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

 
Thursday, May 14, 2009  
Whew. Okay. Glad that's over.

I don't have to deal with LOST for a while.

It's kind of like a troubled relationship. There are problems...I'm losing interest...but when it's good, it's really good so I think there's something salvageable there. And there's no denying the physical attraction. I mean. You know. Let's be honest, this relationship is mostly physical.

Plus I know what the alternative is and I'd rather be in a mediocre relationship than none at all.

What I need is a couple new vices to give me the strength and confidence to end things with LOST.

That's really what the issue is for me. Vice.

I used to have some good vices. I kept the list short in order to really indulge in the vices. Really wring the most vice out of them. If you have too many vices it's difficult to dedicate yourself to them as fully as necessary to make them, well, vices. Better to have a short list and indulge in them with passion and zeal.

I enjoyed my vices. I was proud of my vices. I embraced my vices virtuously.

Loud rock and roll. Decadent (scandalous) shoes. Lusting after men. Vodka.

Often all at the same time.

I like speed, too. Fast cars, fast boats, fast bikes, fast ice skates. I used to have two speeds: Fast and off. Then my gearbox was updated to include neutral. Which was good. The speed thing was, um, well, not always safe. And learning to accept and embrace neutral came in especially handy when I broke my ankle and foot. And since then I've come even further in seeing the merits of a more steady, even pace.

Ahhh, maturity.

Though.

I still like to drive fast. And if my foot were magically healed I would lace up the blades and hit the ice faster than you can say Chuck Yeager.

But I have more gears, now, and I'm happy with that.

Yep. I kissed the speed vice good-bye.

Shoes? Yeah, well. Not so much. I took three boxes of decadent shoes with scandalous heels to the charity shop a few months ago. 18 months post-surgery with another surgery looming it was obvious those shoes with their three and four inch heels, straps and balance challenging designs would not make it out my door anytime soon, if ever. One day I realized they were mocking me. Sad reminders of another woman, someone who is no longer me. And poof! just like that, away went my decadent scandalous shoe vice.

I have long feet so my gift to the charity shop in a predominantly gay neighborhood was surely well received. I feel alternately happy and sad that my former instruments of delight and passion are undoubtedly on drag club stages. I mean, you know, someone should enjoy them, it would be a shame to let them go to waste. And not that there's anything wrong with that. But. I dunno. They're my shoes. They made me happy. Sublime, even. No matter how ugly I looked or felt, no matter how utilitarian my clothes were, I put on a pair of my decadent shoes and I felt baaaaaad. I felt confident. I felt worthy. I felt a lot of things. Yes. My shoes made me feel things. I know that's wrong. Passions "shouldn't" be stirred, self worth should not be gained, and confidence should not be had from things, inanimate products bought at stores.

But that's vice for you. Which is why my shoe vice was perhaps my truest, purest vice. It was just wrong on every level. And it encompassed many of the deadly sins: Lust, gluttony, greed, envy, sloth, and pride. Find a way to throw in some wrath and you've got a vice full of sin.

Funny, though, I don't feel virtuous now that my shoe vice is no more. Though it's given way for another vice and wrath is coming into play.

I'm not sad someone else is wearing them, I'm jealous. The shoes I wear now are best described as sensible, sturdy, supportive and comfortable. They have to accommodate my orthotic insoles. Mainly I wear the same pair of industrial strength supportive sneakers. They're not cute or funky or hip or fashionable. They're industrial strength sneakers. Serious shoes for serious support, balance and shock absorption. If I were a runner I might get some nods of approval from other runners. But I'm not. I'm a limper whose biggest marathon is the trek to and from the train station.

I'm jealous of the girls I see wearing decadent scandalous shoes. And I resent the drag queens undoubtedly wearing my shoes. I'm mad that I can no longer wear my shoes. And I'm mad that someone else gets to enjoy my shoes. Wrath: The other vice.

I take a lot of medications, now. I try to keep them to a minimum but unless it's the weekend and I can spend the majority of the day with my foot elevated on ice, medication is required. I don't think I'm addicted to pain killers - I can, and do go without them. I wait until the pain is absolutely unbearable before I take them. Acupuncture was helping, a lot. Acupuncture rocks, by the way. But it's too expensive to have done a regular basis so pain meds and anti-inflammatories are the alternative. My foot runs a fever, yes, my foot has a climate all its own, so I have to ice it and/or take something to reduce the fever. The reason I'm sharing all this is that it's the reason why my booze vice has come to a screeching halt.

Mixing alcohol with those kinds of medication (almost any kind of medication for that matter) just ends up causing more problems. So as long as I need those medications there's no alcohol crossing my lips.

Okay. Full disclosure. I'm a cheap drunk. I enjoy a glass or two of wine because I like the flavor. Ditto champagne. I've never imbibed in those libations with the purpose of getting drunk or even buzzed. The second I start to feel a little zippy on wine or champagne is the second I stop drinking it.

Vodka and rum on the other hand...see...the thing is...I like mixed cocktails. And the problem, the vice, in that is that by the time you realize you're feeling the affects of the alcohol in those drinks you've probably had one too many. Fortunately for me one too many is typically the third one. So. While I wholeheartedly enjoy throwing back a few drinks on a night out in my decadent shoes at a loud rock concert, three or four is my outer limit. And it doesn't require a lot of alcohol to get falling down drunk in those shoes. So my booze vice was actually kind of lame.

But I miss it. I've never needed alcohol. It doesn't give me confidence or lower my inhibitions. But I like it. I enjoy a drink or two now and then. I didn't think it would be a big deal to forgo alcohol. And it's not - I don't crave it or get the shakes when I see a Captain Morgan billboard. But it's a simple pleasure of life that's been taken away from me.

So that leaves loud rock and roll and lusting after men. Unfortunately standing around for three- four hours at a small, dingy concert venue is problematic for me, now. Even in my sensible, sturdy sneakers with orthotic inserts. Consequently my loud rock and roll vice is limited to blaring it in a car or through my headphones. (I would never in a million years blare my stereo to annoying levels. I'm not that kind of neighbor.) My friends, even my died in the wool rocker friends, are all mature adults, now. They don't like to go to concerts much these days. Even when they forget they're mature adults and consider going to a concert, the reality of their mature adult lives imposes itself on them and limits their ability for a night out at a concert. Let's say my foot is feeling okay and I'm packin' medications. The likelihood of my friends being able to get a babysitter and the desire to come "all the way" into the city is slim. If I want to go to a loud rock and roll show I'm on my own. And while there's a certain intrigue in the aloof chick on her own at a dingy club with a loud rock band, I'm not that chick. Especially not with my sensible sneakers and bottled water and fever reducing medication.

Poof! There goes another vice.

Men. Lusting after men. Well. There it is. One of the few vices I have left. I used to do a lot of my lusting at concerts. (see above, dingy bars, alcohol) Nothing makes my libido thump like a guy with a loud guitar and attitude. I know, I know. But I'm talking purely about lust. It's porn for me. Personality, stability, ability to function before 2 in the afternoon are not factors. And I don't act on that lust. It's a visual treat for a few hours. Then I go home and forget about him. Or them. Life porn.

LOST, for all it's stupidity and frustration, has filled that void. It's man-o-rama. Every week it fills my lust bank. And that makes me feel like me. One of my vices, one tiny piece of me still exists. So I cling to it. I cannot wait for LOST to end because, well, it's trying too hard and I'm bored with it. Yes. Really. For all the twists, turns and weirdness of this season, I'm bored with it. It's just, well, overkill. The big "Jacob" issue? Meh. Whatever. And much as I like me some grimy Josh Holloway, bloodied and swollen Josh Holloway just doesn't it do it for me. Sayid's intensity, which used to be soooo beguiling, is turning annoying. The Jin and Desmond scenes have been great this season, but they've been too sparse to really sink my libido into. (well, okay, there was that one Desmond episode that fueled my lust bank for a few weeks...but more would have been better...keep in mind I'm very, very, very single and it's, um, been a long time, so it doesn't take much to fill my lust bank, other women, normal women, surely are not getting enough Desmond and Jin) And Charlie, poor Charlie, gone. Charlie arrived in my life at the perfect time. Just when I had to curtail my loud rock shows at grimy clubs, along came Charlie. A grimy, guitar slinging rock and roll guy. Like an angel sent from Saint Hendrix himself. And then they killed him.

So. Yeah. LOST. I love it and hate it. And it's over for several months.

And poof! there goes another vice.

So now I'm thinking I need to either forgo vices altogether or come up with some new vices.

The thing is, I need to be passionate about them. And in trying to sort out my passions I realized: I'm boring. Virtuous, but boring. My passions are, well, not exactly sinful. Some of them are even, gasp, healthy.

So I'm shopping for vices.* I don't have enough money (or desire) to gamble. I hate cigarettes. Snarkiness? Yeah, I could be a mean girl. Any given day in my life presents enough material to last me a vice-filled lifetime of snarkiness. I come in contact with lot of stupid and irritating people. But I dunno. Doesn't that put me on the express train for bitterness? And bothersome as some of these people are, I'm not passionate about snarking out most of them. We'll put it in the maybe column. If all else fails, if no other vices pan out I'll revisit snarkiness.

I could get on board with sex but, um, well, that vice requires a partner in vice and this is me we're talking about. So. Yeah. So much for that. If the fate of my vice lies in sex I'm doomed to virtue.

Vices, anyone?


*For those playing along at home: Score another band name. That's two in one week. I'm on a roll. "Friday, May 15, Shopping for Vices with Transistor Radio Discontentment Doors open at 8."

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