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 08, 2005  
Oh, to live in a society which arranges marriages. We all know the statistics on these marriages. Arranged marriages last. The system works. It seems odd and maybe even wrong to most of us living in modern Western civilization, but, us mod Westerners have been wrong about a lot of other things, too.

I actually trust and respect my parents. I actually trust their ability to find me a man I would actually like. Okay, the whole making a deal and chateling me off to him might be a bit of a reach for them, but hey, none of us are getting any younger and they are concerned about what’s going to happen to me when they die. (They know I’ll be fine, they raised an independent daughter more than capable of taking care of herself. But I know the break-up and my woeful life since then has concerned them and upsets them. They just want me to be happy. They know how much I miss him. They know I’m lonely and would really like “a man in my life.” Hence the worry about what will happen to me when they’re gone.)

And the reality is: They certainly couldn’t possibly choose any worse men than I do.

The problem is even they don’t meet a lot of eligible bachelors. My parents know a lot of people. They are very involved with their community. They’ve never been the types to sit around watching telly - though they love the History channel and Discovery. They don’t like “old people” (meaning, people who are old and sitting around when they could be out doing things) My parents enjoy being with people who are involved and interesting and vital. They travel a lot. (well, they used to, and hopefully will again) Seriously, especially now with my mother’s never ending doctor appointments thrown into their already packed days, those two have a more active social life than I do. If anyone would chance upon an eligible bachelor, it’s them. But no. My niece and I were scoping a good looking doctor at my mother’s clinic a few weeks ago. Noticing our interest, my mother quickly told us she’d already done the legwork. Of course she had. Too old for my niece, too young for me, a big ego, not a very good doctor, possibly gay.

Thanks mum.

Yeah. She’s doing better with her speech. But not that well. Interesting how she can speak so well when it comes to men...

Atta girl, mum.

Since my parents aren’t meeting a suitable man for me, looks like it’s still my problem.

However.

There’s another outmoded practice which might be helpful.

The worthiness testing phase.

“So, you want to date my daughter, eh? Well son, we’re going to have a nice little chat about your intentions.”

I’m not kidding. Having my parents and possibly (shudder) my brother screen my would-be dates might not actually be a bad idea. Except that my parents are not “like that.” They’re polite and live and let live and have always encouraged me to make my own decisions, never interfered with my friendships (or life) and would basically suck at screening my dates. “Get you a drink, son? You a scotch man?” my father would say. My date would either be a scotch man, pretend to be a scotch man in hopes of impressing my father, or would say, “no, more of a white wine drinker.” (My father’s antenna would spring to life on this one. Even though he’s been known to drink white wine himself, he would never drink it in a situation like this. A situation where men are men and the drinks are strong. A situation where vying for top dog status is at issue. Later, after we left, my father’s comment to my mother, based on the white wine incident would be, “a bit light in the shorts, that one.”) My mother would barrage the date with food. Lots and lots of food. And questions about his family. Never ending questions about his family. And the two of them have this tag team lit quiz thing which, while it goes over well with some of their friends at the club, is rather off putting if a person hasn’t actually read a book lately. Or ever. My parents go around assuming everyone is always in the process of reading something. It’s never, “have you read anything interesting lately?” It’s “what are you reading?” which when barked by my father sounds more like an accusation than an attempt at lively conversation. Name a book, any book, any author, any period. One of my parents will have read it, or at least know of it. And on the off chance you mention a book neither of them has read, you better believe one of them will trot out and find a copy and read it. Even pulp crap - they don’t read it, but they have a surprisingly (shockingly, actually) deep knowledge base on dime-store authors. If by some bizarre chance the lit quiz isn’t invoked, at some point in the conversation some topic will be discussed and one of them will refer to a book. And if the guest has not read the book, one of my parents will excuse themselves and then reappear with the book: “Here we go, I think you’ll find it interesting/enjoyable/educational.” Movies? Music? Oh brother. Let’s not go there. Because my parents will. They keep very current with movies and music. Don’t be fooled by their retirement status. This has been the ruin of many poor dates visiting my parents. (Which is one reason why I am glad I’m the youngest. I saw the carnage left behind after my sister’s and brother’s dates got sucked into a conversation about movies or music with my parents. I always kept my dates far, far away from my parents as long as possible. Which explains part of my woeful teenage social life.) My niece foolishly brought a boyfriend over to my parents’ house last year. He’s in a band. My father asked him what sort band it was, you know, who are his influences? The poor lad all full of his college aged cockiness said, “we’re original, we don’t have any influences other than ourselves.” I think you can figure out what happened. He left their house with two cd’s freshly ripped with recordings which “obviously influenced him but he just didn’t know it.” My niece really hated me that day, it was all my fault, yes, me, my fault. I was the one who set up my father with a cd burner and iTunes.

It’s not that my parents don’t mean well. Or that they’re horrible hosts. Or that they are rude demanding people. They just, well, they just try so darned hard. And they’re intelligent people. Among their set, the art of conversation is important. Keeping up with things is important. Sharing information is important. Learning about other people and places and things is important to them. They care, so they probe. When someone gives them a book or music or information they theretofore didn’t know about, they are excited and eager and grateful. When my friend married a South African, my parents spent two hours with him wanting to know all about South Africa from the point of view of someone who lived there. Nevermind the poor guy probably really didn’t want to talk politics and social reform that evening, but my parents have an eagerness that is difficult to resist. Especially accompanied by scotch and lots of food.

Yes. This is what my would be suitors would have to endure if my parents were to arrange a date for me. (or a husband, oh geeze, instead of an evening being third degree-ed, it would be like boot camp. Still.Though. That might not be so bad. If a guy could survive that, willingly, and pass my parents’ approval, then he’s probably got long term husband potential for me. Hmmmmm. I might have to actually give this more thought.)

Another option I am weighing, is that of the chaperone. Seriously. Someone with my best interest at heart. Someone with whom I am comfortable around and can be myself, in front of a date, no less. Someone who cares about me enough that they’ll be cool with the date, not interfere, but be a part of it, but slightly back, silently making mental notes about my suitor. Notes about things I might not catch, or care about because, heck, I’m on a date with a guy who actually showed up! So what if he has a heroin habit and is “self employed” in a vague industry? I’m on a date with a guy who showed up!

See what I mean? This really might not be a bad idea. It’s much like taking a negotiator with you when you are about to purchase something expensive or out of your area of expertise. You are stupid and blinded by desire. You cannot be trusted alone with the sales person. You need back-up. You need protection. You need a negotiator. And really, going on a date is much like buying a television or car or real estate. The whole chaperone thing might not be a bad idea. Not so much chaperone as negotiator. Yes. I like that.

Oh sure it harkens back to days of yore when women were not allowed to choose their own dates and were accompanied on every date (with a preapproved man chosen by her father) by a chaperone because the date, though pre-approved, (see how much this really is like buying a television or car or real estate?) cannot be trusted alone with the girl (again, very much like buying a television, car or real estate) because men are men, and they all want only one thing, or well, maybe two, and once the booze starts flowing and the charm starts whispering, well, the next thing you know the girl is in a compromising position from which it will be difficult to recover. One which she will regret. If not the next morning, the next week or month. Yes. Very much like buying a television, car or real estate.

Yes. That’s it. I need a date negotiator. But who?

Frankie and Benjy were always my first line defense squad when I met a new guy. After a few dates they were my "checking out the new guy team." They’re good. Really good. But they don’t live here anymore. (I can chart the decline of my dating success to their departure, which also indicates the need for a chaperone, erm, date negotiator.)

Arthur? No way. He hates everyone and has a tendency to angrily rant which can really bring down a date.

Bone. Hmmmm. Yes. Bone. Maybe Bone.

But will he do it? Will he agree to this?

Somehow I doubt it. He’s not the chaperone type.

Hmmmmm.

MAF? No. Gay won’t work in this situation.

Neither will a woman.

It needs to be a guy. A guy guy.

Because guys know guys. Guys won’t be taken in by my date’s dreamy eyes or luscious lips or adorable ears or sexy hands. Guys can cut through the charm crap in seconds. (for the record, so can I and most other women, but we’ll forgive it because of aforementioned body parts, at least on the first few dates.) And most importantly, guys know when another guy is the sort of guy who will slate out women the second they go to the ladies room. Guys can take that opportunity to say things like, “whoa, what about the waitress, eh? Man is she hot!” Guys can get all jocular and banal. Guys can be guys and bring out the guy in my dates. And only then will The Truth be fully revealed.

In fact, Bruce had a really good idea. A date pre-screen. Have the date meet up with the Date Negotiator before the date. This could be tricky. The date couldn’t know he is being screened. It would take a lot of planning and sleuthing and effort, but it could be done. The Date Negotiator could then observe the potential date in a natural environment, behaving the way he normally behaves, then give a full and detailed report to me. I could then decide if I wanted to continue with the date plans, or STAND HIM UP! Okay. No. I wouldn't do that. It was just kind of fun to try it on for size. Still. I would be forwarned about the date's potential cad factor.

Hmmmm. Yes. This could be good.

I must find a Date Negotiator.

Who...who...who cares about me enough to do this, but not so much that they are harboring "feelings" for me?

My brother.

Oh swut.

My brother.

The obvious choice.

Apart from the fact that he lives 2,000 miles away from me he is the perfect choice. And he would love to do this, too. This would be the moment he's been waiting for since the day I was born. And he'd be really good at it. He's cool, but not too cool. He's a guy, but not (usually) too much of a guy. (He hasn't belched in public for years, and learned prowess in this area does not impress girls) He has my best interest at heart, he knows me well, he knows what I like v. what I need. Hmmmm.

If my brother isn't here to do this, what I need is a rent-a-brother.

And I, in turn, could offer my services as rent-a-sister.

Maybe this has already been done. Maybe such services already exist. Note to self: Research this.

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10:19 AM

 
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