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
Friday, February 12, 2010
So, here’s another good thing about unemployment: Not being subjected to the squeals and ooos and ahhhhhs of flowers, candygrams, balloons, plush toy hearts with outstretched arms and kissy lips proclaiming “I love you THIS much!” or plush teddy bears proclaiming “I love you BEARY much!” arriving at the office all day long. And better still, no dealing with the stench of wilting roses in the office after Valentine’s Day. No being surrounded by gifts borne of guilt, social pressure, significant other pressure, futile hopes, desperation and in a few cases, love.
I’m not Jewish so I probably shouldn’t make this assumption, but my guess is that being single in a coupled-up office on Valentine’s Day is like being Jewish on Christmas. Everyone’s all hopped up high on expectant or hopeful hormones waiting for the delivery of some special sign of affection. Just like Christmas. Office cubicles are decorated, red sweaters and festive jewelry are worn. Just like Christmas. Specially decorated treats are brought in – cookies, muffins, donuts, cupcakes, fancy chocolate – all with red frosting sugary décor. Just like Christmas. Some hopes will be disappointingly dashed when no delivery is made, and others will be shocked and surprised by an unexpected show of affection. Just like Christmas. At the very least unsingle people know they’ll go home to the object of their affection and share a bottle of wine, a cuddle, or at the very least won’t eat dinner alone. Just like Christmas. The single person without any prospects knows there will be no delivery for them and they know the evening will be spent like every other evening: nothing special and very much alone and not part of the holiday revelry going on in homes and restaurants across the world. Just like Jewish people on Christmas.
Once I made that connection I started feeling a lot better about Valentine’s Day. I know plenty of Jewish people who enjoy Christmas day. They have their own family traditions or personal rituals they do while the Christian world celebrates Christmas. They may not believe in Jesus but that doesn’t mean they have to feel bad or alone on Christmas day. A few years ago I took a cue from my Jewish friends who spend Christmas day sleeping in late, watching movies, baking cookies, and taking a day off from life. That’s all well and good except that I had to go to work and be confronted with my singleness all day long.
This year, thanks to being laid off, I don’t have to have my singleness thrown in my face. No affronts with roses, candygrams, cuddly toys, and whatever else shows up at the office as a gesture of affection. I can lounge around on my own reclusively hidden away from the romance and marketing hype aimed at couples. (Speaking of marketing hype, have you seen the lamest diamond commercial ever? Someone got paid to produce that embarrassingly smarmy crap? It’s a pulp romance novel cover come to life. However, props to the inadvertent creepiness of the commercial. Weren’t we just talking about slasher movies?)
I have my movie viewing all lined up, some treats ready for the oven and some in-home spa goodies ready to pamper myself. And this year I don’t have to face the world of couples celebrating their love – sincerely or out of guilt and obligation – in the office place. I can spend the day, heck, the whole weekend, alone, cut off from the world of romantic couples. All because I’m unemployed. A nice unforeseen benefit of being laid off.
I know it might seem sad, like an old lady left alone and neglected. But I’m okay with that. It beats the alternative: Navigating a world of couples as a lonely single person.
The thing is, I don’t even care about Valentine’s Day! Even when I was in relationships I found the whole thing a stupid, arcane and forced overmarketed holiday perpetuated by businesses looking to cash in on our most vulnerable weak spot: Love. So it’s not as if I even care about not getting flowers or wined and dined or feeling obligated to don some ridiculous uncomfortable lingerie and perform an impossibly acrobatic Cirque du Sexual (or Sex du Soleil). What matters to me is a genuine, healthy, loving relationship on all the days of the year other than Valentine’s Day.
What bugs me about Valentine’s Day is that it calls attention to single people. It’s supposed to be about love and romance and happy couples, but in celebrating couples in love it makes the singles stand out all the more. We’re conspicuous by omission.
Well, not this year, not me!
I’ve been savoring my 2010 Valentine’s Day victory for a few weeks. The whole merchandising send-up used to fill me with dread. But not this year. This year I scoff at the hearty displays and shoot daggers right back at all those Cupid cherubs strewn about town. “Har har, you don’t scare me! I’m unemployed! I don’t have to deal with you in the office this year! This year no one will know or care that no flowers or candy are delivered to me. This year no one will know or care that I’m home, alone, watching documentaries on the industrial revolution! Ha! Take that, cherubic little Cupid cut-out!”
Then it occurred to me that this is the perfect year to take it a step farther. I’m going to be my own Valentine. I’m going to vow to love me, all day. Shower myself with praise and affection. For one whole day, 24 hours, nothing but self love. And no, I’m not talking about onanism (although…without the pressure of special Cirque du Sexual bedroom gymnastics…). I’m talking about being kind to myself. Treating myself the way I would treat a significant other. Treating myself the way I would want a significant other to treat me. Nothing over the top, just the usual things that I think a lot of couples take for granted.
Tell myself good morning and maybe even a tender I love you upon waking. (Instead of waking up alone, again, and crying because I’m waking up alone, again.) Put the biggest and plumpest blueberries on my cereal. (Instead of denying myself the “good” fruit.) Write myself a short note of praise for a few small things like how I’m supportive of other people or the funny way I air guitar to AC/DC. (Instead of criticizing myself for not being smart enough, clever enough, pretty enough, and generally not good enough to succeed in life.) Look in the mirror longer and for reasons other than applying lipstick and remind myself that my eyes are an incredibly rare and beautiful color and that I have a warm smile. (instead of hastily avoiding mirrors and telling myself my hips and thighs are repugnant, that I’m too tall, too pale, too scarred, too broad shouldered and the rest of me is ghastly and citing all the insults and rejection I’ve heard from men and catty remarks from other women). I’ll wear my favorite comfy jeans and soft, well-worn t-shirt and genuinely not care that the jeans are baggy in the ass and the t-shirt is a little too unflatteringly tight in the boobs. (okay, I’ve been doing this a lot lately, maybe too much…) Treat myself to carrot cake from the fancy bakery and savor it, enjoy it without thinking about the calories, fat grams and lack of nutritional value. I’ll enjoy a good bottle of wine from a good wine glass. (Instead of buying the cheapest bottle and using a cheap water glass, forsaking the good wine glasses for “special” company.) And banish all negative self-talk and heap on copious amounts of reminders of my good qualities, things that someone else should find desirable and endearing. (Instead of taking to heart all the criticism and negative remarks hurled at me.)
I always intend to do this. It’s my Valentine’s Day battle strategy. But it always fizzles out by the third flower delivery in the office. This year, though, there is no office, no endless deliveries of love to other people to thwart and derail my plan by making me feel conspicuous by omission. I can focus undivided, undiverted attention on myself. This year I’m actually looking forward to Valentine’s Day.
And the biggest, best part of the plan: Think of all the people I love and who love me. And all the people I like and who like me. I am worthy of love and I am loved. No, I don’t have the one special significant other kind of love, but, I have lots of other love. Call them, email them tell them I love them and why they’re special to me. Give lots of love instead of feeling bad about not getting one special love.
And why stop there? I love animals. Take the $5 I’d spend on a card for a significant other and donate it to the ASPCA. I love the Great Lakes and live on Lake Michigan so instead of penning love letters to a significant other, I’m going to spend time on Valentine’s Day writing my elected officials voicing concerns and ideas about the Asian Carp issue. I love kids so instead of making baked goods for a significant other I’m going to donate time on a non-profit homework tutoring site helping kids learn how to read. I love art so instead of making a sexy home video for a significant other I’m going to box up new and barely used art supplies and to send to an after school program that helps special needs kids tap into their creative talents.
Yeah, it’s very ‘70s hippie idealism but not all hippie idealism is oversimplified drivel. And it’s better to expend positive energy than negative. Now that I’m free of the workplace affront of Valentine’s Day I’m totally free of the reminders of my very single status. No peer pressure from office mean girls is going to chink away at my armor of resolve this year. So there’s nothing bashing my ego and heart around, nothing and no one to remind me that I’m an abysmal failure at love, and nothing to trip up my positive plans for combating Valentine’s Day as a very-far-up-on-the-shelf-collecting-dust singleton.
And now, for you, yes, you, a very special Valentine’s Day message of love. You, yes you, reading this blog, are my special, kind, clever funny Valentine. I love you more than the THIS much of the plush heart with the arms and kissy lips. I know. I know. That’s a whole lotta love. Probably more than you need so why not pass some of it on to someone else?
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Ya know, I try to remain tolerant. I try to see all sides of an issue. I try to find fair compromises. I try to get involved and do things for change. I even have the audacity to hope for change. (How's that for some rhetorical hyperbole?)
But the fact remains: I am not and never will be a Chicagoan. I cannot abide by or tolerate the political hijinks that make a mockery of the democratic process. It's shameful and embarrassing.
But this is a new low in Illinois politicking. It's the straw that tipped this camel's back. Lake Michigan does not belong to Illinois and yet they're holding it hostage. And worse, the Feds are now backing off on an aggressive plan to stop Asian carp infestation.
If you think this is only a Great Lakes region issue, guess again. The Great Lakes have a real and significant impact on the rest of the country, and, oh yeah, Canada. But hey, what do we care about Canadians?
Sorry for the political rant but this is just really, really making me angry and I don't think many people outside the Great Lakes region know this is happening.
So here, read how the Feds are wasting money and a questionable theoretical and inhumane idea that will take years to fully put into place when there's a cheaper, immediate, more humane solution available.
Money. Greed. And Lake Michigan is the chattel and hostage.
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
How about a little bad poetry? Yeah, why not. It's been a while. Being out there, traveling, seeing the world brings out the poet in all of us. Kerouac, Dylan...Chaucer. Several hours stuck in an airport observing my co-travelers, pilgrims, and I'm going all Canterbury.
Passenger in the Storm of the Century The storm of the century blows across the nation. Ten years into the century that's hardly a boast, But the deeply concerned reporters don't get the joke That the storm of the century is an hyperbolic aberration.
A baby cries. An Amish family prays.
"Attention passengers, squawk, hiss, squawk, there'll be a delay" The airline agents cackle bad news throughout the airport gates Every airline, every destination, every flight is canceled or late. The storm of the century is wreaking havoc on travel today.
A baby cries. An Amish family prays.
The would-be passengers react to the news and ponder their fates. They checked with the airlines, called ahead and requested alerts, All systems were go in spite of the weather but now planes are inert. The airlines waited for boarding time to announce all flights would be late.
Business travelers are the first responders to the bad news at the gate. Their platinum plus elite advantage clubs get them nowhere with the agents, So the business travelers are mad and band together to plot an insurgence. They yell in their cell phones and bang on their PDAs hoping to dodge fate.
A baby cries. An Amish family prays.
The cool guy sigh-cusses and cocks his Trilby lower over his eyes. Skinny jeans, soul patch, mod leather jacket and eating a veggie burrito, Is he truly cool, fiddling with his iPhone aps? Or merely incognito, Hiding his insecurities behind last year's hipster mag how-to disguise?
The tangerine glow of the young woman's freshly harvested fake tan Sets her apart from the others with their ghostly white winter pallor. Pink lipstick, red coat and blond highlights, she's in living technicolor. She's a living cautionary tale for those flying to fun in the sun and sand.
A baby cries. An Amish family prays.
Grandma and Grandpa are weary of snow and cold weather Back in November they were set to embark on a Winter tropical trip But Thanksgiving Day Grandma fell on the ice and had to replace her hip She's wobbly, he's frustrated, they're antsy but at least they're together.
Mom is traveling with two loud, anxious and cranky toddlers. Using not rules but ineffectual saccharine sing-songy words of praise She appears to be parenting in a mood-altering drug induced haze The kids outbursts crescendo with no discipline from their mollycoddler.
Travelers tout the virtues and benefits of grand expeditions, "It's great to see the world, explore and meet interesting new people!" Their wisdom is true but "interesting" is code for creeps and assholes. People are people wherever you are, there's no escape from the human condition.
A baby cries. An Amish family prays. It's all mirth and blue skies Until there are weather delays.
