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
Saturday, December 12, 2009
I found one of the happiest places on planet earth.
I know! I know!
Do tell, Trillian, do tell!! How do we get there? Will we need a GPS? Road food? A Snuggie®?
No; if you want a snack I suggest Twizzlers; and, well, you might want to pack your metaphoric Snuggie®.
Let me start by saying I've been to this happy place in the past. And it was pretty darned happy. But it's even happier now.
This time I saw many wondrous things. Many happy, happy people all hopped up high on positivity and fun. Just one enormous Free to Be You and Me festival.
I saw a girl in a skirt adorned in lit lightbulbs. A couple dressed as Snow White and Darth Vader. A lot of Furries. (A lot of Furries.) People with battery operated Christmas lights coiled around them.
And a guy with an overly large glowstick shaped like a penis strapped over his jeans. (You could even say it glows.)
And that was just on my way to the bathroom.
And no, this wasn't Halloween or a costume party. And no, for the most part, I think most of these people were not terribly drunk or high.
Nope.
This is just a normal crowd at a Flaming Lips show.
Freakfest? Some people think so.
The couple in front of me certainly thought so. They were there to see the opening act, Pete Yorn* and found all the FLipFan business strange and uncomfortable. They were shocked and disgusted by the glowstick penis. (okay, I mean, maybe, maybe that was in questionable taste, but, you know, from a distance it just looked like a large glowstick...) Apparently unfamiliar with the Furry movement, they didn't understand why so many people were wearing big fluffy animal costumes. (Did I mention there were a lot of Furries?) They were troubled by the Christmas light festooned crowd.
And they were really confused and I think a little scared by Wayne Coyne's Bubble Boy entrance. They huffed and "well I never"ed, put on their coats and beat a hasty retreat out of there.
Okay. You know. It's not for everyone. I get that.
But.
What I don't understand is the intolerance for what is (for the most part) innocent fun. The Lips' catchphrase, "I experienced the Flaming Lips live and became a better person because of it," is true. But. Only if you let it. I'm sad and sorry for that couple who couldn't just let the experience happen and roll with it.
And yes, you do have to just roll with it. It's not, you know, a usual concert. But that's the beauty. Let go, leave your judgment behind and take in the sights and sounds around you. Just: Be happy. Be positive. Bask in the warm glow of the confetti and balloon strewn room.
Almost anywhere else a guy with a glowstick penis would look like a douche or a drunk frat boy (though not mutually exclusive, not all douches are drunk frat boys). But there, for a few hours, he was part of the experience, just hap-hap-happily bopping around to the music, his glowstick penis flapping to the beat.
Something about Lips music appeals to really nice people. Nice people who don't listen to LiteFM. Sure, much of Lips' music is pretty positive and "nice." But then, so is Barry Manilow's and I'm guessing you don't see giant glowstick penises and Furries at Barry Manilow shows. There's something more to the Flaming Lips. I've yet to put my finger on what exactly it is that attracts crowds full of nice but not LiteFM people to their shows.
And yes, yes, I know, I know. There are drugs. I know. But. Honestly? I've seen much more heavy and widespread drug use at much more mainstream, "normal" shows. (Do not ask me what I saw at the Aerosmith show last summer. Shudder.) If I had to guess, I'd estimate 25% of the crowd at the Flaming Lips show was high on something other than the excitement of the evening and the music. I only got one whiff of pot during the entire show. The beer lines weren't even that long. In fact, the servers at the bar near my seat were bored because they had no customers. No one around me was drinking anything other than water or pop. And yes, there were college kids willing to drink crap beer around me.
And that's when it hit me: Accept. Forgive. Heal. Peace. Love. Duh. Duh! The Flaming Lips use their music and shows to wrap people in Snuggies® of compassion and voila! a room full of happy people. I know. I know. Sometimes I'm a little slow with the obvious. If you count Pitchfork this was my fourth Lips show. And always the whole, "Wow, the Lips have really nice, albeit a little, uh, creative, fans," realization left me wondering what it is about them that attracts nice, okay, a little "creative" people.
Duh. It's their (Wayne's world, for the most part) willingness to put themselves out there. Willing to make fools of themselves, take a risk, (vocally, Wayne ain't exactly American Idol material), and put on the show they want to show. Confetti cannons and all. And I'm not a fan of confetti cannons. But ya know what? Like a giant glowstick penis, somehow it seems ironically apt at a Lips show, so much so that it would be weird without it.
The point is, it's their willingness to not be Aerosmith or the Killers, their dare to be nice at the risk of not being cool attitude that resonates.
They're leading by example. They don't slap their niceness in anyone's face, they maintain a sense of humor, tolerance and humbleness about themselves. (Bono are you listening?) (And yes, yes, they laugh all the way to the bank, and then some, by selling out to the highest product bidder wanting to use their songs on television ads, but that's a blog for another day.) They just are nice and positive. They don't stand up there preaching and yelling at the audience to shell out money for their cause du jour, they don't make anyone feel guilty and bad about themselves for not being born impoverished and malnourished and sickly. (Seriously, Bono, are you listening?) The Lips just are nice and positive and fun. And yes, yes, a little quirky and certainly not musically for everyone, but I dare anyone, anyone, to listen to When you Smile and not end up, well, smiling. With a warm, glowsticky gooey feeling in their heart.
Sure, She Don't Use Jelly is not exactly something you want to sit around listening to with your great-aunt-Mildrid and her church group. Duh. But. I am nearly certain Do You Realize would go over well with that group.
Here's my ringing endorsement: I like the Flaming Lips. My high-school aged niece likes the Flaming Lips. And my senior citizen mother likes the Flaming Lips.
Take that, Bono. My mother thinks you're wearying and my niece thinks you're an old, irrelevant fogy. I still think you have one of, if not the best, rock and roll voices this side of Mike Ness but both my mother and my niece have valid points.
Okay. Since I'm on this tangent, let me step out of my compassion and tolerance for a minute: Since when did Bono's signature wail become standard Christmas music fare? I hear him wailing, "Tonight thank God it's them instead of you" and "Baby please come home" more than I hear Rudolph and White Christmas. I haven't (blessedly) even heard that nerve shattering, cringe-inducing McCartney Christmas thing yet this year, but daily, twice and thrice and even more daily, I've been subjected to wailing Bono. What's up with that? Did Bono buy Christmas? Or did someone give it to him? Can we make it stop? Can someone at least give him a swutting Snuggie® to comfort and calm him down so he'll stop wailing guilt-inducing rants and tear-jerking laments? I mean, you know, yay for no annoying McCartney Christmas inanity, but heck, at this point I'd even settle for George Michael (or was it Wham!?) over all the wailing Bono I've been subjected to lately. And generally, I like Bono's voice. I can only imagine what this holiday torture must be like for non-Bono advocates.
And that's another thing. Would it really be so horrible if Bono was, you know, happy once in a while? I realize the world sucks, believe me, I know there's a lot of crap in this world. But crimony, after an evening with the Lips it's blazingly obvious that making a positive impact on the world starts by being positive and making people happy. I'm pretty sure making people feel guilty, and like crap for not being poor or sick or homeless, or reminding them of a really painful breakup is not the way to make the world, or even a few people, happier. (Is there anyone left on the planet who has not sobbed their way through With or Without You post-breakup and henceforth always associates that song with that breakup? Anyone? Anyone? Didn't think so. Do we need to hear it anymore, then? Didn't think so. The entire world would be a happier place if With or Without You was never played in public or on the radio again. I wonder how many ill-advised drunk dials have resulted from With or Without You being played at a bar. You're with me on this now, aren't you?) Wayne Coyne's got it right. Being critical of other people, especially your audience who paid a lot of money to be there, is not the best way to make a positive impact.
Yes, believe me, yes, I understand the anger borne of frustration. I get it. But yelling at me, being critical of me, making me feel bad and guilty, isn't going to do anything except spread the misery. The people you're telling me about are miserable and now I'm miserable. Thanks, Bono. Glad I paid $150 for cheap seats with a view of the world's biggest jumbotron (compensation issues, perhaps?) for to feel guilty and ashamed and sad. (Okay, not me, personally, I didn't see them on the recent tour...but...I heard...about "it." I heard it was huge. Staggeringly huge. I saw photos of it. It looks enormous. The biggest one I've ever seen. Huge enough that the price tag just for the electric bill was probably higher than that third world debt Bono goes on and on about all the time. I'm not calling Bono a hypocrite (or, well, yeh, I guess I am) I'm just sayin', you know, a little self awareness and humility about your jumbotron might be in order if you want that martyrdom you are so clearly seeking.)
At War with the Mystics is primarily about George W. and the Lips' anger and frustration with him. Did you know that? A lot of people don't. And it doesn't really matter. Not really. The messages are universal. Be nice. Don't abuse your power - whether or George W. or a middle-manager at Acme, Inc. This is a big, overwhelming Universe, don't try to tackle it all at once, just be responsible for yourself. No one "gets it." We're all frustrated and not cool and kinda scared. Even Bono. But getting angry is really nothing more than a bullying tactic to cover up insecurities. I'm not calling Bono insecure (or am I?) but the criticism and I'm-so-compassionate-and-you-should-be-too-if-you-want-to-be-cool-like-me attitude is, well, to use my mother's assessment, wearying. Compared to Wayne Coyne's "Holy crap, what the heck is going on here?! Oh man, I'm not feeling very good. It's big and scary and geeze, this world is one messed up place with some disturbing people...someone hold me...let's all take a minute to have a happiness time-out and have a few laughs and some fun and enjoy each others' smiles." And at least for a few hours everyone in that place is feeling positive and accepted.
Is there really anything better than that? Any better anecdote for all the crap in the world?
Which do you think will have a bigger impact on an average concert-goer? Being criticized and preached at for two hours by the coolest guy who ever lived who comes out in clothes so hip they hurt with the biggest jumbotron in the world (compensation issues?) and sings about war, love, fear and responsibility in his divinely created rock voice; or sharing some laughs and fun with a guy who wears an ill-fitting retro-but-not-in-a-cool-way suit and rolls around in an inflated bubble and shoots a confetti cannon while singing about war, love, fear and responsibility in a sometimes warbled oddly pitched voice?
Instead of preaching and yelling and using guilt and shame and holier than thou tactics, a la Bono, the Lips have this hippie trippy quirky way of questioning themselves and the world while, gasp, smiling and maintaining a sense of humor. (I know, I know, I'm really ripping on Bono. It's all that "Thank God it's them instead of you" and "Baby please come home" ringing in my ears. Accept. Forgive. Heal. Peace. Love. Duh. Give that man a Snuggie®.) And that's what's so special about Flaming Lips shows. Oh sure, the glowsticks (penis and otherwise), the costumes, the Furries, the Christmas light adorned fans, the Bubble, the confetti, the balloons, sure, it's all a bit silly, but so what? It's fun.
It's happy.
I do feel better for the experience.
No one judged me, no one criticized me, no one made me feel guilty for not being born in the third world. How can you be critical or judge anyone who is at a Flaming Lips show with you? You're all there, together, at a Flaming Lips show. Furry arm-in-arm with a guy with a glowstick penis arm-in-arm with, well, me. Judge not lest ye be judged. (Oooooo, that's very Bono of me, isn't it? All preachy and scripturey. Sorry.)
And no one got angry or agitated or filled with rage at the world. Not the band, not the attendees, not the security people, not the beertenders, no one.**
And what do you know? I'm all happy and warm glowy and smiling and feeling a lot more positive about the human race. That arena was packed. Packed. I'm guessing everyone, even the Pete Yorn fans who dared to stay, are feeling the same way I am. At the very least they're laughing and telling their friends about the wackiness they experienced. Positive impact without negative criticism.
Cool.
*Oh. And. By the way. I'm a huge Pete Yorn fan, now. You have been warned. He did something to me. Something good. Something very special. Something I enjoyed very much. Something I'll remember for a very long time. Something I will cherish and cling to the memory of on long, cold, lonely nights.
**And if they were ill-advised drunk dials as a result of a song or two, I'm guessing there were of the "I forgive you and I love you and I didn't like the way things ended, I'm sorry if I hurt you and I hope we can both remember the good times and see the bad times as learning, growing experiences" type instead of the "I KNOW IT'S BEEN 8 YEARS BUT OH GOD I CAN'T LIVE WITH OR WITHOUT YOU AND MAYBE JUST ONE MORE ROLL IN THE SACK LIKE WILD FERAL CATS WILL BE GOOD FOR BOTH US" type.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
From the Universal Mysterious Truths I Want Explained to Me file:
After weeks of being uncooperative, unmanageable, unruly and out of control, why does hair suddenly cooperate and look great (better than it has pretty much ever) the day you have an appointment to get it cut?
Are the hairs clued into what's about to happen? Does the eminent danger of being cut, severed from the head that gave them life, scare them and snap them out of their complacency? "Oh my gosh, she's really going to cut us! Come on, girls, come on, we've got to remind her why she was letting us grow! Give it all you've got! Ladies in the back, you know what you need to do, show that cowlick who's boss! Errant curl in the front, gently coil, gently, gently, now, coil fetchingly to the side of the eye and cheek, that's right, gently! You know how she hates it when you spring all over the place and hang in her eye! This is it girls, time to shine! Shine, ladies, shine like you've never shined!! Convince her that we can work with her! Make her believe in us! This is it! If we don't pull this off we'll be severed from the life-giving follicle, callously strewn about the salon floor and finally swept into a dumpster with all the other unwanted hair!" (audible gasp)
"She wouldn't do that to us!"
"Oh yes she would! It happened to my cousin! And remember Jillian over there in sector 8? Remember how she was the chosen one, the highlight? Yeah...look at her now. After that last haircut she's never been the same. No shine, no glory, just a snip of what she used to be."
Surely there's some deeper significance to this, right? Some pithy lesson like, "Be thankful for what you've got. Look deeper than the surface. Look at a problem from all sides. I dunno. Something. It's on my list of questions I want answered.
11:57 AM
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
On the upside, when you're unemployed if it's snowing it's a snow day.
Now, if only I could find a way to translate my snow angel making prowess into a paying career...
9:53 PM
