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
Wednesday, September 22, 2004 Well This Explains a Few Things...
This is so swutting typical. Several of you suggested I try eHarmony, the better way to meet people. Thank you. I appreciate the idea.
I read their claims. I agreed with their philosophy. I thought, "hmm, yeah, maybe this is a better way...I've got a few drinks in me, I'll try it!"
I was honest. Oh was I honest. I believe in honesty. Especially when meeting a potential spouse.
And eHarmony, in return, was honest with me. I respect and appreciate that. Unlike other online dating sites, they are not asking for my credit card knowing full well there's not a sinner's chance in Hell there is a man for me in the world let alone their database.
Based on their candor and honesty to me, I give them high marks. I cannot vouch for the type of person you will meet on eHarmony, but at the very least you know it won't be someone like me. eHarmony is doing their bit to thin the herd by keeping people like me out of the gene pool.
Thanks eHarmony, from the future of the species human.
Here is the note they sent me:
eHarmony is based upon a complex matching system developed through extensive testing of married individuals. One of the requirements for it to work successfully is for participants to fall into our rigorously defined profiles. If we aren't able to match a user well using these profiles, the most considerate approach is to inform them early in the process.
We are so convinced of the importance of creating compatible matches to help people establish and enjoy happy, lasting relationships that we choose not to provide service rather than risk an uncertain match.
Unfortunately, we are not able to make our profiles work for you. Our matching system is not suitable for about 20% of potential users, so 1 in 5 people simply would not benefit from our service. We hope that you understand that we regret our inability to provide service for you at this time.
You can still receive your free personality profile by clicking here. (To see my actual profile, login as me: Trilliansweird, password: guide42.
In other words, I am so complicated, so messed up, so bizarre, even their "complex matching system" of "rigorously defined profiles" can't catagorize me let alone find me a man.
If eHarmony can't do it, then why would I ever think I could do it?
As for the "accuracy" of the personality profile, I would consider it to be about 75% - 80% accurate. Which, for an online dating site, is pretty good. There are some areas in which they are just dead wrong, laughably wrong, but in all cases they redeem themselves 2:1 with other areas which are spookily accurate and insightful. (see the "communication" page as an example of "Wow. They nailed it perfectly.")
What I gleaned from this is that my expectations (demands) of a mate are too high. I need things, things men are just not capable of, I guess. Like a supportive, objective emotional environment and a safe place to live (you know, smoke detectors and the like). While I, on the other hand, offer a man high standards and values, detail orientation and reality based solutions. Right. A picky, nit picking, even, shrew who holds people to unreasonably high standards and values. So there you have it. Why HWNMNBS and no other man on the planet wants me. Oh yeah. That and I'm ugly.
I'll be stopping at the cat shelter on my way home tonight.
And while I'm picking up all the cat food and litter I'll be needing, I'll also load up on bird seed for the pigeons I'll be feeding in the park.
Post-It Note:
Okay, I'll share...I did write eHarmony a letter in the comments area provided at the end of their rejection letter.
Dear eHarmony,
Thank you for your honesty and business integrity. You could have taken my credit card like all the other online dating sites, all the while knowing there is not a man on this planet who is a good match for me. But you claim to be different, and in that regard, you are.
Thank you for rejecting me like every man I've ever dated. Yours was one of the most thoughtful and well written Dear Jane letters I've ever received. You really went the extra mile in showing your concern for my well being by providing detailed, albeit conflicting, reasons as to my incompatibility not only with you, but men, and apparently the entire human race. The reports will come in handy as I once again search my soul and heart for answers to why I am single, unlovable and unworthy. Rejection is painful, and leaves people questioning and trying to change and rebuild themselves. Having your shortcomings and negative personality traits detailed in the rejection letter is a nice, caring touch to a normally callous process.
As you are probably aware, people often turn to online dating sites after "conventional" methods of meeting dates and potential mates fail them. Often, people using online dating sites are wary, if not a little fraile, because of past rejection, loneliness and just not being able to find the right person. Your honest rejection of not only their money, but their personalities, will restore their confidence in online service retailing and affirm their doubts about themselves.
Don't take my family's liable suit over my suicide personally. 20% of dating sites, 1 in 5, have liability charges brought against them every week.
Since you can't recommend a man for me, perhaps you could recommend a good therapist or the proper way to make a suicide look like an accident for insurance purposes.
Thank you for your candor and honesty. I very much appreciate that you are not taking money from sad, lonely people who are normally taken advantage of on dating sites.
Trillian
Yes. That is an exact copy of the comment I sent them.
Okay, not the usual programming format today. I'm super busy and have, um, well, been drinking a bit lately, and well, um...yeah. My dog ate it?
For anyone who's hanging in suspense, DAD has taken a copy of the complaint to a lawyer. The lawyer is reviewing the complaint but at first glance thinks those of us named in the complaint have nothing to worry about personally. Unless our company decides to take disciplinary action against us. Not exactly comforting words. Expensive, not comforting words. So far I've been fleeced of $125 for those words.
UM gave birth to a girl last week and is now on official maternity leave, so we can legally hire a temp to do her work while she's on maternity leave. There is much rejoicing.
HEM continues to discuss intimate parts of her anatomy and how they are changing during her pregnancy in intricate detail with anyone. "Morning, Hem" someone will innocently say.
"The weirdest and most wonderful thing is happening to my asshole! I've got hemorrhoids!" she will respond.
IPD is still hugely pregnant and hugely bitchy.
HUH? just tries to keep a low profile and remain nonplussed.
8:42 AM
Drivin' and Cryin'
Want to feel old, ugly, out of place and worthless?
Go to your cousin's kid's wedding.
Alone.
I guarantee within 20 minutes of arriving you will feel like the biggest loser ever to roam the planet.
You will be socially outcast.
You will wonder why you agreed to attend this thing in the first place.
You will find the first excuse you can to beat a hasty retreat back to your alarmingly overpriced room at the Ramada Inn before the DJ spins Proud Mary.
(Because this is a small town, because this is a Proud Mary wedding. Because there will be a DJ. There is always a DJ at Proud Mary weddings. And there will be the perfect Proud Mary moment when the opening strains hit the airwaves. (The CCR version, of course, this is a small Northern town, after all.) And everyone, everyone, young, old, will hit the dance floor. The bride and groom will boogie down. Aunt Marge will take this opportunity to show off her new hip replacement. 19 year old cousins Brent and Brandon will air guitar. Uncle Les will almost lose his toupee while dancing with little 4-year-old Emily. The bride's father will dance with the groom's mother, making mock inappropriate moves. The groom's father will dance with the bride's mother and attempt actual inappropriate moves. Bridesmaids in their matching gawdawful dresses with shoes dyed to match and dumb hair don'ts will perform a line dance/striptease. Groomsmen will return from their pot smoking session out back by the dumpster to watch the bridesmaids. Someone, someone not from around here, someone related only by marriage or dentist, someone very bored and very drunk, will attempt a Tina Turner shakin' it move and scream out WOOOOOOOO! a little too loud and a little too soulfully.)
Why leave before all that fun begins?
Because you are in a small, married town to attend a wedding and you are single and live in a big city and are not accustomed to the small, married town way of life.
Oh sure, at first people, mainly relatives, will be pleasant enough. They'll make small talk about your job ("You still working at the same place? Still living in the same place? Still have that cat?"), about your parents ("Shame your folks couldn't make it. Golly, they're so busy since they retired..."), your ever so much more successful (and married, and childbearing) siblings ("Your brother's gonna get the Pulitzer this year, I bet. And isn't his daughter just the cutest, smartest little thing?" "Sounds like the divorce was the best thing to happen to your sister, heh heh heh, she always did have more boyfriends than she could handle and isn't that something about that cool new job of hers?") and bring up one or two "cute" stories of your youth. ("No one will ever forget the time you threw up on cousin Kay's wedding dress har har har!" (I was four, I was deathly ill, I was forced to be a flower girl, and I was nervous. Okay?) But the small talk will be strained as it becomes obvious nothing in your life has changed, that you are the loser of the family, the one destined to be the spinster, the one they are all concerned about because none of them wants to end up being the one having to "look after you" when you're older and still alone and unable to care for yourself and your sure to be hundreds of cats anymore. The one who will throw up on the bride.
They will make polite excuses to go visit with other people, have drinks with other people and go outside for a smoke with other people. Occasionally whispering and nodding in your direction. They might be saying, "Wow, great shoes she's got there!" but more likely they are saying, "She's the one who's fiancé dumped her. She's the one no one wants. She's never going to find a man. Waited too long. She didn't have a much going for her but youth, but she's lost that now, too." Okay, so maybe not all of them are saying that but I am certain they are thinking it.
Yep. I have the esteemed position of being the only one in my generation on both sides of my family to have never been married and who has not borne children. Many of my cousins are on second and third marriages. Most of my cousins' children are getting married. One of those children has already married, had two children, divorced and re-married. He's younger than me.
Yes, to be fair to myself, I am the youngest of my generation by a long span of years. I am closer in age to most of my cousins' children than I am to my cousins.
But still.
There I am. Still unmarried. Still childless. Still at that job. Still renting. Still that too shy, too awkward, too cynical girl who can't get her life together and is perilously close to vomiting on the bride.
Even my cousin Sarah who went off to California and got knocked up out of wedlock by a guy of a very different race is more accepted in this group than I am. (Keep in mind these are the very same people who consider me (and my brother and sister) to be of mixed race, and consequently inferior, because my mother is (in whispered voice) you know, Scottish, or British or one of those countries.)
Sarah gained re-acceptance because she had a child (and then two more by other men of various ethnicity much more divergent than Scottish or British) and finally settled down and has a "career." (She eventually married a guy anyone who's ever been in a town with a population greater than 500 knows is gay. They sell new age crap at weekend flea markets. (For the record I'm not judging, I like Sarah, and the fathers of her children, and their ethnicities, and her gay husband, and her kids, and I am glad Sarah left Hicksville and lived life. I only state all of this because Sarah is accepted, adored, embraced and taken in at these family functions solely because she achieved small town family acceptance nirvana: She reproduced and eventually married. Whereas I am thrown some polite small talk, cast to the corner and left at the Ramada Inn.))
Why did I do this to myself, now of all times?
Because my parents are busy and couldn't make the schlep to my father's familial enclave in Norway West and someone needed to represent our branch of the family tree at this thing. Because none of our branch has made it to any of these gigs in the past two years. Because I live closest to Norway West and am single and have nothing to tie me down or any other viable excuse for not going so: Tag. I was it.
Just say no!
Oh let me tell you. I said no. I have said no. And no one pressured me to go. Really. Well. I mean, not really. My dad just sort of gave me that tone and reminded me of the time I stayed with one of my cousins. Apparently that two night stay came with a lifetime of obligation to attend family functions around the globe. Had I known I would have opted for the youth hostel or Ramada Inn.
I could have just not gone. I am busy at work. I have to go out of town this week. I could have made polite excuses.
But. (Insert wavy dream sequence lines here)
I had this vague notion that it would be fun. (Insert clip of me happily singing as I drive on backwoods roads, deer and squirrels stopping and looking up and smiling at me as I pass by them.) That a change of scenery would be good for me. (Insert clip of me sitting in an Adirondack chair outside a cabin as early morning sun streams through trees, birds resting on my shoulder.) That getting back to nature would get me touch with things that really matter. (Insert clip of me lolling in a row boat on a lake in the middle of nowhere with a sublime look on my face.) That being in the loving embrace of family...(insert scratch of record here, harsh jolt out of the dream sequence)
My father's family is, well. I mean, you know, they're nice and everything... Minnesota Nice.
If you don't know what Minnesota Nice is, well, come with me to my next family get together. Which now that I think of it, will be never. So read this blog instead.
It's another term, a polite term, for: Passive aggressive.
Small towns are small towns the world over. Everyone knows everyone else's business. But because small town people generally don't leave or even move across town, they've got to live and deal with each other. Small town have an inbred knowledge of how to keep their mouths shut but still make their conflicting/superior/moral point of view known. They've got to live next door to these people, go to church with them, see them at the grocery and football games. The real uncomfortable or nasty thing cannot be said in the interest of community well being. But let me tell you: No one does backhand compliments and passive aggressive like people in small towns. There it is elevated to an art form. And thus the term Minnesota Nice was born. They would never, never say what they really think in public. That's just not polite and it's darned mean, too. But get them behind closed doors, brew a pot of coffee and just sit back and listen. You'll get an earful about the neighbors, their in-laws, the new minister and the gal from downstate Earl is seeing. It's that public persona, the polite, nice, well wishing attitude people not from around there mistake for a gentler way of life, friendliness and even naiveté. But, as in Fargo, scratch the surface a little bit, spend a few hours in the kitchen (or out back by the wood chipper) and you'll see these people are not always polite, nice, well wishing, friendly and certainly not naive.
But they are different from their larger town and city counterparts. The standards by which success is judged and graded are very different from larger towns and especially cities.
In small towns, very small towns, there are certain benchmarks by which all people are judged. a) High school athletic prowess, b) size of truck, c) reproduction. These benchmarks remain throughout life. What you did on the football field in high school, the size of your truck and the number of children you produce are lifetime gauges of success. They will be discussed at your: wedding, children's baptisms, Rotary meetings, retirement and funeral. This is how you and your life will be measured for final analysis.
In very small towns, college scholarships are cause for suspicion. The kids who get out on a scholarship often do not return. If they do return, they're not the same. They're never quite the same... Military duty is lauded, but also eyed with suspicion if it becomes a career. One stint, right out of high school is favored, expected and patriotic. A re-up after the first stint is frowned upon and just weird.
If a person has not reproduced by the age of 25 (with or without the benefit of a shotgun at the marriage) there is widespread concern. Females in particular will be shuttled to social events, church functions and weddings at breakneck pace as the 25th birthday of an unmarried, childless woman approaches. The shuttling to these events is an all out war on spinsterhood. "Find her a man! Any man!" is the battle cry shouted behind her back. The invitations to other weddings are a ploy to get the idea planted in the unmarried girl's mind. Just in case she's been entertaining any big ideas about going off and having a career. Apparently the idea is that if she sees other girls (especially younger girls) getting married in a big fancy wedding with a reception down at the hall by the lake, she'll want one, too. It's true in all walks of life around the globe: Weddings breed weddings. And occasionally babies.
Most of my family, or at least those in my generation, the children of my father's contemporaries, all got out. Heck. My father and his siblings got out. Heck, my father's parents left, too. But since my grandmother and one of my uncles returned, no one talks about them in disparaging tones. My grandmother and uncle redeemed our branch of the family. In small towns, it's all about redemption. Unspoken and otherwise.
The rest of us are expected to return. I often ponder if I could return even though I was never really there. That's the thing about small towns. If you're not from there you are always an outsider. Unless you have family there. In that case, by default and blood, you may eventually be accepted and considered from there. Once you reproduce, that is. Nothing ups small town status like having a child in the school district.
The irony in all of this is that my father and his siblings and their cousins are all first generation Americans. The family's roots in that neck of the woods are only 70-80 years deep. (There is one branch of the family, the first to pioneer, the pathfinders, who settled there just before the turn of the century. The descendents of that couple are the undisputed royalty of the family.) The fact that their parents left not only their tiny little towns, but their country, which had been their family's home for centuries and never looked back seems to escape them.
The only thing that matters, the only tales in family lore, is that they got on boats and made their way to the mythical land they'd heard about called Minnesota, built homes next to other ex pats from their homeland and called themselves happy.
Goshdarnit.
And we should all be reverent and happy to have them as our forebears who gave us this happy life. And never leave. The blood of the undisputed travelers and explorers (and yes, plunderers, users and rapers) of history, the Vikings, runs in our veins, and yet we're supposed to be content to stay in some podunk town in the middle of nowhere with a big truck, children and a football trophy? Another thing about small towns: They can cause people to lose their view of the big picture. And a sane grip on reality.
My mum, in a very out of character angry tirade, once summed it up best after one particularly difficult get together with my father's family wherein my father was made to feel guilty and bad and useless because he left, married not only outside the clan but outside of "his people" and never returned to live there: "Where do they get the cheek to condemn you for leaving this Godforsaken place? Who wouldn't leave?"
It is rather Godforsaken, but it is pretty. A nice place to visit. Minnesota Nice.
Kari, my cousin's daughter and the bride of the weekend, is a nice girl. Not even Minnesota nice. Real, sincere nice. She's adorable. She was pursued by Budweiser to be a Bud Girl. She refused a) because she hates Budweiser, and b) Because she didn't want to promote the women as sex objects selling stuff mentality. (Yeah, I like her.) But from her veiled blushing cheek to white satin toes, her very being oozed smugness. I don't think she meant to be smug, really. Well. In the case of a few of the bridesmaids (and their burgundy ill fitting dresses) I suspect Kari meant to beam her smug marital success at them. Still. I don't think she meant to aim it at me. Kari dreams of moving to Chicago or maybe New York. She's hoping her new husband can get enough saved ahead so they can move to Chicago and consequently Kari is trying to keep in my good graces. She also knows her best gifts from this hitching came from me and my parents. But just by being a bride, actually making it to the altar with a groom waiting there for her, I am in her direct line of fire.
Anyone who's ever suffered a broken engagement knows exactly what I mean. We were so close. We thought we had it. We had the dress, the church, the band...but most of all we had the perfect groom. And that's what this is about: Proving to those small town relatives and the rest of the world who don't want to admit it out loud but really do think that way too, that we've made it. We're successful at least at finding a man to marry us. And I'm talking about big weddings, small weddings, elopements...any legal union of two people where gifts and cards are appropriate. Nothing says success quite as loudly as a traditional wedding. And nothing makes single people, particularly single people who were once engaged, who almost made it, feel more useless, unsuccessful, and just plain bad about themselves like a traditional wedding. Especially the wedding of someone younger.
It's not Kari's fault our family are small town, small minded throwbacks to 1950. I don't blame her. I wish her years of marital bliss and happiness. I mean it. But you try consoling yourself, alone, in your room at the Ramada Inn, after attending your cousin's daughter's wedding and being the only single, never married, never had children, dumped by her fiancé (twice) woman within 100 miles of the place.
It's a long drive from upper Minnesota to Chicago. A very long drive.
I cried the entire trip.
Sobbed would be the more appropriate term.
I've learned a lot about myself since I met HWNMNBS. I've learned that "true love" of poetry, literature and song does in fact exist. I've learned that I am in fact capable of loving and allowing someone to get close enough to me to love me. I've learned about sacrifice and compromise. I've learned not only can I cry, but I can sob. (I was never much of a crier and certainly not a sobber.) I've also learned I have an ugly bitter streak in me. I have learned that it was just I thought, I am ugly. I have learned that no matter what people say, what lofty ideals we all proclaim, looks do matter. I have learned that I am the ugly old spinster of the family no one wants to talk to. I have learned that I am so weak that I can allow one person to change me and my entire life. I have learned I have qualities which I hate in other people. I have learned that in fact, I don't like myself very much at all. I have learned that I have the ability to recognize all of this about myself and remain unable or unwilling to change.
I have learned that missing HWNMNBS is a way of life for me. Missing him, that empty feeling, is not something that fades or can be calmed, repressed, with a busy work schedule, friends, family, hobbies or road trips. It's part of my state of being. I just miss him.
It's my own fault. I trusted him. I let him in there in the first place. My instincts and intuition were wrong. He's way out of my league. He's not even playing the same game. I should have known that, should have seen it. He's right, what would a guy like him see in a girl like me? It's taken me a long time, years, to recognize that, to see us on the surface level, see us as the world sees us, just two people. I was so wrapped up in the other aspects, (and to be fair, he seemed to be, too, which is why I trusted him in the first place) everything except what he or I look like, that I never stopped to consider it as a deciding factor.
