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, July 09, 2004
Last week at home and in my office I:
- wrote some blog posts.
- wrote a bunch of email for work.
- wrote a bunch of email to my family and friends.
- applied to several jobs.
- sent Richard Branson my weekly pleas for a job.
Oh yeah, and I did a ton of brilliantly creative work for which I should be enshrined in a designer hall of fame somewhere.
Yeah. It was another busy week.
But I was feeling good and was on top of things. I multitasked. As ever, I not only used but embraced technology. I made technology work for me.
I even went to the gym.
Then I went out of town.
Blissful ignorance.
The only way to fly.
My first indication something was amiss was when, once again, my autoposts were not auto posted on my blogs.
Hmmmmmm.
I only found out during a quick check online. A very quick check.
A very quick check because The Internet was moving very slowly. Very, very slowly.
Something was indeed amiss.
Blogspot! Damn you! Damn you all to Hell!
Well. I don't mean that, really. I actually really like Blogger and all it does for the Universe. Still. I depend on it to do what it says it will and when it doesn't I get really disappointed and blame myself for allowing myself to become so reliant, so trusting...ooops. This isn't about my love life.
This has happened before, and it's the bone I pick with blogger.com.
They tell me everything's just fine, except, well, sometimes, you know, there are issues with Macs.
Ah.
Sometimes.
Sometimes when I am relying on blogspot to do what it promises to do.
Sometimes when I rely on technology to do my work for me. Sometimes when I let down my guard and trust...
Oooops.
This isn't about my love life.
This is about how, just when you think you have everything under control, or at least hope you do, things, powers, the tech department, The Internet, Al Gore...spin desperately, horribly out of control.
And there you are, miles away from home and the office, no laptop because the laptops from the office are all misbehaving, having to rely on the kindness of business centers and (oh the shame of it) internet cafés to learn all your efforts, all your planning and hard work, all your multitasking, all your smug little I'm so in control of all this attitude were not only a complete waste of time, but actually mocking you by making you look like a disorganized buffoon.
Or maybe it's just me the Universe mocks in this way.
Maybe this doesn't happen to other people.
Maybe other people have all their email delivered quickly and completely.
Maybe other people get interviews and job offers for every job to which they apply.
Maybe other people get replies from Richard Branson.
Upon my arrival home I immediately set to righting the wrongs. Looking for cracks in the plans, deciphering code (oh the code, the code, THE CODE!)
Everything looked fine. I must be missing the obvious, thought I.
Because usually that's the case, Missing the Obvious. (ooooh. Good band name.)
I sent more emails.
I began small and easy.
Blogger.
A very polite email, thought I, inquiring as to how one goes about using the autopost feature because twice now I've relied upon it and twice my needs went unmet.
I then set about sorting out bigger fish, problems, erm, challenges, with my brilliantly creative work.
Insert screech of break noise here.
Everything's barely chugging. Taking forever to open. Crashing. Yeah. I know. Macs hardly ever crash. And yet deadlines loom ominously.
I couldn't access The Internet.
So I couldn't re-post files to a vendor's ftp site.
So they couldn't preflight a print job.
So the project was going to have to be Fed Exed.
So we'd lose our press time.
So we'd be a few days behind deadline.
So we might miss the drop date.
So Trillian loses her job.
Damn you Al Gore, damn you all to Hell!
I broke down and called the help desk.
"Tech support!" I yelled a la Tom Cruise in the only well acted scene of his career. (ironically in his all time worst movie.)
"Oh. Yeah. Hey Trill. There's a problem with The Internet. It's not our network (of course) or you. (really? wow. that's a first) Something's up with The Internet." the tech guy told me. I imagine he was sitting there eating his third Big Mac of the morning. Playing solitaire because he can't access The Internet either so he can't play all his usual cool games and is forced to go old school.
"Oh. Well. Then. Have a nice day." I said and hung up the phone.
And again unleashed a cry to the Universe, "Why?! Why me?! Why now of all times?! I ask for so little! I give you so much and ask for so little in return! Just once! Just one swutting time can someone other than me do what they're supposed to do?!"
Yeah. It was pretty ugly. I'm not proud.
And this isn't even about my love life.
I did not pout. I did things the old fashioned way. I made some calls. I turned on a little charm. I may have made a promise or two. I think I have a date with the production manager at a printer 800 miles away tonight. And it better go well because I may have promised someone else my firstborn.
Today I sit on pins and needles hoping the drop date will be met.
To relieve the pressure I spend time apologizing to my family and friends who did not receive my emails and who were getting concerned about me.
Dear Really Important Client,
I suspect you did not receive a few emails I sent last week. We are having issues with our network as well as some global internet challenges. I am forwarding the emails to you. If you did receive them, apologies for the duplication. If you did not receive them I am sorry for the delay and any inconvenience it may have caused you.
Sincerely,
Tricia McMillian
Dear Friend who's getting married soon and asked me for desperate opinions on a menu SCHNELL!
Sorry you must not have received my email last week. I'm sure you made great selections. All of the choices sounded great. Except for maybe that weird poached venison dish. I'm not sure a lot of people like venison. Poached. With gooseberry chutney. Were you getting married in Scotland that might be okay, but since you're not it's probably best to eliminate that choice. Unless you already chose it because you didn't get my email last week. If you already chose it I'm sure it will be lovely.
Smooches,
Trill
PS - Did you see Friend? Holy enormous belly. There's no way that's only one child in there. Remember when she found that cat who ended up having all those kittens? I can't help but think it was an omen of things to come to her.
Dear Mum and Dad,
I'm really sorry you were so worried about me. As you know I was in the middle of swutting BFE which apparently has no mobile phone towers. I'm sorry you didn't get my email with my itinerary. And that you couldn't reach me on my mobile. And that I didn't have a chance
to ring you for three days. I'm sorry, I'm a bad, horrible daughter and I don't deserve to use the family name. I am tarnishing the family name and honor just by breathing. Since I know you always loved (my sister) better anyway this shouldn't come as much of a surprise. I am a worthless waste of sleepless nights, orthodontics and college tuition.
You will be happy to know all your nagging, erm, advising, has paid off, I am taking better care of my finances, maybe soon I can repay you for all you've given me and then we can call it even and I'll just go away and you won't have to think or worry about me anymore.
I'm sorry I couldn't be with you for the annual 'who's going to third degree burn or lose a part of their body this year' July 4th festivities. I wasn't ignoring you. You know how I feel about this. You know I think you, Mum, should be more conflicted than you appear to be about this, and you know I think you are perhaps just a bit hypocritical for going out and waving sparklers on American Independence Day when it's you and your country the entire country of America is celebrating being rid of in the first place. Pardon my shame and sense of irony about this. You're right. I don't understand. And therefore I cannot bring myself to celebrate independence from the country I have called home and the people to whom I am related and love dearly. But that's just me. You and I differ on this. Again, more shame and tarnish to the family name which I will be ridding myself of out of duty and honor.
It really was a computer problem, by the way, even the tech guys at work said so. I really did send you not one but two emails. But of course it is my fault. I could have found a way to reach you so you would know I was okay. I could have sent a telegraph, carrier pigeon, something.
See you next week.
Love,
Trillian
Dear Dick,
Hi, it's me, Trillian. I know you were probably worried about me when you didn't hear from me last week. If you tried to call me on my Virgin Mobile Audiovox telephone and couldn't reach me, it's because I was in a very remote part of the world where they apparently have not yet learned Virgin mobile rocks and is the only network they'll ever need. Don't worry, I spread the word. I am attaching coordinates so you can personally correct this oversight in coverage area. As for the email, I sent you my weekly solicitation, but I have since learned most of my email never reached its recipient. I am very sorry to have caused you any concern. Maybe you heard, there was a problem with The Internet. But I suppose a Super Gigantic and Swell company like Virgin has their own Intranet and servers and maybe even an alternate dimension the rest of us cannot even comprehend. An alternate dimension impervious to the whims and problems with Al Gore's poxy internet.
Which is why I want so desperately to work with you.
I need you. You need me. I love you. In time you will learn to love me. Professionally speaking, that is. Unless of course you learn to love me unprofessionally, too. Because I'm okay with that. I've always found you to be an attractive guy. I never, ever mix work and romance but for you I'd be willing to make an exception. If you wanted me to make an exception. Otherwise I'm all business. At your service.
I am attaching my most recent brilliantly creative efforts. I hope you like them. I was thinking of you when I designed them. They're for another company but between you and I, they're for you. You're my inspiration. My muse.
I just have one question about my Pulse earbuds. Remember how the condom came off in my ear and I didn't know it was stuck there and how I later told you they were just fine without the condoms? Well I've developed a bit of a sore in my ear which I think may be from the uncondomed earbud. I'm not suing or anything, don't worry, I'm just wondering if anyone else has this issue and if I should consult a doctor about it. I put some cortisone goo in there but it doesn't seem to be doing anything except making my ear feel weird. You know like when you don't rinse all the shampoo well enough and some residue gets left in your ear after a shower?
I hope the show is going well.
Your ever humble admirer,
Tricia McMillian oh come on you can call me Trillian by now!
Dear Internet Date Guy,
I'm really sorry you waited at that hip and trendy club an hour for me and I never showed. I sent you an email telling you I had to go out of town at the last minute and asked to reschedule our date. I didn't have a phone number to reach you. You did have mine, not that I would have expected you to ring. By the sound of your email to me following your time spent alone at the hip and trendy club you didn't receive my email. I am really, really sorry. I cannot make it up to you, I know the damage is done, and I am truly very sorry.
I don't blame you for being mad. (Though I don't think some of the expletives you used were called for or appropriate. There is no way you could know I am a filthy whore unless sex and money and grime were actually exchanged between us, and since the reason for your ire was that you thought I stood you up, obviously neither sex nor money or grime were exchanged between us. Therefore I must take exception to the 'lying, filthy whore' remark. I would also like to point out that I know many women who are not 'lying filthy whores' and therefore, even if sex, money and grime were to have been exchanged between us, I would not be 'like every other woman.') I have been legitimately stood up, and I know it really sucks. I feel horrible for what you may have been feeling because of me. You have every right to be angry with me. (Though putting a Satanic curse on me might have been a bit extreme, at least until you knew for certain I had stood you up, and not that a legitimate issue had arisen. Fortunately this is not the first time I have been cursed, Satanic or otherwise, so no harm done.) I know dating is difficult and sometimes you just have to vent. Since I'm sure you have no interest in trying to get together again, I wish you good luck. I'm sure somewhere out there is a woman who is not like every other woman, who is not a lying filthy whore, and who shares your interest in Satanic curses. She might even have anger issues and a potty mouth like yours! If I meet her I'll give her your email address.
Apologetically yours,
Tricia McMillian
Dear anyone who may have sent me an email via my blog or GMail account,
Do not take my lack of response personally. I had to dash out of town at the last minute and I had a ton of computer and internet related challenges. If you are waiting for a response to an email you sent me, please re-send the email. I probably didn't receive it and consequently I cannot respond. The technology problems, erm, challenges, have put me terribly behind and under a lot of pressure at work. Much love to you, even the h8ers,
Trillian
I love technology. I embrace it. I use it. I do things with it I don't normally do. I don't feel guilty. I pay for it at home. I get it for free at work. I ignore it when I don't need it. I get angry when it's not there for me.
Wednesday, July 07, 2004
As you may have guessed I'm having some technical difficulties...the rest of yesterday's post should now be posted. Today's reality is severely distorted by way of being stuck in draft mode.
Tuesday, July 06, 2004
I have resolved to try to be more fiscally responsible.
Okay, okay, I know, start with the shoes and work my way up. I know.
I have been very, very good about my shoe purchases since The Incident. And that's just a few weeks shy of a year.
I know. I can't believe it either.
It began when I seriously (well, half seriously) considered purchasing a home.
Which didn't happen.
Well. I did aim a little high.
No big surprises with that rejection.
I suppose I could have done what many people do, hit their parents up for a loan. But I'm not that desperate yet. Besides, after raising me and bankrolling several university degrees they are under no obligation to fork over any more of their hard earned cash to me. And swut knows they'll end up bailing out my sister's kids for years to come. Oh and there's my mother's gambling habit to consider.
Besides, I always assumed I'd be purchasing a home with my husband, you know, the one I don't have. So if I decide I am going purchase a home, you know, without a husband (and another income), it's my responsibility to manage it on my own.
This isn't me being a martyr. This is me being an adult.
I gave it a lot of serious thought. Very serious thought. My conclusion was that even if I can't or don't purchase a home on my own, it's high time I took my fiscal situation more seriously. At least put some effort into it.
Which for me can only begin with once and for getting that credit card debt paid off, and taking a more active role in my 401K.
I think I'm like a lot of people when it comes to my 401K. My company has a good plan. When I realized I might actually stay here more than a year I begrudgingly signed up for automatic pretax contributions. Just a little at first. Those were in the pre 9/11 days. Those were the days it wasn't unusual to turn a small investment into a tidy profit in a relatively short amount of time.
Yes. I should have been contributing more to the fund back then. I knew it then, I know it now. But I didn't.
9/11.
Long term investment accounts, anything stock market based, took a major hit in the following months and years.
I was a good little patriot and kept my money in the risky, losing propositions for three quarters.
When I was losing more money than I was contributing I rolled it all into the secure income fund and slunk off to a corner to lick my retirement savings wounds, resigning myself to the fact that I would be working until I dropped dead anyway. Maybe if I were lucky I'd get a terminal illness before I reached age 65 and I wouldn't have to worry about funding my golden years.
I kept contributing to the slow but sure turtle paced secure income fund. "Hey. At least I'm putting something away for retirement." I'd delude myself on a quarterly basis.
Then the house thing came along. And I was forced to take a serious look at where my money was going every month and what my 401K had been doing while I was cowering in the corner hoping for terminal illness before age 65..
I actually visited my plan's website. I read the information on the different investment options. I studied the charts and graphs. I realized that had I returned to my original diverse and aggressive investment plan last Fall, the same plan which was losing money post 9/11, I would have a lot more money in my account. Yikes.
Don't be a fool girl. Do something now.
I have made visiting the website and watching not only my account but every other investment fund part of my daily routine. Exercise, brush, floss, check the 401K.
The first time I moved money to another fund online I was of the mindset, "well, I'll see what happens. It can't be any worse than what it's doing right now and if it starts to lose money again I'll move it right back to the secure income fund."
You guessed it. In one week I earned a very surprising amount of money.
It's dipped and risen and dipped and risen, four steps forward one back, etc., but by watching its daily movement makes me feel like I am taking an active part in it. Sure, what the markets do is out of my control, but where I put my money is completely in my control.
There are bad days, days when it dips when I think it should rise, but it's like dieting. Some days that scale doesn't reflect the hard work and effort put into losing weight.
I'm not preaching, I'm not bragging. I know it's rude and vulgar to talk money. And boring, too.
But in the interest of observing and reporting, I feel obligated to urge any of you with a 401K to take an active, daily role in it.
Should there come a day we have to take the money, run and hide, (when those kids I wrote about gain control of the world, for instance), I want you to have as much to take and run with as possible. I'm happy to share, but I've got a cat to feed. (swut by then I'll probably have an entire colony of cats to feed)
I know I'm coming a bit late to the party, so spare me the "you stupid girl you everyone knows this" email. This is a post for those, who like I was, are sitting there thinking their 401K is a lost cause. I urge you to put a little effort into it. Visit the plan website, try moving a little money around, watch what happens.
I've learned a good lesson. I have to stay on top of this. It's not a ton of money, but it could have been more had I been less apathetic and more optimistic. Or at the very least had I done more than look at my quarterly statements, roll my eyes and shrug.
9:08 AM
Monday, July 05, 2004
A lot of people, okay, a few people, have written to ask, "Trillian, what does HWNMNBS look like?"
I think a few women have been wondering/concerned they may be dating him.
I think a few men thought they may be him.
After I posted the blog on S/He I had a lot of email from people expressing concern that I may be too picky. That maybe the problem isn't the men I meet, but rather, me. And my perspective of the men I meet.
"Come on Trillian, is HWNMNBS really all that?"
Yes.
He is a combination platter of:
Cary Grant, Gregory Peck, Gary Cooper, Roger Moore, Pierce Brosnan and Christopher Reeve.
"Huh?"
Imagine if DNA from all those guys could be merged into one man. (Oh my. Just imagine! Is it hot in here?)
Still not getting a clear picture?
Here, for the first time, a description of HWNMNBS. (What? You thought I was going to post a photo of him? Really?)
Tall. Dark. Handsome.
With the most amazingly brilliant eyes I've ever seen. Otherworldly often comes to mind upon seeing his eyes.
And incredibly sexy hands.
And really cute ears.
And thick (really, really thick) wavy dark hair which does this really cute thing when it's all messy in the morning.
And a little cleft-lette on his chin.
Which is only visible when he casts one of his sardonic grins.
Of course you don't really notice it because you are too busy being dazzled by his gleaming white perfect teeth.
Oh. And. Nice nips.
Hey.
You asked.
Still not forming a clear picture?
Go see Shrek 2.
SPOILER! SPOILER! SPOILER!
Shrek's post potion transformation was clearly modeled on HWNMNBS. Potion Shrek looks exactly, I mean dead ringer, for HWNMNBS. It would be scary if he weren't so darned good looking. And funny.
And I love that I now have a way to describe him.
When people tell me I'm being too picky and say, "What does HWNMNBS look like? Huh?"
I can smugly, honestly respond, "Shrek."
I'M A ROCKER
I got a 007 watch and it's a one and only
It's got a I-Spy beeper that tells me when you're lonely
I got a Batmobile so I can reach ya' in a fast shake
When your world's in crisis of an impendin' heartbreak
Now don't you call James Bond or Secret Agent Man
Cause they can't do it, like I can
I'm a rocker, baby, I'm a rocker - every day
I'm a rocker, baby, I'm a rocker
If you're hanging from a cliff or you're tied to the tracks, girl
Columbo split and you can't find Kojak
True love is broken and your tears are fallin' faster
You're sufferin' from a pain in your heart or some other natural disaster
Now I don't care what kind of shape you're in
If they put up a roadblock, I'll parachute in
I'm a rocker, baby, I'm a rocker - I'm in love
I'm a rocker, baby, I'm a rocker - every day
I'm a rocker, baby, I'm a rocker - with you
So you fell for some jerk who was tall, dark and handsome
Then he kidnapped your heart and now he's holdin' it for ransom
Well, like a mission impossible I'm gonna go and get it back
You know I would'a taken better care of it, baby, than that
Sometimes I get so hot girl, well, I can't talk
But when I'm with you I cool off , and I walk
I'm a rocker, baby, I'm a rocker, and I talk
I'm a rocker, baby, I'm a rocker, every day
I'm a rocker, baby, I'm a rocker, every day
I know, I know, there are all those great songs on the Shrek 2 soundtrack which would have been a perfect way to end this post. Some will be disappointed in me, me the big Nick Cave student. Me the "Tom Waits is brilliant shouter." Me the one who wore a Buzzcocks shirt every Saturday night for like two years back in the day.
But posting those lyrics would be ubiquitous.
Predictable.
Rudimentary.
Simple.
So instead I went out of character and quoted Bruce.
Because I felt like it.
Yeah. Who knew I liked Bruce Springsteen?
You just never, ever can tell what I might like. And post.
(Buy the Shrek 2 soundtrack, by the way. Go for Counting Crows, stay for Tom Waits and Nick Cave. But you might want to opt for the Buzzcocks original brilliant recording of Ever Fallen in Love. (We will not speak of the Fine Young Cannibals' version. Ever.))
Sunday, July 04, 2004
This Fourth of July I am thankful for my freedom to post anything I want on a blog.
I don't want to be a hypocrite and write a bunch of trite words about how much I love America.
And I don't want to give the wrong impression to readers by writing What America Means to Me. Because American means a lot of things to me, not all of them flattering. Not all of them, well, pro-America. And yes, I know where the door out is, and I know there are plenty of places I can move if I think America's so swutting bad.
Oh! Canada.
I can't say it better than Morrissey.
But then, really, who can?
America is Not The World
America your head's too big,
Because America,
Your belly's too big
And I love you,
I just wish you'd stay where you is
In America,
The land of the free, they said,
And of opportunity,
In a just and a truthful way
But where the president,
Is never black, female or gay,
And until that day
You've got nothing to say to me,
To help me believe
In America,
It brought you the hamburger,
Well America you know where,
You can shove your hamburger
And don't you wonder,
Why in Estonia they say,
"Hey you, Big fat pig
You fat pig, You fat pig"
Steely Blue eyes with no love in them,
Scan The World,
And a humourless smile,
With no warmth within,
Greets the world
And I,
I have got nothing,
To offer you
No-no-no-no-no
Just this heart deep and true,
Which you say you don't need
See with your eyes,
Touch with your hands, please,
Hear through your ears,
Know in your soul, please
For haven't you me with you now?
And I love you,
I love you,
I love you,
And I love you,
I love you, I love you
Happy Fourth of July American readers.
Happy Monday everyone else in the world.
And no, really, I don't hate America. Save your ire and spare me the email. I just don't like politicians.
And that's the troubling paradox. I don't like politicians, or American government policies on a lot of issues, but I like that American government allows me the freedom to disagree and the power to vote for change.
M'kay?
Hate = Love.
Freedom = Power.
Democracy = Choice.
Choice = Freedom.
Democracy is just one big Universal Wheel of the power of love and the freedom to hate.
1:24 PM
