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
Saturday, November 19, 2005
Okay, so when did this happen? When did The Holidays arrive? No one told me it was that time of the year. That hap, hap, happiest time of the year.
Not for me.
We know this.
I wish there were some way to just leave and go away some where where there's no holiday season for the next six weeks.
Funny. I used to like the holidays. I love my family and friends. I cherish every second I get to spend with them. The Holidays, albeit forcefully, bring everyone together. I used to love that. Now Carole of the Bells is more of a death knell than a joyous call to celebration for me.
This is what happens when your life turns out worse than you thought it would.
Things like The Holidays bug you.
A lot.
It's always been difficult for me to see past the commercial hype of the season. Yes. Really. Even when I was a kid. It's always seemed incongruent to me. Sure, that never stopped me from enjoying my annual present haul, but I never really connected why all the hype and fuss over all of it. Jesus' birthday. Peace on Earth. Good will to all. What part of that includes buying presents and making everyone who doesn't have a special someone and money feel like a complete pathetic loser?
Yep. It's that special time of year.
Shopping and suicide rates are at their peak.
After The Breakup (which was just before The Holidays so yes, they're even more tainted for me because of that) I started a little tradition. The Holidays are all about traditions, right? Every family has their own special traditions which make the holidays have continuity from one generation to the next.
But there is no next generation for me. Nope. Not even a spouse or "special someone" to share a special tradition. I'm a pathetic single loser, there doesn't need to be any continuity, so there are no traditions for me. Right?
Well. Yes. Basically that's the gist of it.
Except I did start my own little tradition.
It's called: The Festival of Not Becoming a Holiday Suicide Statistic.
It begins, well, now.
A few weeks after Halloween. Before Thanksgiving. The actual date, like Jesus' birth, is a bit sketchy. I know when to start, though. Usually a few minutes after the first Christmas themed jewelry commercial featuring Santa looking over a guy (wearing a new sweater) proffering an enormous hunk of rock otherwise known as a diamond engagement ring to a lovely young lady who embraces him clearly sending the message that she will accept the proposal because Santa helped sweater boy choose a large enough ring for her.
When did marriage proposals become synonymous with Christmas? When did this happen? Why did this happen? I didn't get the memo.
Oh sure, I realize it's a warm fuzzy sentimental time of year for couples in love. I used to be one of those people. The few holidays HWNMNBS and I shared rank among my best. Even better than the Barbie Airplane year. I kind of "got it" then. I loved him. A lot. The whole time together with the person you love during the hap, hap. happiest time of the year is nice. Yes. Really. And no, he never went overboard with gifts. Actually. Now that I think of it, there weren't any actual Christmas gifts. But that was okay. Being with him was present enough for me. I mean that, really.
Right.
Until I met him I didn't get the whole couples in love at Christmas thing. I just didn't see the connection. And just when I began to "get it," he dumped me. Leaving me again wondering how and why Christmas has anything to do with couples in love.
It's really very cruel. The people who don't have a special someone, and I'm not the only one, there are other single lonely people in this world (hence the staggeringly high suicide rate during The Holidays), us people who are not happily coupled up have to endure a couple of months of having our singleness crammed down our throats. There's no escape. I dare you to spend one day between now and January 1 without seeing or hearing at least one happy couple at Christmas reminder. If you're living in the Western world, I doubt that it's possible.
Hence The Festival of Not Becoming a Holiday Suicide Statistic.
Every year since The Breakup I have started the tradition of crossing days off the calendar - the day after the day. As I mark an X through the date I make a big production of the event. I say, "Whew! I survived one more day alive! The (insert suicide inducing moment like the above mentioned jewelry commercial) didn't drive me to overdose!" Or, "Whew! I'm alive this morning because the holiday party where everyone was coupled up except me didn't make me hurl myself off the highest roof I could find!"
Every Monday morning during The Festival of Not Becoming a Holiday Suicide Statistic there are special songs to accompany the marking ceremony. Classics like "All By Myself, Again," "Alone Again, Naturally" and "One is the Loneliest Number." It is during this time we take time out to remind ourselves we made it through another week alive and off the holiday suicide statistic chart. The best way to do this is by reminding ourselves we're alive. What better way than by using our senses? Hear the music, see the cookies and booze, taste the cookies and booze. Feel the effects of the sugar and alcohol lulling you into a numb stupor.
There is also a ceremonial lighting of candles during Hanukah, The Festival of Not Becoming a Holiday Suicide Statistic is nondenominational. Singleness knows no religious or cultural bounds. And if you don't burn those holiday themed candles you get at the office gift swap they hang around all year as unlit, unused reminders of The Holidays.
On January 1, the last day of The Festival of Not Becoming a Holiday Suicide Statistic and culmination of the year's seasonal events, there is a ceremonial viewing of Thelma and Louise for girls and Better Off Dead for guys. The Festival of Not Becoming a Holiday Suicide Statistic ends with The Sacrifice of the Innocents, otherwise known as maxing out a credit card at post-holiday sales. This will ensure mortality well into the new year. Credit card bills will keep you alive and working and will give you something in common with the rest of the free world, even (and especially) those with spouses and children.
So, upon us. It's here. I've got my marker and calendar ready to mark the days I remain alive during The Holidays.
Happy Festival of Not Becoming a Holiday Suicide Statistic, everyone!
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
Rough week. Lots going on in Trillian’s life.
I’ll cut straight to the issue.
Like that? Should make it easier for those of you specifically hunting for for the Creeps of the Week.
Or: All indications that we would get along on a date or form a relationship are negative. But maybe I’m wrong and being way too picky so you tell me. Should I give this guy a chance?
So far most of you have been less than impressed with the Creeps of the Week. Which helps me with my concerns about my potentially “too high” standards. Some people have been hinting that perhaps I’m to blame because I’m too picky about what I want in a man. I didn’t think that was the case but then I thought most people probably don’t realize how picky they are. I thought maybe I didn't realize I was being too picky. I thought maybe I should be more open to different types of men. Maybe I shouldn't be so quick to dismiss the men who seem completely wrong for me, or me for them.
Apparently not. Apparently I'm not being too picky. Some of you even suggested that I'm not picky enough.
So thanks for validating my belief that I am not, in fact, “too picky.”
If you were to read this week’s Creep’s profile, especially his “in his own words” section, you would probably think, “OMG! Trillian! He’s perfect for you! After all this time, at long last, the perfect man for you!”
You would probably think that because you haven’t read my “in my own words” section.
If you were privy to my “in my own words” section you would probably not think, “OMG! Trillian! He’s perfect for you.”
You, like me, would probably think, “OMG, Trillian, what a jerk! What the swut is he thinking? Gotta be a stalker...or just really, really, really stupid.”
You would think that because if you read my profile statements you would realize he copied my “in my own words” section verbatim. Cut and pasted my words into his profile. Not once, but in three areas of his profile. All he did was change the gender pronouns where appropriate.
No. This is not mere coincidence.
I put thought and effort into my “my own words” sections of my online dating profiles.
You read the blog. Based on that, I think it’s fair to assume what I wrote is rather unique and original, if not in thought at least in style.
So I’ll go out on a limb and say there’s no way, no way at all, anyone could come up with the exact words and style as mine in their online profile. Maybe, maybe cutting a huge amount of slack, one section might read similar or even almost the same. But not three areas. Word for exact word.
This is called plagiarism. Stealing. Deceiving. Lying.
So what this guy did was, a) find my profile, b) apparently liked it, c) cut and pasted my words into his profile, and, here’s the weird bit (at least to me) d) swutting sent me an email saying he’d like to meet me because we seem perfect for each other.
Naturally, before I saw his profile, I thought, “huh, okay, not much substance to his email, but nothing stupid or rude or weird, either. Let’s check out his profile.”
You know what’s weird? Seeing your words describing yourself and who you’d like to meet attributed to someone else.
I know writing these things is difficult. I had trouble getting started, too. The difficulty for me is not writing words, but writing words enthusing about myself. It seems like bragging which, as you know, is not exactly my strong suit. Which is why I cut a huge amount of slack for men who don’t write exactly scintillating or even mildly interesting profiles. No one expects Hemingway prose on these things.
And yes, I know, I know. I’m sure there is a lot of plagiarism out there. I’m sure a lot of people read something in someone else’s profile which appeals to them and then “borrow” it for their own profile.
I’m not saying I condone this behavior. But I know it happens. And I can even understand why some people who are not very good at expressing themselves in written word might resort to borrowing a line or two from someone else's profile.
But this is how clichés become cliché. Someone comes up with the original thought, it strikes a chord with someone else, and so and so on and so on...the next thing you know “runs with scissors” and “comfortable in jeans or tux” or “I like your smile and eyes” are such common vernacular they’re no longer funny or cute or complimentary. They’re just stupid, meaningless clichés. It’s how language and ideas evolve.
If you’ve read it on a t-shirt, bumper sticker, email joke or Successories poster it’s a cliché. It’s unoriginal and has no business in your profile. It not only makes you look unoriginal, trite and cliché, it insults the intelligence of anyone you pursue who reads your profile. If you’re not great at writing, just be honest: “I suck at writing so this is difficult for me. I’m a research physicist. I’m kind of nerdy. I have two cats. I like parachuting. My hobbies include rock tumbling and caber throwing. I do not have a criminal record. I passed my last physical. My blood pressure is 110/80, my cholesterol count is 145 mg/dL. I’d like to meet a woman without a criminal record who likes cats and has hobbies, too.” There. See? Was that really so difficult? No. It wasn’t. Grant you, it’s not the best marketing prose, but it’s sincere. If you write a profile like this, be sure you respond to all, and I mean every question the site offers. If your site has a personality profile “test,” do it. It will be insightful for you and potential dates. It will fill in a few blanks where you were at a loss for words.)
But to swutting plagiarize, word for word, someone else’s words and put them in the “in my own words” section? Ironic, yes, but dishonest and insincere.
But what puts this in the creepy weird category is to then email the person from whom you stole the words and say you have a lot in common and want to meet them.
I know, I know. Imitation = flattery.
And I do get a lot of compliments on my various profiles. More than half my email is from men who say, “I’m not who you’re looking for, but I had to write to compliment you on your profile and wish you luck in your search.” Awww, gee, thanks, guys. I also have people, men and women, ask me to write their profile statements for them because they like mine. Ever read Cyrano de Bergerac? See the movie Roxane? This sort of thing always ends badly. Sure, I could probably write some bang-up sales copy for you. It’s all marketing. But you’re the one who ultimately has to deliver the goods. You want to find dates and ultimately a partner who likes you for you. And if you’re not great at writing, find someone who likes you because you’re not great at writing. You could say, “I’m not good at marketing myself so online dating might not be a good idea for me. Unless you’re someone who appreciates that I’m not good at marketing in which case this could be the start of something big.” Just be swutting honest.
Back to
I’m at a complete and total loss as to if or how to proceed with this guy. Mainly I’m angered, confused and little bit scared about his intentions. Obviously he copied my profile statements. Obviously he knew I’d see that he did this because he swutting emailed me and said he thought we’d be perfect for each other. Obviously he knew I would look at his profile. Obviously he wanted to get “caught.” Or, even scarier, weirder, thought I would be impressed that he copied my words. Or, weirdest of all, thought I wouldn’t notice he copied my words.
But wait, there’s more. If he hadn’t copied my three “in my own words” sections I probably wouldn’t give this any thought.
But since he did, the rest of his profile is suspect.
Sure enough, he answered every question, every single question posed by the site the same way I did. It’s as if he sat next to me and copied my answers on the final exam. Except there was no exam and the subject is me.
Some of you, the more forgiving, less cynical among you (who let you in here, anyway?) may be thinking, “Sure, it’s a little weird, but give the guy a break, Trill. He’s obviously impressed with your profile and wants to meet you and he got caught up with your profile and in the moment it seemed like a good idea to him. He’s trying really hard to meet you. And maybe you are a lot alike and he thought, ‘Wow! I could turn everything she says around and it would match my outlook exactly!’ so he did. Maybe it’s even his idea of a joke. Maybe he thought it would be funny to you.”
Maybe. So. What do you think? Weird, lying, plagiarizing creepy jerk (stalker) or misguided guy trying too hard who deserves a chance?
