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

 
Sunday, April 10, 2005  
:-|
There are times I literally scream, "I know what I had, I know what I lost, I don't need to learn this lesson! I passed the test with a 100% correct! I knew what I had, I know what I had, it wasn't my choice, okay? I know there are some horrible men out there, I've dated most of them!"

Another first date, another nonstarter, another early Saturday night. Another long and lonely night. Another unanswered cry to the Universe for help. Email written but not sent to HWNMNBS.

Because that's what bad dates turn into: Lonely nights after the date missing HWNMNBS. Because dates with him were always interesting or fun or intellectual or funny or at least always nice. I always couldn't wait to see him again. We were good and okay with being quiet together. We were lucky. Our quiet moods were always in synch. There was always that look in his eyes. There was always that understanding. There were always laughs.

I'm not one to bandy about the term boring. I staunchly believe boring people get bored.

But.

I may have met an exception to that rule. I may have met one of the most boring people on the planet. I say may because it's possible he's just quiet or shy. Which would be cutting an immense amount of slack. Because not only did he barely utter a word, he showed no sign of emotion. No sign of nervousness or introspection, no smile, no frown, no arch of brow, nothing even close to a laugh, of course, no visible sign of any sort of emotion. He was like an automaton. HAL has more inflection and emotion than this guy. For a little over an hour his face looked exactly like this: :-| . And no, you're not supposed to be seeing a cute little emoticon there. This guy didn't have enough expression to even tag with an emoticon. He is litterally the :-| guy.

Possibly the most boring person on the planet. I knew it was going badly when I realized I had a deeper more meaningful conversation with the woman at the dry cleaner. Who barely speaks English.

Oh sure, he's probably a nice guy. He's probably swell once you get to know him. Heck, he may be the life of the party once he gets going. But I doubt it. And there's nothing wrong with that. Nice is good. I like nice. I'm too nice for my own good, too. (Be quiet. It's true. Really. You don't know me in real life.) But this guy, I mean, there's just nothing. And if he can't bring his personality, or at least part of it, a hint of it, even, on a first date, then there's a problem. Not a challenge, a problem. Be warned shy or quiet or unemotional people: When you're on a first date, smile, laugh, arch a brow, sweat, act nervous...do something, anything, to indicate you are capable of feeling and expressing human emotion.

The other possibility is that he wasn't into me and wanted to get this thing over as quickly as possible and didn't want to encourage me in any way.

It worked.

I can laugh about the date itself, but the aftermath is another issue.

I miss him. I really, really, really swutting miss him. I just: Miss him. There. I said it again. Okay? Go read Belle du Jour if you want titillation. I'm so tired and frustrated with trying, really trying, to meet new people and find something, some shared something, some basis, some spark, something, anything, which indicates he could be a boyfriend. I'm not even talking spouse material here, I'm just talking about someone to date. I've given up the hope of finding someone to marry me. It hurts, but I'm a very realistic person. I know that hope is pointless. I had my chance, I blew it. So I'm not looking at men with a "is he the one" attitude. I'm looking at them with a "does he like me and can we tolerate each other for a few weeks or months" attitude.

Worse still is that these dates, while a rich source of comedic material, make me feel like the loser I am. This is it folks, when you have to scrape the bottom of the barrel, you get, well, the stuff on the bottom of the barrel. And yes. I know. I'm down there, too. I'm no catch.

Which confirms my theory: I'm The Rhoda. And not just the Rhoda to a particular Mary. Everyone else I know is the Mary. I am the Rhoda in all my friends' lives. I guess everyone needs a Rhoda, and apparently it's me. I am the world's Rhoda. Swut. I'm Rhoda's Rhoda. (oooh, good band name)

There's a television station showing all old shows, stuff from the early '70s. I've dropped in on a few Mary Tyler Moore episodes in the past few weeks. Funny as some of them are, I can't watch them anymore.

Rhoda hits too close to home for me. Instead of laughing with her and Mary over another of her loser dates, I find myself on the verge of tears for her and myself.

There's nothing wrong with Rhoda. She's cute in a '70s way. She's not rail thin like Mary, but then she's not diabetic, either. She's got a very kicky style. She has big bright eyes. I'm not a guy, but I think she's got a nice ass. She's intelligent and creative and sarcastic and funny and thoughtful and confident. So what's wrong with being a Rhoda, you ask.

You tell me.

The obvious answer is: She's no Mary. Everyone likes Mary. But then everyone likes Rhoda, too. Some people, except shallow Phyllis, like Rhoda better than Mary. But no one wants to date Rhoda. No one wants to marry Rhoda. No one remembers or covers the theme song from her spin-off show. Rhoda earns very little money and has to live in the crappy attic, but she makes the best of it with her creativity and flair for style and a bargain. She is the lovable loser who also happens to be the sane voice of reason, confidant, and very hip go to girl.

But she's no Mary.

Let's talk about Mary.

Mary, cute and nice and lovable as she is, is a doormat. And not a very intelligent doormat. She gets lots of dates and marriage proposals, but they're from guys with sports announcer hair and leisure suits who just want to get in that pull-out sofa of hers. She works at a pathetic news station with a bunch of pathetic nobodies managed by a neanderthalic, domineering, boozehound of a boss. She's the associate producer but doesn't do much of anything except type, answer the phone and go on long lunch dates. Oh sure, she has a great wardrobe, but so does Paris Hilton. She lives in an only slightly larger apartment than Rhoda, it's still only a studio with a balcony which she never uses. And she rents. She isn't rolling in cash, but then she isn't exactly working her tail off at a busy and demanding job, either. She lacks confidence which is obvious in her stammer and difficulty in standing up for herself and her ideas to her boss and her dates.

Mary's supposed to be the typical career girl. And yes, in many ways she is. Especially in one huge way: Her career is something she's doing until she finds a man. Which isn't working out very well for her. So she really needs to shore up another plan because that pathetic little low paying job of hers isn't enough to get her anything more than that crappy studio and a decent pair of shoes now and then.

Rhoda, on the other hand, is realistic. She's not expecting a man to come into her life and take care of her. She works hard, she's creative, she puts in long hours, and has ideas, goals and aspirations for her career and herself.

Mary wants the idea of a career. Rhoda wants an actual career.

But yet, even 30 years later, no one wants to be the Rhoda. Even the term "I'm the Rhoda" is common vernacular for being the loser friend.

So here I am, the world's Rhoda.

Batman's on. That should be safe. I may be the world's Rhoda, but at least I'm not a Robin.

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