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, February 20, 2004 Absinthe? No. NyQuil.
Germ Warfare I know this too, shall pass, but in the moment I am cursing and condemning whomever had the nerve to infect an entire 777 aircraft with this germ warfare. Perhaps this is an al Qaida plot. "We'll get 'em where it hurts! We'll infect them with the common cold! We'll bring them to their knees! They'll never suspect it and they'll never be able to trace it to us! It's the perfect crime!"
Oh, they're using aircraft, all right. But not in the ways most of us fear or assume. Nope. Like the perfect murder weapon, an icicle, they are getting us with something so obvious we'll never suspect them: The common cold.
Last year they nearly wiped out Chicago with the Mayor Daley Stomach Flu virus. Though some will argue the few days he was in hospital were the most productive for the City. Still, having been brought to my own knees with that particular fun festival of virus torture, I know firsthand the true weapon of mass destruction is indeed germ warfare. But not the germs we fear and assume.
The common cold. Stomach flu. Baby germs. A few well placed spores in aircraft ductwork could spread the diseases all over the country and around the world.
Then, wrapped in polar fleece, layers of socks and tissue hanging out of our nostrils, we'll sit by watching, uncaring in our Alka Seltzer/NyQuil fog, as they do their dirty work. "Keys to the mint? Sure, there over there. Could you pick up some lemon ginger tea and V8 juice on your way back? What's that? Yeah, I think Dick Cheney's bunker is on the way..."
Very subversive these Al Qaida operatives, very subversive.
Duct tape and plastic sheeting? Forget it. FEMAs got it all wrong. Stock up on over the counter cold symptom relievers instead.
Diary of a cold
Day 2, Full Blown Virus Attack
5:15 AM
"OUCH!!!!!" At least that's what I'd yell if I had a voice. Or a throat. Someone stole my throat while I was sleeping! All that's left is a weird sandpappery substance! And I think my tongue is gone, too!
5:25 AM
Tongue and throat are actually still there. Which isn't the relief it should be, because they both hurt. Badly.
6:20 AM
My eyes, my eyes, my eyelids hurt. Please, someone, make this stop.
7:00 AM
V8. I. Must. Consume. An. Entire. Economy. Sized. Bottle. Of. V8. Now.
(I normally hate V8, but such is the way of the cold. Bizarre cravings that make you traipse out at odd hours for strange items. Oddly, but fortunately, these cravings are always for items easily procured at 7-11 or Taco Bell, which is one small blessing since both are open 24-7)
8:42 AM
Oh what the swut. Just stick balled up Kleenex in each nostril and call it done. Who are you trying to kid, anyway? You're sick and no one is going to see you except the cat.
7:30 AM
Just realized I sound like Demi Moore. Or Brenda Vaccaro. Or Kim Carnes. Or any generic whiskey drinking, cigarette smoking, ridden hard and put away wet type woman. I wonder if I can work this angle for profit?
7:43 AM
"And she'll tease you, she'll unease you
All the better just to please you
She's precocious, and she knows just
What it takes to make a pro blush
All the boys think she's a spy, she's got Bette Davis eyes...
Black velvet and that little boy's smile
Black velvet with that slow southern style
A new religion that'll bring ya to your knees
Black velvet if you please"
Wait. Where'd Allanah Myles come from? I hate that about being sick. Things get all jumbled up together. Then again, Kim Carnes, Allanah Myles? Separated at birth?
8:45 AM
15 minutes until I can take Alka Seltzer Cold Plus again. I can hear the tick, tick, ticking of the clocks. Taunting me. I can't hear anything else except my heart pounding in my ears, but I can hear the swutting clocks taunting me in my worst moments of suffering, the moments just before symptom relief medication time.
10:05 AM
I have just consumed the daily recommended dosage of 12 Sucrets. What's in these? Can you OD on Sucrets?
10:35 AM
Tongue getting sore. So this is why you're not supposed to have more than 12 Sucrets a day. Huh.
11:32 AM
Sneezes. Lots of sneezes.
Sneetches. Hee hee hee. Star Bellied Sneetches. That sounds really funny when said through a snot filled nose and sandpaper throat. Kind of dirty. Who knew Dr. Seuss could be sexy? Well. Sexy-ish. Possibly too much NyQuil in my blood stream....tired...very, very tired...
12:41 PM
"OUCH!!!!!" At least that's what I'd yell if I had a voice. Or a throat. Someone stole my throat while I was sleeping! All that's left is a weird sandpappery substance. And I think my tongue is gone, too.
12:55 PM
Tongue and throat are actually still there. Which isn't the relief it should be, because they both hurt. Badly.
Wait. Haven't I been through this before? Yes. Yes I have. I remember. Must. Take. Thera Flu. Now.
Thursday, February 19, 2004 Denial and the Common Cold You know how when you're coming down with a cold you deny it? Why? Why do people do this? We've all been sick plenty of times, we all know the signs, and yet we deny it. Perhaps because we know the misery that awaits. We excuse all the obvious symptoms with, "just the asthma acting up a bit" or "must be that horrible perfume that woman was wearing" or "allergy."
Your nose is a little sniffly. You know it's suspicious, you know it's that kind of sniffly, and yet, you fool yourself into believing it's just because you've slacked off a bit on the dusting.
You put on your best, kickiest outfit to trick yourself into believing
You Feel Great! See? You're in your Kickiest Outfit! Even those daring crocheted tights with the wide open weave! A saucy top! Maybe even an above-the-knee denim skirt! The cool artsy jewelry! You take extra time styling your hair and even put on the extra "going out" make-up! See? You're not sick! No one who's sick would wear their Kickiest Outfit. No one who's sick wears anything cut above-the-knee. No one who's sick would waste the good make-up.
Sick people wear lots of flannel and polar fleece and old bathrobes. Sick people have tissue hanging out of their noses and definitely no make-up, especially not the good stuff. Nope. No tissue. Good make-up. See? You're not sick.
So not sick that you trot off to work whistling a happy tune (or singing a rock anthem).
Oh sure, you're sniffling, and was that a raspy wheeze you heard when you inhaled? Naw. Even if it was, it's probably just a little asthma.
You drink extra water. This is a message from your subconscious. You have secretly just admitted that you are sick.
Yet still you deny it.
You go through tasks at work at the highest rate of efficiency possible. You are a model employee. You are not sick.
Sick employees don't come to work. They don't infect the team. They know they are not capable of doing their job properly and stay home. See? You're not sick!
After work, now sneezing regularly and that little raspy wheeze has
turned into a rather vulgar sounding cough, you Go Shopping! Yes!
Shopping! That's a terrific idea! Sick people do not go shopping. For
new Spring clothes. See? You're not sick!
You buy things. Things you will later wonder when, why and how you
purchased them. Things that seemed like a really great idea at the time. An orange and pink chiffon floral skirt, a purple scarf in a very odd fabric, a bright blue sweatshirt, cropped and cut skimpy and form fitting with baby blue stripes down the sides, and for some reason, things from the junior department. Things with the letters FCUK and DKNY and CK splashed all over them. See? You're not sick! These things seem like a good idea because you want to be someone you are not. You now think it's possible you might be "coming down with something." And yet the denial continues. The only way out is to pretend you are someone else, someone who is not sick. Someone with really bad taste in clothing.
You're in the shoe department. Your favorite place in the world. You
should be happy. Euphoric. But instead you are on edge, tense.
Is it hot in here?
No.
You are sick.
You are now running a fever.
Go home.
Who had the dumb idea to go shopping? You could be home now.
About this time your ears will feel funny. That's it. No going back now. Your ears are plugged up and you are now completely locked into your own private Hell known as: The Vortex of Snot. (echo echo reverb reverb) You swallow hard, trying to pop your ears in hopes of rejoining the rest of the conscious world. But your attempts are futile. You are trapped in a strange and dizzying inner-ear blocked, three-second delayed world.
You catch site of yourself in a window: You look stupid in your Kickiest Outfit. In fact, that's a stupid outfit. It's not kicky at all. And for some reason your clothes are suddenly hurting you. And what's with those tights? Who are you trying to kid? You're sick. Go home, get out of that outfit. Fast. Get into as much polar fleece and as many pair of socks as you can.
Wednesday, February 18, 2004 Trillian Lives, But Her Blog Goes Into a Coma Apologies for the break in posting. I had a mini vacation. The auto-post feature didn’t do what it’s supposed to do, or more likely, I didn’t set it to do what it is supposed to do.
I left the blog alone for a long weekend, and clearly it was not ready for the responsibility.
And yes, believe it or not, I was essentially computerless for five days.
Imagine!
I’ve seen the other side people, and let me tell you, it’s a beautiful place.
A magical place.
An untethered place.
A place with no email. No spam. No surfing. No eBay. And yes, even, gasp, no blogs. (insert huge screechy scream here)
I’m telling you the truth, and that truth shall set you free.
Oh, I missed it at first. I found my mind wandering to what was being posted to blogs I read regularly. Wondering if some new and exciting blog had hit the Universe and I was missing it. Hoping my blog was okay (it clearly was not).
Then it went beyond casual wondering. I became anxious. Nervous. "Just a few blogs, just a few, that’s all, just a few minutes online, that’s all I need. It’ll only take a few minutes. I won’t even check my email. Just a few quick peeks at a few blogs, check my auto post, that’s it. Just a few minutes."
Yes, yes, yes! That little voice in my head did say, “You’re on vacation for crying out loud. Give it a rest. You can catch up when you get home. Think how much fun that will be! You clearly need this break more than you realize.”
My answer to that voice? “Shut up! You don’t understand! I like blogs. My blog is always there for me. Other people’s blogs are always there for me. Blogs are my friends! Bloggers are my friends!”
“And friends need space. Friends go on vacation,” The Little Voice calmly nagged.
“Yes, and friends send postcards and bring back souvenirs! Checking in on blogs is like sending postcard,” I urgently countered.
“You’re too involved. Too close. You really need this break. Now get along over there and check out that lovely view,” The Little Voice dismissively urged.
I knew the little voice was right. I knew it. It’s always right. I hate The Little Voice sometimes. So I checked out the view and took some photos and had a few drinks and did a little shopping. I even “forgot” about blogging for entire hours on end.
But then something would remind me of someone’s blog and I’d think, “hmmmm, I wonder...”
It turned to urgent fixation. I was a junkie needing a hit. I had to score and I would stop at nothing to get my fix. My drug of choice just happens to be words and photos and drawings and links and all the other really cool stuff bloggers post. I seductively eyed strangers' laptops in Starbucks. I thought about lying to my host - “I just need to check my email for a quick minute” when in fact I would be blogging.
I even contemplated an...an...an...internet café. (choked sob)
I know. The shame of it all.
That was when I realized I had hit rock bottom.
I knew I had a problem.
I realized I was as bad as a soap opera addict.
I was scared.
I formulated a
12 Step Blog Recovery Plan
1. I admitted I was powerless over blogs—that my life had become unmanageable without blogging.
2. Came to believe that a blog greater than my own could restore me to sanity.
3. Made a decision to turn my will and my life over to the care of auto-post and archives as I understood them.
4. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of the bookmarks and archives.
5. Admitted to Blogspot, to Moveable Type, and to another blogger the exact nature of my wrongs.
6. Was entirely ready to have spell check remove all these defects of character.
7. Humbly asked Favorites to remove our bookmarks.
8. Made a list of all bloggers I had read, and became willing to make amends to them all.
9. Made direct amends to such bloggers wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.
10. Continued to take personal inventory and when I blogged promptly admitted it.
11. Sought through Google and Yahoo! to improve my conscious contact with the blogworld, as I understood it, blogging only for knowledge of the blogworld’s will for me and the power to carry that out.
12. Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these Steps, I tried to carry this message to bloggers, and to practice these principles in all my affairs.
One step at a time, one day at a time, I worked through these steps. Must. Be. Strong.
There were dark, violent moments. “PLEASE! PLEASE! Just let me check my posts! Just my own, I won’t look at anyone else’s, really I won’t!”
“Notes? Oh, ha ha, just a little travel diary, you know, wines, shops, just little notes to myself. Blog? What blog? No of course I’m not writing my blog.”
“I swear that’s not my notebook, I’m keeping it for a friend.”
Were it not for a faithful companion and a darned good vacation, I never would have made it through some of those moments.
Brothers and sisters, let me tell you: The world outside of blog is a wonderful place. There are mountains and rivers and gorgeous vistas. Shopping, yes shopping in actual stores. (okay, sure, a lot of the clerks are as annoying as skank, but still, to touch and see consumer goods up close and personal before buying is such a satisfying thrill) Dining somewhere other than in front of a monitor. (and nothing to dig out of the keyboard) And, sometimes, PEOPLE TALK TO EACH OTHER!
Yes! Real face to face conversation! No vid-phone or chat, real, live, up close and personal conversation. Oh, and you know what else?! People touch each other! (no, not the disgusting German guy’s hairy arm sitting next to you on the plane) Sometimes people who like each other hold hands, hug and put their arms around each other and sometimes, they kiss!! Oh, the feel of lips!
Oh, it’s beautiful. Just beautiful.
My mini-vacation extended by a day has come to a close. It’s back to reality and work and non-vacation life and, and...BLOGGING!
I made it, I proved I could do it, I went five days without blogging - not one blog word written, not one blog read. And I discovered, not even one auto-post posted.
Yeah, once I realized that I felt a little dirty.
That made me realize: I like blogging. I like other bloggers. I’m okay with that. I learned I can take a break, it can even be fun and rewarding to get away from blogs for a while. I always thought I had a healthy perspective on blogging. That it didn’t get in the way of my “real” life. That I had a life outside of the blogworld. And I do. I really do. But that world and my blogworld are closely connected.
Swut the steps! I’m back, baby, and blogging my fingers off.
Glued to the screen, devouring the posts I missed while I was on vacation with renewed enthusiasm and zeal.
Maybe this is a sad commentary on my life. Maybe those days should have been a wake-up call. Maybe I do fill voids in my life with blogging. Maybe I am sad and pathetic.
Or maybe, just maybe, the blogworld is nice place to visit, maybe even own a time-share there. Just remember to step away from blog once and a while. I promise you won’t regret it.
3:24 PM
