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
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
So...here's a twist to the plot I didn't see coming.
I have a friend, a guy I've known several years. He's crawling out from a divorce after eight years in a progressively nightmarish marriage. I was trying to root for them to make it work until the point arrived when it was obvious the best thing for both of them was a divorce. It was a painful, gut wrenching, soul sapping decision for my friend. He agonized over it for almost a year. And then he got the "sign" he needed in the form of a trip to the emergency room after his wife threw a jaggedly broken crystal candlestick at him. Up to that point he believed her when she said her temper "flares" were a hormonal issue and some day soon the medication would kick in. I know, my life seems so normal and calm in comparison. And then the divorce began.
And then he went a little nuts enjoying his new violence-free life away from bizarro world by having sex with every woman he could get into bed. And he's a nice, funny, professional, good looking guy so he can get a lot of women into bed. I guess that's normal guy post-divorce behavior. The women I've known post-divorce have all been sad piles of emotional wreckage or forces of empowerment on a mission fueled by their embitterment and Helen Reddy. I didn't encourage my friend's womanizing but I didn't chastise him, either. I just kind of smiled and nodded. Gave a painfully forced "How nice for you" if pressed for comment.
I didn't want his marriage to turn out and end the way it did. I didn't adore his ex-wife, but I didn't hate her, either. I didn't know about the violence and weirdness until the end. My friend kept it to himself. When I saw his wife she seemed to be her usual kind of weird but generally decent self. She was never much on humor or levity, it always seemed to me she was trying really hard to be above humor. Maybe it was a hormonal thing. But my friend seemed happy in his marriage so who was I to judge?
I would never want anyone to endure the emotional and physical pain and torture he endured. I hoped they'd have a nice, normal life together. But they didn't. So once it was clear divorce was the best way forward I tried to look on the bright side: He could laugh again. And I had a single, childless friend. Woo hoo!!!! Finally! Again! I had all sorts of things planned for us. Unlike my other divorced friends, I thought, "He's different. He's wounded and confused and not at all interested in anything to do with dating and sex! I won't have to be his wing-girl, I won't have to be anything other than his hanging out buddy. Awesome!"
Yeah, well, not so fast. That boy's got some issues to deal with before he can revel in his new singleness. (see above, slutting around all over town)
So it wasn't that I was cast aside the second there was a chance for, well, a chance. We never even did anything two single friends out on the town might do. He didn't have time for me. He went from abused husband to slut-about-town in two seconds flat.
And then he met The New Girl.
The New Girl has been consuming all of his time outside of work for a few months. At first he mentioned her casually, and then more seriously, more frequently, and then he started referring to himself and her as "us."
Okay, yay him, right? Right. Sure, it may be a rebound thing, but yay him.
I am honestly happy for him and I hope it works out for them.
But here's the thing. I finally had the opportunity to meet The New Girl. I assumed, after all I'd heard about her, that I would just adore her. After some of his glowing descriptions of her wonderful qualities I even fantasized about us becoming good friends. She and I could be gal pals, go shopping, see chick movies, drink foo foo drinks. Yes. I transferred my need for a single buddy to my single buddy's girlfriend. Oh whatever, like you wouldn't do the same thing.
Crashing, unforeseen reality: I don't like her. I mean I really do not like her. Maybe it's because my expectations were too high. My friend did give an overly enthusiastic account of her but I had no reason to not believe it. Hooo boy. When I finally met her I could only stand and wonder if this was the same woman he's been raving about for the past few months.
She's a topper. A serious topper. A one-upper. ie: Whatever the topic, and I mean whatever the topic, she's got something better and bigger.
My friend said, "Trillian lived in that neighborhood for 10 years." Innocent statement of fact, right? Or...open invitation to brag about your wealthy friends. "Oh yeah? Where?" she said, a bit too skeptical for my taste. I told her. "Oh, that old apartment building on the corner? They should tear that down, it's prime real estate. They could make a killing in condos. My friend bought a condo on (x) street (a few blocks and a several hundreds of thousands of dollars higher in property value away from my old building) five years ago and it's tripled in value. Even in this horrible market her real estate agent told her she'd get $1.5 for it." That's $1.5 million to those of you unacquainted with uppity affected real estate speak. And voila! I was put in my place. Not that I even started the conversation or that my friend even meant anything by the innocuous comment about my former address. But still, there I was, put firmly in my place. My place far, far below The New Girl who has a friend who owns a condo worth $1.5.
My friend pointed out an interesting moon-rise. She said, "Oh. Yes. It's very lovely. But wait 'til we go to Tuscany. You won't believe how incredible the moon is there. Have you been to Tuscany, Trillian?"
"Nope, just the college art history tour of Italy, mainly Rome, a few brief days in Florence, just enough to make me want to go back someday."
"Oh, you must. We're going in September. I have a friend whose stepfather has a villa he rarely uses so we're going to stay there. Have the place to ourselves except for the help."
The help. When was the last time you heard someone use the term "the help" outside of a movie or a joke?
I wondered if she knows my friend, her boyfriend, has worked as a bus boy, waiter and cruise ship laundry steward and to this day cannot stomach the smell of bleach.
"I like those shoes," she said, a little too sweetly for my taste. Wait for it...three...two...one, "I have the originals." Pause. "The heels kill me if I wear them more than an hour, those look a lot more comfortable and I'm sure a lot more affordable."
Girls, you all know how passive aggressively catty that statement was. Guys, I'll translate the girlspeak for you: "I like those shoes," as in the Chinese language where the same word can have multiple meanings depending on intonation, can be a sincere compliment, a cutting lie or a beg for a compliment in return. In this case the too sweet intonation was a clue that what came next would be a slap on the face and a criticism of taste, class and economic status.
"I have the orignals" means, "I paid several hundred dollars for the au currant designer when no one could even get their hands on them. "The heels kill me if I wear them more than an hour" is an attempt at humility and humbleness, an attempt at a false sense of shared sisterhood of uncomfortable heels no matter who the designer or what the price tag. What she's saying here is: "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful, erm, own insanely expensive shoes. I'm really just like you. Put my feet in heels, do they not bleed?"
"Those look a lot more comfortable" would be a passive aggressive coup all on its own, but when paired with the "and I'm sure a lot more affordable" becomes a coup de grâce. It means, "You're such a practical and economically responsible girl. Comfort and price over style and originality for you! Could you fetch something from the car for me, since your shoes are so much more comfortable and inexpensive than mine? It's raining and I don't want to get my precious designer shoes wet and besides they're uncomfortable." Okay, she didn't actually ask me to fetch something from the car, but give it another couple of outings and I'm guessing she'll have me running all over the place doing her bidding. And I will because I'm happy for my friend, her boyfriend, and I want him to have a good relationship and I want to get along. I just want everyone to get along. I don't want any more sharp, jagged heavy objects thrown at my friend.
When it was time to order dinner she made a big show of not being pleased with the menu, criticizing most of the selections, comparing them to what's on offer at pricier, trendier restaurants, thus proving she has a sophisticated and well traveled tongue. Did I say that out loud? I think I might have.
She didn't eat most of her dinner. She made little faces with each bite. But she's not rude, she didn't want to make a scene, so she didn't complain to the waiter. Not this time. Not on the night she's meeting her boyfriend's friend for the first time. Oh no, she wanted to make a good impression. So she just made little "ewww ick" faces every time she took a bite and then pointedly covered most of her dinner with her napkin. Okay, sure, maybe her food totally sucked. It's possible. Though not probable. I've been going to that restaurant for years and have taken a lot of people there and never, not once has there been a bad meal. But then I don't have the sophisticated palate she has. As evidenced by the further discussion (and by discussion I mean her nonstop bragging) about the extremely expensive restaurants where she likes to dine. Oh yeah. I forgot to mention: At the start of the evening she insisted that I choose the restaurant. Way to insult the boyfriend's friend's taste. This woman's a pro.
I could deal with all that, I guess, especially in light of all my friend's gone through in a bad marriage. But what really made me, I dunno, uncomfortable? embarrassed? awkward? annoyed? is that she states or inquires about the price of everything. Within the first hour of meeting her I learned she paid $37,000 for her new car, her diamond earrings, a gift, are just like a pair Oprah! has and she cleverly found out they are worth $12,000 and that her plane ticket to Tokyo cost $2,100. Who checks on the price of a gift? I mean, c'mon, someone gives you something, anything, you graciously accept it and feel honored that they thought enough of you to give you a present. Who cares how much it cost or what its fair market value is?
Poignantly, a case in point was soon to be made. I was wearing a necklace made by an artist who traded it to me for a logo and a marketing plan. It's a nice and unique piece and I like it very much. He made it special for me and that means a lot to me. I noticed her looking at it throughout the evening. Finally she asked me where I got it. And yes, how much it cost.
Whoa. Hold on a minute. This is getting ridiculous and worse, my friend was apparently oblivious to all the one upping and topping his girlfriend was doing and that she had crossed a sacred line.
When I told her I had no idea how much it cost, that I traded design and marketing for it, she asked me what I charge for logo design and marketing plans. I knew this was a two pronged plan to find out a) my net worth and b) the dollars and cents value of my necklace. I told her it varies by client and project. Frustrated with my hedging, she asked if my friend would make one for her. "um, I guess, I dunno, he's kind of busy because the marketing plan worked..."
"Ask him! Ask him! I want one just like it only with diamonds! I love diamonds!"
Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. I just met you a few hours ago and now you want me to impose your need for diamonds onto a friend of mine, someone I respect and admire, someone you don't even know?
And there was my friend, oblivious to it all, gazing lovingly at her, entranced by her.
Maybe I'm too critical. Maybe I'm just really tired, stressed and on edge right now. Maybe she was nervous and trying really hard to impress me. But. To say I could not wait for the evening to end is the understatement of the month.
But wait! The plot thickens!
So, my friend didn't do a follow-up. He didn't ask me if I liked her. I don't think he cares. And why should he care about my opinion? He's happy and that's all that matters.
Except, well, he breached friendiquette.
He gave his girlfriend my email address.
And now she, my apparent new BFF, emails me all kinds of stuff. Stuff that makes me even more disconcerted about her and my friend's relationship with her. I mean, if he likes her, fine, if he's happy, great. But. Do I have to be dragged into this? I had high hopes, but each day it becomes painfully clear that she and I have never crossed paths for a reason.
Apart from the topping, the bragging, the passive aggression, the begging...she's mean and possibly a member of the Klan. Well. Okay, maybe that's going a bit too far. But. Along with pleas for a necklace like mine, she's sent me several "jokes" which all involve racial slams and stereotypes. One involved women of a particular religion and the loss of their children to martyrdom. I'm not kidding. The subject line on that "joke" email? "Funny joke, hold your sides!"
I haven't responded to any of her emails. I'm hoping she'll get the hint. I don't want to encourage her in any way. At the same time I don't want to rock the boat with my friend. So I'm hesitant to tell her off or that those "jokes" aren't funny and are in fact offensive and disturbing. This is his girlfriend, the woman who pulled him out of an out of control sexual rampage, the woman who makes him happy. But I'm offended by the "jokes" she sends. And scared that it's not just her - by the looks of the forwards these jokes are making the rounds and a lot of people find them hilarious. I know my friend cannot possibly condone the "jokes." He's just not that kind of person. Or, well, he didn't used to be. Maybe he is, or always was and I just didn't realize it.
There's another component to this that I hesitate to mention out loud for fear of being accused of harboring deeper feelings for my friend. (I don't and never felt anything for him in a romantic capacity. I like him a lot, on some friendly levels I love him, we've seen each other through a lot, we've had to deal with a lot of the same professional setbacks and disillusionments and some of the same family health issues. We like music and concerts. We're good for each other on friendly levels. But I've never felt or aspired to anything romantic with him. He really is just a friend and the thought of anything more happening is so out of the realm of possibility that it makes me chuckle to think about it. And I know he feels the same way about me which is why the friendship has endured so well. There's no romantic or sexual chemistry in either involved party.) But just in case people go all, "She doth protest too much" over this, take him out of the picture for a moment and focus on this chick. She's a loud, rude, racist, bragging bore. She's okay looking, nothing notable either plus or minus. And yet she's got a guy entranced with her. A good guy, not some jerk no one else wants to date.
Is it really a matter of confidence being sexy? Because I don't think she's confident. I think she's very insecure and trying to affect confidence by bragging about money and putting other people down.
So what is it? Desperation and a need to be with women who have strong, if not close to psychotic, personalities on my friend's part or something inherently sexy within her or a combination? Basically, why is this woman dating a great guy while I'm as single and alone as ever?
11:07 PM
Yep. Many of the rockin' Pixies classics in soothing languid lullaby form. Velouria, Debaser, Gigantic, Here Comes Your Man, Yep, even Wave of Mutilation. Seriously. I couldn't (and wouldn't) make up something like this.
I guess I can understand the omission of Manta Ray, what with the whole Steve Erwin thing and all. But Planet of Sound was oddly left off the collection. More's the pity. Many an ADD toddler would work themselves into a trancelike REM state gyrating themselves to sleep over that one.
I suppose it could come in handy when all us Pixies fans are old and get out of hand in the nursing home. The nursing home wardens can slip some serious medication in our IV liquidiet and just pump some Pixies lullabies over the PA and we'll all lapse into drooling zombies with minds a million miles away to a happy place of our youth. A hot, crowded, smoke filled indie rock and roll club.
Still. Yikes. And. Why?
Sure, Led Zeppelin, The Smashing Pumpkins, Metallica, lullabying those bands' music makes sense. But The Pixes?
Yet then again, after listening to the previews, for some reason my biological clock is suddenly ticking very, very loudly.
Hey. People have babies for far stupider reasons every day.
This little monkey's gone to Heaven...
(If you can stomach it, I suggest at least listening to the preview of Where is My Mind. It puts me in the same mood as Tubular Bells. The perfect lullaby for little Damien or a great baby shower present for Rosemary. This version of Debaser has a lilting springtime wedding joy sincerity to it, it could be the new Pachelbel's Canon. Sadly, I'm not kidding. If you're getting married and are looking for an alternative to the ubiquitous Canon I strongly suggest you give Rockabye's Debaser a listen Oh, and check out the cover art. I actually kind of dig it in an ironic kind of way.)
5:58 PM
