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
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Travel broadens the mind.You meet the most interesting people when you travel. Accepted truths, right? Well. Yeah. I guess. Maybe.
I’ve been traveling a lot for work lately. “A lot” is a gross understatement, actually. I’d love to tell you about adventures in new home ownership, but I’ve spent very little time there. There were some known issues and a few which surfaced after I moved into the new place. But the plumbing, electrical and space issues are really not important since I’m rarely there to need functioning plumbing, wiring or elbow room.
Maybe it’s because I’m traveling for work and not on vacation. Maybe it’s because I’m stressed and tired and generally miserable and low and forlorn and depressed and lonely and a slew of other negative feelings.
So, you know, it’s probably just me. The world is probably chock full of truly wonderful human beings but given my outlook and priorities I just don’t see them for the delightful lumps of DNA they truly are.
I’m sure the plus-plus sized woman who took up all of her plane seat and half of mine is a delightful person. I’m sure it’s just me, tired, stressed me, who has a problem with someone taking up half of my already cramped seat. In the middle of the row. On an oversold flight. I’m sure it’s just me and my narrow, tiny selfish mind which couldn’t understand the woman’s argument that her rights are protected by the Americans with Disabilities Act and that she should not be required to buy two seats or vacate the plane and fly on a less crowded flight. I’m sure it’s my lack of compassion which prevents me from understanding how and why a passenger who cannot fasten their seatbelt is allowed to fly on an airplane at all. Oh sure, the stewardess offered a seatbelt extender, and, you know, that helped a little, but, she was “uncomfortable” wearing the seat belt because usually it’s fastened to the adjoining seatbelt and essentially gives her two and a half seat belts to harness her into her plane seat. I’m sure I’m the only one who has any regard for those pesky FAA regulations. I’m sure it was my long legs which were the problem with the under the seat in front of us space. If my legs weren’t so long there wouldn’t have been an issue with the plus-plus sized woman’s legs and feet and her not one, not two, but three carry on bags under the seat in front of us. It’s my problem my legs are long, not her problem that she should have been required to purchase two seats and hence two under seat in front of you spaces. I’m sure she’s a terrific gal with many interesting and valuable qualities to give the world. Perhaps she’s a litigator because her willingness and eagerness to debate her passenger rights under the ADA laws would point to a lifetime of arguing and pleading cases and reasons to bend laws and rules, especially at the expense of other people’s rights and comfort. (Note to self, research ADA regulations for "overweight" qualifying as a disability) I’m sure loads of people would be more than happy to oblige her and totally willing to use only half of their airline seat in order to save her money. Why should she have to buy two seats or take a later less full flight? I mean, it just doesn’t make sense, does it? See? It’s all my skewed perspective. I was simply too selfish to see beyond my own desire for an entire airplane seat to myself to see that her needs for (much) more room far outweigh (nyuck nyuck) my safety and comfort concerns.
I am certain Trina, the 15-year-old from Kansas City who was clearly stoned, is a real go getter who just wanted to have a little fun during her flight. Maybe she’s a nervous flyer and smoking pot relieves a lot of that anxiety. I should be honored to share three hours of my life inhaling her pot reeking hair and clothes and listen to her non-stop stoner observations even though I had every do not disturb signal in place. IPod, laptop, spreadsheet…and yet, over the music from my iPod I could hear, “Ooooh, I can see bubbles in the bubbles of the bubbles in my soda.” Yes, Trina, yes you can. Kinda blows your mind, doesn’t it? “What’s the speed limit in the air?” Most planes travel about 400 – 535 miles/hour on domestic flights. “If they do faster do they get speeding tickets? Are there air cops? How would they pull over a speeding plane?” There are FAA regulations and I suspect the fines and penalties are pretty steep so most pilots fly by the speed rules. “I have an orange scarf but I forgot it at home.” Uh-huh. That’s too bad. “It’s my favorite scarf.” Uh-huh. “Do you like Sudoku?” No. “I want to learn Sudoku.” Great, check the back of the in-flight magazine, I bet there’s one there. “I don’t get it. Sudoku is hard. Will you teach me?” No. “There’s a crossword. I like crosswords.” Great, knock yourself out. “What’s a five letter word for water wading bird?” Heron. Egret. “This is hard. Do you have any good music?” No. I only have bad music. “I want an iPod but I don’t have any good music either.” “I flunked my drivers license test last month and now I have to wait six more months to get my license.” What a shame. “I don’t like driving but I want my license anyways. I might like driving later.” Remind me to stay away from Kansas City. “Those clouds are awesome from the top. Does that mean it’s raining under the clouds?” Those are cumulous clouds which right now have not ganged up enough to produce rain. “Once, when I was little, it snowed really bad and I made a snowman and it kinda looked like that cloud over there.” “Why isn’t there a movie? Why can’t we have movie on the plane.” Because this plane isn’t equipped for that. “I like movies. I saw a movie on an airplane once. And they showed television, too.” Uh-huh. “I have to go to the bathroom. Oh wait. No I don’t. Psych! You thought you were going to have to get up!” Funny girl. “But now I do have to go to the bathroom probably because I talked about it.” I’m sure Trina will grow up to change the world and make it a better place for all of us. With all those brain cells to spare I’m sure the cells she’s killed by smoking pot are irrelevant. I’m sure it’s just my sensitive nose getting in the way and clouding my judgment. I’m sure if I hadn’t been so sensitive to her pot stench that I would have seen her for the beautiful, insightful, intelligent, caring person she is and will become. Lookout future of the world, you’re in for a treat, Trina’s going to be at the wheel and shaping the future in a very short time.
And I know the woman who “didn’t know how” to turn off her Blackberry clone is normally a creature of stupendous intelligence, common sense and manners. I’m sure she would normally never break the law or rules. I’m sure she had very important conversations to hold during a cross country flight. You know, since she "didn't know how" to turn off her Blackberry-type device anyway she might as well use it, right? She’s probably a surgeon or maybe the one with the secret code to shut down nuclear reactors. Those are important reasons to not turn off your phone/Blackberry-type device during a flight, and even better reasons to “sneak” calls during the flight. She must be a really, really important person to have to spend so much time whispering on her phone and texting when the stewardesses weren’t looking. Maybe if I hadn’t been so tired and stressed I would have seen her for the important person she must be and wouldn’t have ratted her out to a stewardess. If hadn’t done that she wouldn’t have yelled at me in Chinese or Korean and made a fist at me and yelled at the stewardess and made fists at her, too, and the stewardesses wouldn’t have felt compelled to confiscate her Blackberry-type device and escort her to the TSA agents when we landed. It’s really all my fault. I’m sure she is a wonderful, intelligent human being and I just don’t understand her complex needs for constant communication even when it’s against FAA regulations and clearly spelled out in several languages as you board the airplane.
And then, oh, then, Mr. Rhamkhjarmafoobakir, poor Mr. Rhamkhjarmafoobakir. I’m sure he’s an intelligent, compassionate, interesting, witty person when he’s not a nervous flyer. I’m sure his darting eyes, tatty, repaired with duct tape, black odd shaped bag which he clutched tightly along with his ticket (which is how I know his name, which, forgive my presumptions, sounds like a made up name to me) during a four hour flight and refused, angrily, to stow during take off and landing, and occasional outbursts of words in what sounded like Arabic and spoken to no one in particular, and constant leg shaking and finger twitching during the entire four hour flight are just nervous ticks due to flight anxiety. I’m sure he’s a perfectly lovely person when he’s not trapped on an oversold airplane and forced to sit next to me. I’m sure it’s me who brought out the nerves in him. If I weren’t so sensitive what with 9-11 and everything it wouldn’t be a big deal and he and I would have become great friends, heck, maybe even more than friends if you know what I mean. A little mile high action might have been just what he needed to ease those nervous flyer jitters. Never mind that he fits every terrorist profile demarcation and seemed to be following a rule book on how to behave like a suspicious airline passenger and freaked out the woman sitting on the other side of him. I’m sure it’s just me and my knowledge that with each frequent flyer mile I earn the odds of an “incident” increase exponentially that caused me to be concerned about his intentions for our flight. If I’d just let go of those pesky thoughts about terrorists and notices to be alert for suspicious behavior. If I could just take a page from Trina’s book and go with the flow, man, I could have made a terrific friend, maybe even a husband, in Mr. Rhamkhjarmafoobakir. Instead I sat there as still as possible staring straight ahead enduring four hours of near constant vibrating from his excited and exuberant leg shaking so as not to upset him. On the heels of the Blackberry-type device woman I was not going to rock any boats or alert any stewardesses. I was going to just sit there, patiently, quietly, enduring erratic rhythm penetrating the entire row of seats and reflecting on my life and what I contributed to the world during my years alive. I should thank him, really, because thanks to his suspicious behavior I confirmed what I thought I knew: I can die now. It’s okay. I’ve contributed what I can, I could have done more, or better, but I’ve done more than a lot of people and I’m basically a good person. I didn’t leave a big mark on the world, but I left a good one and I’m totally okay with that. Flight attendants, prepare to die, because Mr. Rhamkhjarmafoobakir has become more agitated and is now not only darting his eyes around the plane but also jerking and craning his head apparently looking, frantically for something or someone. Call me paranoid. Call me wrong for stereotype profiling. Call me whatever you want. You weren’t seated next to this guy who was exhibiting text book airline terrorist behavior. I wrote an addendum to my will on an airplane napkin. I contemplated whether or not wills written on airplane napkins hold up in court. I theorized who I know who would or would not contest the validity of airplane napkin wills. Having then reached a few conclusions about the character of some of my friends and family members, I amended the airplane napkin will. Funny what you realize about your friends and family members when you are seated on an airplane next to a man who fits absolutely every terrorist profile demarcation released to the public. Funny how when you finally safely land you forgive the friends and family members you developed a bad mood about while on what you thought was a flight of terrorist death. I know, I really should thank Mr. Rhamkhjarmafoobakir for bringing about all that insight. But alas, he bolted over me, up the aisle and to the door the second the wheels hit the runway. The stewardesses yelled at him and tried to get him to sit down, but, at that point many others had followed suit and were up and about the cabin. Ever notice how it only takes one, one renegade eager passenger to stand up and everyone else joins in and causes an exit fray?
And if you’re thinking, “Well, you know, if you’re doing so much traveling and people are annoying you, maybe you should cough up the money or upgrade points for a first class seat,” I’m way ahead of you on that one. One might presume that the first class portion of the airplane might offer a slightly more civilized, or at least more savvy class of co-passengers. One would be presumptuously wrong to make that presumption. At least in my recent experiences.
On a couple of recent flights I coughed up the upgrade awards for a first class seat. What do you know? You meet the most interesting people in first class, too!
Franny the Fan Lady, for instance. I’m sure it’s just me, just my intolerance for smelling other peoples’ sweat, that caused the miserable flying experience. Franny explained to me, in great detail, that she is in menopause and the hot flashes are “killing her.” So she takes several Chinese paper fans with her wherever she goes. She also wears sleeveless tops. Okay, one day I, too, will pause. I realize it’s not a lot of fun. Woman to woman, she has my sympathy. However, being trapped on a plane with a woman fanning her sweaty stench directly on me for three hours is above and beyond reasonable compassion anyone can be expected to give to a complete stranger. Deodorant, lady, deodorant. You know the air vents above airplane seats? The ones which swivel and have two settings: Off and g-force air pressure of forced re-circulated airplane air? Yeah, well, Franny had hers blasting at full g-force capacity, naturally. And she had it swiveled to hit her shoulder. It took her about an hour of positioning and repositioning the swivel nozzle before she settled on that position. Apparently this gave her optimum air positioning so that she could fan the forced air over not only her but me and the man across the aisle from us. We should thank her for keeping us so cool and wind-blown during our flight. What better way to arrive at a business meeting than chilled to the bone and with wind blown hair?! I’m sure Franny is normally a very thoughtful, considerate person who doesn’t stink or fan her stink on other people. I’m sure there are lots of things I could learn from her about aging and the female body. Though after her very thorough descriptions and explanations I believe she covered just about all the intricacies of female aging and hormones. And I do mean very thorough. Mr. Franny is apparently suffering through Franny’s pause, as well. Franny explained what he’s enduring through her pause. In intimate detail. Hard to believe a man would want to get that close to a sweaty, smelly woman to actually discover the “intimacy issues” with said woman’s, um, you know, “area” but apparently Mr. Franny is a horny trooper (and perhaps olfactory challenged) and is dealing with the various creams and ointments Franny now requires. I’m sure it’s just me and my prudish outlook on personal sexual issues. I’m sure it’s just me being overly polite and sensitive about not wanting to hear or disclose personal sexual issues with complete strangers, especially on an airplane. I’m sure anyone else would have been captivated in rapt attention (while being fanned with airplane air and the stench of sweat) as Franny gave life lessons regarding female aging and intimacy issues. I should be grateful for the education. I should feel honored that she trusted me enough to impart pearls of wisdom to the younger generation.
I had high hopes, really high hopes on my last flight. As usual, the first class area was as chock full as the “regular economy” cabin. However, this time, the guy seated next to me had the do not disturb signals in place. Laptop, spreadsheet, iPod, business attire, seasoned air travel veteran weary look of too much pressurized air cabin air and airport food. Ahhhhhh. Finally. Someone next to me who gets it. Someone who’s walked an air mile in my shoes. My do not disturb signals went into place. I thought I finally got lucky with the seat partner lottery. I was looking forward to a conversation free, stench free, weird behavior free flight. And then the liquor was poured. He consumed three gin and tonics in a span of 45 minutes. He would have had four, but the fourth one was spilled on my and my laptop as he drunkenly sloshed it while trying to work on his spreadsheet. I like the free first class booze as much as the next air traveler. But. Nonetheless. It’s still a confined space. It isn’t the Rock Bottom Brewery during unhappy hour on Friday night. Even though the booze is free and plentiful decorum, manners and awareness of rights of personal space are still in effect. I’m sure it’s just me being overly sensitive about my already dying laptop hard drive. I’m sure it’s just me being uptight about people who can’t hold their liquor (literally) and don’t know their personal limits. I’m sure it’s just me being cranky about my personal space being violated by a spilled drink. And hey, at least it was gin and tonic which is relatively odor and color free, so even though I arrived at my meeting sticky and less than crisp, I didn’t reek too badly of alcohol and wasn’t sporting a stain on my blouse and skirt which screamed, “One too many at the airport lounge!” So, you know, I should be thankful that he wasn’t drinking beer or red wine, right? And I’m sure in real life he’s a terrific person. Maybe I should have tried harder to engage him in conversation. He might have been my Mr. Right. Maybe I’m just not taking advantage of the right opportunities to meet great guys. Maybe this was a huge missed opportunity. I’m sure it was all my fault, anyway. If my laptop hadn’t been on my seat tray he wouldn’t have spilled his drink on me and my laptop in the first place. If I had been a polite flyer I wouldn’t have used by tray or laptop.
Travel really does broaden the mind! What’s really super sonic exciting is that I have many more flights and surely many more interesting people to meet. Frequent flyer miles, frequent friendly sky smiles.
10:41 AM
