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, November 15, 2007
There are some really icky people on this planet.
And then.
There are others. The not icky people. The cool people. The nice people. The sincere people. The kind people. The humorous people. The creative people. And the people who are all those things and more. I ♥ those people.
There was a void in the disabled mobility market. I sent out a call for help. And voila! poof! results!
Old Skool Tartan SharonSpotbottom rocks my world. She's funny, insightful, and single handedly brought tartan into the 21st century. Above all, she is "all things to all things." And here's her version of the Turning Leg Caddy®. Dig the banana seat! And fenders! People ask me what I look like - add boobs to this drawing and you'll have a pretty good idea.
Street Cred From TaffyCat, and this, too, cracks me up. The ironically ubiquitous NIN and Rush "stickers" combined with the Olde English "My" give this the urban edge perfect for the mosh pit, comic book stores and the West Side streets.
If you want to get in on the ride pimping fun, see the post below for details.
3:09 PM
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Yeah, so, I had surgery on my foot.
Loads of fun was had by all.
Actually, the 2.5 hours under the anesthesia was blissful for me. The best “sleep” I’ve had in ages. Forget narcotics and booze. Anesthesia is the way to really sleep. They should sell that stuff right next to aspirin. I know, I know, it can kill you if you don’t know what you’re doing. Anesthesiologists are intelligent, seriously trained professionals and I shouldn’t make jokes about anesthesia.
Still.
They should make that stuff available to the masses. One of the nurses said, “nighty night, see you when the surgery’s over,” the anesthesiologist put a snorkel tube in front of my nose and told me to count to ten.
1.
2.
“Trillian.”
“Trililan.”
“Trillian, it’s time to wake up. The surgery’s over.”
“Trillian”
*10 more minutes. Please. Just 10 more minutes. I’m begging you in the name of all that’s fair and just, 10 more minutes.*
“Ohhh Trillian…”
*Where’s the swutting snooze button?*
“Trillian, time to wake up.”
“TRILLIAN!!!”
“What already? Geeze, I’m awake. What’s a girl gotta do to get a little peace and quiet around here?”
It’s too soon to say whether or not the surgery was a huge success. But. Things were removed, repaired, grafted, and stitched so at the very least my foot and ankle are now different. Maybe not better, but different. Scarred. Different.
So. You know. That’s good.
It’s all over except the healing.
Which apparently takes more than a week.
I’m in week three of stitches, gauze, weird “socks,” a boot, pain medication, restricted movements and a Turning Leg Caddy®.
A what?
A Turning Leg Caddy®.
Were it not for this miracle of modern mobility I would be home in bed on disability figuring out bankruptcy procedures because of my reduced salary on disability.
Crutches schmutches.
This is the wave of the handicapped mobility future.
Should I be attempting to work instead of recuperating at home? Well, that’s a moot point. And it’s not just me. Few people have the luxury of 3 – 4 weeks off work to recover from surgery/illness while drawing their full salary. (And that by the way, is not something socialized medicine will address. The government will pay for your surgery, eventually, if you don’t die waiting, but your employer will still have the discretion to “give” you disability insurance and the rate of pay you receive while you recover from that government surgery.) What was I saying? Oh yeah. Should I be attempting to get back and forth to work in my condition? No. 3 - 4 weeks of (near) complete immobility is the recommended post-surgery protocol. The surgery area is the side and bottom of my foot and a portion of my ankle. Yeah. Ouch. Ouchee wah wah. I wasn’t supposed to let it touch the ground whatsoever for 10 days. And, for the most part, I followed that rule. There were a couple of accidental ground touchings, but they were brief and there was only minimal pressure/weight. Thanks to the Turning Leg Caddy®, I could get to the bathroom and the kitchen simply by rolling my knee onto the cushy knee platform and gently pushing myself around, scooter-like, and then using the platform as a footrest of sorts to keep my foot elevated. Oh sure, it takes some contorting and caution, but, waaaaaaaaay better than crutches. It’s impossible to keep your foot completely off the ground, at all times, when you’re on crutches. And they hurt your arms. And they fall over. And they’re generally an almost good-for-nothing nuisance. Well. Okay. Not good-for-nothing, but a difficult and painful to use nuisance. No question about that.
But not so the Turning Leg Caddy®.
If I were on crutches I would be in serious financial hardship. I never could have returned to work after 10 days. But. Thanks to the Turning Leg Caddy® I’m off and rolling. Ready or not, here I come!
I know. I know. I need to take care of myself. I need to follow the prescribed recuperation plan. I know. But. I also need to pay my medical bills, keep a roof over my head and feed Mayor Daley’s fat cat cronies their free lunches.
Priorities, you know.
Still. Given the fact that I can't afford to stay home on disability, the Turning Leg Caddy® is my savior. Sure, Al Gore invented the internet and global warming and probably even the Universe itself, but, if not a Nobel Peace Prize, how about a huge round of applause for the inventor of the Turning Leg Caddy®? I think he should get a Nobel Peace Prize. I've been on crutches. I know how well they don't work. And I'm Norwegian. So. I should get a say in who gets these prizes. Maybe next year. Unless Al Gore invents The Apocalypse.
How am I? Well. Drugs are good. I’d be better with a daily hit of anesthesia (seriously, I loved that stuff, if dying’s like anesthesia, bring it on) but drugs are a good second choice.
I have a ton of stitches in my foot and ankle. My toes hurt, but hey, I can feel and move my toes now. Which is a huge improvement. Because for four months I haven’t been able to feel or move three of my toes. So. You know. That’s kind of cool. It’s a trade-off, though. At my last exam (which I flunked) I still had no feeling in a huge portion of my foot. Which is probably good because it would hurt really bad if I could feel it. Gotta love nerve damage. But yes. I did flunk the exam, I have more stitches and more recovery to endure. This is a process, not an event. The human body is organic and you can’t put organic substances on a timetable.
Hence my continued and increased infatuation with my new wheels.
Because this is going to be part of my life for a while (at least another month), and because I love it so much, I’m giving you the opportunity to:
Yep! Pimp My Ride for me. Give me your ideas on how to style up my Turning Leg Caddy®. You can use PhotoShop or PaintShop or Illustrator or whatever! to give it a stylin’ makeover, a virtual skin.
Or, for you old skoolers, get out that box of Crayolas and color, color, color!
Send me your ideas in jpg format (please) and I’ll post them in a Pimping for Trillian (Pft) gallery.
2:27 PM
