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

 
Wednesday, February 27, 2008  
I don’t mean to brag, but…I had awesome tickets for the sold out Foo Fighters show.



Shame I didn’t get to go to the show.


What? Why, Trill, why? You may ask imploringly wondering what’s wrong with me besides my foot and ankle.


Well, it finally happened. Not even the lure of great seats for a great sold out show is enough to persuade any of my friends to spend time with me.


Okay. To be fair two people really, really wanted to go and would have gone but had other obligations. A mother on dialysis is slightly more urgent than great seats for the Foo Fighters. And going to China for your job is kind of important and kind of more cool than great seats for the Foo Fighters. So to qualify and to be clear, I do have two friends who would spend time with me, with or without the Foo Fighters.


Okay. Still. I know a ton of people. Some of them are even friends. Most of them are of concert going and Foo liking age. I offered the ticket free, no cost and I’d pay for parking. But the reasons filed in. They didn’t want to venture out on a Monday night. They couldn’t get a sitter on a school night. Traffic would be murder on a Monday night. It would be a really loud show and they hate going home with ringing ears.

I know. Lame.

The Foo Fighters for crying out loud. Dave Grohl. Nirvana? Ringing any bells? Amazing, for the “industry,” seats. I mean, c’mon, isn’t that jump-at-the-chance worthy?

Sure. I dig music. A lot. Especially live shows. Especially good live shows.

Sure. Nirvana was the voice of my confused, disoriented and prematurely weary and jaded generation.

But c’mon, putting all of that aside, fantastic free seats to a great concert. I thought I’d feel guilty because I only had two tickets and a lot of people would want to go. I started with the friends I know to be serious Nirvana/Foo fans. The problem there? They’re married. And she didn’t want to go. The PTA fundraiser was the Saturday prior to the concert and she was busy focusing on that. Apparently she can’t handle more than one event in the span of three days. He really wanted to go. He gave me the, “OMG, you’re the coolest friend ever, this is a dream come true, it’ll be a blast! I’ll pick you up after work, we can grab dinner on the way, Foo Fighters! Foo Fighters! OMG” reaction I thought I’d receive from all of my friends. I could hear him jumping around with glee as he scampered down the hall.

Then there was silence on the other end of the phone. Then a meek and dejected little voice said, “Holly says I can’t go.” Pause on both ends of the phone. Then, “If I give you money will you buy me a t-shirt?”

I’m not stupid. I do not interfere in my friends’ marriages. And I don’t think she’s jealous of me, in fact I’m pretty sure I’m the last person she’d suspect if she thought her husband were cheating on her. (rightfully so) I don’t think she was worried about what might happen when we were all pumped up at the arena banging our heads to the tunes of Foo. I think she just did not want to be involved with concerts “like that” and didn’t want him to be “involved” either. She’s been on this whole, “we’re grown-ups for crying out loud” kick lately. She's become very quick to dismiss and scoff at people who don’t “act their age.” Every time she hears about someone doing something she deems inappropriate she rolls her eyes and says, “we’re grown-ups for crying out loud.” She doesn’t out and out call them childish, or immature, and in fact I’m not entirely what the exact implication is other than she’s disdainful of a lot of rudimentary activities. I’m starting to compile a list of things she deems inappropriate for grown-ups. So far it includes: Renting, snowboarding, fast food, cars older than two years, paying (for anything) with cash, inexpensive purses and shoes, painting/working on your home yourself, Pez, buying clothes on sale at the end of the season, and apparently now I can add going to concerts, even the Foo Fighters, to the list. And by the way, she used to be (and I thought still was) a huge Nirvana fan, but maybe not. Maybe she’s left that behind now that she’s magically transformed into a grown-up.

And she’s dragging her husband into being a grown-up, too. Therefore he was not allowed to attend the concert with me. I’m apparently a threat. Not to her marriage or her husband’s fidelity, but to his maturity.

So I made more phone calls, sent more emails, and came up with: Nothing.

So I thought, “well, Trill old girl, it’s a sad day when you can’t find anyone to go with you to a concert, but here it is. Might as well give both tickets to people who would like them.” So I called my grown-up friend again and told her I couldn’t find anyone to go with me and she and her husband could have both the tickets and I even offered to babysit. I know! I know! What am I, a saint or something? How could anyone refuse, right?

Wrong.

She reiterated that the PTA fundraiser was the Saturday night prior to the concert (on Monday night) and she couldn’t go. And then listed the traffic, loud noise and school night excuses. Yes. This from a woman who used to go to live punk shows, hit the after hours bars, go home, take a shower and go to work. Okay, sure, we’re all more grown-up than that, now. Those days are over. Happily. But. There is a happy medium, right?

Apparently not.


Yes. I couldn’t give the tickets away.


Well. That’s not entirely true. I know a few people at work would have jumped at the tickets, but I’d sooner sit chained to a chair with tubes venting Giorgio perfume in my nose while wearing a twine thong-backed scratchy polyester lace teddy in a locked room with Celine Dion piped in on loud but tinny speakers while images of animal torture are projected on the walls than give the tickets to anyone at work. (and yes, that’s one of my versions of Hell)


I toyed with going to the show alone. I do go to shows alone. But to smaller, in-town shows. Glorified bars with no chairs, so overcrowded it's almost pointless to go with anyone anyway. It's hot, loud and crowded. If you're alone no one really notices. And people do go alone to those kinds of shows. I'm not alone in going alone to those kinds of shows. A lot of people go to check out a band on their own. Well. Okay, maybe not a lot, but people do it. But people don't generally go to arena shows alone, and they certainly don't go to special fantastic industry only seats at arena shows alone. Much as I wanted to go to this show, I didn't want to go alone. I go to movies alone. I go out to eat alone. I go to galleries alone. I go to museums alone. I take moonlit walks on the beach alone. (Anyone catch the eclipse the other night? Wowee, that was really cool.) I travel alone. So what's the big deal about going to an arena show alone? I dunno. I guess I have to draw the line somewhere and apparently I draw my out-there-on-my-own line at going to a sold out Foo Fighters concert.

In the end I gave the tickets, both of them, to the brother of a of a friend of a friend. He took his girlfriend and they had a great time. Woo hoo for them. I’m glad someone was able to use them and enjoy the show. It would have been a shame to let them go to waste.




Apparently I earned some karma points for that.

I’m not sure how karma works, it’s open for debate whether or not I scored good or bad karma.




Because I'm going to see Grand Funk Railroad next weekend.

Yes, “We’re comin’ to your town, we’ll help you party down” Grand Funk Railroad.

Yes. Homer J. Simpson's favorite band.




And again you ask, imploringly, more urgently, more concerned, What? Why, Trill, why?


Because I’m a really, really, really good sister.


Here’s the lesson I learned and here’s why I think I’m a grown-up, even more-so than my disdaining friend.


My sister is several years older than me. Putting the huge age gap aside, we’re also as different as two people could be. I find it difficult to explain or believe that we share any common DNA. But such is often the case with sisters, regardless of the age difference.

One of her favorite bands is Grand Funk Railroad. I have no idea why. Why doesn’t matter. She likes them and that’s that. I happen to be visiting the weekend GFR is playing a gig near her. Yes. They’re going to her town, they’ll help her party down.

When she discovered the coincidence of my visit and the GFR show she asked me to go with her.

My immediate reaction would be to laugh and recite the above Celine Dion scenario.

But in light of my recent trouble trying to find someone to go with me to the Foo Fighters, I caught myself before I verbalized my disdain for the band and aging rockers trying to cash in on their former glory. This is important to her. It means something to her. I have no idea why, but it matters to her and she wants to go. I’m sure she feels the same way about me wanting to see the Foo Fighters. Though to be fair to me, Dave Grohl doesn’t try to cash in by touring under the name Nirvana and he writes and performs new songs. He's evolved and evolving. There are some young Foo Fighers newbies who don’t even realize Dave Grohl was in Nirvana. (I know, I found that difficult to believe, too, but I work with two of them. Young little whipper snappers didn’t have a clue.)

Do I want to spend an evening with a bunch of aging hippie stoners listening to some of the original members of Grand Funk Railroad regurgitate the same songs they've been playing since 1973? Of course not. (See above, ghastly perfume, scratchy thong teddy, chains, locked room, animal torture, Celine Dion) But. I would have really liked for someone to make the “sacrifice” and go with me to see Foo Fighters. I don’t have a lot to look forward to, at the moment and in life in general. I’m either doing something at work or for work, volunteering to help other people/animals, or home alone. My friends are married, most with children, and they’re busy. They have lives and friends which include and revolve around being married and having children. So the little treats, a concert here and there, a night out with friends, is a big deal to me. Sure, the music (hopefully) is good, but the socializing and camaraderie aspects have become equally important. I don’t take those aspects for granted anymore. Other than work and volunteering, I spend a lot of time alone. I am lonely. I fill as many hours of the days as I can with work and helping other people, and I “get” a lot out of that, but, I go home: Alone. I’m sharing and giving of myself, but I’m not sharing my life with anyone, and that can get really lonely sometimes. The few opportunities I have to connect with friends are becoming ever more elusive, and at the same time ever more crucial.

My sister’s situation is a little different. She has friends, friends who have children, friends who are divorced, like her. She’s not alone and (I don’t think) as lonely. But. Since I’m going to be in town anyway, she wants me to go with her. She knows, as converse as the logic seems, that I’ll look after her. That if she has too much to drink (or smoke) I won’t let anyone take advantage of her. She knows I’ll be the designated driver. She knows I’m the responsible one who will look out for her so she can cut loose and have a good time at her concert.

I know, I know. Given all that kettle of sibling fish I should say no and refuse to go with her. But. Fresh on the heels of my concert going disappointment I couldn’t make myself say no. Yes, I’m being charitable. No, she’s not taking advantage of me. She hit me up for this at exactly the right time. A week sooner or later and I wouldn’t have agreed to go with her. But I’m a grown-up and I do things I don’t want to do for the sake of others. Unlike my friends who, in spite of their admonishments other people, haven't learned this lesson about being a grown-up. And yes, it's a night out and one Saturday I don't have to spend alone. It's not the Foo Fighters, but s'all good.

And who knows? I might have a good time. It’ll be good for a laugh. A room full of aging stoners tripping out to that dreadful and way too long I’m your captain song. I'll take a crossword to work on during that song. (Seriously, what is the point of that song? Why is it so long? Is it a metaphor for an LSD trip?)

Maybe I'll even make a shirt to wear to the show with the Homer quote emblazoned across my boobs: “Mark Farner’s wild, shirtless lyrics. The bong-rattling bass of Mel Schacher. The competent drumwork of Don Brewer.” I'm a grown-up, but I'm not above being irreverent and ironic.

1:52 PM

 
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