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

 
Tuesday, March 01, 2005  
The future sent me another message.

Yeah. I know. It’s getting kind of weird.

And this message is really sad, and the whole wedding dress thing was a huge buzz kill, and Kilgore’s shutting down his blog, what appeared to be a bona fide long hair did a pretty darned good Allman Brothers cover on American Idol no really, seriously, Whipping Post. Right there in front of all those prepubescent girls and gay guys and the home viewing audience. (I didn't believe it either, Frankie rang screaming, 'you won't believe this, you've got to see it, turn on FOX NOW!' and there it was. I think I saw a couple of horsemen with big 'A's on their chests saddling up and lighting a fire just before they cut to Paula), and everyone’s all like, “this is it, the world really is coming to an end.”

Which would be fine with me, but I know there are a few people who would be annoyed if the world ended tomorrow.

Eh. Whatever. It’s just the world. And if we all go at once there won’t be anyone left to be sad or lonely or remorseful or guilty. Really, in the big picture, the world coming to an end is the best possible demise for everyone involved. Hopefully it will happen before Clay Aiken covers Molly Hatchet.

I, for one, will go peacefully and with a huge sense of relief.

However.

Meanwhile.

Things are happening to people. Bad, mean, stupid, thoughtless, pointless things. Things which make me go, “swut you, Universe.”

A woman was murdered.

Yeah, okay, it happens every day.

Which is wrong, and the jaded complacency “society” has about it is worse than wrong.

Living in Mayor Daley’s cesspool has it’s ups and downs. There’s that huge body of water called Lake Michigan which is a definite up. But there’s the rest of the city riddled with crime and poverty, which is a definite down. There are some stunning examples of architecture which are huge, phallic ups. But there’s the rest of the city filled with dilapidated buildings, The Projects, and loft condos bulging the Big Shoulders’ out of their jacket, which is a huge down. There are some great restaurants and very good shopping, which are big ups. But most people who live here cannot afford to eat or shop at those places, which is a huge down, especially since we’re the ones paying the elevated sales tax on everything, everywhere in the city, even our local fast food place or dollar store. You get the picture. It’s the same in any large city. Good and bad. Up and down. Gleaming facade and ugly underbelly.

A huge down is the violent crime. I have been a victim. But I have been “lucky,” I lived and recovered from my injuries. (though the affiliated identity theft I am told will linger for about a year.)

Norma Dart was not as “lucky” as me.

I am stepping out of character of the blog and letting you into a part of myself I vowed to keep off the blog. I try to refrain from commenting on politics, news and anything you should be keeping up with as a daily matter of course. I believe, and assume, you are aware and intelligent enough to read and watch and listen and decipher The News. You don’t need my point of view or take on any of it. I’m not trying to change your world or The World. I know I can’t. I try in my own small ways and hope you do the same, but this blog ain’t about that. Per se. Those small ways are part of who I am, and I trust/assume they are part of most of you, too, so naturally they sort of creep in here, typically on Reality Wednesday (yeah, remember that? I know, I’m sorry, things are not so great right now) Anyway, this is a real news story, a tragedy, and something which makes me angry. Yes. Angry. Anger, the other emotion. It touches me on a lot of personal levels. It’s a horrible, horrible thing and I am using my blog to say: Fuck you Universe, you suck, there is nothing sacred or fair or just.

Norma Dart was 81-years-old. She worked as a typist, was retired, living in the same small apartment for the past 40 years. She never married, never had children. She had family and friends who describe her as very active; a nice, vibrant woman. She kept to herself but neighbors recall Norma as an active, lively woman who recently took up piano lessons and painting.

"She was healthy. She was vibrant. She'd run every day, unless she was sick or the weather was too bad a couple of days that she didn't go anywhere. Otherwise, Norma was always doing her thing," a neighbor said.

Neighbors also said Norma was concerned for her safety. Her apartment and those of other area residents recently were burglarized.

Dart had asked for her door to be reinforced and at times moved a chair in front of it out of fear someone might try to break in.

Some of her mail had been stolen and her apartment and those of other area residents had been recently burglarized.

There was no sign of forced entry. But she was found beaten, cause of death was multiple severe head trauma.

Her apartment was not ransacked, and as yet, details about whether or not anything was taken have not been established.

Yeah. There are some loose ends here.

But.

This is wrong.

This is really, really wrong.

Norma doesn’t seem like the sort of senior sitting around waiting for death. She seems like the sort of person who tried to keep healthy, wanted to maintain her independence, and had interests. She did things.

She seems like the sort of woman who was prepared. She obviously had a friend or relative clued into the whole, "if something happens to me, give the news crew a decent photo of me, please, here, use this one" drill. I look at that photo and I see bright, alert, wise eyes. And maybe it's just me projecting, but a see a hint of a smirk on those lips which look like they are about to dispense a bit of sage advice or a joke or compliment on your new shoes. She kept her hair "done" and obviously took care of the rest of herself, too.

As soon as I heard about this my heart ached. I can fill in the gaps the eyewitness news team at 9 didn’t report.

I’m guessing her career as a typist didn’t afford her a lot of material opportunities in life - hence the same small apartment for 40 years - but she sounds like she made the best of it. It’s never been easy to make it in a large city on one income, but she did it. 40 years ago, 1965, things were really different than they are now. Think about it: That was pre-women’s movement, NOW wasn’t formed until 1967. And there was Norma, 41 and single and boy do I pity her. Over 30 and single is rough now, but back then, a single 41-year-old typist might as well have worn a sign saying: “Plague ridden leper with VD, bad breath, a nagging mother and 25 cats.” (You know, like the one I wear) I wonder if that’s why she opted for the small second floor apartment in Harvey. A little place because, heck, that’s all she needed. And most likely all she could afford. She probably thought it would be a temporary place to live until she found something better, got a different job or met a great guy. I’m sure she had a few Ramen noodle or cheese sandwich meals in her lifetime, like all of us who have one income and find ourselves a bit short prior to pay day. I’m sure she “splurged” on a treat or two now and then, a new lipstick, a nice pair of sneakers for her jog, something for her nieces and nephews, maybe a little trip if she was careful with her budget. She filled her days not with television or blank hours at the senior center, but jogging and painting and deciding to finally take those piano lessons she’d been talking about for so long.

The alarm for her safety was raised when she didn’t show up for a standing luncheon date.

Yes.

This was a woman with a standing Sunday luncheon date with family.

And what a really horrible, crappy, unjust, unfitting, wrong way for her life to end.

I have a slightly different perspective on this than a lot of people. I’m single and have come to the realization I will be single for the rest of my life. I know what it’s like to live alone in a bad neighborhood. I know what it’s like to not get your mail for days or sometimes even weeks, and the concern and paranoia that can cause. I know what it’s like to put a chair under your door knobs before you go to bed at night because the building’s been broken into a lot in the past few months. I know what it’s like to sleep only partially, too afraid to let yourself go into a deep sleep where you might not hear “something.” I know what it’s like to have your landline phone and cell phone never out of reach. I know what it’s like to know you are high on the potential victim profile list by the mere fact you are a woman who lives alone. I know what it’s like to try to not let those things consume you, to be careful, not take stupid risks and yet still get out there and live your life.

And I know what it’s like to be assaulted.

I know all the precautions in the world, all the rehearsed maneuvers, the pepper spray, the well placed kicks, the screaming, the trying to dial 9-1-1, are useless when someone, someone unnaturally strong and violent, wants to hurt you.

I know how it feels to know you are being attacked, to fight back while trying to “stay calm” and practice everything you learned in all those safety classes. I know how it feels to try to figure out if the guy bashing your head in the ground merely wants to kill you or if he wants to rape you, too. I know what it feels like to finally, after the beating doesn’t stop and you’re pinned down so hard you are numb and unable to move, to hope you just die right then, there, because there’s no way you’re going to live your life the same after this. And it’s going to hurt a lot, too. And I know how it feels to think, “you know what? This is fitting. A crappy life alone struggling with jobs and men and money and rent and slumlords, and now this. So typical. But better me than a woman with a husband and children who need her. And after all, I gave it my best shot, I did what I could, I had some good times and some laughs.” Yes. That really goes through your mind. It goes through your mind really fast and is more of a general, all encompassing thought with a lot of other thoughts, but if the assailant assaults you long enough and hard enough, it’s there. Even for a non-quitter like me. And Norma.

Yep. I know how Norma died. And lots of other people die this way. And it’s wrong.

Which is why I’m okay with the whole end of the world thing. Sure, it’s a bummer for the world and all of that. But at least that way never again will anyone have to die the way Norma did.

I bought a "good" bottle of wine and tonight I am raising a toast in salute to Norma Dart. You go, girl.

norma dart

10:54 AM

 
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