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

 
Friday, January 22, 2010  
I saw a news snippet about a missing woman. Authorities searched her apartment for clues. They found prescription pain meds, past-due bill notices, stacks of “illicit photos,” a scanner, a pile of jewelry, a suitcase in the hall and blood in the bathroom.

That was a slap in the face with a disturbing realization.

If I died or went missing and the cops or my friends or family came into my condo looking for me or clues to my death or whereabouts they’d be confronted with some scandalous evidence.

Let's play CSI: Chicago. Enter. There’s a small rug at the entry door. What’s that, a blood stain? Why yes, it appears there’s a spot of blood on the rug.

Proceed to the living room. In one corner there are four desktop computers and one laptop. Two monitors, a printer and a high res scanner. All around the living and dining area are drawings and sketches of nudes. Men and women, loads of drawings. It appears a few of them were being scanned. In another corner there’s a box of photography equipment – a darkroom enlarger, light meters, and cameras, including two Polaroids and several film packs.

In the kitchen there’s a pile of bills, one of them a terms of mortgage modification form.

In the bedroom there’s some gold jewelry gathered on the dresser in a ziplock bag – brooches, earrings, a couple necklaces. The closet is nearly empty with clothesless hangers jumbled on the rod. A couple garbage bags of clothes sit in a corner and a suitcase rests open in another corner.

The bathroom is where the most disturbing and damning evidence is found. A medicine cabinet full of prescription pain meds - including vicodin and percocet – and sleeping pills. Under the sink there is a box of surgical gloves, bags of gauze and enough cleaning supplies to maintain a house five times this size for a year. And two huge plastic drop cloths. And a rusty knife. And the bathroom rug also has a small bloodstain on it.

Which is why it’s good I’m not a celebrity or famous. Because if something happens to me and the cops bust into my condo looking for me or for clues to my whereabouts, it will be scandalous.

My family and friends could provide reasons, valid reasons for all the damning evidence, but even my family and friends would probably have some concerns when the full body of evidence is taken together.

Even though singularly it’s all very innocent, together it combines to paint a sinister and disturbing picture.

The rug in the hallway is stained, but not with blood. I dropped a bottle of red nail polish and it broke and splattered on the rug. I haven’t been able to entirely remove the stain, and since that rug is the entry rug and gets a lot of abuse and filth I don’t really care.

I have three old desktop Macs, my dad’s PC and my laptop. I’ve been cleaning off the hard drives in preparation to finally get rid of and recycle the old Macs. I set up a little network to move files from one to another. Hence the two monitors. A few years ago we got rid of some equipment at work. We could buy the stuff cheap. I snagged the high res scanner and printers thinking they’d come in handy for old photographs and art. Which leads me to the nudes. Thinking of Mel and the good old art school days I was waxing nostalgic and decided this would be a good time to finally, finally go through those reams of drawings from four years of life drawing classes. I winnowed down 30 pads of classwork to five stacks of pages of drawings. I’m scanning the drawings. As for the photography equipment, same situation. I have to get rid of stuff and that box of photography equipment is what I’m allowing myself to keep. There were four boxes, but I sold or donated most of the stuff. One of the Polaroids was my parents’. It’s a vintage beaut. Someone offered me a heck of a lot of money for it and the film for it, which made me suspect it’s worth more than I realized so I’m hanging onto it. Plus, you know…sentimentality issues. A lot of family moments were captured by that Polaroid. And yes, when I was a kid I used to dance around waiting for the images to emerge, shaking the photographs like, well, Polaroid pictures. (Shake it, shake shake shake it like a Polaroid picture, hey ya.)

The bills in the kitchen? Well, you know, unemployed…say no more, right?

The gold jewelry in the bedroom are the pieces I’ve ascertained might be of enough value to take to one of those sleazy “we pay cash for gold!” places. Unemployed. Say no more, right? The closet is almost barren because I’ve been steadily working at my foreclosure evacuation preparation plan. Everything must go. I’ve kept the essentials, enough clothes appropriate for interviews and, har har, on the off chance I get a job, enough outfits to carry me through 10 days or so of workdays. There’s also some casual stuff, jeans, t-shirts, a couple bar outfits, but the rest has already been donated to charity or packed off in my storage locker. The garbage bags are the last of the stuff for the charity shop and the suitcase is at the ready for either a spur of the moment out-of-town job interview (fat chance but a girl can dream) or, more likely, to beat a hasty retreat when it’s time to evacuate for foreclosure. Unemployed…say no more, right?

Okay.

The bathroom.

Look.

Don’t be so quick to judge.

I can explain. Really. I can explain.

The drugs. I had serious surgery on my foot and ankle. It was horrendous. The aftermath was horrible. So. My doctors took pity on me and gave me a host of pain meds. I took them sparingly because I didn’t like taking them. But, if the pain is crescendoing as it sometimes does, yes, I will take one, or more usually, half of one, to numb the pain enough to allow me to walk. I take them so infrequently that those prescriptions are still almost full, nearly two years later, and yes, I know, you’re not supposed to keep, much less take, old medications. But what am I supposed to do with them? Flush them? I think not. Throw them away? Uh, there are loads of dumpster scavengers in my alley. I was carrying a totebag one day, and taking out the garbage. I set down my totebag to toss the garbage into the dumpster. A guy materialized out of nowhere and attempted to take my totebag. He thought I was throwing it away and he wanted it, and whatever was in it. When I said, “Hey, that’s mine! I’m not throwing it away!” He immediately apologized and set it down. And then went over to the dumpster to scavenge the trash I has just tossed. So. Throwing out serious pain meds doesn’t seem like a very good idea. As for the sleeping pills, my doctor was very concerned about me when I was laid off. Before my health insurance expired she gave me prescriptions for everything I might possibly need in the coming months. Antibiotics, asthma inhalers, allergy pills, benedryl, epi pens, topical pain cream and…sleeping pills. “A lot of my unemployed patients have serious sleep problems. Since you already have sleeping issues we can anticipate that you’ve got some sleepless nights and stress ahead of you.” I hate them, they make me feel super dopey and stupid, hence the almost full bottle of sleeping pills.

Okay, the surgical gloves. Back when I had my surgery I had to “dress the incision wound.” Keep in mind I was cut from above my ankle to my base of my toe. That’s a lot of incision. My doctor warned me about how easy it is to get infected so he told me to wear surgical gloves when changing the gauze. Surgical gloves come in huge boxes. So. I have a box of surgical gloves and a lot of gauze left from the surgery recovery days. I kept the gloves because I was anticipating doing some painting and refinishing. Which is why I have two huge drop cloths. I have now painted my bathroom four times. I still hate the color of the walls. And I also thought the gloves would be handy to protect my hands from cleaning products. Cleaning products procured at Costco, shared with my friend and even so left us each with jumbo sizes of huge multi-pack cleaning products. The rusty knife and blood stained rug? I used the old knife to pry up peel-and-stick tile in my bathroom. And one morning I cut myself shaving, so badly that when I got out of the shower I was still bleeding and some of it got on the rug. I can’t get the stain out but since I may be losing my home I’m not spending money on a new rug. Unemployment…say no more, right?

I’m stating all this publicly, for the record, in case something does happen and a routine investigation turns into titillating public scandal. It’s a good lesson in not being too hasty to judge on circumstantial evidence. Sometimes the stuff of life is really just stuff of life, not CSI-esque clues to sinister or illicit behavior.

11:48 AM

 
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