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

 
Friday, June 16, 2006  
Okay. I can move my body without causing crippling pain again. That's kind of a nice feeling. So hi, how's it going? I'm okay. Ish. I want to move to Canada. Really bad. Canada's good to me. Canada's good for me.

I have to find a job or come up with the immigration money. I'd prefer to get a job. I desperately need a new job anyway so I might as well get a new job in Canada. Canada's cool, they like it when educated professional people want to become Canadian. America can have the unskilled immigrants who will do the jobs "no Americans want to do," you know, the low wage, usually short term jobs which can't sustain a person or their family for a lifetime. Canada will take the immigrants who can contribute something viable for long term employment and value to the country. Canada thinks I'm just the sort of person they want to populate the New Canada.

Except I'm going to have to have some sort of psychological reconditioning over the Red Wings thing. I did okay when the seemingly innocent questions about hockey came up, because, you know, I like hockey in general, as a sport. I even made some favorable comments about the Oilers. But then, well, Canada's subtle, lures you in with that friendly thing and then kills you with kindness and the next thing you know you're incriminating yourself. I was lulled into a false sense of security and slipped up and let on that I'm a Red Wings fan and, well, yeah, that's going to be a slight problem. Apparently it would be better if I didn't know anything about hockey. I would be a blank hockey canvas on which they could paint their teams. But unfortunately I'm tainted with the smell of Red Wings. I made a nice save, though, I made a negative comment about Celios. "ha ha, I mean, what could a Chicagoan know about hockey?! ha!" Canada raised a hopeful eyebrow. But even so, I'm still a Red Wings fan. Canada said they'll "have to do something about that." But everything else looks to be in order and promising for immigration.

I was thinking maybe I could stage a burning of my Red Wings jersey, you know, to prove my loyalty and seriousness about becoming Canadian. If it comes down to that or clubbing a baby seal I'll burn the jersey and buy season tickets to the Canucks without hesitation.

It's disconcerting that, joking aside, I'm having a more difficult time about the possibility of renouncing my allegiance to a hockey team than my country. America? Pfft. Who needs it? What's America ever done for me? See ya, I'm outta here without hesitation or backwards glance. But suggest that I support a team other than the Red Wings and, I'm not kidding, I get a little defensive, panicky and hesitant. I know that's not right. I'm not proud that I have more allegiance to a stupid sports team than I do my country. It bothers me. I know there are a lot of things wrong with me, but this new discovery disturbs me. Ultimately it's just a hockey team. I don't really care that much. But the fact that I care even less about my country is alarming.

Sometimes learning insight into yourself is scary.

I thought I cared about American stuff. I really did. I want to care about America and about being American. I want it to matter to me. I want to like America and be proud of it and all that. But now I realize obviously I don't. I care about Americans, I don't want anything bad to happen to Americans. I want good things for Americans. No ill will to the people, but it's obvious I'm not one of them. I don't fit in here. Never have. I've never been able to find a niche. I have friends and a job, I make my way here, but even though I walk among them I'm not like them. I try to fit in, get on board with the whole thing, but it's obvious I'm too different to fully become one of them. I care about American stuff, language, politics, freedom of religion or lack thereof, the national anthem. But I realize I care about this stuff on a bigger level - I care as much about other country's language, politics, religions and national anthems.

Here's my latest theory: Everything melted in the pot, which is good, but, it's left me confused, conflicted and tired of always trying to understand.

There's no single American culture. We're all about celebrating our differences, and that's swell, that's really great. I'm down with that in a big way. But. We're all unique and special and a culture to ourselves. America is a nation of personalized cultures. We allowed to have individual cultures as specific as our personal DNA. My culture is unique, I share it only with my siblings. And while that's really, um, special, it does create a bit of a challenge when trying to fit in and be part of American culture. Basically: I can't embrace a culture which doesn't exist. This is more than post war generation malaise and indifference. This is complete and utter confusion. How can I be American when I have no clue what it means to be American?

Some will say, "But Trill, that's the point! We're free to be you and me! You are American culture! Every one of us is American culture. Everybody wins, no one loses, we all get a trophy and ice cream." Okay, well, then, if I'm supposed to feel so good about being me in America, why am I so at a loss for national identity? I know why I feel apart and different from Americans: It's because we're all apart and different. There's no national glue. We pay taxes at different rates based on our unique circumstances. We get healthcare based on our unique circumstances. We go to church (or not) based on our unique circumstances. We're educated based on our unique circumstances. We retire (or not) based on our unique circumstances. We choose our television entertainment from thousands of channels based on our unique circumstances. I mean, you know, thankfully we have choices, choice is good. Freedom is good. I'm not advocating Communism. But the extreme alternative had brought me to the point of confusion and apathy over my national identity. Because my national identity is the freedom to make my personal identity my national identity I see myself as disposable or at least portable.

Move to Canada? Be Canadian? Sure, why not? I have no idea what it means to pledge my allegiance to the United States beyond support and respect for the Constitution. But what about the "republic for which it stands?" I'm supposed to pledge my allegiance to millions of individual cultures? Yeah, I have a problem with that. I'm sure most Americans are swell people. But I also know there are some bad apples. I've encountered more than my share of those. I'd rather not have my assailant's personal culture in the melting pot and I certainly do not pledge my allegiance to his republic. But in America we make a lot of excuses for people "like" him. Bad childhood. Absentee father. Poverty. Gangs. Drugs. It's not his fault he attacks women, beats them up and robs them, maybe rape them if he has the time and inclination. I'm supposed to feel sorry for his situation. I'm supposed to forgive and excuse what he did to me because it's not his fault. His rights are as valuable as mine. We live in the same country with the same court system and he has the same rights I do. Our differences are only cultural.

Ahhh. Culture. Our unique, individual cultures swirling in the melting pot. His culture condones and encourages violence and thievery. He's American. So am I. But we do not share any cultural similarities or identity. We can't be expected to respect or understand each others' cultures. And yet we're both American. His culture carries the burden of poverty and lack of education. Mine carries the burden of guilt and forgiveness when his culture makes him lash out and violate mine.

See where I'm going with this? This whole individual identity as cultural identity thing has spawned a society of people who are disrespectful and selfish. How can we respect each other as Americans we have no unifying cultural benchmarks? Why should we? We're all free to be ourselves, we're all supposed to march to our own beat and we're each a thread woven into the colorful fabric of America. Gosh, doesn't that sound nice? Like something you'd needlepoint on a pillow for your living room. But everyone's so busy and preoccupied with being themselves, creating their own special cultural identity that all we've got are huge spools of thread and no weaving of a fabric.

Maybe it's just me. Maybe it's my unique circumstances, increasingly isolated and lonely circumstances, which are making me feel this way, this isolated, lonely nationally apathetic way. Maybe I'm just the sort of person who needs rules or at least benchmarks. Maybe I'm the sort of person who needs national identity and culture spelled out for me. Maybe I need to feel like I'm a part of my country, that I belong there, that I fit in with my co-citizens. Yeah. I know. That sounds like one step away from Communism. Careful Trill, you'll be rolling cigars in Cuba if you keep thinking this way. They probably take a dim view of your Red Wings in Cuba and it's doubtful they'd let you listen to The Piixies in North Korea. Games and music of the infidels. And you know how you've always liked being an infidel.

Yeah. I know. I do like the idea of being an infidel. It makes me feel bad in a good way. Wild. Reckless. Naughty.

Hang on. Wait a minute. That's it. To a lot of the rest of the world our cultural identity is: Infidel. Um. Yeah. That should tell us something.

Canada is just known as nice. Polite. Respectful. Sure, they club baby seals, but the rest of the time they're really nice and polite. So I can stay here and be an infidel, get some pleasure from feeling good about being bad, or, try to find a job in Canada.

The TITCEF pledge drive has now officially begun.

You'll note the fund thermometer on the side bar. This will help you keep tabs on my progress.

And in the grand tradition of pledge drives I'll offer the first of many useless bribes to get you to just shut up about the greater public good, conscience, Suze Orman and just make it stop and get back to the regularly scheduled programing. This bribe is in the grandest of grand pledge drive traditions: An encore performance of something you didn't want to see the first time.

Boobs for Canada.
Canadian Flair

3:29 PM

 
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