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, October 22, 2004
A really bad thing happened.
I went away.
I did the things I thought I could not do.
I did the things I've never thought about doing or not doing.
My heart was broken in ways I never imagined possible.
Ways so badly the pain HWNMNBS has put me through seems like mirth and merriment in comparison.
I thought I was a grown-up.
I was wrong.
I am only now becoming a grown-up.
Growing up, like everything else in life, is a process not an event.
That which doesn't kill us puts us a notch ahead on the evolution of man chart.
Forget Bush rhetoric. I saw a face of evil.
It caught me by surprise and unprepared.
I laughed at it.
I scared it away, but I know it's lurking and will return with a new bag of tricks.
I'll be ready and waiting.
I will study and learn and with the entire Universe as my witness I will stare back at the face of evil with a sardonic smile and cunning intellect as my weapons. (Apparently the face of evil hates sardonicism and cunning intellect, by the way, so you might want to work on those skills.)
Even though I now know eventually it will win.
I will not go quietly.
I will become competitive for the first time in my life.
I will not stand back and observe and report.
I will protect and defend even after it's done its worst and left to find another victim.
I did the most difficult thing I've ever had to do in my life.
My heart broke in even more ways.
I reluctantly returned to Chicago. Not home. Just the place I live and work.
I scoff at the life waiting for me.
Airports. Airlines. Taxis. Trains. Crappy apartment. Mail spilling out of the box. Bills. Catalogs. Magazines. Missing children. Phone messages. Email. Spam. Laundry. Work. Coworkers. Deadlines.
All of it needing urgent attention.
All of it a meaningless waste of time.
All of it matters to other people.
None of it matters to me.
That face is clever - it's several places at once.
Here and there. And over there, too.
You can run but you can't hide.
It pops up to try to scare me in the nooks and crannies of my life.
It's trying to wear me down, catch me in an unguarded moment and strike when I am weak.
It doesn't know me.
It couldn't have.
Because until two weeks ago I didn't even know me.
I'm meeting myself for the first time.
Trillian: Meet Trillian.
I know. You think you know someone, and then boom! they do something which makes you realize you haven't a clue who this person really is. (Very much like serial killers. It's always the quiet ones. The ones you never suspect.)
It's weird when that person is yourself.
And there's one more baby step forward on the evolution of man chart.
I'm going to have to go away again to face the face of evil face to face, none of this coy lurking business.
Have fun if you haven't had to grow up yet. Enjoy yourself. Life is difficult. Love stinks. Work sucks. Rent's expensive. But those things are trivial inconveniences once you have to stare down the face of evil, be mocked by it, fight back, defend and protect, all the while knowing full well it is going to eventually beat you.
So far I can only report that you should always be prepared with a sack lunch and a good book.
