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
Friday, December 12, 2008
I think the Universe is sending me messages.
I canceled my online dating site memberships last week. But I have a couple weeks remaining until until they "end" because you pay ahead for dating sites. Starting on the day I decided to stop online dating every man who has contacted me has validated my decision to quit. Every weirdo, bully, stalker and real estate agent in the greater Chicago area is contacting me. With each new email the message is clear: "Trillian, this is the Universe. You made the right decision. Leave online dating sites and never look back."
People, even some of you, tell me that confidence is sexy. Physical looks don't matter - it's confidence that drives men wild. Confidence, confidence, confidence.
Oh yeah. Confidence is really sexy. To wit, the guy who has sent me three emails in as many days. He's very confident. You tell me: Do you think he's sexy?
Exhibit A. Email #1 sent on Monday. HELLO LET ME FIRST SAY THAT I AM LOOKING FOR AN OLDER WOMAN TO BECOME INVOLVED WITH. YOU HAPPEN TO BE OLDER THAN I AM AND THATS JUST MY TYPE. THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH ME AND YOU ARE WELCOME TO PICK AT MY BRAIN. I CONSIDER MYSELF CLOSE TO PERFECT AND I AM INTELLIGENT AND NO FLAWS APPLY TO ME. I AM EMPLOYEED WITH NO WOMAN OR KIDS. MOST WOMEN FIND ME SEXY AND I NEVER GET TURNED DOWN. LETS START BY GETTING TO KNOW EACH OTHER THROUGH EMAIL AND I WILL TRAVEL TO CHICAGO TO TAKE YOU ON A DATE WHEN WE GET CLOSE TO ONE ANOTHER. A LOVELY LADY SUCH AS YOUR SELF HAS RUN INTO SOME REAL LUCK COMMING ACROSS ME SO DONT THROW ME ASIDE AND KNOW I AM THE BEST DAMN GUY YOULL EVER MEET. THANK YA LOVE YA AND PEACE
I kid you not. Verbatim, folks. Cut. Paste. From my in box to your eyes. (Yes, he wrote it in all caps and without benefit of punctuation. Confidence! Apostrophes are for the insecure.)
Exhibit B. Email #2 sent on Tuesday. NOONE IS A MORE INTERESTING GUY THEN MYSELF AND I AM AVAILABLE TO WOMEN EVERYWHERE. I KIND OF LIKE THE LOOKS OF YOU SO DONT WASTE TIME I AM THE MOST INTERESTING GUY YOULL EVER MEET. ILL BE WAITING. LOVE YA
Hey, I mean, he "kind of" likes the looks of me so I should seize the opportunity, right? I haven't had a compliment like that in years! And from a younger man, no less! Wow! Why am I wasting time?! He's so darned confident! Confidence is sexy, right? And who's Noone? Love ya?! Seriously? What the...?
Exhibit C. Email #2 sent Thursday. DONT LET AGE GET IN YOUR WAY OF ME. I AM AN INTELLIGENT ATHLETIC SEXY MAN. I WANT TO FIND A SOUL MATE AND A LIFE LONG FRIEND OR A SEXY FEMALE TO HANG OUT WITH. I AM THE NICEST GUY IN THE WORLD.
Distance and age. Yeh. Those are the only things "getting in my way of him." Nice to know if the soul mate thing doesn't work out he's equally happy to find a sexy female to hang out with. For the record I'm two years older than him. Is it just me feeling insecure or is he making it sound as if I'm 20 years older than him? And notice there's no "LOVE YA" this time?
Oh well, there are other men...
Like the guy who wrote only this: Always keep a garbage bag in your car it doesnt take up much space and if it gets full you can always toss it out the window. Errrrm. Okay. I'm not in the habit of littering and on behalf of nature and the environment and other people who drive on road I prefer that other people don't litter, either. But maybe this guy is really deep and that's a metaphor. Or something. Is he calling me, or my profile, garbage? Dunno. Can't tell. That was all he wrote to me. No. I do not find the ambiguity attractive or enticing.
Or this guy who also kept his introduction short. And confusing. im thinking to be at home tonight so feels kind of tierd i was going to bed around 5 last night so long day my name is Peter honey like to know you.
Okay then! I'm thinking English is a second language for Peter. But even so, he represents the other end of the spectrum from Garbage Man. Peter has cut out all the preliminary niceties and conversation and gone straight into the every day routine and lack of conversation of several years of a not-so-exciting marriage.
Somewhere between Garbage Man, Peter and the Confidence is Sexy guy is "normal." But normal isn't appearing in my in-box.
Thank you, Universe, for confirming my decision to cease online dating.
8:44 PM
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
The thing about life imitating art is that unlike in art, in real life there's a continuum. A tomorrow, a next week, next month, etc. In art there's just the moment. It's a stand alone without consequences.
I've had a couple of situations where my life imitated art. Specifically, Seinfeld episodes. More specifically, difficult Elaine situations.
The day I moved into my "new" place I met one of my neighbors. She had taken the day off work and was catching up on errands and chores, so I kept running into her as I was in and out with the movers. We introduced ourselves and at one point she mentioned her husband's name.
It was a really hectic day and I forgot her name about two seconds after she told me. But for some reason I remember her husband's name. Yes. The man I didn't even meet face-to-face had a name etched in my memory yet I couldn't remember hers.
A couple weeks later I was waiting for the elevator and she came out into the hall, also on her way to work. We chatted and I apologized that I forgot her name and she told me her name, again.
And the next time I saw her, a week later, I realized I had promptly forgotten her name. Again. I couldn't ask her again, too embarrassing, and I thought certainly it would come to me.
I started to see her quite frequently on our ways to work. I finally met her husband face-to-face. She introduced me to him, even though I remembered his name like he was a best friend. I introduced myself to him and that was that. Neighbors, friends, cool. Except the complete mental block on this woman's name remained.
When I had surgery they were great about watching out for me and offering help - even offered to get groceries for me.
Somewhere about that time I realized the woman was calling me the wrong name. And I mean really wrong. Not even close. I didn't catch it at first. She tends to assume I know everyone in the building by name. I know most of my neighbors by sight, at least, and several by name, but not all of them. But this woman tends to talk like we're one huge family and that we all know each other and what's going on with each other. She's very familiar. And not in an annoying way - she's very nice, very inclusive, a good neighbor. So when she said Dorothy I thought she was talking about another neighbor. I didn't catch on that she was addressing me as Dorothy.
I know. Dorothy! I mean, huh? No disrespect to the Dorothys out there, but of all the names I've been called in confusion Dorothy is the farthest off of the mark. Even Dot or Dottie would be more in keeping with my personality, but Dorothy? I get Christine a lot. People frequently mistake me for a Christine. I can kind of see that. I think I could pass for a Christine pretty easily. And it's interesting that it's never Chris or Chrissie or Christina, it's always Christine. But Dorothy? I dunno. I just don't see it.
It finally dawned on me that she thinks my name is Dorothy. And I let it go for a few months so it would be weird to correct her at that point.
And worse, I still didn't have a swutting clue what her name is. Not a clue.
So we've been existing in this weird state of misunderstanding. I see her frequently, we leave for work at the same time-ish, we often do our laundry on the same night, I see them at the grocery...
Her husband had serious surgery a few months ago and I always ask her about him, by name because I remember his name. During his hospital stay her daughter came to visit from Colorado (I remember that detail but not her name?!). I didn't meet her in person, but my neighbor talked about her and called her by name, and I remembered her daughter's name, so I'd say things like, "Kelly's such a great help for you" and "Did Kelly make it back to Colorado okay?" I even invited them down for drinks or pizza and a movie. They couldn't make it but she seemed grateful for the invite. One day I ran into her after she'd spent a long day at hospital. When we got on the elevator she broke down in tears. I gave her a hug and helped her into her place, sat with her a few minutes until she was feeling better. So it all seems normal and friendly except that I have no idea what her name is. And she's calling me by the wrong name.
In the Seinfeld episode Elaine has a coworker who calls her Susie. Elaine is in a similar uncomfortable situation of not knowing how to approach the topic of her actual name and why she'd "answered" to the wrong name for so long. Madcap hilarity ensues and Elaine finally kills Susie and Peterman holds a big funeral for Susie, a person who didn't actually exist.
I'm not gong to get off that lucky.
A couple days ago I came home from work and tucked into my door was a Christmas card with "my" name, Dorothy, written out in calligraphy. Seeing it all formal and fancy in that tenderly scribed writing I felt horrible for perpetuating this whole thing simply because I was too polite to correct this woman right from the get-go. And too embarrassed to admit I could not remember her name.
Well, one problem is solved. She and her husband wrote a very nice note in the card, wishing me a peaceful holiday and a healing new year. And they signed their names. And no, it didn't hit me like a ton of bricks. If the card hadn't been tucked in my door addressed to Dorothy, I wouldn't have had a clue who it was from. Whatever she told me her name was when we first met, I'd bet a paycheck it wasn't the name signed in the card. But it's obviously from them, her husband's name is "correct." But I'm certain I would have remembered that her name was the same as my gran's. It's kind of an unusual name so I'm sure I would have remarked, "Oh! That was my grandmother's name." At the very least I would have remembered it was the name of a relative.
I envisioned her and her husband sitting at the kitchen table with the cards and the calligraphy pens, fresh pot of coffee brewing, holiday music softly playing, compiling the list and writing out the greetings and envelopes. "Okay, that's the Williams and the Smiths. Now, let's see, did you get Mike from downstairs? And oh! Dorothy, of course, Dorothy. Such a nice girl, poor thing is really having a hard time since her dad died."
"Oh yes, use one of the nice cards with the foil lined envelope for her. She was so thoughtful when you were in hospital and Kelly was here."
"Okie doke, nice card for Dorothy and how about a cute puffy snowman sticker, too?! You know how Dorothy loves snow!"
"She sure does! She was out walking on the beach in a blizzard last weekend! Ha! That Dorothy!"
Okay great. Now I know her name. I feel tremendously relieved.
But I've built a friendship with these people under the name Dorothy. The woman cried in my arms for crying out loud. How am I supposed to correct her now? And the web of deception grows. I already encountered this problem but now I really have to face it. When he was in hospital I wanted to give him a get well card. But if I signed with my name he, they, wouldn't have a clue who it was from. But I can't bring myself to put the deception in writing, I can't sign a card "Dorothy." I mean, I just can't. So instead I made a fruit basket, waited until I knew they were home and took it down to them, without a card.
But now I have to send them a holiday card. They went to all the trouble to use the nice foil envelope card for me with calligraphy and a puffy snowman sticker, too. I have to send them a card. I want to send them a card. I like these people. But they're not going to have a stinking clue who it's from. And even if the dawn of realization hits (if I put my return address with unit number) they're going feel all kinds of negative things by finding out, that way, that they've been calling me the wrong name for over a year. It's completely inappropriate to drop this name bomb on them via a holiday greeting card, but how else do I do it?
If only it were as easy as killing Dorothy and holding a funeral for her.
9:52 PM
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
The election's over so is it okay if I express a personal political opinion?
I am one hap-hap-happy girl this morning. There is much rejoicing in my heart. I never thought this day would arrive. I gave up on truth and justice.
But.
Holy. Swutting. Belgium.
Illinois governor (and smarmy, corrupt, embarrassment of a human being) Rod Blagojevich got nailed by the Feds. Maybe he'll get to share a jail cell with his predecessor George Ryan (unless Bush pardons Ryan).
I'm jubilant for many, many reasons but mainly because finally, finally there's acknowlegment that this guy is as shady as they come and should never be in a position of power. I doubt it's a dawn of a new day for politics in Illinois - Daley will be shown on tv with hair askew, red face, forehead vein throbbing, yelling that he didn't know anything. Illinois political life will continue in its slimy, disgusting, greedy way. Our tax dollars will continue to evaporate without a trace or explanation.
But, today there's one small bright spot. We have confirmation that someone knows. Someone in a position to do something noticed and cared. Someone acknowledges the corruption, lies and money that are the driving motivation from the top and all the way down to the hired henchmen in Illinois politics.
I feel...good. Today Blagojevich tomorrow Daley? Ha! I doubt that very much. And honestly? I'm not sure I could handle that. I'd be like the people who win the lottery and have a heart attack from the excitement.
But today, now, I'm savoring the moment. Even if it all "blows over" and he's released a la Rostenkowski, the public besmirching is glorious.
Sure, we Illinoisans are being seen as stupid because "we" vote for these guys. "We" are besmirched, too. I should be embarrassed to be a tax paying citizen of Illinois right now. Sure, I understand that I'm seen as part of the Illinois voting pool who let these people get into power and therefore I have to shoulder some responsibility or at least some of the besmirching. So I'm loudly saying: Not all Illinoisans voted for these guys. Many of us are aware and smart enough to not want them in office...but somehow (vote early, vote often) they get into power anyway. Some of us Illinoisans are rejoicing as if the Bastille had just been stormed. We're no longer the asterisked disclaimer to the pledge of "With liberty and justice for all." "All" now includes us, too.
9:20 AM
