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/.
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.
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.)
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, August 15, 2003 Trillian's Parents Are Powerless.
Or they were until recently. They were victims of blackout. They are now in what is called a "fragile" zone, meaning, they have power but are apparently teetering mere amps away from losing it, so only essential electricity is to be used. And they are supposed to boil their water. On either an electric stove or microwave, both of which are banned uses of electricity right now.
Gotta love bureaucracy, even, and especially, at the local political level.
Their mayor is running around as if he's actually important (I'm talking the mayor of a small town, population 4,297 (and growing!)), like he's Rudi Guiliani on Sept. 11. I mean, it's easy to laugh at it, this is the stuff of television parody, after all. But, for my parents who have to deal with him it's not quite laughable yet. Apparently he's sending out little secret vice squads to patrol the neighborhoods, reporting any electricity or water infractions to "the proper authorities." So far the squad appears to be not so secret, as they are in the local police patrol cars. Because, they are, in fact, the local police.
So the mayor tells the town how lucky they are to have power, but let's not forget our countrymen who are still without, going so far as to say "in these times" (these times???) using a hair dryer or microwave or stove is un-American. That it's their patriotic duty to swelter without air conditioning on the hottest day of the year. But in the same breath passing along the water boil order, warning that without boiling water, nasty health problems will arise. Meanwhile, he's sent out the local police, all the patrols, (okay, we think that's five cars) using gas that is quickly becoming a hotter commodity than electricity, to drive around spotting and reporting air conditioning, clothes dryer and all other non-essential electricity infractions.
My father, never one to be threatened by small town politics or bureaucracy, has had enough with the hypocrisy and stupidity and is flagrantly running their central air conditioning at arctic levels. Just to spite the podunk mayor and his idiot band of Barney Fifes. My mother, while thinking this was a bit extreme, and trying to be the voice of reason, and a good patriot, kept turning the air to at least a reasonable temperature. And refrained from her daily vacuuming and laundry rituals. Which I'm sure is killing her. That woman is obsessed with vacuuming and keeping up with laundry. They're two people. Two senior citizens. What are they doing to get the carpet dirty enough to require daily vacuuming - throughout the entire house? How much laundry can they go through on a daily basis? Apparently enough that my mother has to "keep up with it" every day.
But she got on board with my dad's whole "damn the local government campaign" when the water boil order came down from much bigger, smarter, real people over in the county seat. There is a real and serious health threat from their water. Microbes, apparently. Nasty little microbes. That die when boiled, thus rendering the water once again potable.
Patriotic duty be damned, my mom needs her afternoon cup of tea. And my dad needs his fourth pot of coffee. They didn't go through 18 hours without power - coffee, tea and ingenious meals on a Coleman stove and my dad's gas grill, using all their bottled water for the emergency at hand - only to be told, once power was restored, the water is worse than Mexico's and they were not allowed to boil it potable on their stove or in their microwave.
So they are wearing layers of winter clothes on the hottest day of the year, using the stove and microwave. When my dad sees a patrol car coming, he stands on the front porch, a la Gen. Patton. With his cup of coffee steaming in the air. And American flag fluttering from the eave just above him. Cat at his feet. Screen door letting all the air conditioning out into the atmosphere.
Which is such a funny visual that I can't concentrate on anything since my mother relayed the news.
"Tell me to turn off my central air conditioning will you! Ha! Deprive my wife of her cup of afternoon tea, will you! Ha! Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no one - for I am the meanest motherfucker in the valley!"
(That was Patton, right? I mean, the meanest motherfucker part. Though I'm sure Patton would be in full agreement with my father on the local hypocrisy issues.)
And mind you, this is the very same man who red-faced, vein popping yelled at my brother for standing in front of the refrigerator-freezer with both doors open. Which was, apparently, according to my father, a colossal waste of electricity and until we lived in our own houses and paid our own electric bills there would be no standing in front of the open refrigerator. Or, in Winter, allowing any door into the house to open wider or longer than necessary to enter or exit the premises. On one infamous occasion measurements were taken to prove the point that my brother needed only to open the door 18 inches to comfortably enter or exit the house. "What are you trying to do? Heat the whole greater Eastern Michigan outdoors? I'm not Rockefeller, there's an energy crisis on you know." Ah yes. Seems like just yesterday. But I don't think I'll remind my father of those days right now. Seems prudent to keep my mouth shut and let him make his point about the idiocy of their local mayor.
If I ever, ever wax nostalgic about life in a small town, remind me of this.
3:24 PM
Thursday, August 14, 2003 PRODUCT ENDORSEMENT ALERT!
I don't want to turn this into some shameless retail Link-O-Rama, but, well. It's my Blog and I'll position product if I want to. And I really, really, really believe in giving designers and artists as much promotion as possible.
Michael Spirito is breathing really fresh new air into the accessories market. Check out his site, trust me, you won't be sorry. There is something here for everyone.
If I don't have this I will simply die. (To be said in your absolute best Veruca Salt hissy fit tantrum voice. Come on, summon your inner Veruca. You know you have one. There's a little Veruca in all of us.)
12:48 PM
Wednesday, August 13, 2003 We're All Doomed. But There May in Fact Actually be a God!
I know I promised more scintillating and weird Simon Cowell/Tom Petty news today. And I'll get to it eventually. But if I don't get this out of my system and posted to the Universe I will simultaneously combust.
People, as a species, are doomed. We have passed the point of evolution and are now de-evolving. I know this is not a new theory. But I've got proof.
The people with whom I work.
As a whole, people are idiots. That is a given. However, the group with whom I am currently forced to spend my days with are selfish, mind numbingly stupid, lazy, rude and inconsiderate. And today is a good day. Half of them aren't even in the office today.
Based on this focus group, I cannot even hypothesize how we managed to evolve beyond mono celled zygotes. Which when I think about it, makes a case for a God of some sort. Clearly we had to have some help, prodding, for mitosis to occur. Because left to our own devices, our species would not mitote on their own. "What? Split? Me? I don't think so. Why should I go through mitosis if you're not going to pay me more? And I'm not coming in a minute earlier than my flextime will allow. I don't have to. Besides, what's in it for me? that's what I want to know. I'm not going to be around to see the results of all this evolution ballyhoo, why should I split?"
So my new found theory is that there simply must be a God otherwise we'd still be a bunch of zygotes murking around the primordial ooze.
Oh sure, there are always a few enthusiastic individuals. A few eccentrics. A few energetic selfless beings. But hardly enough to drag us through generation after generation of evolution. Not based on what I'm seeing lately. Nope. As a species we lack the motivation, compassion and intelligence to actually perform basic evolutionary functions. Therefore there must be a God or supreme being or really good biologist moving things along.
Yes, I'm back on the medication today.
Note to a few readers, yes, he is a charlatan and more evil than even Dr. Smith. Anyone who doesn't believe that can point their browsers here. And the truth shall set you free. But I didn't even know this guy existed until I broke my ankle and stayed home for a few days with a television without a remote. At first I thought it was the medication and the concussion. Then I realized I was really seeing and hearing this coming from my television. Scary stuff. Further proof of de-evolution.
1:20 PM
Confessions of a(n) (Semi)Invalid
I am addicted to Ten Pin Championship Bowling on Yahoo Games. (Look for Gutter Dog if you want to bowl a few frames with me.)
I have had Ben and Jerry for dinner on more than one occasion since breaking my ankle. Pity does breed bad eating habits.
I have actually read articles in Elle and Vogue.
Rear Window is truly poignant. Jimmy Stewart really nailed the perspective of the invalid. I know this because I've now watched it four times in as many weeks.
Grace Kelly was Beautiful. With a capital Beaut.
While well intended, the get well cards most people either choose or have available to them are seriously lacking in humor or enlightenment.
But a few of them are real keepers. Thanks for going the extra mile, Franky.
I have seen Beyond. Once.
E-bay is a fun and easy way to tame the shopping beast.
I have worn a sneaker all day in the office.
I have visited embarrassing chat rooms.
I have gone a day without showering and washing my hair.
I now realize I don't not want to spend my old age years alone.
Self pity does not serve any useful purpose.
9:02 AM
Tuesday, August 12, 2003 Oh! My aching arch!
My arch, heel, ankle bone...hurt. The doctor's theory has come true. The arch of my foot may in fact be killing me. When I saw the orthopedic surgeon a few weeks ago, he warned I may have this problem. Lucky me, it's all coming true.
You see, the inside fracture and chips are very close to my arch. My apparently exceptionally, unusually long and high arch. As the doctor made note of several times. The doctor warned this may cause a lot of pain in my arch. Because of my apparently freakishly high arch. He went into a lengthy discussion about arches, normal v. my very high, and the repercussions pro and con of said freakishly high arch. Could cause trouble. He even called in a colleague to show off the x-ray of my arch. "Doug, have you ever seen an arch like this? It's got to be one of the highest I've ever seen. I'm concerned about how the fracture is going to affect it."
Doctor II, we'll call him Doug because that is apparently his name, examining the x-ray: "Gosh Phil, that is a high arch, let's have a look." So they examined my broken foot then my non broken foot, and gaped in awe of the narrowness of my foot and height of my arch. And these were not young doctors. They were both in at least their late 50's.
It was like, "Never in all my years of practice have I seen anything like this!"
Way to make the patient feel good about herself. Well, I know they didn't think they were being rude or upsetting me, but I couldn't help but feel like, "Once again, I can't just have a normal body and a normal problem..."
You know you're in trouble when the doctor calls in a colleague to show off some part of your body. It's never, ever a good sign.
Remember the old Steve Martin bit where he would stand there saying, "What the Hell is that? What the Hell is that thing?"
That's exactly the stance my doctor and Doug the Doctor had. Chin in hand, hmmmm. Never seen anything quite like that...what treatment options are you considering? Going to be difficult with that arch...
So here I am, two weeks later, fulfilling the prophecy.
MY ARCH HURTS!!!!!!!
Sure, I know, I have a broken ankle. It's going to hurt. It isn't going to feel better just because I want it to. This is a process, not an event. Blah blah blah. But it hurts bad today and I want it to stop.
I picked the wrong day to cut back on the medication. So I am going to take it.
If anyone out there has broken their ankle and suffered arch pain during recovery, PLEASE LET ME KNOW! I need to know how long I can expect this to continue.
More on the Simon Cowell - Tom Petty conspiracy tomorrow, I promise. I can barely think beyond my pain today.
7:13 PM
Monday, August 11, 2003
Blame the Pope
To all my friends (and readers?) in the UK:
I feel the pain of the heat you are enduring. When I've been stuck in similar situations I try to keep in mind that The Temperature of the Universe is 3K. Which is -270.15° C. (-454.27° F). So really, things could be worse.
And the rain? Well, blame the Pope. Over the weekend I read he was asking the world to pray for rain in Europe.
A reader (yes! I have one!) sent me this interesting link listing (ratting out?) people who did not graduate from high school.
Interesting to note Tom Petty, Simon Cowell and Richard Branson dropped out of school. Find the fun list of dropouts here. I also love the mystery point the site makes about the US armed forces not using the term dropout, but instead calls them "non high school graduates." Apparently we truly do have a kinder, gentler military. At least I think that's the point being made.
What I really love is the GED list. Robert Downey, Jr. can't stick out re-hab, but he can tough out his GED. Which speaks volumes for the group in the first list who apparently have not bothered or needed a GED or military equivalent. Is it just me or is the list of GED recipients scarier than the dropout list? (hey, I'm not in the military, I don't have to be kinder or gentler)
I'm taking this as proof positive that Simon and Tom are in cahoots on this urban myth/internet hoax thing. They keep appearing together on searches, but notice they are never seen together in public...
11:23 AM
Danger, Cranky Woman behind Keyboard
Ankle was feeling a bit better over the weekend, however, seems worse this morning. The bus will do that to you. The entire family (parents, three children, grandparents, the whole crew) as human barricade to handicapped seats was in full force this morning.
Actually what I am noticing now is, as long as I am horizontal with proper elevation, I don't have pain. But as soon as I step on it or even sit regularly for more than an hour or so, it starts to hurt again. I was hoping for more progress than this by now, but, I can look back and say that I am improving, however slight, I am better than I was two weeks ago, and certainly better than I was four weeks ago.
Here's a weird thing: As I awoke this morning I stretched my arms - half asleep - and that hurt my ankle. Sort of confused me and made for an uncomfortable start to the day.
STRANGE dreams last night, have got to get off this medicine. Woke up at one point mad, yes, angry, then I recollected a vague notion of a dream I was having about, of all people, HWNMNBS II. I don't remember any details other than he was somehow involved with work and I was really mad about some turn of events in the office and he had a really weird haircut that made him look like a really old miserable git.
Very tired today. Very tired all the time these days. Just one night of solid sleep. Five uninterrupted hours, even. Would make an enormous difference.
Zaphod. He's at the bottom of all this hostility. Who calls a woman at 11:45 PM on a Saturday night for anything other than a booty call? And then blab blab blab for hours, try to get a word in edgewise with that guy, I dare you, when he knows darned well that I'm not feeling well. I literally fell asleep twice while he was talking, only to wake up and realize he was still talking and had no idea I had been asleep on the other end of the phone. Sure, you're saying, "hey, wait a minute, he's only trying to cheer you up, at least he called." But you know what? We're not kids, and where was he at a normal, decent hour of the day when I wasn't actually trying to get some sleep? If he was really well intended, he'd bring food and a movie to the poor crippled girl on Saturday afternoon or evening. Or help said crippled girl do her laundry or clean Furry Creature's box. But no. Because he's selfish, arrogant, oversexed Zaphod who for some reason has chosen to pick on me, now. Hit me when I'm down. And here's a question to the universe: What kind of man has elicit thoughts about a woman with a broken leg? And, further, what kind of man in that subgroup tells the woman with a broken leg his elicit thoughts? Zaphod. That's who. A raging, selfish perv who thinks he's anything but, who thinks he's enlightened and modern and above and beyond reproach. When in actuality he's a chain smoking, rude, Neanderthal pervert. That's what's really making me angry. I think maybe I transposed my anger at the Zaphod situation to HWNMNBS II. Sorry Simon.
Am also starting a new eating regime this week. I haven't been awful, but, because I'm getting no exercise whatsoever, I am gaining weight at an alarming rate. So kind of cranky about that, too. I'd really like a muffin this morning. My healthy little slim cup yogurt just isn't doing the trick.
So all in all, not a great start to the work week.
Hellooo? Richard? Richard Branson? Over here!
8:41 AM
