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, September 19, 2003 Karaoke and the Stooge Factor: Updates
Karaoke going away office party planned: Check.
Karaoke machine thingy as gift: Check.
Karaoke disks for machine thingy: Check.
Clandestinely arranged so as not to arouse suspicion in Guest of (questionable) "Honor" (quitter): Check.
Guest of honor: Ummmm, yeah, we've got a slight problem...the guest of honor appears to be MIA.
Why, why, why...how do I get myself into these things?
Oh yeah. I was forced against my will.
The party arrangements have been made, special opening time at the karaoke bar and everything, donations received, gifts bought, and now, the guest of (questionable) "honor" has decided to quit three weeks earlier than planned.
Because her friend and colleague was on the verge of being fired and quit before it happened.
And as a protest, the guest of (questionable) "honor" is leaving early in a show of sisterhood solidarity.
So of course all the party plans have to be re-arranged. My suggestion was, under the revised circumstances, cancel the party altogether. If she's going to leave early out of spite, then we're entitled to cancel her party out of spite. Right? Right. But for some reason the higher powers are insisting that we have still have an office going away party for her.
This whole thing is straight out of Office Space.
Meanwhile, revenues are at an all time low, no bonus this year, probably no or very little pay increase, people are jumping ship at an alarming rate, those of us still here are being forced to cover the responsibilities of the quitters, giant spiders are infesting the building...and all my boss and senior manager are concerned about is this stupid karaoke going away party.
(spare me the allusions to the Titanic, they're blazingly obvious)
Okay. Just had to get that out of my system. I am long overdue a well earned hissy fit of the Veruca Salt variety.
On the Stooge Factor front, ladies, the news is distressing but interesting. Guys, united you stand.
So far only three brave souls have stepped up and admitted to not liking the Three Stooges and not caring for sports, one is also a vegetarian, and, as he at great length pointed out, gay. And wants to come to my office karaoke party. But there is hope! So far all the men who've responded said they didn't expect or even want women to like or understand the Stooges, sports or eat animals or smoke.
I've long known about the existence of the Stooge Factor, and I accept it as the fundamental difference between men and women. I really didn't expect to uncover any new findings there. But, I was hoping to gain some shred of insight as to if it is a factor in the, um, "type" of men I am attracting. So far, no concrete correlations can be made. However, one Stooge loving respondent pointed out my recent foray with the spider and the Mailroom Guy was very Stooge-like, that it brought out my hidden inner Stooge, and hence questioning the reasoning behind my fear and loathing of things Stooge: Could it be I see too much of myself in the Stooges and consequently I hold them in contempt and disdain? Fair point, but let's just get this right out in the open: The Spider and Mailroom Guy fiasco was an isolated incident of circumstance. Had my leg not been broken none of it ever would have happened. My femininity is securely intact and Stooge Factor is clearly absent.
More debate will undoubtedly ensue.
Meanwhile, it's Friday, and for most of the world that means the weekend is here, it's time to relax and forget about work for a few days.
And for some others of us, it means it's time to sort our desks into crucial and non crucial, dividing up what needs to be worked on over the weekend from that which can wait until Monday.
Barnesandnoble.com says the Pop Up Kama Sutra will be available September 24, and they ARE taking pre-orders for it.
8:18 AM
Thursday, September 18, 2003 Finally!
Sometimes my job presents me with gifts from the Universe, small presents as reward for endeavoring to achieve results no other mere mortal has yet to achieve (a balanced budget with no lies, the names of all Vice-Presidents and Secretaries of State in history...) joyous factoids and diversions too wonderful to not share with the world.
You read it here first:
A pop-up book of the Kama Sutra will be available next week. I swear it's true. ISBN # 1584793023.
Let your imagination run with that one. Probably far better in our imaginations than it will be in actuality, but put me on the waiting list for that one. This I have to see.
Just in time for the holiday gift giving season, too.
Quite possibly the one title that will outsell Simon Cowell's "advice" thing. (shudder shudder shudder)
Another rough one, I predict. I sense a long and difficult day ahead of me.
Don't tell me about self fulfilling prophecy.
This is pure intuition talking.
Thursdays are always that way for me.
Time to establish secure mental footing with...
Things I Know For Sure
Real men, crush worthy men, have clefts in their chins. (Cary Grant, Gregory Peck, Gary Cooper, Dean Martin, Roger Moore, Bryan Ferry...)
Rock Hudson casting homosexual aspersions and innuendoes in Pillow Talk is hysterically poignant.
Unless they actually are Julius Ceasar, men should never wear sandals. Ever.
Sway is a really, really sexy song.
The White House chat room is brilliant marketing move and loads of fun. (www.whitehouse.gov)
BarnesandNoble.com's Under $5 combined with free shipping is a grossly ignored public service.
Books are good.
Proactive is the single most annoying term in use in offices around the world.
Thinking outside the box is a close second.
Hmmmmm. That's really all I know for sure today. Not much. Trillian is clearly feeling rather uncertain.
9:19 AM
Wednesday, September 17, 2003 Wednesday Real Reality. Putting the Real in Reality TV One Show at a Time.
I know I’m on a weary theme lately...work. The office.
But I’d really like to see a reality show that showcases the absurd and inane that goes on at staff meetings.
Do a sort of CEO Exchange - type of thing EXCEPT the staff would get to vote for the plans presented and whether or not the existing CEO gets to stay.
I know. I’ve read Lord of the Flies. I know how this could go.
But these things are so formulaic and scripted, it's difficult to pretend they're anything other than one of the many current unreality shows on air.
Revenue is down, we didn’t meet our year end goals, so NO bonus this year, the pension plan is under examination (and elimination), we’re moving to smaller (but nicer!) office space, but we won’t feel it due to the current attrition rate...so let’s get fired up! Woo hoo! Let’s Make 2003-2004 Our Best Year Ever!!!
Now there’s some reality tv for you.
Until today I had no idea our CEO is actually Paula Abdul in disguise.
We suck, we know we suck, we stand absolutely no chance of winning this thing, yet we come to work every day because maybe someone will notice us and cast us in a bit part somewhere else. And some of us are contractually obligated to be here. We put up with idiot bosses and budget cutbacks and technology that isn’t, Cowell-esque type criticisms from our governing board, and yet, YET, our CEO has the nerve, the stupidity and the gall to try to pump us full of enthusiasm and make us come back next week/month/year for another performance.
Reality tv? Read and name all names in the email and IM’s and blogs that fly after an all staff meeting. On national television. Now THERE’s a show I’d watch. That would be reality television.
2:34 PM
Tuesday, September 16, 2003
I know I've said it before but it bears repeating...
Strawberries and Cream Slimfast tastes EXACTLY like Frankenberry cereal.
Why don't the Slimfast people use this angle to market it?
2:45 PM
Queen of the Arachnids Has Left the Bathroom.
We (well, the Mailroom Guy come maintenance engineer, did most of the actual work due to my present disabled circumstances) put the enormous (3.5" diameter) spider in the rafters of the women's bathroom. We love the irony that only thing separating the enormous spider and the women who wanted her dead is a 1/4" foam ceiling tile.
Mailroom Guy and I came up with a ruse. A plan of pure genius in it's simplicity.
He would bring a step ladder "in case she crawled up the wall". I would then escort him into the bathroom and act as female warden of the bathroom, warning all would be women that a) there was a boy in the women's room and b) said boy was "taking care of" the enormous spider who's been stalking the women on this floor. I was thusly deemed because I was the only woman "brave" enough to face the spider. (True, but the real reason, of course, was that I wanted to be sure no harm came to her.) This would give mailroom guy and I time and freedom to carry out our sinister yet humane plan. There she was, perched as she had been all afternoon, on the ledge of one of the sinks. Mailroom guy was impressed with her, too, by the way.
I mean, this girl is one heckuva spider. In her own spidery way, she's quite beautiful. For a spider. She's got Hollywood written all over her. Arachnophobia II, Charlotte's Web: The Live Action Drama, Eight Legged Freaks II, Return to the Love Canal: 30 Years Later, Godzilla V. Oootoko Supaida (Alta Vista says that's how you say Giant Spider in Japanese...speaking of Japanese and way off topic, go see Lost in Translation. Bill Murray is great. Even what could have been a scary karaoke rendition of More than This turns out okay. Except that I kept expecting him to start doing his Airport Holiday Inn Lounge Singer Act - "Star Wars, oh Star Wars..." But I laughed so hard at a couple of scenes my stomach hurt. The "touching tender moments" parts of the movies were okay, Bill carried them, but maybe just a few too many of them, sort of beating the point home. Still, very funny, very charming, and great view of Tokyo.)
Okay. Game on. We put the plan into action. After remarking on the size, shape, color, and general state of the spider, mailroom guy and I began the plan. Mailroom Guy would ascend the ladder and dislodge a ceiling tile. I would then scoot the Queen onto a piece of paper and hand it, and her to aloft mailroom guy. Mailroom Guy would then release her by way of tilting the paper and sliding the Queen deep into the cave that is the Ecosystem Above the Ceiling Tiles. Mailroom Guy would then replace the ceiling tile, quietly descend the ladder, and, here's the real beauty of the plan, a toilet would be flushed, a mock drowning/release to the sewage system. The flush would also act as a signal of all clear to the women brave enough to wait outside.
Good plan, huh? We thought so, too.
Until it went slightly wrong.
Everything was going really well. The Queen needed no coaxing onto the paper, I swear, I swear this is true, she looked up at me as if to say "Thanks!" and climbed onto the paper.
I told her to hang on with all eight, and handed the paper to Mailroom Guy. Mailroom Guy was trying to a) be Da Man, b) display sensitivity and concern for creatures in front of the crippled chick (me) and c) have as little contact as possible with the spider. Item C did not come to light until I actually hoisted the spider bearing piece of paper to him. She slid a few centimeters closer to his hand than he was comfortable with...and flinched.
Knocking her off her perch.
And onto my head.
Which, I admit, freaked me out a bit. Much as I stand up for living creature rights, I don't necessarily want a spider in my hair. And I know she'd rather not be in my hair. Well, I did something of which I am not proud...I squealed. Okay. I screamed.
Hands on face, crutches fallen at my feet, one leg hopping dance in confined space.
Mailroom guy jumped down from the ladder to come to my rescue.
Here it should be noted that even with a recent lopping of 6", Trillian has quite the cascade of hair. Probably measures more than a good two feet from top of head to mid back. (Trillian is rather tall) And worse, at least during this escapade, is that Trillian's hair is very, very thick. And, worse still, during this escapade, is that it is dark-ish, perfect place in which to lose a spider.
At this point I had calmed down, somewhat, and was leaning over the counter, gingerly, gently shaking my hair over the counter hoping Miss Spider would walk out, a la Close Encounters of the Third Kind, or if necessary, gently tumble out, onto the counter.
But she was not to be seen.
I couldn't feel her, but couldn't see her, either, nor could Mailroom Guy. Either on me or around me or in fact, anywhere in the bathroom.
Mailroom Guy, who is a sincere gentleman, didn't want to overstep boundaries by touching me, especially my head or hair. Especially in a women's bathroom. At work.
Finally he said, "Stand still!"
I froze, bent over the counter, hands half raking through my hair.
Mailroom Guy, sounding very much like a gynecologist, started announcing everything he was going to do with long pauses between words.
"I'm going to come over to you. Don't move a muscle, stay right where you are."
"Okay, now, relax. I'm going to look in your hair. I'm going to have to touch it, okay? Do you mind?"
"Nodammitjustfindthespiderandgetheroutofmyhair!"
As he stepped toward me, stretching his arms as long as he could so as to free the spider from my hair from the farthest proximity from me as possible.
"Don't move, just stay that way if you can, I'm going in, I think I see it, just stand as still as possible..."
CRASH! BANG!
Mailroom Guy tripped on one or both of my fallen crutches, and, trying to regain balance, grabbed at the ladder, which toppled over. On me. I stood up, of course a natural physical reaction, pretty much into Mailroom Guy's flailing arms. Mailroom Guy, trying to maintain decorum used one hand to steady my shoulder, while catching his further fall by grabbing a stall door.
It was at this precise moment I located the spider.
Between my blouse and back, just about bra band level. Yes. In my blouse.
Though I didn't scream again, I did emit a few odd sounds.
I knew what had to be done.
Mailroom Guy is no young kid. He has children. He's seen a woman. At least I assume as much. So I said, "Mailroom Guy, the spider is in my blouse. Turn around a minute."
I then asked him to look at the floor, turn around, and continue to watch the floor for the falling spider and prepare to scoop her up.
He did as he was told (why can't men I date be so obedient???). Paper in outstretched hand and gaze fixed on the floor, not knowing what was about to take place...
I untucked my blouse as slowly and gently as possible from front to back. All the while arching my back as far as I could, which, with a broken leg and no crutches is no easy task. This required me to wriggle, writhe and shimmy in contortions that would make those BET video girls envious. The hope was that Miss Spider, Queen of the Arachnids, would tumble out of my blouse and onto the floor. At minimal compromise to her safety and my modesty. No luck. I could feel her firmly (for a spider) on the skin above my bra. (yes, I admit, kind of gross and really creepy, but I don't blame her, it's not her fault she's a spider, I blame my own inadequacies) I flapped the back of my blouse to no avail (still arch backed, mind you).
Mailroom Guy was at a loss as to what to do other than stand there holding the paper - he had enough difficulty managing to touch my hair, going under my blouse and actual skin was out of the question for this guy.
I'm a woman of action. And little shame. Sometimes. This was one of those times. I surmised the blouse was creating a safe haven for the spider, perhaps even trapping her. So I told Mailroom Guy to either leave or fix his gaze to the floor, the blouse may have to come off. He jumped at the chance to leave this bizarre situation, then realized when the spider was freed from my person, I'd be back at square one trying to get The Queen of the Arachnids up to safety on a ladder, in ceiling tiles...with a broken leg. So, he did the "noble" thing and stayed. Gaze fixed firmly to the floor. I began unbuttoning my blouse, bottom to top, one at a time, thinking I might not need to completely unbutton. The routine went something like: Unbutton, shake blouse, arch back. "Anything?" "Nope." Unbutton next button, shake blouse, arch back further. "Anything?" "Nope." Unbutton next button, shake blouse, arch back further. "Anything?" "Nope." Unbutton next button, shake blouse, arch back further. "Anything?" "Nope." Unbutton next button, shake blouse, arch back further. "Anything?" "Nope." Unbutton next button, shake blouse, arch back further. "Anything?" "Nope."
Finally, with blouse completely unbuttoned and one sleeve removed, and a stance that would win me the Special Olympics Grand Champion Limbo title, The Queen of the Arachnids left her perch.
I didn't feel her anymore, and asked Mailroom Guy if she had fallen out. She had, and what coup! She had landed right on the paper.
Mailroom Guy scrambled up the askew ladder, placed The Queen of the Arachnids, paper and all, in the cavern of the ductwork, replaced the tile, scrambled down the ladder, folded it up, and got the heck out of there. All in a matter of seconds.
But not before remembering to flush the toilet.
Then I realized why the haste on his part (apart from the fiasco that was our botched plan had just taken place): I had not factored in the three walls of floor to ceiling mirrors.
Mailroom Guy had just unwittingly, unwantingly witnessed the weirdest strip tease performance he'll probably ever come across.
In the women's room at work while trying to save a spider's life.
Now there's a story for the grandkids.
But the Queen of the Arachnids is safe with only a slight bruise to my dignity (what's new) a minor blemish in the face of the rest of the indignities in my life, a slight compromise to my modesty and an enormous chasm swathed between me and the Mailroom Guy, who have, for seven years, been good work friends. Polite, cordial, talk about movies, share a stupid joke, work friends. All in the name of saving a spider. Was it worth it? Well yes, of course. I can live with a tarnished reputation, especially in the name of saving the spider.
The joke will of course be on me when it turns out the spider is carrying some mutant alien virus and I'll end up being the alpha patient with the bizarre strain of something with no antidote, meanwhile the spider will have hatched millions of mutant spiders who will take over the world, all because I wanted to spare the life of the innocent being. Who turns out to be not so innocent. If that's the case, sorry world.
Monday, September 15, 2003 Queen of the Arachnids Has Returned!!!! All Hail the Queen!!!
Or she's sent her sister or, actually rather scarily, there is an entire army of these oversized arachnids living in my office.
For now I am content and pleased to think there is just she, the original from two weeks ago.
I think it's the same gal because she has once again chosen the women's bathroom to roost. This time she's actually in the bathroom instead of dangling outside above the door. I enlisted the aid of a man not a) afraid to go into a women's bathroom, b) afraid of spiders, and c) not on crutches. We were going to spring her loose from her prison and set her free into the outdoors...but then we simultaneously came to the concern that she might have children waiting back at the web. Wherever that is. So new dilemma. Do we free her (to the outdoors), do we hide her, maybe above a store-room ceiling tile, or just let her be, leave her to her own devices...
I can't seem to put my hands on any arachnid rights material...
3:20 PM
So still immobilized, still on crutches, still on the buses.
I just got back from the ortho doc - 3 hours. I am so sick of waiting for: buses, doors, doctors...to feel better.
The Immobilizer will be history next week. There is no nerve damage, however the ligaments, one in particular, are in very bad shape. They're actually going to take longer to heal than the fracture.
The outside fracture is looking really good, almost back to normal. In the future it will be very difficult to tell I've even fractured it there. The inside fracture, however, is still rather slow moving, but lots of progress from four weeks ago. The lingering intense (and immense) swelling is due in most part to the ligament damage. And realistically that's 6 - 8 months of recovery.
The best news is (hopefully) next week I get to move to an air cast! Easier to maneuver in (no crutches, weighs less) and offers the option of actually putting full weight on my ankle/foot and, as I'm up to it, walk as much and as far as I want. This is in conjunction with the start of physical therapy. The nurse told me (on the sly) that after six - eight weeks of therapy if I'm feeling stronger and the swelling has gone down, I may be able to graduate to an insert type of thing, an industrial type sock with metal braces and arch padding, to put in "regular" shoes. Meaning sneakers. The darling little 4" heeled pumps I'm coveting are out of the question for several months. Pretty much anything other than sneakers or sneaker-type shoes are out of the question for several months. Suffice to say the visions of Clarkes and Easy Spirits dancing in my head are not the stuff of holiday dreams. BUT, to be out of The Immobilizer and potentially out of a cast in general by November (and snow) is really good news. While a bit daunting in terms of actual pages off the calendar, at least there is forward movement and a possible end in sight.
Also, seeing the MRI, the state of my ligaments v. "healthy" ligaments he showed me, made me realize how much damage there is beyond the actual fractures and why my ankle/foot is so swollen and in so much pain. I'm a mess down there. I felt like the kid in that school animated series where a kid goes inside a body - rides through it like a theme park ride. Along the way certain ailments afflict the body, with arrows pointing to the source of the trouble. He narrowly escapes certain danger as each ailment is treated. Anyway, that's what I felt like looking at my MRI. I could almost see the animation of the inflammation of my ligaments. And I hadn't even taken a pain pill this morning!
All in all, not a bad visit, just time consuming and a bit disappointing. I knew better than to have hopes of leaving there without The Immobilizer today, but it's still disappointing. Guess I didn't fool myself as well as I thought I had. I must have been harboring some sort of hope, deep down in there somewhere. Maybe I'm not as jaded, disillusioned and bitter as I think I am.
1:56 PM
Sunday, September 14, 2003 In the interest of public service, the I am offering the Johnny Cash links again.
