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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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, August 02, 2005  
....but I'm still an idiot.

Oh sure, I'm all enlightened and non expectant and voiding my emotions and everything.

But I'm still an idiot.

One might think without expectations or emotions I might stop doing stupid things and weird stuff might stop happening to me. Or at least make me smarter. But no.

Not at all. I'm still an idiot and the weird stuff continues to happen to me. Yes, life continues to mock me at nearly every turn. But now I no longer get upset or confused or embarrassed or, well, anything.

It's just me and my life. Status quo. Expect nothing, good or bad.

The latest really dumb thing I did was get a nasty sunburn. She who shuns the sun. (good tongue twister, that) She who wears SPF 45 in Winter. She who's already had one little skin scare. She who doesn't tan and only burns. She who needs only the mere thought of a sunny day to cause her skin to turn pink. Yes. Her. She. Me.

And the really, really dumb part of this, well, the almost dumbest part of this, I'll get to the dumbest part in a minute, the really really dumb part of this is that I didn't get the sunburn spending two days baking in insane heat and sun in the middle of a park next to Lake Michigan at Lollapalooza. Oh no, not there. I was cautious then. Liberal and frequent coats of sunscreen. No, in fact, someone pointed out that I may be the only person to leave Lollapalooza whiter than when I arrived. Ha! Take that Global Warming!

Well. I mean. Yeah. Okay. So, just how'd I get sunburned, then? If I'm so cautious? How, huh? How?

I started "training" for this bike marathon. Don't get all impressed. I just started "training" and the marathon isn't until next Spring. Since it's Summer and since there's that really great bike path along Lake Michigan, I thought, "hey! I'll just kick my little bike rides up a notch! That'll be a good way to ease into this whole training thing and take in the beauty that is Lake Michigan, too!"

I liberally applied sunscreen and peddled on my way. Early in the morning. Really early. Like 5 AM early. I rode North. When I hit the end of path, I turned around and headed South. I rode a lot of miles South until I hit the beach house with one of those fountains where the water spurts up in random places. The kind kids usually play in, trying to guess where the water is going to spurt and getting soaked in the process. Right. Well. I'd been riding for a while and, well, there was no one around so I thought, "gosh, that looks inviting and there's no one here to see me making an idiot of myself, by myself and so what if they do?" so off I went to play in the fountain.

And yes, I considered the sun and my sunscreen. But it was still early and my sunscreen's supposed to be waterproof and sweatproof so I figured I wasn't in too much danger, if any.

I had a great time in the fountain. My t shirt got soaked so I took it off. I had on one of those sports top cami things, after all, it's not as if I didn't have on a "proper" top. I was soaked, my hair was wet and stringy. It was like being 7 again. Some kids came to join me. In the old days, when I felt emotions, I would have been embarrassed or at least a lot more self aware and would have got out of there so the other adults wouldn't think I was some weird molester person. But not now. Now I just stayed there and played with the kids.

I think their mother thought I was a mentally disabled person. She came to the edge of the fountain, watching her kids like a mother bear and talked really slow to me. "It's a looovvveelly morrrrrrning, isssssnnn't it?" she asked.

"Yes, real nice now that it's cooler. That was some heat least week, eh?." I answered brightly, between spurts of water, thinking she might be thinking I was some freaky child napper, but not yet realizing she thought I was mentally disabled.

"Yesssss, yesss ittttt waaaaaassss, waaaaasssssn't it. Did you riiiide yooouuuurrrrr biiiiike heeerrrrrre alllllllllll byyyyyy yoooouuuurrrrrsellllllf? Are yoooouuuu wiiiith sooommmmmmeooooonnnnnne?" she asked with that gentle voice people use on stray animals and mentally disabled people, looking at my bike and then her kids and then my bike and then me.

Suddenly realizing I wasn't making her nervous, but that she thought I shouldn't be out there at the beach by myself, that maybe I'd strayed from my "special" group on our day outing, I started rapid fire giving out way too much information, "Erm, um, yes. I live up North, I ride the path quite a bit, but I'm trying to push myself and ride further South. I don't get down here as much as I should. I'm trying to start training for a marathon so I’ll probably be down here a lot, you know, training. For the marathon. On my bike. Training. Marathon. Pushing myself. On my bike. North. Right. Well. Gosh. The ol' clock there says it's time for me to be pushing on. Training, you know. My bike. Riding. Time to get back on the trail. Have fun kids, har har, don't get sunburned, har har. Bye now!" and dashed to my bike and got out of there as quickly as possible.

I didn't take the time to put on my soaked t shirt or sunscreen. It was early anyway, and that sunscreen is waterproof. Besides, it was chilly and the thought of putting on my wet t shirt, no matter how titillating it might sound or seem, was not exactly enticing to me. I had on that sports top cami thing, so I just took off and road further South, turned around, and headed North, back home. Still t shirt-less in my sports top cami thing. By the time I got home my t shirt was dry. Ish. I put it on before I entered my building to stow my bike.

(Scintillating reading, isn't this? Why some of you have missed this is beyond my realm of comprehension.)

I locked up my bike and headed for the elevators. While there, a girl I sort of kind of know from seeing her around the building came up to the waiting area and said, "Lovely day!"

"Yeah, great, really great now that it's cooler." I said.

"Doing anything fun this weekend?" she asked.

"Nah. I just got back from a long bike ride. Just me and Harry Potter for the rest of the day." I answered trying to sound like a normal person but realizing a normal adult person wouldn't let on that they had nothing better to do than stay in reading Harry Potter on a day like today.

The elevator came.

"I haven't got a copy yet. I'll probably just wait for the paperback or library." she mercenarily said to me.

"Yeah. I would have, too, but I got it as a gift." trying to make light of the whole thing as we got on the elevator.

"I just got a bunch of magazines and my friend has a pitcher of mimosas up on the roof, would you like to join us for a drink?" she asked.

Okay. This is weird.

Nice, but weird.

I was kind of gross from the long bike ride and looked icky and she's one of those always perfectly assembled type of girls and well, I mean, mimosas on the roof? Popular kids never ask me to join them unless they have ulterior mocking motives and/or a devious plan which results in me ending up like Carrie on prom night without the supernatural powers.

But. Now that I have no expectations, good or bad, I expect nothing. Good or bad. I feel nothing, no embarrassment (or very little), no paranoia, no doubt, no mistrust... Just nothing. So I was then free and emotionally clear to do the opposite of what I'd normally do. I accepted her invitation. "Gee, thanks, that sounds great. I'll just change and head on up."

"Oh please, don't change, look at me!" she said as she hit the roof level on the elevator key pad. "Just come on up now."

Looking at her and wondering what I was supposed to see other than a very well turned out girl with a cute flippy pony tail with fresh highlights and cute t shirt and shorts, I definitely smelled a Carrie on prom night shaped rat.

But. Watch those expectations, Trill, watch it. Why would she be out to mock or make fun of me? We're always cordial and friendly in the halls, our mailboxes are on top of each other because she lives three floors above me but in the same compartment number, and once, at the mailboxes, I gave her my coupon to a French restaurant because she seemed so excited about hers and I knew I wouldn't go so why not give her my 20% off a total dining bill of $50 or more coupon?

So, forcing myself to acknowledge the fact that we are, in fact, not 14 and not in school and not competing for the same boys, I did the exact opposit of what I would normally do and agreed and just trailed along to the roof with her.

We were barely on the deck when she peeled off her t shirt and shorts to reveal the tiniest bikini I've seen outside of Sports Illustrated. Her friend was similarly attired.

And they were both very tanned, very, very skinny and very, very cute.

Ah. Now. This is going to be the true test of those no expectations and void of emotions things.

Oh yes, I had some emotions. And expectations. Feeling like, well, the old me, very Amazonian and very white and very ugly and very inferior and oddly, over dressed, I pulled a chair into the shade by their cooler. (Let’s have a round of applause for the big ugly white girl who didn’t make an excuse and run away, please.)

“This is Trillian. She moved in a few months ago. She’s below me three floors, she’s the one who gave me the coupon to Bistrot, the one we used when we went out with Eric and Scott.”

“Oh, that was a great night. (tee hee) thanks for the coupon! God knows we needed it with everything we ate that night!” her friend said as she patted her concave stomach and poured me a mimosa. (Is this sounding like a Penthouse Forum letter to anyone other than me?)

They were obviously going to make a day of it and obviously expected company. A stack of plastic cups, several bottles of champagne and two gallons of orange juice were in a cooler between their chairs. My compartment neighbor offered me a magazine.

We started talking about things we saw in the magazines.

It got hotter. I made a few jokes about being really white while cowering in the shade. It might have been the now hotter sunlight. Or the fact that I had just rode about 40 miles and had eaten nothing. Whatever the cause, I was feeling a little tipsy. But they were drinking two to my one and I know they were a lot tipsier than I was.

So for some bizarre reason, I felt comfortable enough to take off my t shirt and use it like a towel on the deck chair under my thighs because the plastic strips of the chair were digging into my legs. Besides, I was in the shade.

And yes, I had my sunscreen in my little bike pouch, but it didn't occur to me to reapply because I was in the shade and besides, I wasn't going to stay long anyway. One drink and then head down to my compartment and hit the shower and Harry Potter.

Right.

Well. That is exactly what happened. (Sorry if you were in fact hoping for a Penthouse Forum type situation to ensue.)

After an hour and a few minutes of hanging out with the girls who as it turns out didn’t have any public humiliation in mind for me, I entered my compartment. I went into the bathroom to take a shower.

I leaned over to start the shower and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

Insert Psycho shower scene sound bite here.

No Norman Bates, but, like Carrie, I was bright red. But not from blood. No, mine was that special shade of red one usually associates with fire and lobsters.

Oh yes. Sunburn. Serious sunburn.

What an idiot (Ren voice implied) How did this happen? How could I let this happen???? How could I do this to myself? I'm always so careful! Arrrrrghhhhhh! So much for the lack of expectation and emotion - self loathing is the final frontier of my void of emotion journey I have yet to conquer.

But that's not even the dumbest part.

The dumbest part is that I did this to myself two days before my yearly check-up with my dermatologist.

Yep. Still an idiot with really bad timing.

Two days before my appointment to see the dermatologist who told me, after a very scary biopsy a few years ago, that the Sun kills, and it will kill me and my kind first and then handed over a tube of SPF 65 and a prescription for more sunscreen. Yes. Prescription sunscreen. That's how white I am and how badly I react to the Sun. He told me I'm the sort of person who might want to consider working night shifts so that would sleep during the most dangerous hours of sunlight. I think he was joking, but, now, well, I'm not so sure.

So I had to traipse into the dermatologist with a fresh, getting redder by the minute, sunburn. There's no way to hide it. He does this skin map. On my first visit years ago, he made a chart of me, a map, and marked off every freckle, every mark, everything on my skin. Everything. Then, each year at my check-up he pulls out the map of me and checks for any changes.

And. He's got one of those damage-o-scopes which shows, in vivid detail, what's lurking just under the surface, waiting to pop up and show itself.

After the episode over the weekend, I expected, yes, expected, the damage-o-scope to spin around like a crazy Twilight Zone clock and then shatter into a thousands pieces.

So yeah. No escape.

And naturally he gave me the verbal assault the second he came in the exam room.

"Is this your idea of a joke? Why do you bother to even make these appointments if you insist on killing yourself in the sun? There's nothing I can do for you if you're not willing to help yourself!"

Okay. Wait just a minute. Obviously I don't think this is funny. I don't think anything is funny anymore. Besides, I've got several years of lily white check-ups. I made one stupid mistake, one lapse of the sunscreen in a few early hours on one morning. It could have happened to anyone and besides, the sunscreen was supposed to be waterproof.

This all sounded really lame as I sat there in my dopey paper gown, my red skin pulsing against the super white gown, under florescent lighting, which usually makes me look green, like a dead for at least a week victim on CSI green, but now made me look reddish pinkish orange like someone who's spent a holiday on Venus. Or studying the Chernoble core. Plutonium anyone?

Right. So. He yelled at me a lot. Yes. Yelled at me. And then pulled out the damage-o-scope. And showed me just what a bad girl I've been.

And gave me a bunch of creams and told me to come back in a few weeks.

And sputtered out of the room ranting about the Sun killing everyone.

I just sat there, glowing, in my white paper gown. No reaction. No, "OMG! WHAT HAVE I DONE?!! DOCTOR, YOU'VE GOT TO HELP ME!!!" No, "I can explain, see, there was this fountain and these girls with mimosas..." No, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." Nothing.

Good thing I have no expectations or emotion about this. It really does make the whole episode so much easier to manage. Which makes me realize, when I’m diagnosed with a terminal illness, this no expectation, void of emotions state is going to be really useful. Every day, in every way, I am more convinced that I have found the key to managing my existence. Oh sure, it’s a little strange at first, but really, it’s not without its advantages.

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12:52 PM

 
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