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/.

Otherwise, hello, and welcome.
Mail Trillian here<





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Women, The Internet and You: Tips for Men Who Use Online Dating Sites
Part I, Your Profile and Email

Part II, Selecting a Potential Date

Part III, Your First Date!

Part IV, After the First Date. Now What?


"50 First Dates"






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.
Find Federal Officials
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or Search by State

Find State Officials
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or Search by State

Contact The Media
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or Search by State





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.)

Quasar
Hyperbole
Amenable
Taciturn
Ennui
Prophetic
Tawdry
Hubris
Ethereal
Syzygy
Umbrageous
Twerp
Sluice
Omnipotent
Sanctuary
Malevolent
Maelstrom
Luddite
Subterfuge
Akimbo
Hoosegow
Dodecahedron
Visceral
Soupçon
Truculent
Vitriol
Mercurial
Kerfuffle
Sangfroid




























 







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Highlights from the Archives. Some favorite Trillian moments.

Void, Of Course: Eliminating Expectations and Emotions for a Better Way of Life

200i: iPodyssey

Macs Are from Venus, Windows is from Mars Can a relationship survive across platform barriers?
Jerking Off

Get A Job

Office Church Ladies: A Fieldguide

'Cause I'm a Blonde

True? Honestly? I think not.

A Good Day AND Funyuns?

The Easter Boy

Relationship in the Dumpster

Wedding Dress 4 Sale, Never Worn

Got Friends? Are You Sure? Take This Test

What About Class? Take This Test

A Long Time Ago, in a Galaxy Far Far Away, There Was a Really Bad Movie

May Your Alchemical Process be Complete. Rob Roy Recipe

Good Thing She's Not in a Good Mood Very Often (We Knew it Wouldn't Last)

What Do I Have to Do to Put You in this Car Today?

Of Mice and Me (Killer Cat Strikes in Local Woman's Apartment)

Trillian: The Musical (The Holiday Special)

LA Woman (I Love (Hate) LA)

It is my Cultureth
...and it would suit-eth me kindly to speak-eth in such mannered tongue

Slanglish

It's a Little Bit Me, It's a Little Bit You
Blogging a Legacy for Future Generations


Parents Visiting? Use Trillian's Mantra!

Ghosts of Christmas Past: Mod Hair Ken

Caught Blogging by Mom, Boss or Other

2003 Holiday Sho-Lo/Mullet Awards

Crullers, The Beer Store and Other Saintly Places

Come on Out of that Doghouse! It's a Sunshine Day!

"...I had no idea our CEO is actually Paula Abdul in disguise."

Lap Dance of the Cripple

Of Muppets and American Idols
"I said happier place, not crappier place!"

Finally Off Crutches, Trillian is Emancipated

Payless? Trillian? Shoe Confessions

Reality Wednesday: Extremely Local Pub

Reality Wednesday: Backstage Staging Zone (The Sweater Blog)

The Night Secret Agent Man Shot My Dad

To Dream the Impossible Dream: The Office Karaoke Party

Trillian Flies Economy Class (Prisoner, Cell Block H)

Trillian Visits the Village of the Damned, Takes Drugs, Becomes Delusional and Blogs Her Brains Out

Trillian's Parents are Powerless

Striptease for Spiders: A PETA Charity Event (People for the Ethical Treatment of Arachnids)

What's Up with Trillian and the Richard Branson Worship?

"Screw the French and their politics, give me their cheese!"


















 
Mail Trillian here





Trillian's Guide to the Galaxy gives 5 stars to these places in the Universe:
So much more than fun with fonts, this is a daily dose of visual poetry set against a backdrop of historical trivia. (C'mon, how can you not love a site that notes Wolfman Jack's birthday?!)

CellStories

Alliance for the Great Lakes


Hot, so cool, so cool we're hot.

Ig Nobel Awards

And you think YOU have the worst bridesmaid dress?

Coolest Jewelry in the Universe here (trust Trillian, she knows)

Red Tango

If your boss is an idiot, click here.

Evil Cat Full of Loathing.

Wildlife Works

Detroit Cobras


The Beachwood Reporter is better than not all, but most sex.



Hey! Why not check out some great art and illustration while you're here? Please? It won't hurt and it's free.

Shag

Kii Arens

Tim Biskup

Jeff Soto

Jotto




Get Fuzzy Now!
If you're not getting fuzzy, you should be. All hail Darby Conley. Yes, he's part of the Syndicate. But he's cool.





Who or what is HWNMNBS: (He Whose Name Must Not Be Spoken) Trillian's ex-fiancé. "Issues? What issues?"







Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.


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Reading blogs at work? Click to escape to a suitable site!

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

 
Saturday, October 30, 2004  
Live! From all over the Universe! It's The Trillian Show!

(Cue big fanfare type music with a rock edge)

(Trillian walks on stage)

(crowd goes wild)

Thank you! thank You!

(flowers and cds and lovely jewelry and art are thrown at her)

Awe, geeze, thanks!! Oh please, guys, come on...no really, come on, sit down.

(Picks up various cds and lovely pieces of jewelry and art, starts looking at them with way too much interest, seems to be losing herself in looking at the cds and lovely jewelry and art, hey! the Spirito necklace I've been wanting! thanks! okay, really, she's spending too much time looking at this stuff, cue funky bass to get her attention)

Oh! Right! Getting on with it...

(crowd goes wild again)

You guys, come on, give me a chance here. You haven't even heard what I have to say yet.

(WE LOVE YOU TRILL! someone yells from the back of the studio)

(Oi, oi, oi, oi, oi, (stamping of feet) oi, oi, oi)

Oh please, not the oi, oi, ois, I hate oi. This isn't Arsenal and United, give me a break!

(band plays Rock and Roll Part 2, Trillian rolls her eyes, the crowd yells out Hey! to punctuate the Heys!)

Hey! Did you you guys know Gary Glitter is a Wickpedia entry? No really, I'm not kidding, Gary Glitter is in Wickpedia. Well, actually, I guess, according to Wickpedia, he's in Cambodia. You know, where all the pedophiles go.

Right. That got your attention. (someone exits in the back of the studio) See? He couldn't wait to find out about Gary Glitter, he's dashing home to look it up, he doesn't believe me. Hey! Here's another bit: Rock and Roll Part 2 is the only Gary Glitter song on iTunes! Check it out!

We've got a big show lined up for you today. Lots going on here at The Trillian Show. Because, well, I mean, that's why it's The Trillian Show.

If there weren't lots going on it would be someone else's show. You'd all be over at the Belle du Jour Show.

(Another guy leaves the back studio door)

(laughs) He thought this ,i>was the Belle du Jour Show. Poor misguided boy.

No, this is The Trillian Show, live, uncut and moderately censored. No whoring around but plenty of other kinds of bang for your buck here.

(woo hoos, go Trillian, go Trillian, from the audience, band plays Rock and Roll Part 2 again, Trillian cracks up. What, you guys can’t do 50 Cent?! She implores the stage band.)

Like I said, getting on with it, this is The Trillian Show. Sit back and let Trillian do the driving for you! Got a problem? Do what everyone else does! Call me, Trillian. I’ll help you. It’s what I do. It’s my thing, apparently. Work, family, finances, health, religion, evolution...I shoulder it all so you don’t have to. Not because I’m capable. Not because I’m a martyr. Not because I’m good at it. The only reasons are that the Universe is one huge ironic mass of crap and when things go cock eyed or get a bit too difficult or ironic I am genuinely concerned and willing to step in and make attempts at trying to set things back on a less ironic, easier to navigate path. Oh sure, I could use some help, but this is The Trillian Show, not The Trillian and Friends Variety Hour, and now that I know my thing is being the one to handle apparently, well, everything, because this is The Trillian Show.

(awwwww from the audience)

No, no, this isn’t “oh poor me...” I don't feel sorry for myself. I'm just trying to accept and cope with the fact that apparently my thing is being the responsible one. Or the scapegoat one. Or the sap. No, really, if I didn't want to be that one, I wouldn't do it. It's not that I mind doing any of it, because I really do care. I think that's what started The Trillian Show in the first place. I care, I sincerely want to help, I do whatever I can and things I didn't know I could do because I want to and so I don't feel sorry for myself because I wanted to do this in the first place. Just because no one else wants to or can't or won't or doesn't see the need doesn't make them bad or worse than me. I mean that in most cases, I really do. So no more awwwwwwws.

This is me coming to understand and accept responsibilities beyond those of my normal life. This is me accepting that in many of these cases, no one else can or is willing to do the thing which needs to be done, and I can’t sit by and watch a situation spiral out of control. This is me being able to make sacrifices for the greater good because I want to because it’s the right thing to do. I have been told, a lot lately, that there’s always one in every family, one in every office, one in every community. One person who shoulders the responsibility, the work and the blame for everything. I present to you: Me. Trillian. The responsible scapegoat who can’t get her own life together but for some reason has been tagged to be responsible for everyone else’s lives and problems.

I know, I know, I think it’s ironic and weird, too. I accept it, and now I’m trying to decide if I should bother to try to understand it or just go on accepting without thinking. Doesn’t really matter, the end result is the same. Stuff needs to be taken care of, no one else is stepping forward, someone’s got to deal with some of this stuff, everyone else has valid excuses, erm, reasons and they’re all looking at me with that “well, go on then, get to it” look. Right, like that. (points to a member of the audience with a “well, go on then, get to it” look) After all, since it’s my show I guess I can’t blame anyone for their impatience.

So, without further adieu, this week’s installment of The Trillian Show.

Watch as Trillian single handedly helps transport her very ill and paralyzed mother and apparently completely inept father from a remote mountainside to a metropolitan hospital 900 miles across country!

Clip of Trillian driving in treacherous mountain roads in the middle of the night, moose stepping onto the road and hunks of granite falling, clip turns into a video game with the outline of a car blipping across a black screen and little icons of moose and rocks appearing in front of her, horn honks zap the obstacles off the screen with a bleep and a poof! Then cut to a clip of Trillian running down the hall of a small hospital, pushing gurneys and IV carts out of her way, rushing into an intensive care room, hoisting her mum over her shoulder and grabbing her stunned father by the hand and running back down the halls to the waiting car, back to the video game, Score! (oi, oi, oi, Rock and Roll Part 2, Give it a rest you guys! That joke isn't funny anymore, it wasn't even that funny the first time.) cut back to video of Trillian driving up to small airport in the middle of nowhere, getting out of the car, looking around for the airline helper people who are supposed to be waiting for her, motioning to her parents to stay put, "I'll be right back" she mouths at them. She dashes around the empty airport drive up area, not even a sky cap to be found. (tumbleweed rolls by as she enters the terminal) She spots the (Most Horrible Airline in the World) counter and notes there is no one on duty there. The airport is not busy, but there are a few passengers and agents at all the other airline desks.

Trillian spots the airport information desk and jog trots to it. “Hi, erm, sorry to bother you, I’m just wondering if you know where I might find a (Most Horrible Airline in the World) agent. (motioning to the empty airline counter) My mum’s ill and I made arrangements with (Most Horrible Airline in the World) to have wheelchair assistance waiting for her, she’s going to need a lot of help getting checked in and through security, and there’s no one out there” (motioning to the car parked curbside)

Information desk stereotype person replies in a very slow, thick accent of questionable origin, ”Ya vahnt ahrzis?”

“Erm, yes, I think so, (Most Horrible Airline in the World) said they’d be waiting, but if there’s someone else who can help us that would be great. We’ll need a wheelchair, I can manage getting her into it, and my dad can manage while I return the rental car, but I think she’s supposed to go through a special security check.”

“(Mahzt Horrib Ahrleene im zah Vahrl) mahs ahrzis.”

“Right, but see, (motioning to the empty (Most Horrible Airline in the World) counter) there is no one there. They’re supposed to be waiting for us outside, but there’s no one there, either.”

“Veel fahge.”

(blank stare of expectancy)

Silence.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

Information desk stereotype person picks up a phone and then through the airport speakers can be heard, “(Mahzt Horrib Ahrleene im zah Vahrl) ahjahn ta impfahrmahtahn cahntah fah cahstomah ahrzis. (louder) (Mahzt Horrib Ahrleene im zah Vahrl) ahjahn ta impfahrmahtahn cahntah fah cahstomah ahrzis! (One more time with feeling) (Mahzt Horrib Ahrleene im zah Vahrl) ahjahn ta impfahrmahtahn cahntah fah cahstomah ahrzis!!”

Everyone in the terminal looking at the information desk, several people saying, “What?”

In answer to the public outcry for more clear instructions, information desk stereotype person holds the phone like a microphone, furrows brow, summons energy and then through the airport speakers can be heard, “(Mahzt Horrib Ahrleene im zah Vahrl) ahjahn ta impfahrmahtahn cahntah fah cahstomah ahrzis!”

People in the terminal either laugh or shake their heads in disgust.

Trillian smiles and nods apologetically. Because of course this, interruption to their travels, like everything else, is her fault.

A security guard appears.

Ah, finally, some help, Trillian thinks.

Trillian is easily deluded. She's still thinking this could be the Trillian and Friends Variety Hour. She soon learns of her ignorant ways.

“That your car out there?” motioning to the car containing her parents.

“Yes.”

“You can’t park there. Drop off only. Pull up, jump out, leave. That’s it. Parking lot’s down there.” (squints eyes to see faraway land and points to a lot apparently on the other side of the runways, just there, on the horizon.

“Right, I know, sorry, but, see, my mum’s ill and we’re traveling to another hospital and I made arrangements with (Most Horrible Airline in the World) to have wheelchair assistance waiting for her, she’s going to need a lot of help getting checked in and through security, and there’s no one out there and there’s no one at (Most Horrible Airline in the World)’s counter. ” (motioning to the empty airline counter)

On this cue, information desk stereotype person again microphones via the phone, “(Mahzt Horrib Ahrleene im zah Vahrl) ahjahn ta impfahrmahtahn cahntah fah cahstomah ahrzis!”

There is an audible ripple of laughter from throughout the terminal.

Security guard looks out at the car. “I’ll get a wheelchair, then you gotta move the car.”

“Thanks, right, of course. It’s a rental anyway, I’m going to return it. Now. When we get my mum settled in a wheelchair. That you’re going to get for us. Please. Thank you.”

Silence from security guard. He makes no move.

“Okay. Right. I’ll just go out and get mum and dad ready, then. Out there. (twists and points to the car) So I can return the car and get it out of the way. Out there.”

Security guard says nothing and makes no move.

Trillian sheepishly walks out of the terminal, looking back and smiling an encouraging, “look, see, I’m going out here to get my mum ready for the wheelchair you’re getting for us so I can move the car” type smile every few steps.

Father ‘o Trillian gets out of the car.

“Where are they? I thought you made arrangements. Your mother needs a wheelchair, Trillian, that’s a long way, you know she can’t manage that!”

(rickem frickem smickem bite me, old man mutter mutter grumble)

Big smile, oozing faux perkiness, “They’re on their way, Dad, it’s early, not a lot of people at work yet. Help me get Mum ready.”

(rickem frickem smickem since when did you become so helpless, she’s your wife, why do I have to do all this and do you really think I didn’t make the arrangements when are you going to realize I am a competent adult if you don’t think I can handle this why don’t you get your other children to help, oh yeah, because they're not here don't see them spending the money and time to race to be with mum in the middle of nowhere mutter mutter grumble)

Security guy rolls out a wheelchair which looks to be about circa 1962.

Trillian gets her mum out of the car and into the decrepit wheelchair. Security guard looks at the car.

“Right then, thank you, I’ll just get the bags out of the trunk (looking at Father ‘o Trillian) and get the car out of the way. Now. Okay.”

Father ‘o Trillian is already pushing the museum piece of a wheelchair, mum's handbag flopping over one of the push handles, four footed shiny new cane hooked over the other, one foot rest scraping the pavement, into the terminal.

Looking at the security guard, “Erm, um, right, we have three suitcases, I don’t see a sky cap...” (maybe you could help me out here? implied)

No way, you’re on your own and get that car out of here look implied.

“Right. I’ll just deal with the suitcases after I drop off the car. Then. Okay. Thanks.”

(Thought bubble: Should I tip him? Do you tip security guards? Is bringing a wheelchair security guard duty or above and beyond his normal job duties? Would it seem like I’m trying to bribe him if I tipped him? Will they detain me under the Homeland Security Act if I tip him and he construes it as a bribe? Maybe I better just give him a really sincere and apologetic smile and a heartfelt thank you.)

Big toothy sincere apologetic smile from across the roof of the car, “Thank you so much, I really appreciate the help.”

(Oh swut. That sounded more sarcastic than really sincere. Oh swut. Just get the swut out of here before he arrests you.)

Trillian navigates the confusing airport signage and returns the rental car. She gets the suitcases out of the trunk while the agent does his car return check in thing.

Rental car agent is way too thorough. "Did you have any trouble with the car?"

"No, it was great, thanks." (really in a hurry here may I have my receipt and be on my way please? look)

"You selected our gas option. Let's just take a look at the gas gauge."

Smile (yes, okay, whatever just hurry up - airport? Flight? Hurry? implied)

"You still have over a quarter tank. Most people return it on empty when they select our gas option."

"Huh. " (whatever, just give me the swutting receipt!)

"Put some miles on her, though! Where'd you go?"

"Middle of Nowhere on the Side of a Mountain." (I'm going to start invoking names in vain if you don't just give me that swutting receipt and let me out of here!)

"Oh, wow, God's country up there. Little piece of Heaven. I don't get up there as often as I'd like. I used to go camping up there with my buddies, but since they're all getting married we don't go as much."

"Huh. Yeah. Funny how that happens. Know what you mean." (Is that enough swutting small talk for you, rental car dweeb with a dumb shirt and clip on tie? I'm usually a lot more patient than this but really, airport...flight...sick mum...hurry.)

"How was the color up there? Peek was a few weeks ago."

"Good color." (GIVE ME THE SWUTTING RECEIPT AND LET ME OUT OF HERE NOW!)

"Any snow?"

"Erm, I didn't see it but people said a few of the mountains had some a few nights ago. Look, I'm sort of in a hurry here...."

"Ah, sure, okay!" Tries to kick it up a notch, begins doing whatever they do with the porta receipt machine thing.

"Where you headin' today?"

"Detroit."

"Cool. Motown. Mo Towwwwn. DeeeeTroit City. The Motor City." (attempting, well, I have no idea what sort of inflection. Possibly Barry White, but something a really, really white 20 year old car rental return guy from the middle of Northeast nowhere whose voice has not yet changed wearing a stupid shirt and clip on tie should never, ever attempt.)

"Yep." (okay, this is getting out of hand. I'm going to either laugh at him or scream at him if he doesn't let me out of here in one minute.

"You ever been to 8 Mile?"

"It's not a destination, it's a road. I have driven on 8 Mile Road." (Eminem, I hate you so much at this moment words fail me.)

"Yeah, right. I saw the movie. Have you ever seen Eminem?"

"No." (this kid would probably faint if I told him I was on a flight with Eminem and the stewardess gave him my Sesame Snacks after I declined them and I really, really need to get out of here right now this second and I still cannot find words to describe the loathing I have for Mr. Mathers at this minute in time.) "You know, I'm sorry, but I really need to scoot."

Flustered, the receipt machine thing crashes to the pavement as he hands the receipt.

(oh geeze, now I feel bad, he's just a rental car dweeb, probably the best job to be had around here, guilt, guilt, guilt, he's just being friendly guilt, guilt, guilt, vision of him spending the next two weeks in his bedroom at his parents' house dancing around rapping along with Eminem in his as yet unmatured voice) Squats down to help him collect the pieces of the receipt machine thing, drops her handbag and a suitcase tips over.

"Thanks, it's okay, it happens all the time." brandishing the pieces taped with cello tape and a big grin.

"Right, sorry, thanks, bye!"

"You need help with your luggage? I'm not supposed to leave the garage but it's quiet right now, I can have my manager hold the floor if you need help."

(yes, no. yes, no. yes, no)

"I don't want you to get in any trouble, I'm sure I can manage."

"Ya sure?"

"Yes, thank you very much, that's really kind of you."

"Thank you for renting with us Ms. McMillian, and you have a safe trip to Detroit."

"Yes, thanks. Have a nice day." Handbag flopping, suitcases akimbo. The personification of the term schlepp.

Trillian schlepps back into the terminal and tries to locate her parents.

They are not to be found.

There is now not only an agent at (The Most Horrible Airline in the World) but also a queue of passengers winding through the little flexi nylon tape fence corral. (where the swut are they? scan scan scan scan (clip of night vision view of moose and trees))

"Trill! Over here!"

Father 'o Trillian yells across the terminal.

Trillian turns in the direction of the voice.

Starbucks. Swutting Starbucks. Mum's sick and in pain and he's rolled her over to swutting Starbucks. Father 'o Trillian, standing behind Trillian's mum in the jalopy of a wheelchair (she, obviously in pain, heavily medicated and generally looking, well, bad, handbag falling off the push handle, shiny new four footed cane flailing from the other push handle) holds up a Venti sized drink and a biscotti in "a toast" motion and grins. "Want anything?" he yells across the terminal.

The now much more busy terminal of people look at Trillian in her state of schlepp to see if she wants anything.

Trillian shakes her head "no."

"Something for the trip?" Father 'o Trillian yells.

Trillian shakes her head "no."

"They've got scones!" he insists, "Cranberry and cinnamon!"

People in the terminal laugh.

At Trillian.

Other people in the terminal give pitying looks to Trillian's mum. (She always looks a lot better! She's really pretty! She's always very well turned out, she's got great taste. Everyone thinks she's 15 years younger than she is. She's really ill! We're taking her to a better hospital! That's not her wheelchair, it's a courtesy chair! We're going to get her a really great one with a motor and everything! Really! She's going to be fine! Stop looking at her like that! She's going to be okay! She's not neglected! My dad's not having Starbucks on her pension money while she starves in medical neglect, really! She's heavily medicated! You should hear her puns! She's. Going. To. Be. Okay!)

(Have. To. Manage. This. Will. Get. Through. This. Doing. It. For. Mum.)

Trillian shakes her head "no." and meekly says, "No thanks, Dad." and motions to the (Most Horrible Airline in the World)'s ticket counter.

"Right-O, Trill, we'll wait here!" Father 'o Trillian yells across the terminal.

Trillian gives a thumbs up to him. (right-o dad, you just enjoy your Venti coffupalattabucks and biscotti, try not to let Mum roll down that escalator you have parked her perilously close to and mind her handbag, if it's not asking too much. oh swut listen to me I've got to work out this hostility issue with my father maybe I should look into therapy when I get home I never realized I had this inside me how long have I been repressing this? I wonder if this has anything to do with my inability to form a lasting relationship with a man. Oh swut dad's not the problem, I am, he's just scared and confused and upset about Mum. Men like him can't handle their women facing adversity beyond their control. This is the one thing he can't fix and he can't deal with that. Deep breaths. Deep, cleansing breaths. The Trillian Show must go on, must rise above, must be the voice of reason and action. Doing. It. For. Mum.)

Trillian schlepps to the (Most Horrible Airline in the World)'s queue. There is only one queue. No first class or kiosks. Just. One. Long. Queue. (We ain't in O'Hare, anymore, Toto.)

People in the queue had a ring side seat for The Starbucks Incident and are staring at Trillian and then back at her mum. Scorning the former, pitying the latter.

(aw leave me alone and mind yer own business)

The queue drags. Everyone ahead has weird, drawn out sagas which require much typing on the computer by the lone (Most Horrible Airline in the World) agent.

It's finally Trillian's turn to check in, she hands her ID and credit card to (Most Horrible Airline in the World) agent.

"Where are we going today, Ms. McMillian?"

"Detroit. There are three of us, my parents and I. My mum's ill, in a wheelchair, someone from the airline was supposed to meet us out front this morning, no one was there, can I check all three of us in, there were special medical emergency provisions made when I booked the tickets."

Blank stare.

Silence.

Blank stare.

"Do they have ID?"

"Yes, but I don't have them here, they're over there." Pointing to Starbucks.

Following the motion, (Most Horrible Airline in the World) agent says, "Okay, yes, I see them." (Father 'o Trillian waves. (Most Horrible Airline in the World) agent waves back to him and flashes him a big smile. He raises his Venti Coffupbucks in salute.)

(God, I know we haven't always been close, I know you know I've got some uncomfortable issues with you, but maybe it's time we had a little chat, just you and I, try to put all that behind us and move forward in our relationship. So help me, God, if you help me get through this without a homicidal incident, I'll promise to have a good rethink about you.)

"Let's take a look at what we've got here in the record." (Most Horrible Airline in the World) agent enthusiastically attacks the keyboard. type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type

"So is that Trillian's Mum and Father 'o Trillian?"

"yes"

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"okay, yes, I see, medical emergency. Will you be needing wheelchair assistance?"

(Swutting shoot me. Just swutting shoot me with a perfectly legal semi automatic and put me out of my misery because this life is torture. Thanks God, thanks a lot. I'll take that as a 'no.' Don't think I won't remember this at Christmas.)

"I requested it when I made the reservations, they were supposed to meet us out front, they didn't, so the security guard helped us. We will need help boarding the plane and then disembarking in Detroit."

type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type

"Ooooh, I see you're in our first class cabin today. There are only two seats on either side of the aisle. Who will be sitting next to Trillian's Mum?"

"I guess me."

"Trillian?"

"What?"

"Are you Trillian?"

"Yes. Oh. Sorry. Not much sleep lately."

(Ingratiating smile) (Swut you, soppy (Most Horrible Airline in the World) tart agent. You better hope this never happens to your mum because just for that little ingratiating condescending smile it will be a thousand times worse for you and I strongly doubt you've got what it takes to get through it under the easiest of circumstances. See you in Hell.)

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"Will you be checking any bags today?"

"Three." Motioning to the suitcase scale thing next to the (Most Horrible Airline in the World) agent.

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"Okay. That's three McMillian's to Detroit. Boarding at gate 4. But you're going to have to go through special security. Go to the regular security line and they'll direct you. Tell them you are traveling with a medical emergency patient."

"Thank you. Have a nice day."

"You too, good luck with your mum." (Waves to Father 'o Trillian and Trillian's mum, Father 'o Trillian returns the wave, soppy tart agent waves again, the whole thing ends up looking weird and awkward and ohmyswuttingUniverse is she FLIRTING with my dad?)

Trillian dashes to her parents. Relieved of the suitcases, she has one speed: Go!

"Right, okay, here's the plan, (get the swut out of here as fast as we possibly can) you okay, Mum? (very slight nod of head, grunt yes) Sure? (slightly more nodding of head nod Trillian knows means, "Oh sweetie I'm fine, don't worry about me" Trillian has become very good at interpreting the various and subtle differences in her Mum's few restricted movements.) Okay, first we've got to get through security. They have a special line we have to go through, Dad, brace yourself, they might get rather personal. I've been through this a lot lately, it's not so awful, just don't show hostility because that will only make it worse. You'll have to take off your shoes and jacket. We'll need to have our IDs and boarding cards with us until we get through security. I can manage Mum's for her. Mum, I'm going to have to get into your handbag and get out your ID, okay? (slight nod of head and roll of eyes) I know Mum, but honestly, you don't look that bad. I don't look a thing like my ID and they let me through all the time. Once we're through security we go to gate 4 and allegedly they'll help us board. Ready?! Right! We move!"

Commandeering the rickety wheelchair, which she now discovers squeaks badly and has a back held together with duct tape, Trillian leads the way to security.

IDs are shown. Boarding passes are examined. True to her expectations, Trillian and Father 'o Trillian are "thoroughly" searched. Trillian's Mum is thoroughly searched. Apparently very ill senior citizens are posing a security threat to our nation's airports and security. Handicap aids such as canes are apparently hugely suspicious. Rubber feet things will be removed for inspection of the interior tubing. Replacing said rubber feet is up to the senior citizen or their traveling companion. Citizen Alert: Keep your eyes alert for heavily medicated senior citizens in wheelchairs. Report all of this sort of activity directly to John Ashcroft. If you should find yourself traveling with one, do not attempt to assist or speak for them, as this will spread the security threat to yourself. You could end up an unwitting dupe, a pawn in the senior's ruse. And the security personnel will have to detain you. Even if the senior citizen is unable to speak for themselves and you are a blood relative, disavow any prior knowledge of this person. Change your name. Move to a no forwarded address. Join the Witness Protection Program. Because these ill senior citizens in wheelchairs are an evil bunch. They are undermining airport security and pulling on the threads of the fabric of society in this great nation of ours.

Once released from security, the trio rushes to the gate where pre-board has already started. Trillian pushes her mum to the check-in desk.

"Hi, we need some assistance getting on the plane. This is the airport's wheelchair, I'm not sure if we..."

"McMillian?" the gate agent interrupts.

Big, warm smile, finally they're going to help us, "Yes!"

"You missed the pre-board."

Big, worried look, "We had some delays in security."

"You needed to arrive two hours prior to your flight."

Really getting annoyed, "Actually, we did, but no one was curbside to meet us, as arranged when I made the reservations, so we had to find a wheelchair, wait in the long queue at the terminal desk and navigate security on our own." (You didn't do your swutting job so don't swutting start with me you overly made up automaton)

"That's not your chair?"

"No." (Oh for swut sake do you honestly think we'd allow my mum to use this crap on wheels if we had another choice?)

"Can she walk?"

"Not well, she's got her cane but she's only used it twice, we can help her..."

Picks up the airport gate microphone thing, "Security to gate 4 for wheelchair assist."

"Since you missed pre-board, you'll have to wait for the plane to be completely boarded."

"Sure. Okay. Thanks. We'll just be over there."

The remaining passengers board the plane. The gate waiting area is empty except for the McMillians and the overly made up automaton.

They stare at each other.

Picks up the airport gate microphone thing, "Security to gate 4 for wheelchair assist."

They stare at each other.

A stewardess appears from the gangway. She and the overly made up automaton have a hushed conversation punctuated with occasional glances at the McMillians. Overly made up automaton goes to the telephone at the gate door, has another conversation with occasional glances at the McMillians. She hangs up the phone and then briskly walks to the McMillians.

"Janey is going to have to help you, security has an emergency. And we need to close boarding."

"Okay. Thanks." Trillian wheels her mum closer to the gate door.

"Do you need to use that? Can she walk?" Janey asks.

(Obviously if she could walk she wouldn't be in this broken down excuse of a wheelchair) "She can't walk very well, no right leg, we can sort of carry her if we have to. I guess." (looking out the window at the length of the gangway.

"It's not far, and you're in the first row." Janey encourages, meaning, Janey doesn't want to do one thing to help.

Father 'o Trillian is getting angry. A vein is protruding on his forehead.

"Okay, look, I think we can manage this, right Mum? It doesn't look too far, let's just pretend this is like therapy. We've got your cane, Dad will be your good side, and I'll be your right side for you. You just try to hold your cane for balance and go along for the ride." (Trillian's Mum gives a small nod, translation: "Okay dear, don't worry, I'm fine, don't be cross with those girls they didn't have the opportunities in life you did.")

"Good action plan, Trill. That works out perfectly, I'm on the left, so my right side is her left. You're on the right, so your left side is her right." Father 'o Trllian is big on strategical positioning.

"We move."

Trillian's Mum is given her four footed cane, Trillian takes her mum's handbag, Trillian and her father strategically align themselves, Janey looks on with a vapid smile. Trillian's Mum is hoisted up and the awkward walk down the gangway commences. Janey slowly walks a few paces ahead, looking back exactly twice to monitor the progress. (Oh just go make coffee or gossip with the other girls in the galley or flirt with the pilot, will you? Don't even pretend you're helping us.)

They navigate the turn onto the plane's aisle and the entire plane of passengers falls silent and stares at them. (Do they think we're delaying take off? Was there an announcement on the plane that we were arriving? Do they think we're famous?) Situating Trillian's Mum in her seat is not easy, even with the extra leg room in first class. Trillian's Mum does a brilliant job flopping into her seat with no assistance. Trillian begins arranging pillows and blankets and coats as support for her mum. Her mum who has already fallen asleep, worn out from the walk and the heavy medication. Father 'o Trillian has made himself comfortable across the aisle. (How the swut did he already get another cup of coffee and his hot towel?)

The flight actually goes smoothly.

They arrive in Detroit. They are told to wait for all the other passengers to deplane. They do. Two burly men appear with one of those straight backed board wheelchairs you see on gangways. They expertly move Trillian's Mum into the chair, place her handbag on her lap and up the gangway and to the waiting ambulance. (This crew is expert, skilled at this, like a precision drill team.) Father 'o Trillian is going to ride with her in the ambulance. ("See you there! You okay Mum? Need anything?" slight shake of head, translation: "Oh no dear, I'm fine, don't worry about me, drive safely dear, be careful at the 275 interchange, see you soon.") Trillian heads to baggage to pick up the suitcases and rent a car.

They rendezvous at a shiny new hospital and rehabilitation facility. Trillian's Mum is getting settled in her new room. Father 'o Trillian is being handed a bunch of papers to sign. Trillian is arranging her mum's things. "Dad, where's Mum's handbag?"

"Don't know, I thought you had it."

"No, she had it on her lap when we got off the plane, the guys put it on her lap, she was holding it with her left arm and hand." (Oh for swut sake do I really have to do everything I leave you alone for an hour you were in ambulance, all you had to do was sit there was minding her handbag really so emasculating for you that you couldn't carry it from the ambulance into hospital? Oh swut there I go again, I really better look into some therapy for this.)

"Mum, did you have your handbag when you got out of the ambulance? I know you had it when I left you before you got settled in the ambulance." (nod of head, translation: "Yes, I'm sure it must be in the ambulance, don't be cross with your father, he's never had to mind a handbag, but hurry up and find it for me.")

"I'll go see if I can find the ambulance..." Trillian is off at a dash. Again.

Nurse's station: "My Mum thinks her handbag was left on the ambulance, where should I go to try to find it?"

"ER, that way."

Dash, run, Must. Get. Handbag.

ER check-in: "My Mum thinks her handbag was left on the ambulance, where should I go to try to find it?"

"Let's see, when did she arrive?"

"About 20 or 30 minutes ago."

"Hmmm. What ambulance company?"

"MediCharter"

"Oh, I just saw Tom, you might be able to still catch him."

"Tom?"

"He drives MediCharter."

"Okay, can you point me in the right direction?"

Pointing to an ambulance parked outside the door, MediCharter emblazoned across the side.

"Oh, yeah, okay, thanks." (Must. Get. Sleep.)

Trillian dashes out to the arrivals area. As she nears the ambulance, Tom appears from the other side. Trillian recognizes him from the airport. He is holding her mum's handbag.

"Oh thank you, that's my mum's handbag." Trillian enthuses sincerely.

"Happens a lot." Tom disgustedly states as he hands Trillian the handbag.

(Don't blow me attitude you overpaid chauffeur. You might have made sure she had it when you unloaded her, especially if it "happens all the time," seems like you would make checking for ladies' handbags part of the system. The airport guys knew to look for it and made sure Mum had it and I bet they're making minimum wage and don't have all that fancy training you've supposedly got. And you better believe I'll be checking the contents of mum's handbag as soon as I get back inside and if there's so much as a tissue missing I'll be holding you personally responsible. I had to rent a car, I couldn't be with her every second, I thought she was in good hands, obviously not as attentive as could be, no tip for you. Do you tip ambulance drivers? Probably not, probably most people who ride in ambulances aren't able to tip the driver. So they probably don't expect it. Which is good because Tom's not getting a tip.)

Mad dash back to Trillian's Mum's room. "I've got it Mum! No problem! It's right here! Tom had it! All safe and sound."

(Audible sigh of relief from Trillian's Mum who is now dressed in hospital gown and stupid sock slipettes why do they make patients endure this sort of humility? Haven't they suffered enough?)

Scene fades to black, end of this week's The Trillian Show.

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9:41 AM

Tuesday, October 26, 2004  
I told you the face of evil was lurking. Now do you believe me?

I cannot take much more, I really can't.

First I lose HWNMNBS. Then my mum is hit with torture. And now this. Through it all, my whole life, no matter what or where, John's been there for me and the rest of the Universe.

People say the day the music died was the break-up of the Beatles. Or maybe the death of John Lennon.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

This is the day the music died. John, what will the Universe do without you? I fear for the future of music. With John out of the way, Simon Cowell and Lou Pearlman will be free to do their worst.

God help us all, may He have mercy on our ears.

I have to duck back out of town again, but will leave you with this idea: I suggest a back to back playing of all Peel Sessions as a tribute to this incredible human being. I know, that could take weeks. But it will be weeks of back to back amazing music and a fitting tribute to Mr. Peel.

"The thing is that you get a lot of credit for putting these bands on the radio, but the fact is that it's like being the editor of a newspaper - you don't claim credit for the news. It's my job to listen to bands and listen for musicians from around the world and put them on the radio, and this is not something that I would wish to be applauded for really, because I'm just doing what I'm paid to do. They discover themselves, it's not up to me to discover them, bands discover themselves - they make the records, the records arrive; I think, 'let's play it on the radio,' and when they come over here I think, 'let's book them for a session.' That's how the process works. It's very little to do with me to be honest." - John Peel (talking at One Live in Nottingham 29/10/02)

Bah! John. Bah! Because there is a media machine in the biz, which is about money and nasty, horrible talentless people. You were able to buck that machine and give airplay to artists who would never otherwise been given a first listen.

There are tons of websites, start with the BBC, then go here for a great Peel site.

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1:04 PM

Monday, October 25, 2004  
While You Were Out
To:
Trillian Date: The last two weeks
The lesbians below you and Banshee next door moved out of their apartments, replaced by new tenants. Friend got married. (yes, I knew she was getting married, and no, this was not an elaborate ruse I orchestrated to get out of being in another wedding) You’ve got a new client, call them, there’s a ton of work. Frankie got a new job. Work Friend cut her hair. Really short. Bone’s band released a CD to great reviews. There was a sale at Sacs. The department printer was moved to the copy room. The rooftop pool is drained and the deck furniture apparently stored for Winter. There's a really cute new bartender at the pub and he's got Trillian written all over him. That bitch in Legal had her baby. Greg the Bunny was finally released on DVD. Niece 3 went on her first date. Arthur’s new car was stolen. Your network password expired, you're locked out until you get Jerkel to change it for you. The tacky bridal store in your hood is gone. Sadie found an earring we think is the one you lost when we moved in May. Jerkel quit, didn't even give notice. There's a new crack in the ceiling in your bathroom. The Donut Hole has these new cinnamon things which are amazing. Life went on without you.
Comments: Look, we know you've been busy with that emergency of yours and that face of evil thing, but Mag 1 is a week behind deadline, so could you hurry up and finish it and will you stop playing I Will Survive, please, it's driving the rest of us nuts.

I didn't plan to be away two weeks.

Something suddenly came up.

One phone call on a lazy Sunday turned the last two weeks into a nightmare which I still cannot find words adequate to explain.

In four hours I left behind a magazine on deadline, an apartment in complete disarray with clothes in piles for laundry, storage, give to friends, charity and throw out, several items auctioning on eBay, bills to be paid, preparations for a friend's wedding and the rest of the stuff of life.

Getting away from it all is a good thing. When you plan for it. It's a sad statement on life that we have to plan weeks or even months in advance to "get away from it all." But that's why we have to get away from it all.

When you're not ready to get away from it all and it is forced upon you, getting away from it all is more stressful than the things which cause us to want to get away from it all.

I know. I'm not sure I completely understand that, either. But I think it makes sense. I can't be certain because I can't be certain about anything.

I was just going about my miserable life minding my own business, and it all went topsy turvy.

None of it matters in an emergency. You make the time, you find the money, you find your way and you go. Period. You just do it.

Most people will cut slack when there is a crisis or an emergency. Most people except clients paying a lot of money to have their magazine meet its deadline. Except the phone company. Except VISA. And eventually, even the most compassionate coworkers are pushed to their limits. They understand and care about your emergency, but this is a business, after all, and work has to get done and if you can't tell them when you will return to the office it does make it rather difficult to carry on or plan without you.

Especially if you are the one carrying the load for much of the department.

There is the school of thought which says, hands on hips, "Good! This will teach them a lesson! Maybe now they'll give you the credit you deserve!"

Unfortunately that's not the case in my case. And not my style, anyway.

I am responsible. I hate my coworkers, and sometimes I really hate my job, but it's my job. I am paid to perform duties. I have an obligation to the company and to my coworkers.

So here I am, trying to mad dash catch up everything which has gone undone in my unplanned absence. Trying to get ahead so I can leave again for an undetermined length of time.

Trillian's life (?) has been surreal the past two weeks. Surreal is an overused and misused term which is bandied about a lot. It's become cliché. I don't like it's over and misuse. Because when something is truly surreal, describing it thus sounds trite because of the over and misuse of the term. Then, when something is truly surreal, it sounds cliché and trite.

My life has been truly surreal. Normally solid things oozing and dripping, disassociated body parts stuck on machines and organic objects, green skies and blue ground, perspectives twisted and distorted, objects are closer than they appear.

Consequently I am walking around in a confused yet on alert state of being. I've got that face of evil lurking in nooks and crannies. I've got to keep my senses and reflexes sharp and catlike, I’ve got to watch my back, my mum’s back and a lot of other backs, too.

My apartment, the ghetto grocery, the train, even my shoes, everything is slightly off it’s mark. Moved a couple inches, dripping or oozing, the wrong color. I see it but no one else does. They didn’t leave, they are part of the face of evil’s game, it has manipulated and used them without their knowing. They are blissfully ignorant. So I must cope as quietly and purposefully as possible in this surreal world while I devise a plan and regain strength to face my foe the face of evil.

Life happened while I was off in the remote corner of the Universe. No mobile phone, very limited internet connection, sporadic television, a weekly newspaper...all very charming and relaxing when you’re on holiday, but not ideal when you are trying to manage a very ill person and a life you jetted away from at the last minute. It’s giving me a taste of what happens when you die: Nothing changes, really. There are some inconveniences at first, who will do your job, who will feed the cat..but once those issues are worked out, life continues without you.

A few people really care about you. Some people sort of care about you at first. Most people care about what a huge inconvenience this is to them.

2:42 PM

 
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