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

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Contact The Media
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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

 
Thursday, January 27, 2005  
You all read blogs. Or at least a blog. Many of you blog, too, or know people who do. So maybe you've encountered this situation.

There I was, awake at 1 AM, unable to sleep because I couldn't remember the name of the woman who played Leela in Dr. Who. (Yes, okay, I'm a dork and a geek, I love that stupid show, okay? And no, I don't lay awake nights thinking about Leela or Dr. Who except for this one particular night because the concept of a TARDIS has been on my mind a lot lately what with the move to a small compartment and the need for space and wouldn't it be really great if TARDIS were possible?

Friend receiving gift of sweaters from Trillian: "You don't want these sweaters? They're great and look! These still have tags on them!"

Trillian, downcast but resolute: "I love them, but I don't have space for them in the new compartment."

Friend, assuming the best about the compartment: "Aw, seriously? I mean, they're just sweaters, surely you can find a place for them?"

Trillian, getting annoyed: "I'm living in a compartment, not the TARDIS."

And if I were Leela I wouldn't have to worry about space for sweaters because I wouldn't have much of a wardrobe to store. Geeze, where is she now? What's her name again?)

Internet, sweet internet.

Google quickly produced Louise Jameson for me.

Google also produced 4,290 sites containing "Dr. Who" and Leela. Yeah. I know. I thought there would have been more than that, too.

Naturally I checked out a few of the more interesting looking hits.

Naturally I found the usual fan sites, episode critiques and Leela worship pages.
One site stood out among the others. It was a blog, and turned out to be someone's writing project site. Someone working on several science fantasy stories. Some of which were, you know, okay. For science fantasy. Among the science fantasy writing projects were several fan fic pieces. Fan fic about Leela. Not exactly my usual cup of tea, but it was now 1:30 AM and I was still nowhere near able to sleep, and you know, what the heck.

No big deal, right? There's a ton of fan fic out there, some of it not bad, most of it horrible, but all of it passionate. And at 1:45 AM in my lonely life, other peoples' fan fic is about as much passion as I'm going to get.

The thing about fan fic is that apart from most of it being utter crap, I find the enthusiasm and zeal the authors have for the object of their affections, and the "creativity" inspired by their idols very, well, I'm not sure. Refreshing, I guess. As long as there are fans, the world will have passion. Passion is good, so by association, fan fic is good.

The other thing about fan fic is that no matter how badly written, no matter how juvenile or stupid, it never fails to make me feel like a voyeur. Which never fails to make me feel a little dirty.

Not naughty.

Dirty.

Big difference.

Fortunatley for me, I usually end up feeling more embarrassed for the authors than for myself, so it all comes out clean in the end.

But.

Then.

One early sleepless morning found me reading someone's fan fic about Leela, and well, one post led to another, and, well, I started picking up on a few things, followed a few links, and finally, checked out the author's profile...

No. I haven't found love via Blogger.

I've found a dirty little secret about someone I know.

Someone from the office.

Someone who is the last person in the Universe I would have guessed would write fan fic about anyone, much less Leela from Dr. Who.

But.

After a little more snooping around and connecting dots, there's no doubt and no denying the author and the person from work are the same.

It wasn't difficult for me to suss out the author. It was all but spelled out, they're not exactly shy about their identity. Which is totally cool. I laud their unabashed, unashamed ability to pretty much say: "Hi! My name is_____! I work at______! And I write really naughty and vulgar fan fic about Leela from Dr. Who!"

But.

I have to work with this person.

And now, all I can think about when I have to see or talk to them are the images they spelled out in great, exhausting, titillating, XXX rated detail about what they want to do with Leela.

I have to face this person, every day, carrying on as if I have no idea they are passionate about Leela. That they not only think some very rude and banal thoughts about Leela, but write them and post them online for all the Universe to read. I have to keep quiet about it.

Which is not a problem in theory. I'm not a spoiler or an outer or even very social at the office. I am really good at keeping secrets and keeping my mouth shut. I honestly do not care that this person is a Leela fan and writes science fantasy short stories. If anything, I find this person a heck of a lot more interesting now that I know this facet of their personality.

But.

The code of secrecy, honor among bloggers and all that. I cannot and do not want to let them know I know. I'm not going to be tempted to jocularly elbow them and say, "Leela, eh, har har" and raise a sardonic eyebrow. But I am afraid of my mouth. Afraid I'll make some unintentional offhand remark about something remotely Dr. Who-ish in front of them and then catch myself and I will blush and then they'll know I know and it will be all awkward and see what happens when you're an insomniac with no love life? It's not all infomercials and chamomile tea.

I'm not shocked because at this point in my life nothing shocks me. That perpetual nonplussedness of mine.

I haven't lost respect for this person because, hey, we're all human, we all have our little fantasies and our little secrets. I blog and no one I know has a clue.

Or do they?

That's right: Paranoia.

I take great pains to be anonymous. Okay. Not always great pains. If anyone I know stumbled across my blog and read more than a few random entries they would probably suspect me. But that's giving my coworkers more credibility than most of them deserve. They're not the brightest bunch, nor the most aware, nor the most perceptive. Some of them might think, "Hey, she reminds me of what's her name at work" and that would be that. One or two of them, though, one who writes Leela fan fic and science fantasy short stories in particular, would assume the author is me.

So today I'm looking at everyone at work with new eyes. Evaluating their intelligence, perception and integrity. If they stumbled upon this blog, would they be able to figure out I'm the author? Would I care if they knew? Would I care if they read it?

Welcome to the dark side of blogging. Paranoia.

I'm not ashamed of any words I post. I'm not an author or writer or trying to be one. These are words I have to exorcise from my brain. Oh sure, many of them are words I would say if I had no diplomacy, tact or professional responsibility. Many of them are words I would say if I didn't care if I never had another date again in my life. Many of them are words I would say if I didn't care about whether or not I hurt someone's feelings.

But I do have diplomacy, tact and professional responsibility. I do care about dating. Well. Maybe not so much. I care about trying to date. I care about not wanting to be alone.

I care about other peoples' feelings.

There are people in this world who by nature of their personality or profession set themselves up for criticism or at least discussion.

Then there's everyone else.

And I'm not the sort of person who goes around wanting to hurt other peoples' feelings. I don't like a lot of people. A lot of people irritate the swut out of me. But. That's my issue, not theirs. I don't want to hurt them because they irritate me or do really annoying or stupid things. I might mock and ridicule them here, because, well...you know what? That's wrong of me.

Aw, Trill, you're just venting. You're just being a normal human being. You can't love or even like everyone, and besides, you work with and date some real losers, idiots and annoying people.

True enough. Thanks. But still. Just because I'm hiding behind relative anonymity doesn't make it right for me to ridicule and scorn those around me. If I had a spine, if I had real integrity, if I had a set of...

I wouldn't hide behind anonymity. I'd be out and proud. I say what I mean and mean what I say. Oh wait. I already do that. I just don't do it to anyone's face. I don't even do it so that it could be traced to me.

I'm a word wuss.

I already only post about 1/4 of the words fighting to get out of my head. Seriously. You wouldn't believe some of the words in there. You think you know me? Ha. My head's a weird, cluttered, scary place full of words. (Insert dark surreal Dr. Seussian animated sequence of words swirling and falling all over the place, fighting with each other, trying to get out of my head) Sometimes I scare myself when I read previous words I have produced in my personal journals. "What monster wrote that?" I'll say to myself. And I'll answer myself, "Oh. Me. I'm the monster. Sheesh, I really need therapy. Or a few years hard labor."

What? You thought I post all the words in my head? Really?

Huh.

I don't.

So, Trillian, tell me about yourself. How do you choose which words you will post here?

Good question.

Reading my coworker's fan fic about Leela has given me a lot of pause for thought. They have a very real purpose for their blog, their writing. They're honing their science fantasy craft. (Leela fan fic aside) It's obviously a creative outlet for them, obviously they have very real interests and a desire to write. They're hoping maybe one day they'll be published and leave this company, their job, behind them.

Me? Well. I have no idea why I do this. I cannot, even with all the words in my head, tell you why I do this or how I choose what I post. Oh sure, there are obvious things I do not post, because I really do not want to hurt anyone's feelings.

But as for the rest of it, or why I even do any of it, I don't know. I have no aspirations for being a real writer or even a wordsmith. I hide behind anonymity because I don't want the notoriety, "fame" or credit (good or bad) for the words which fall out of my head. So basically, I get nothing out of it publicly posting words.

Except that along the way, I've met some really swell people. Amazingly swell people. Intelligent, funny, kind, sincere people.

That's what I get out of it.

But what do they get from me? I haven't a clue. I have no idea why you are reading these words. Not a clue. I mean, if you like them and you get something from them, great, have at it, glad to be here for you and thanks for stopping by, maybe we can have a drink sometime.

But I'm curious.

What if I turned out to be the woman in payroll you can't stand? Or the woman you met online who turned out to be the psycho date from Hell? Or your best friend? Or your sister?

Then what would you think of the words? What would you think of me? Would it change your perspective on the blog? Or would it change your perspective of the woman in payroll/date from Hell/best friend/sister?

I ask this because odds are very good someone you know, other than yourself, writes a blog. Perhaps even a salacious/stupid/controversial blog.

Most people have words they don't say. Some people have to or want to get those words out of their heads. Blogs are giving those words a home. Which is opening a whole new field of personal and professional ethics for the species human to navigate.

If you author a blog, remember, more people are reading blogs every day. Chances are very good someone you know will stumble across yours. Hopefully they'll be tactful and keep their mouths shut about the scary fan fic or rant about your wife you posted. But be prepared for the possibility that they won't be as tactful as me. Or that somehow, some way, some day, you are going to encounter a situation which reveals someone you know reads your blog.

Thanks for reading. Have a nice day.

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10:19 AM

 
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