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

 
Tuesday, May 04, 2010  
You know how self respect = self control? I'm going to start my own research study on that.

Because obviously I'm losing self respect. I'm a fully trained telemarketer, now. It's not humanly possible to be a telemarketer and not lose self respect. At least it's not humanly possible for me. A couple people in my telemarketing training remarked that I have too much class to be "doing this." I don't know about class, but I do know that desperate people do desperate things and dignity does go straight out the window in desperate situations. You can only strive to preserve some integrity and hope the desperate situation improves quickly enough to salvage some self respect.

I likened telemarketing to the porn industry because the parallels are alarming. I'm not intimate with the porn industry. I'm basing my knowledge of the porn industry on conjecture, personal opinion and a couple 20/20 and Jerry Springer shows.

You hear women, porn actresses, say that to get through their sex scenes they  a) get high and/or b) emotionally shut-down, "go blank" to the point they disassociate their brains, their souls, from their bodies. They prefer to be "unaware" during the taping. I know, I know, there are other women who say they love it and find nothing wrong with it and rave about how much they enjoy sex and are proud of their work in porn. Rock on for them. I'm not judging. Really, I'm not. If someone is of sound, sober mind and wants to make porn movies, rock on, sister. There are people who claim they like being a telemarketer, too. But having met some of those people, I can say with complete authority, the second they're offered a better job, a "legit acting" job, they'll throw off their headset, disconnect their call phone and be nothing but a blur out of the call center. The love the profess for telemarketing will in hindsight be a short-lived affair, a fling, rather than a lifetime commitment built on mutual respect, trust, devotion and love. I presume the same is true for the women who love being porn actresses.

A lot of times, particularly in desperate situations, it's not so much compromising self-respect as it is leveraging it. But the symptom of self-control is the same, regardless of the semantics.

I had a friend/roommate years ago. I have nothing but warm fuzzy feelings about her, then and now. She was a blast. She's the kind of roommate everyone should have in their early 20s. She was nice, funny, non-judgmental, crazy, up for anything, always knew where the best parties were and always paid her share of the rent on time. We'll call her IDDD. We'll get to that in a minute.

IDDD and I hit it off straight away. You know how sometimes you meet someone and there's no pretense, no awkwardness? Nothing but understanding, respect and a mutual awareness that you both see things from the same perspective? Yeah. Kind of like falling in love. A meeting of minds. And hearts, too.

At first glance we were kind of an unlikely pair. I was tall, anorexic, clinically shy and on the Winona Rider in Beetlejuice side. I recently found a few photos of those days and noticed that I bore a striking resemblance to a Beau Brummelstone. You know the Beau Brummelstones, the Flintstones version of the Beau Brummels.  (The Beau Brummelstones, oddly, feature a left handed lead guitarist/singer who looks like John Lennon and a right handed bassist who looks like Paul McCartney. See for yourself.)

 
(You're welcome.) 

Yeah. Those Beau Brummelstones. I resembled the tambourinist. (Shockingly, I had dates back then. Men, real guys, who asked me out on dates. I dunno. I got nothin', no explanation other than we were all young and men are weird.)  IDDD was a short blond bombshell who thrived on meeting people, she'd initiate conversations with anyone. We hit it off straight away.

IDDD worked in the recording industry. The legit recording industry. Well, as legit as the recording industry gets, anyway. She pursued and got that coveted job by networking. And yes, by networking I mean partying. She never slept with anyone in the company management (that I know of) but she made sure she got to their parties and connected with them. She orchestrated her assault like a five-star general. She researched, knew who was who, found out everything she could about them and got herself in front of them at parties. Next thing you know she had a good job at a leading label.

Okay. So. Those parties. Yeah. Well. You know, they were a lot of fun. IDDD dragged me along for the ride. Not entirely against my will, but, I was in college and double majoring and actually cared about learning and my grades. (I know, silly me, had I only known how useless that education and grades would turn out to be in my later life.) No one other than IDDD could have persuaded me to a) put aside my studies and b) socialize with cool people.  The first weekend of roommating with IDDD I learned that she was kind of slutty. Okay, a lot slutty. Okay, a nympho. Not judging, not judging at all. Just stating a fact. She could have just about any guy she fancied, and, so, she had them. IDDD working in the recording industry was like a tech geek working at Apple. She loved the industry and was dedicated to it, but she was just a little too close, a little too involved with her work. Okay, I'll just say it, IDDD had an affinity for rock musicians. She wasn't a groupie, but, if he was in a band and she found him attractive, nothing was out of the question.

Unless.

Unless he was a drummer.

IDDD refused to have anything to do with drummers. I Don't Do Drummers. I soon learned this is a common theme among groupies and recording industry insiders. I've never figured out why. Strong arguments can be made for the skills required - rhythm, energy, biceps, momentum, stamina - I mean, a girl could do worse. People say drummers are by definition crazy, too crazy, even for the rock industry and point to Keith Moon and John Bonham. Okay, but, you know, they were good drummers. IDDD flat out refused to have anything to do with drummers. Much the way I refuse to date smokers. Every woman has her point of intolerance, the line she won't cross.

For IDDD that staunch refusal to do drummers was her way of leveraging her self-respect. She was slutty. She did sleep around, a lot, indiscriminately. She made no excuses or lies about her sex life. Unlike another of our roommates who was sleeping with a Catholic priest at the time (it was all very Thornbirds) who tried to convince everyone she was a virgin and that the priest was merely counseling her on issues with her father (every Friday and Sunday night. In her bedroom.) We were never sure if her issues were with her actual biological father or The Father. He'd shriek out "Oh God, Mother Mary may I? May I?!" she'd shriek out "Oh God, oh God, oh sweet Jesus yes!"  so we presumed she had issues with The Father and the friendly neighborhood priest was just doing his job counseling her. (Eventually even the priest openly admitted they were having sex - of course the fact that I was having breakfast one morning and he came into the kitchen sleepy-eyed from our roommate's bedroom, wearing only in his underwear, kind of dictated the acknowledgment, but our roommate maintained that there was no sex involved because she was, of course, a virgin and would never sleep with anyone who wasn't her husband.) That girl had the audacity and self-unawareness to judge and criticize IDDD about her sex life. She routinely called her a whore and told her she was going to Hell - all the while she was sleeping with a Catholic priest and proclaiming to be a virgin. Glass houses. Stones. (I know, I could write a book.) But if anyone insinuated to IDDD that she was easy or slutty she held her head high and proclaimed that she wasn't that easy, she wouldn't sleep with anyone. She would never sleep with a drummer. (Or a priest.) In her mind she had self control because she would not sleep with a drummer.  (Or a priest.)

She liked partying and sex and she worked in an industry where both were the expected norm of behavior, just another day at the office. True, IDDD lacked self-control. Ahhhh youth. Didn't we all, in some form or another, lack self-control when we were younger? You have to test your limits to know what your boundaries are. I believe that, staunchly. But. Even the youngest hooligan knows when they're reaching that limit. It just doesn't feel right. You know when your self-respect is being compromised, or when you're leveraging it. Once it's compromised, or even leveraged, self control is harder to maintain.

IDDD once told me she lost her virginity at a concert. It was also the first time she'd ever drank beer. She was 15 and went to the concert with an older boy from school. At the concert, some even older boys bought her and her date beer, she got drunk, the boy from school got drunk, they found an empty corridor on their way back from the bathroom, and that was that. She wasn't upset about it. "Hey, I enjoyed it, too, and we ended up dating for a year." 15-year-olds are not known for their self control. Or self respect. So I'm not comparing adult life choices to being 15, drunk and at a concert. But. IDDD also said that after the world didn't end because she got drunk and had sex, and further, she enjoyed it, she didn't see a need for controlling her sexual desire. She wanted it, she wasn't morally conflicted over it and so she embraced it.

All the television therapists would talk about a pattern of behavior being set at that concert, and unhealthy self esteem resulting and necessary breaking of the cycle. But I dunno. IDDD was one of the most well-adjusted people I've ever known. Sure, she slept around, a lot. But. Taking the sexual judgment out of it, if you didn't know about her sex life, you'd like her, you'd be impressed by her intelligence, humor, generosity, awareness and sincere kindness. (and truly, she somehow managed to be discreet, I was a roommate so I knew what was going on, but I don't think too many other people had a clue she was so, um, active) And she had her limit. She wouldn't do a drummer. That barrier helped her maintain her self-respect. She also knew she couldn't sleep around like that forever. She was well aware that she was young and able to attract men, easily, but that it wouldn't always be that way. She said she wanted to get it while she could, enjoy sex to its fullest potential while she had the opportunities. And she wouldn't sleep with a drummer. To my knowledge she never did, and so her self respect remained in tact. She didn't cross her boundary so in her mind, she didn't lose self control.

How many people do you know who say they "only" drink beer? They justify their alcohol intake by saying, "It's only beer, it's not hard liquor, I'm not doing tequila shots or pounding martinis." Or, their drug use, "Hey, it's only pot, I'm not dropping acid or smoking crack."

It's justifying behaviors. Leveraging self respect and losing a degree of self control. If you can and will stop at a couple beers or an occasional high, then you are exercising self control. Good for you, that's healthy self respect in my book. (And for the record, I'm not judging anyone because they drink beer or smoke pot, if you know your limits and it's not interfering with your life, and you are fully aware of the health risks, then rock on.)

But on those nights one drink turns into two or three, and you realize you're drunk or getting there, and you know another drink will put you over the edge of sobriety, you know you're making a choice to either stop drinking booze or you leverage your self respect, have another drink, get drunk, lose your self control and wake up wondering why your head hurts and who those people are on the floor of your bedroom. Okay, that's an extreme scenario. But once you choose to do something that will push you past your limits of self control your self respect is compromised, or leveraged.

Sometimes there's justification. Self respect is leveraged rather than compromised. Blowing off a little steam, having a little fun...sure. Why not have a few drinks and a little fun, escape your head and life for a while? Not a bad thing in moderation, right?

I am unemployed. I have to find a job doing something, anything, and telemarketing was a quick solution. Far from the best solution or really, even a viable solution. I don't want to do it, but I'm desperate. It's temporary and not a reflection of how I am normally, right? This is me justifying working in telemarketing.

I leveraged my self respect for a minimal paycheck. A paltry sum of money that won't even make a dent in my mortgage payment, but it's the best I could do, quickly, now, and so here I am watching my self respect drain out of me.

And it's no surprise that my self control is losing the battle, too. I don't crutch on alcohol (really, I don't) but lately I'm wondering why not. I enjoy wine, I like a cocktail or two, and quite frankly I like the sense of relaxation I get from it. But I've always maintained a healthy respect for it. I have tested my limits. I know how much is too much for me. I have been utterly blotto and I don't like it, I don't like the complete loss of self control (or the way I feel the next day). But now I'm wondering why. Why not lose self control? I've already lost self respect by taking a telemarketing job. Dignity? That's gone, too. I don't feel good about myself or the choices I had to make. Justify it all you want, make excuses for me, but, I've slept with a drummer. My drummer is a crappy job in telemarketing. It's done, it's over, there's no going back, no matter how quickly I find another job. The fact will always remain: I sold my self respect to the lowest bidder. I slept with a drummer. Once it's done, it's done. So why not embrace losing self control, too? Once self respect is gone, is there a reason to care? I'm starting to understand what the women in porn movies mean by "tuning it out, just going to a blank place in their mind" and get through it.

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11:48 AM

 
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