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
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Life lesson learned way too late in life:
When a bottle of blue cheese dressing, like, say, Wish Bone brand, is almost, but not quite, empty, do not invert the capped bottle for a few minutes to allow the remaining dressing to drain to the capped (now inverted) end of the bottle. And then open it.
Unless your goal is to create a small explosion of creamy blue cheese dressing. An explosion sending a surprisingly large quantity of globby splatters all over the kitchen. And your new dark green silk top your friend gave you for your birthday.
If that is your goal I can vouch for the stoichiometric properties of Wish Bone® blue cheese dressing.
How could I not know about the Inversion Blue Cheese Dressing Bottle Expansion and Explosion Theory? Why didn't I use this for a science fair project?
I've had small poofs of air and glob spurt out of an inverted ketchup bottle, but nothing like the Blue Cheese Incident of 2009.
Crimony.
And ya know these things never, ever happen when I'm just home alone hanging out in an old t-shirt with nothing better to do than clean globs and splatters of blue cheese dressing in my kitchen.
Or when a good friend or family member is visiting.
Nope.
For maximum effect the Inversion Blue Cheese Dressing Bottle Expansion and Explosion occurs when a client and her mother are visiting while looking at condos in the neighborhood.
This is what I get for being helpful. This is what I get for opening my home to business acquaintances. This is what I get for making a stereoscopic microscope for my science fair project.
Still. I'm guessing there are a number of people who don't know about the expansion and exploding properties of an inverted bottle of blue cheese dressing. They put a warning on cigarette packages. In case someone hasn't heard that smoking is unhealthy and causes cancer. But they don't put a "When inverted contents may expand and explode" warning on a bottle of blue cheese dressing.
So in the interest of public safety I'm warning you: Use caution when opening an inverted bottle of blue cheese dressing.
6:59 PM
Monday, June 08, 2009
You know how I gave up on dating, romance, love and all that? You know how conventional wisdom is that's when you meet someone? You know how conventional wisdom doesn't apply to me. So no guy, no romance, no love. Status quo.
I guess it's good, better to not even try. Securely up on the shelf collecting dust. It beats rejection. It beats trying and trying and "getting out there" and coming up empty and alone. It hurts but it's "just" the loneliness as opposed to loneliness and rejection. So, you know, I guess it's better.
Okay, so, I have these neighbors. They're nice people. Even if they had my name totally wrong. (We've cleared up that weirdness but that's another blog.) She told me about this friend of theirs, a bachelor. She spoke highly of the bachelor friend. The bachelor friend drives them to doctor appointments, visits once a week...a good guy. I had a feeling she (the neighbor) was giving me a sales job on this guy, casually bringing him up in every other conversation, always mentioning what a great guy he is. Sometimes it seemed like she was itching for me to take the bait, other times it just seemed like general conversation. I wasn't hungry (see above, on shelf) so I didn't take the bait.
My response was always, "Yep, yep, you're lucky to have such a good friend."
I knew she was waiting for some sign, some chink in my armor of spinsterdom, to suggest that the bachelor and I get to know each other.
Then one day it happened. It was a Sunday afternoon and I was heading to the grocery. Waiting (and waiting) for the elevator in our shared hallway, right outside my neighbor's door. The elevator door finally slid open and a man rushed out without looking and nearly smacked into me. In fairness to him it's rare that anyone is hanging around our hallway. As we did the "excuse me" "sorry" "oops excuse me" "no, excuse me" dance my neighbor opened her door.
Her look of glee and excitement was not well hidden. You know Barbara Streisand's over-acted, affected, pantomimed winks and smirks at the camera in Hello Dolly? My neighbor affected the same winking nudge smirk to an unseen camera when she saw that the bachelor and I had run into each other (literally). She was positively giddy while introducing us. She gushed. She enthused. She effused. She invited me to join them for pizza and beer.
I declined and went on my way.
Okay. I realize that I am in no position to judge. I am a spinster collecting dust on a shelf. I know this. I am aware of who and how I am. I am fully aware of the humility and humbleness a woman in my position has to affect by default. I was unsuccessful in dating and mating and therefore I am not allowed an opinion about men. Or, well, I can have any opinion I want but no one would ever take me seriously because, har har, what would I know about men? I can't even get a date let alone get a man to hang around long enough for a relationship much less, har har, marry me.
Right. I'm in no position to judge anyone. Nor would I want to judge anyone. But judging by this guy's lack of eye contact and urgency to get away from me I was pretty darned sure I was judging his lack of interest correctly. Oh sure, he was polite and made nice for his friends' sake, but the "I am soooooo not interested" signals were like blaring foghorns. Which was fine because I was sooooo not interested. I know, I know, she who sits collecting dust on a shelf of spinsterdom is in no position to be choosy.
Yadda yadda yadda I went out with my neighbors' bachelor friend. He didn't seem at all interested in me during our hallway encounter. And I certainly didn't give off any signals to entice him.
But my neighbor was persuasive. "Hey, it's a night out, he's single, you're single, you're about the same age, you work, he works, he's nice, you're nice...no one's saying you have to get married, just get out and meet someone new!" Okay, can't argue with her logic in the general sense. But. Well.
I don't want you to have to hear about it on Dateline so I'll tell you the rest of the story before NBC gets the scoop and starts interviewing my family and friends.
Ya know, I've met some strange men. Some cruel men. Some rude men. And a few creepy men. You know that Dos Equis "Most Interesting Man in the World" guy? I have now gone out with "The Most Insolent Man in the World."
The “date” was originally supposed to be my neighbors, their bachelor friend and me meeting for drinks at a local bar. When my neighbor had a reaction to a new medication they apologetically cancelled at the last minute. I said, “No problem, take good care, we’ll just do it another time.”
At this point my neighbor pulled what I consider a breech of etiquette. Not intentional, I’m sure she didn’t think it through and I’m not ‘blaming' her. But… She sent both the bachelor and me an email, with our email addresses shown. (bcc, people, bcc) She suggested another time and date for drinks.
The bachelor friend piped in via email saying the new date and time would be fine but he was still up for drinks with Trillian since he was on his way out the door anyway.
Trillian was actually relieved to get the news that the “double date” was cancelled.
But, Trillian is too polite for her own good sometimes and Trillian thought, “What the heck. I’m just sitting up on a shelf collecting dust. Why not?”
Since the dawn of time, in every era, in every culture, there are two questions which propel humans to heights of historical and intellectual greatness or plummet them to depths of stupidity and failure. The keys to the Universe, the mysteries of life, have been, and will be learned and revealed by these two questions. “What if…?” and “Why not?”
I’ve asked those questions all my life. The “What if…?”s serve me well. I can’t say I’ve soared to heights of intellectual and historical greatness, but, I’ve been a lot of places, done a lot, learned a lot (albeit sometimes via a lot of trial and error), seen a lot, and I will certainly leave this mortal coil wiser than I arrived due in large part to wondering, "What if...?" So, generally, success.
The “Why not?”s on the other hand…yeah. Those tend to lead me further down the spiral of failure and despair. And unfortunately my apparent limited intelligence prohibits me from learning to fully address the answers to the question, “Why not?”
Time and time again “Why not?” gets me into situations which, from the get-go, are fraught with plenty of solid reason to, well, “not.” The better question is simply, “Why?” But for some reason (my lack of cranial capacity, perhaps) the question I ask myself is more often, “Why not?” The question I should ask is, “Why?” Or ask myself, "What if I said why not?"
It’s the whole optimist/pessimist thing. Half full or half empty.
A pessimist will have the knee jerk response of, “Why?” and then come up with many reasons why not to support their “Why?” stance.
An optimist will ask “Why not?” and then proceed to intellectualize every reason to “not,” hash out contingency plans and then forge ahead thinking they’ve troubleshot all the possible issues by initially asking “Why not?” Optimists are, actually, quite cautious. They (albeit often foolishly, or, naively) believe they’ve weighed the pros and cons, have back-up plans and are braced for whatever happens. And then merrily go full steam ahead with a nothing ventured, nothing gained attitude. “Better to try and fail than to never try!”
History is paved with the graves of people who failed.
Oh sure, history is also paved with the graves of people who succeeded, but one need look no further than the Darwin Awards to see the ratio of deaths due to failure:deaths due to success is heavily skewed to the failure side of the formula.
Which is why I steadfastly believe that optimism is a character flaw.
Sure, it’s crucial to survival of the species. How many children are conceived due to the question, “Why not?” Optimism kicks in and common sense and intelligence fly straight out the window. Nine months later an unplanned child is born. Score one for procreation, the species will live to see another generation.
But that in itself is not evolution. Evolution is progressing, growing, learning, building a smarter, faster, better species with each generation. Take a look around. Are we evolving? I’ll let that question hang.
My theory is that if optimism were bred out of humans we would already be flying around with jet-packs and taking vacations on planets in galaxies which haven’t yet been discovered. And human suffering would have ended a long time ago. Legions of dumb/evil/corrupt/greedy people never would have been born.
Why? (She asks, because she’s pessimistic about the state of her species.) Because if optimism were bred out of us the answers to the “Why not?” questions would be heeded.
“Why not?” set out in a boat with no rudder? 1. We can’t steer it. Done. Stay home until you figure out how to turn the boat and get back home.
But no. The Vikings didn’t heed the answer, the one really good answer, to “Why not?” and they set sail in boats they couldn’t steer. Yes. Optimism, or, as we call it today, stupidity, is what propelled the Vikings all over the world. I think that’s what made them so nomadic and violent. They just wanted to go home and became increasingly frustrated the farther abroad they sailed. Every time they landed on a new shore and realized they still weren’t home they went into an angry rage. If they just would have listened to the one, the lone good reason to the question, “Why not?” they may have gone down in history as one of the most stationary, peaceful, home loving people in history. But no. “Why not set off on stormy seas in a boat that can be steered only by the wind?” Yadda yadda yadda Viking ruins found all over the world.
Yes, I mock my ancestors. But it’s a good case in point. They weren’t brilliant, they weren’t innovative. They were stubborn and stupid. And became angry and violent. It’s merely survival of the fittest, a robust DNA strain, hardy sex drives, anger, and bullying that kept them alive with new generations born and reaching maturity.
Okay, sure, if optimism were long ago bred out of us legions of smart/creative/innovative people wouldn’t have been born, either. If Mrs. Dickens asked, “Why not?” prior to conceiving Charles or any of his subsequent siblings, and really thought it through, logic and concern about another mouth to feed and her husband’s lack of financial acuity would have prevailed. She would have feigned a headache and the Dickens family might have been spared the poverty that sent Charles to work as a child laborer and high school students the world over would not write term papers on David Copperfield. For every action there’s a reaction. ‘Tis true.
But when you stack up evidence, the highlights, the bright spots in history, are few. And worth the sacrifice when compared to the high volume of low spots in history. Let’s face it, humans, as a species, haven’t really lived up to their abilities. Given our brains and opposable thumbs we should be a lot further along by now. Oh sure, sure, pat on the back for all we have done, but I mean, really, when you step back and think about all the time and talent we’ve had at our disposal we’re slackers. There are insects surviving, thriving and evolving better than we are. My theory is that optimism is what's holding us back. More pessimism, more "what if..."s and fewer "why not"s would help us jettison forward into species evolution.
So. There I was. Like my Viking ancestors asking myself, “Why not?” Setting off in a boat without a rudder assuming I could get back home again, none worse for the experience. But with absolutely no plan for what the future could present. See what I mean? If optimism had been bred out of humans my ancestral imprints of Viking stupidity and over-confidence wouldn’t get me into the sorts of situation I found myself in that evening: Out for drinks with a man I know only by referral of neighbors. Neighbors who refer to him as their bachelor friend.
I’m well aware that the reaction people have to finding out I’m still single, never married, at “my age” is “There must be something wrong with her.” Or, “There must be a good reason (read: a horrible flaw) why she’s still single.” Or, if I’m having a not so great moment people roll their eyes and blame my less than stellar behavior on my lack of a man – and then turn around and blame my lack of a man on my behavior.
See, when you’re a heterosexual woman of a certain age and never married, everything you do is studied and gossiped about. You’re a social anomaly, a freak. You serve as a living, breathing warning to young women: Don’t let this happen to you. Watch yourself, behave or you could end up like her. I know, I know, I’m exaggerating. Slightly. Think about the spinsters you know. Surely you have encountered at least one in your lifetime. Got her in mind? Okay. Now. Be honest. What were your first two thoughts after I said, “Think about the spinsters you know.”
Gotcha.
Don’t feel bad. I think it must be human nature. With each passing year people are becoming more vocal about their thoughts on my singleness. People I barely know, people I’ve just met, stare at my unringed finger and ask me point blank, “Why aren’t you married?”
It would never in a bazillion years even occur to me to make an obvious stare at a wedding ringed finger and ask someone I barely know, “Why are you married?”
I’m getting more used to it. I used to have to excuse myself to the ladies room to release a few tears of sadness or vent a few loud sighs of outrage. For a while I did reply with, “Why are you married?” (The answers are a blog for another day but I note for the record: They shut up and changed the subject. Fast.) Now I just shrug, leaving the inquisitor left to speculate. They speculate anyway, no matter how I respond, so why not just cut straight to that chase?
But here’s the thing: People do not react to the “news” of singledom at certain age when the single person is a man. It’s not, “There’s something wrong with him.” People, peers especially, think or say, “heh heh, way to go, old boy.” Or “escaped the shackles so far, eh stud?!” Or, “Waiting for the right one, smart man!” Single men are always called bachelors, no matter how long they remain single. Single women, however, hit an unspecified age and wham! they go from single gal or bachelorette to spinster. Just like that. I’m here to tell you, it happens over night. One night you go to bed a single gal. You wake up the next morning deemed “spinster” by society.
And so, upon settling in at the bar with my neighbor’s bachelor friend I was not surprised that the first words out of his mouth were, “Why are you still single?”
Yes, really.
Apparently this is why he wanted to go out for drinks with me even when his friends had to cancel. Either he wanted to know why any woman my age would choose to remain single, or, my neighbors wanted him to get the scoop on me.
That would have been an opportune time for some of my Viking ancestral DNA imprint to kick in. “Them’s fightin’ words!!!” Maraud! Torture! Disembowel! Conquer!!!
But no. All was quiet on the Viking front. I just sat there politely searching for words.
“I uh, erm, I, well, I just haven’t met the right one.”
“Uh huh. Picky, eh?”
Okay. Really. This guy was being a jerk. Maybe it was nerves, maybe he’s one of those people with an abrasive first impression. He was kind of pushy coming out of the elevator that day. But my neighbors are super nice people. I cannot fathom that they would be friends with someone who isn’t, well, nice. And they tell me how nice he is and talk about all the nice things he does for them…so maybe it’s just a gruff exterior. So, for my neighbors’ sake more than mine, I said, “No, not particularly. I won’t date smokers, drug addicts, convicts or pedophiles, but other than that I’m pretty open.”
“So, you like men but they don’t like you?”
I kid you not. Had I known I was going to be put on trial I would have brought a dating attorney to defend me.
Affecting a jovial jocularity I tried to make light of his assertion “That’s an oversimplification, but for the sake of this discussion, sure, let’s go with that. And you? How is it no one’s snatched you off the dating market?”
“I’ve had plenty of opportunities (haven’t they all) but I’m not in a hurry. There’s no pressure for men. I can wait as long as I want. I can have kids forever (really? Wow) When I find the perfect woman then I’ll get married.”
Good luck with that.
He continued. “Women don’t have it as easy. I feel sorry for you gals sometimes. You have to strike some poor schmuck while you’re young or else you lose the opportunities.”
“Ahhh, is that it. Someone forgot to tell me that.” I tried to make a joke of his statement, tried to turn the conversation somewhere other than where it was going (I did learn something from my Viking ancestors, don’t set out in a boat without a rudder), but humor is not one of this guy’s character traits.
Put that on my list, too. Non-smoker, non-addict, non-felon, non-pedophile, sense of humor. And tall. I’ve decided I like, and want, tall. Okay, well, I mean, in my fantasies lately the men have all been tall so, you know, that’d be nice. If a non-smoking, non-addicted, non-felon, non-pedophile man with a sense of humor man comes along and he happens to not be tall I’m okay with that. I’m just saying, you know, as long as I’m fantasizing about a non-smoking, non-addicted, non-felon, non-pedophile man with a sense of humor, you know, crazy talk, I’ll throw in tall, too.
“Yep. No one wants to date a spinster,” he said, very smugly.
This guy, this man, who was at least 8 years older than me, and unmarried, had the nerve to call me a spinster.
Okay. Okay! I am a spinster. And collecting dust up on the shelf. But. The pot calling the kettle black never, ever sits well with me.
“No one wants to date a jerk, either,” I said. Out loud. Except I didn’t intend to say it out loud. In my mind I said it in my head. It was a full minute of awkward silence later when I realized I actually said it out loud.
He was not amused. He was not enlightened. He was mad.
“No one wants to date a bitter bitch,” he finally retorted.
The manners were cast aside and the gloves were off. We were in open hostility territory.
“No one wants to date a rude asshole. Who wears gay shoes.”
Oh no she din’t!!!
Oh, yes. She did.
Because yes, he was wearing really gay shoes. Which stood out as even more gay against his otherwise very Sout’side butch homophobe outfit. I’m guessing he currently, or in the very recent past, drives a Camaro. A bitchin’ Camaro. And I’d bet a paycheck he’s never missed a Metallica tour. See what I mean? On that kind of guy gay shoes are even more gay. Double gay.
If he can state the obvious and make fun of me at the same time, well, so can I. He made the rules, set the tone, not me. Okay, I know, I know, I shouldn’t have stooped to his level and it just makes me look bad and whatever blah blah blah.
Not surprisingly his response was straight out of the Sout’side butch homophobe rule book, “Fuck you. Fuck you!” And he stood up and made a big gesture about shoving his bar stool into the bar.
I raised my drink to him and said, “Cheers.”
Good riddance, right? Right. The bartender, who overheard most of the “conversation” laughed and came over to me. “What an asshole. Did you meet him online?”
I kid you not. Funny to think that a year ago that would have been true. I would have had to admit that yes, I met him online.
But nope. This was a guy who came with personal references. From people I like.
And that’s the problem. I do like my neighbors. And I live just a few doors down from them. There’s no way to avoid them until this whole thing has blown over.
And unfortunately it’s not blowing over quickly.
Remember how I said my neighbor had a breech of email etiquette?
Yeah. Well. Guess who’s sent me a nasty email every day since that night? No, not my neighbors. Mr. Gay Shoes himself. But he’s “clever.” When my neighbor sent us an email trying to reschedule our “date” he responded with a reply all very politely declining. Immediately followed with an email sent only to me stating in further detail how I’m a loser, a bitch and no wonder I’m single.
I could forward his email to my neighbor with a note saying, “I don’t think we’ll be seeing each other again.”
But no. He’s their friend and they like him and if they haven’t seen this side of him then it’s not my business to expose him.
After several nasty emails from him I finally responded telling him to stop emailing me and that I’m blocking him from my email.
Which I promptly did.
Which opened a Pandora’s Box of issues with my neighbors. Apparently they sent an email to both of us and he responded with a reply all, which of course bounced back from my address. But apparently my neighbors also received the “didn’t reach some or all of the intended recipients” message and thought they were doing me a favor by telling me that I didn’t receive an email from this guy and started forwarding his emails to me.
I know. I know. These people, nice as they are, have a way of putting me in some very awkward situations. First they called me the wrong name for like, a year, and now they’ve put me in the middle of this “situation” with their friend who’s a jerk. They’re nice, innocent people. (I think…) But crimony, what next? They’re unwitting accomplices to weirdness in my life and anything’s possible.
Meanwhile, the bachelor jerk with gay shoes is now sending these double entendre messages which get forwarded to me. He’s playing a game where every time my neighbor suggests that we go out, he agrees and says, “Check with Trillian, see if she’s free, I don’t seem to be able to send her email.” He knows darned well I don’t ever want to see him again, and I know darned well he never wants to see me again. But I’m looking like the bad guy, the problem in all of this. At some point I’m going to have to just tell my neighbors that the gay shoed jerk and I didn’t hit it off and I’m not interested in seeing him again. I have to fess up and deal with it, sooner rather than later.
This is all proof that I’m better off up on the shelf, not trying, just giving up on dating, romance, love, men, all of it. It’s a loud and clear message from the Universe (in case all the other messages weren’t loud or clear enough) that I am meant to be single and that it’s not only upsetting for me, it’s dangerous to society at large for me to attempt to date. And that the answer to the question "Why not?" should always, always be, "Because optimism is thwarting evolution. Instead ask 'What if...?' and thoroughly explore all the ifs. And talk yourself out of it. Just. Say. No."
9:31 PM
