then some. Almost anyone else would have blown off the dinner and gone out clubbing or shopping or crashed in their room.

After four and a half hours of alternating silence and rapid fire questions tantamount to the Spanish Inquisition from The Boss, all I wanted was to return to my little hotel lair sanctuary away from Holiday Hell, put on my sweats and Red Wings jersey (I know, but it's not as if HWNMNBS or any other man is going to come knocking on me door here. Now. Might as well make myself comfortable. Right?) order room service, and watch cable channels I've never even heard of let alone seen.

But no. Obligations. Since I'm the one in the office sent to represent us in New York at this particular little funfest, I am expected to attend the stupid dinner.

I did. The Boss fortunately has A Car, and he offered me a ride to the dinner. (A reprieve from cabs!)

I didn't pull a drink and ditch, but I didn't linger any longer than absolutely necessary. And it wasn't that awful. In fact I left feeling not as bad as I did when I got there, so one could even call it a success.

I walked several blocks before getting a cab to the hotel.

I always forget how much I love New York. It's easy to remember the bad things - expense, crime, dirt, crowds - as excuses for leaving or not moving back, and they're all true. But it's the little things unique to New York that flood back once stepping foot on a few blocks.

Can I see myself moving back here?

Better give this serious thought because I've had three job interviews.

And here's where my life again imitates art.

In Kramer vs. Kramer (another favorite movie) Dustin Hoffman, recently dumped by Meryl Streep, is an ad guy. He's a hotshot. He's a Madison Avenue guru who has devoted his life to his job, or rather, has devoted a lot of hours to his job (sound familiar?) and Meryl's had it, sick of being second or third to his job. She leaves Dustin with their young son. Dustin now has to figure out how to juggle work and single parenthood.

Dustin loses a job because he can't keep up with both. So he's forced to hit the pavement, prostituting himself all over town to find a job. Fast. It's the Friday before Christmas and he's talking to a big shot creative director. The job available is way below Dustin's level. Meanwhile, in the background, there are holiday party innuendos, merry making and frivolity. The creative director's mind is not on hiring anyone, let alone Dustin. Finally he levels with him on this and tells Dustin he's too good for the job, they'll talk about this after the holiday. Dustin is pleading. "I need this job."

The emphasis - the passion, the angst, the desire...Dustin hits all of that and more in the way he emphasizes "need." It's so much more than desperation. It's the humility of his situation, the interview situation, the world of work situation that Dustin nails in that one word.

While I don't need any of these jobs for the reasons or emotions Dustin did, the concept of interviewing for a job a few days before Christmas, when no one is concentrating or caring about any job vacancies or requirements or dazzling body of work...is slapping me in the face. And no, I'm not caring for a young child on my own, but I'm floundering out there on my own without the one person I thought would always be there for me.

The interview yesterday morning wasn't so awful. But more than a little scary. If dropped inside those offices you'd be hard pressed to know if it was July, a week before Christmas or Christmas Day. Work. Work. Work. Noses to the grindstones.

But I still felt the whole process lacked the usual air of gravitas a job interview usually carries. No matter how laid back or casual the office or job structure. Perhaps that's a good thing, but I do wonder how serious the hiring managers and human resources people were taking me or the job. Yesterday's less so, but still...the interviews today, well...I'm sitting here in my hotel lair sanctuary away from Holiday Hell, trying to sort out the events of the past 36 hours, weeding through the options, separating the grain from the chafe, and wondering if I can honestly see myself in any of these jobs, let alone back here doing The New York Thing. Painful phone conversations with my boss in the office, trying to explain what happened yesterday afternoon to a complete nincompoop who has no comprehension of what I do, the way this all works or what needs to be done next make me want to never go back to that office. I met two potential new bosses. One I think would be fine. The other...well...I don't know. I'm trying not to judge by first impressions. The third (or actually second in order of appearance) I didn't meet. Barely got past human resources. Didn't really expect to, this was one of those Huge Corporate Empires where everyone is screened and interviewed a gazillion times before they even get to meet their potential boss, if at all. I liked the human resources rep, if that counts for anything.

And now, I am going to brave Holiday Hell head on. My new best friend the concierge somehow, some very weird how, got me a dinner reservation to end all dinner reservations.

2:49 PM

 
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