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/.
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.
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.)
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
Friday, February 25, 2005 The gem cannot be polished without friction, nor man perfected without trials. That's a Chinese proverb. Young grasshopper must face trials and friction on the road to perfection and polish. Whatever. I never said I wanted to be perfect. Or polished, for that matter.
You know how life is never what you think it will be? There you are, trying to quietly make your way through your own miserable existence, when suddenly blam! the unforeseeable happens. And if you're me, then, blam! another unforeseeable thing happens, and then another, and will, in my case, then probably one or two more. Just because, you know, the Universe loves nothing more than to mock me, test me and put me through things which, well, you know, a lot of other people aren’t put through. Friction and trials.
You know, oh poor me and all that. Blah, blah, blah.
Whatever.
I don’t go around thinking “oh poor me.” My life has always been too much this way for me to waste any time thinking “oh poor me.” There’s typically too much which has to be done or dealt with for me to waste a second on self pity.
And there are always people in much worse situations.
And I steadfastly believe self pity will cause nothing but more trouble.
And I don't like other people wasting time thinking, “oh poor Trillian.” Or the other reaction, rolled eyes and “what now?”
It’s just life.
But after the last few weeks I am wondering if maybe there's something to be gained in self pity. No, not the “oh poor me” type of self pity, but the “good swutting Belgium, enough already! I’ve proved myself time and again, now leave me alone and go bother someone else” type of self pity.
Perhaps, the latter cry of exasperation and hostility will send a stronger, louder and more appropriate message to the Universe than “oh poor me” or “oh all right then I'll just deal with this, too.”
Yes. I’m wondering if I’m not angry enough.
Oh be quiet. I don’t walk around in a state of tyranny and disgust. I vent here so that in real life I can keep calm and nonplussed in, well, the real world. If the real world were all nice and cozy like the blog world there wouldn’t be any problems, friction or trials now would there? H8ers and all, this is a snug little place where anything is possible. There is always someone, at least one person, who agrees with you and thinks it’s not you, it’s them.
Right.
So.
Anger. Hostility. Rage.
I’ve always thought them to be useless emotions and feelings. Anger hurts everyone and solves nothing.
HWNMNBS always said my problem is that people mistake kindness for weakness.
I never agreed. Besides, what am I supposed to do? Go around being hostile and mean to people? Hardly something I want to do.
But maybe I should.
For instance, when my (needs a new nickname) boss told (yes, told, not asked) me I would be going out of town to represent “us” at a meeting where our company’s business practices were going to be put under scrutiny, some people, other people, people I have known, would have angrily said, clenched fist in air, “You (expletiving) (expletive)! I am not going to do your job for you! You are paid much more than I am, you allegedly have an advanced degree in this, you are the supposed expert, you go and face the music for your own incompetence. I will not be the scapegoat or the smooth it all over nursemaid for your ineptitude!” Instead of my ineffective response of, “That’s not really my area of expertise, boss, I don’t think I can really do us any favors at that meeting.” and then, “Oh, ice fishing, I see, yes, of course, it’s important that you go ice fishing with your husband, of course I’ll fill in for you since I gather all your information and write your reports for you anyway it’s probably just as well I go instead of you.” Logic, sarcasm and passive aggression are completely lost on her.
Her little brain is unable to comprehend the anger and hostility in sarcasm and passive aggression. It’s simply not a language spoken in her cozy little world.
And when the doctors and hospital administrators said “Your mother’s insurance won’t pay for further treatment, even though she would greatly benefit from at least a few more weeks.” Some people would have said, “You (expletiving) (expletive)! You will not jeopardize my mother?s health unless you want to pay an increased malpractice insurance premium, because I’ll sue you for withholding treatment which is malpractice, buster!” Instead of my response: “She’s finally making real progress because the treatments are working, so you are terminating her from the program?! That makes no sense! The treatments are working, you say she needs another month of treatments, so why would you abruptly stop them? If it wasn’t working, then I could sort of understand it might be a ‘waste’ of time, money and resources. But it’s working, she’s doing better, why are you punishing her for making progress?” and “Oh, not punishment. Insurance claims. She has to relapse before you can continue treatment. Of course. That makes perfect sense.” Logic, sarcasm and passive aggression are completely lost on hospital administrators.
And when the new HR guy called me into his office to tell me the already approved paperwork for tuition reimbursement for a new academic adventure I was going to take was being revoked and declined because I already have necessary degrees to do my job and by the way, I’m too white and too educated already and part of the problem in America, that I embody hundreds of years of repression, and I should be ashamed of what I represent and how dare I request tuition funding? I’d be taking money away from a much more deserving person, other people, people I know, would have said, “You (expletiving) (expletive)! That’s reverse discrimination! I am an employee and therefore entitled to the academic tuition and personal development money like every other employee! See you in court!” instead of my response of, “Oh, yes, of course, that white suppressor business. I always forget I’m white. I guess it doesn’t matter that I’m first generation American and my first relative to set foot on American soil didn’t do so until 1932, the rest not until after The War, though, does it? And just how many people in this company applied for the tuition money? One? Yes. I see. It’s not that I’m literally taking money away from someone else, it’s ‘figurative.’ Well, okay then, I better get back to my office so I can do my job, figuratively.” Logic, sarcasm and passive aggression are completely lost on HR people.
Yes. I think the people who get angry, really angry, and do not try to accept life as presented by the idiots, narrow minded, self serving people of the world are the ones who end up getting what they want.
I never thought that was true. “Those angry people, who are justifiably angry, are making a huge fuss and raising their blood pressure and not really solving anything because they’re fighting losing battles,” thought I. But now I wonder. Perhaps it is the squeaky, annoying, hostile wheel which gets fixed. Because the nice, even tempered, logical, sarcastic wheel isn’t getting fixed. It’s falling into a state of complete disrepair.
Or, perhaps anger is a natural by-product of regret.
Yeah. I’m still trying to deal with that first regret of mine. Not doing a very good job of it. Regret doesn’t suit me, I guess. Or at least not yet. I’m having trouble getting over the first hurdle: If I regret ever meeting him, then how can I, why do I miss him so much? It doesn’t make sense. Logic, sarcasm and passive aggression are completely lost on regret. I guess. This is all new to me. I’m still trying to figure it out.
9:15 AM
