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<




Trillian McMillian
Trillian McMillian
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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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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

 
Tuesday, October 07, 2008  
Everyone all hopped up high with excitement about the debate?

I have a confession to make.

It's a dirty secret that I feel a need to share.

I woke up this morning officially sick of the campaign.

Just like that.

I went to bed following the surveys and researching the candidates (all of the candidates) and poof! I woke up officially burned out on the whole thing.

I usually have a longer threshold of election campaign tolerance.

But this year all the zeal and presumptions and passion has taken an early toll on me.

And just like that: election fatigue hits.
In these times of uncertainty and anxiety it's so comforting to know the two lead candidates can come together on one crucial issue: Army Wives.


Maybe it's the early voting options. Time was, a body had one day to cast their vote. Now we get a three week window of opportunity. Kind of deflates the excitement of Election Day. "Eh, whenever." I can avoid the November 4 rush and vote starting next week. Hey. This is Chicago. Vote early, vote often. We've got half the equation legalized. I can't wait until we get to vote often, too.

Maybe it's the endless ridiculous television ads. I think it was Lifetime that pushed me over the edge. During my weekend of enlightenment watching Lifetime I gained some great insight. In these times of uncertainty and anxiety it's so comforting to know the two lead candidates can come together on one crucial issue: Army Wives. McCain's wife apparently pussywhips him into watching it while Obama apparently likes the portrayal of "real" American families. If we're to believe their campaign ads, that is. Somehow I doubt either one actually watches the show. (if they do that's reason enough to vote independent.) I'm concerned that McCain is forced to watch Lifetime (seriously, the man survived a Vietnamese POW torture camp, hasn't he suffered enough?) and I'm concerned that Obama believes the families on Army Wives are a legit "real" representation of military life. How gullible and stupid do these guys think we are? I realize the ads are meant to appeal to women voters and help boost Lifetime's ratings, but c'mon. Pandering to the lowest common denominator and offending female intelligence in the process is sooooo last century.

Maybe it's that the comedic satire has turned predictable and obvious. I love Tina Fey. Really. I do. Love her. Love her. Love her. And she does a great Palin. But. The "Ohmygosh HA HA HA!!!!!!!!!!!!" responses have turned to "heh. That's funny. Any more of that spinach dip in the fridge?" Seriously, did anyone not expect a mock debate on SNL last week? The brilliance of it was the Queen Latifah cameo. (Well, okay, the Biden Scranton bit was unexpected and very funny. Poor old Scranton.) But. Great as Ms. Owens was as Gwen Ifil, let's be honest: It was jumping the shark. SNL brought in not one but two special guest stars. Fey and crowd pleaser Queen Latifah. What's next? The kid who played cousin Oliver on the Brady Bunch making a guest appearance as the most recent McCain adoptee? (Attention SNL writers: I'm willing to negotiate a fair price for that idea.) When even the comedic satire becomes predictable, when all the good jokes have already been written, when the mocking of funny accents and ticks are the expected norm, it's time for the election to end.

Or maybe it's the apparently limitless fervor people have for their candidates. Holy one hyperbole laced rally away from drinking the Kool-Aide, Batman. I'm concerned about some people I know who are so enraptured that their eyes glaze over and they fall into drooling lust when they talk about their candidate of choice. It's a bit, well, it's a bit much. A bit scary. Maybe I've got it wrong. Maybe we actually are electing a new Messiah. I missed that press release. I thought we were just voting for a president who will at most serve eight years.

Case in point: A young woman in my office got a new tattoo. On her boob. There, forever, on her boob as it seduces men, feeds her babies, gets mammograms, ages, sags and wrinkles, entwined in a heart, cross and a flag is the likeness of a famous Illinois senator running for president. No, not Paul Simon. (See, now that would be funny.) Talk about patriotic. I mean, I admire her devotion but um, huh. I dunno. I suppose it's no different than the ubiquitous GNR and Chili Pepper tattoos. But then, I have the same concerns about band name tattoos. Sure, I ♥ the Pixies enough to make a permanent lifetime declaration on my body. Sure. I'm certain of my love for their music. It's safe to assume I ♥ them as much as my co-worker ♥ Obama. But. Um. Call me crazy, call me old fashioned, call me fickle...I have no need or desire to advertise this on my body. Forever.

Guys, weigh in on this. You're dating a new girl. Things are going well and after a few dates things start heating up. You're making out. She leads you seductively, coyly, to the bedroom. She licks her lips and asks you if you want to see her tattoo. You think, "yeah baby!" but stammer out "yes please." She lowers her head, looks up at you, softly brushes her hand across her chest and bites her lip in mock innocence. You're all over the invitation. Off with the top, off with the bra and there, staring back at you perched just above her nipple is Barack Obama. Is this sexy? Is this a turn on? Is this some secret the other girls didn't tell me? Am I just one Obama boob tattoo away from a great sex life? I've always admired George Washington. Would a boob tattoo of him be sexy? What about Jefferson? I like Monticello a lot. How about Jefferson on one boob and Monticello on the other? Would that bring the men back to the bedroom again and again? How about an appropriately placed Clinton tattoo? Would that be a sexy surprise during intimate encounters? Would it be sexy to watch "him" smoke a cigar?

I'm going to use one of my overused slang passes and say: WTF???

And, interestingly (at least to me) the woman in my office with the new tattoo? Yeah. She can't decide what church she wants to attend, what bus or train to take to work, which workout DVD tones her butt best, what coffee flavor she likes, or what color shoes to buy. But boy oh boy, there forever emblazoned on her boob is decision which will last a lifetime. I dunno. It seems a bit, um, much. A bit too much.

There's just so much passion and zeal, so much chanting and getting caught up in rhetoric. So much anger, so much finger pointing. This election has people whipped up into a fervor. Passion is great. Devotion is good. Emotional decisions: Not so good.

Whatever. We're a month away from election day and I'm over it. The mudslinging has begun and all that's left are the defensive taunts and the pouty lipped whining.

In between big, bright, super white "let me assure you" smiles, that is.

I feel alone and tired and fed up with it all. And that can only mean one thing.
Delta Dawn
Hot for Voting
To the tune of Fever. And in an Ann Margret voice. You know. To set the mood.

Never know how much I love you
Never know how much I care
When you say your hyperbole
I give you fervor that’s beyond compare

You give me fervor
When you promise me
Fervor when you make it plain
Fervor
At the debate
Fervor all through the campaign

Media lights up the debate
Ink lights my new tattoo
I light up when you recriminate
And you know I’m gonna vote for you

You give me fervor
When you promise me
Fervor when you make it plain
Fervor
At the debate
Fervor all through the campaign

Everybody's got the fervor
That is somethin' you all know
Fervor isn't such a new thing
Fervor started long ago

The People loved Kennedy
Kennedy, he felt the same
When he said Ich bin ein Berliner
He soared in popularity and fame

Now give me fervor
When we’re votin’
Fervor sparks the game anew
Fervor
I’ve got fervor
Fervor, yeah I’ll vote for you

George Bush and Al Gore
Had a campaign without cred
When the chads were hanging
He said, “I’ll win the Oscar instead”

He gave good fervor
With his disses
Fervor with a Power Point
Fervor
He’s delicious
Nobel won’t you laud and anoint

Now you listened to my story
Here's the point that I have made
Candidates were born to give you fervor
Be it with humor or a mad tirade

They give you fervor
When you vote for them
Fervor if you went to a rally
Fervor
‘Til you're brainwashed
But what a lovely way to vote

But what a lovely way to vote
But what a lovely way to vote
But what a lovely way to vote




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11:24 AM

 
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