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, July 30, 2009
Why I've given up on dating, part 3,274.
Couldn't make this up if I tried...
"About me" "For fun: Sailing, baseball games, opera, ballet, art museums, golf, tennis, walking along the lake, cooking, getting lost in long slow wet kisses, and conversations while sipping fine wine."
"About me and who I'm looking for..." "Looking for someone who wants to bring the passion back. She must be totally disease free including HPV free. 95% of men and 90% of women are HPV positive and I wish them luck but I am only ointerested[sic] in a woman who is negative. Unfortuneately[sic] this is spread by deep kissing as well as sexually and It[sic] takes 2 1/2 years from exposure for the test to turn positive."
Either I've lived too long, been single too long, or, my standards really are too high, I am too picky.
I mean, what the...??? This is the sum total of his profile. That's not just a funny part of his profile, this is his entire dating profile. Maybe it's supposed to be a joke?
First he says he likes getting lost in long, slow wet kisses. The he says he wants to bring the passion back and then he gives a dissertation on HPV??! Huh?? I can't keep up with the plot.
Does this mean that he's actually looking for a date 2.5 years from now?
Here's what I'm piecing together. Go on the coffee date/pap exam now, if it's HPV free, then do nothing with anyone for 2.5 years, no deep kissing, nothing, then meet up with him again, have another coffee date/pap exam and if it's still all clear, woo hoo! It's time to bring back the passion!!!
I realize I'm in no position to turn down any nibble of interest in me, but there is a line, right, a boundary? This guy is very far over that line, right?
9:13 PM
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
I have a lot of stress and anxiety in my life right now. I may or may not have a job in a few weeks. I have medical bills piling up to scary sums. (yes, still, always, apparently) Family problems. A plumbing problem in my bathroom. Blah blah blah.
The last thing I need to occupy my stress sector is what to do about a flag.
I know what to do with an American flag. I know the rules.
I have a small flag, 20" x 16" ish, that I want to discard.
Just discussing this is difficult.
There’s nothing wrong with the flag, I just don’t want it.
See? Merely saying, “I don’t want a flag” sounds unpatriotic. Thinking "I don't want a flag" makes me feel ashamed. I mean, it’s an American flag. It’s venerated. How can I be so thoughtless, so callous, so flippant about a flag?
I'm cleaning out my office, just in case I get laid off, and everything must go. If I'm not laid off it will be good to have a big purge. If I am laid off, I'll be ready to go with just one box of stuff.
So.
Stuff's gotta go.
A few years ago there was this big Fourth of July party for a client. I ordered flags. I have one, a sample. It's very nice, for a small give away flag. Quality fabric, a stately pole with a fancy finial. I don't really want a flag in my office, but I don't not want one, either. And I didn't know what to do with it. I didn't want to throw it away but I couldn't figure out how to retire it, burn it, at work.
Here's the thing: I haven't been able to give it away. No one, and I mean no one, wants it. I've tried, oh how I've tried to give it away, but no one will take it. I think they know what a white elephant it is. They don't want to be the one to make the decision to throw it away or burn it or keep it hanging around their office.
Even Church Lady, for crying out loud. Even Church Lady doesn't want it. And she has a cardigan with various stages of development of the American flag hand knitted into it. If anyone would want a quality American flag it's her. But nope. She won't take it.
The day after Obama’s election I saw a lot of celebratory debris around town. In one area where a small celebration took place apparently small American flags were handed out to revelers. That’s all well and good. USA ! USA ! USA ! Except. Apparently when the reveling was finished many of the small flags were tossed on the ground and left there. So the next morning all that remained of the reveling was a swath of grass and sand littered with American flags. Had it been any other day, not the day after an election or maybe the 5th of July, I’m guessing more people would have noticed and been upset about this blatant disregard for US Federal Law 94-344.
But on that day after election day if anyone noticed no one seemed to care. I was the only one on the bus who noticed it. When I passed by there again later that day all the flags were removed. The ground was flag-free. I like to think some good citizen saw the flags on the ground and organized a clean-up and proper flag retirement ceremony. (As per US Federal Law 94-344.) But I fear they were just swept up and thrown in a trash bin with all the other election night debris. It bothers me, jarringly so, to think of those flags in a trash bin with half full cups of coffee, potato chip bags and dog poo.
I know, I know, patriotic fundamentalism much?
Apparently I'm a sentimental wuss when it comes to the flag.
I don’t get all bent out of shape over symbolic objects. I’m not even into symbolic objects. But. The flag, well, that’s different. At least to me, it is. There’s a law, a federal law, about the care and handling of a flag for crying out loud.
But beyond that it's difficult, hurtful, to place a flag in the trash.
I should know. I tried to throw one away.
Yes.
I broke the law. A federal law, no less. I attempted to throw away an American flag.
I shored up my courage, gritted my teeth, closed my eyes, and put the flag in the trash with some old files. It was in there approximately 6 minutes. When I attempted to dump more stuff on top of it the guilt and shame and yes, yes, pride, overwhelmed me and I retrieved the flag from the trash. I may have even apologized to it. Ahem.
(Let the defense note that technically the flag in question never touched the ground.)
It's not that piece of fabric and wood pole with fancy finial that are giving me trouble, of course. It's what it represents that nags at me when I attempt to throw it away. (And that federal law isn't helping matters.)
I reason with myself that I'm not throwing away what it represents. I'm not trashing America. Well. You know, not entirely, not the Constitutional, flag symbolizing ideals, anyway. I wouldn't trash those. So it shouldn't matter, right? It's just an inanimate object, a piece of fabric and some wood. Sheesh. With all I've got to worry about right now a piece of fabric and some wood shouldn't cause me this much anxiety.
And yet...for all that reasoning I can't put that flag in the trash. Because apparently I am a (patriotic) sentimental wuss.
So as I continue to pack up my office and clean out files there's less stuff around. Which makes the flag stand out all the more. Soon it will be the only personal thing I have in my office apart from a few photos. If I'm not laid off my office is going to look like a very patriotic minimalist works there. Which makes me chuckle.
The truth is that I'm a sentimental wuss who's afraid of the Feds coming after her for breaking a law.
9:16 PM
