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, May 27, 2010
Oh great.
Just swutting great.
The decline of modern civilization is picking up velocity.
Now that Bret Michaels is either dying/dead/healthy and turning over a new leaf VH1 is left without a new installment of Midlife Crisis Confidential I mean Middle Aged Man Getting Drunk and Ogling 20-Year-Old Drunk Slutty Strippers I mean Rock of Love. So what is VH1 to do without a titillating must-see show? What element of society can they exploit?
Why of course, clinically psychologically impaired people, that's who!
Seriously? This may be legal. It may be
But it's wrong.
This is not an official documentary on OCD, enlightening and featuring valid and clinical research. This is a sensationalistic reality show, a la Celebrity Rehab.
The participants may or may not be really afflicted with OCD, but the point is that they allegedly are and the cameras are rolling and they're showing the more made-for-television behaviors. They're showing the weird quirks, ticks, symptoms that make OCD so difficult for the people afflicted by it. And, unfortunately, those are the same quirks, ticks, symptoms that are annoying or humorous for observers who don't know what OCD is or that they're witnessing the symptoms of a psychological disease.
Let's all go to the freak show! It'll be fun! We'll watch real people with a psychological disease say and do funny things! It'll be a riot!
VH1: You are not PBS. You are not hard hitting, credible, sensitive, documentarians.
You are not even MTV. You are MTV lite. VH1 started as the lite version, the Michael Bolton version of MTV for people who found the alternative punk and rock of MTV too brash.
VH1, you are a lite-weight, inane, sensationalizing, entertainment network generating revenue from advertising dollars earned by high ratings.
Showcasing the drunken, naked, immature antics of washed up '80s hair band musicians and the superinflated strippers who love them is entirely appropriate for VH1. Showcasing the sad, painful, harmful symptoms of a emotionally/psychologically impaired people is completely inappropriate for VH1.
And so we fall.
It's easy to blame VH1. But I'm being too quick to judge. They're merely mirroring the accepted and desired attitude of the culture that created them. We have only ourselves to blame. When did it become okay to laugh and point at people who are ill?
What's really bugging me about this is that they're cloaking the show as compassionately helping the OCD afflicted participants. True compassion is discreet. True compassion doesn't involve boasting, showcasing, showboating or profiting.
In the past there have been things that made me wept for the future. Now I'm weeping for now.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Welllll, so much for that.
If you were an animal what would you like to be?
If you held a dream party, inviting anyone past, present or future, who would be on the guest list?
What color appeals to you most?
What's your favorite book, the only book you would take to a deserted island?
I didn't want to think they were trying to dupe me. Legally, they cannot ask anything remotely related to religion. We all know that. All the players involved are very aware of that. But they can ask silly, seemingly irrelevant questions like who I'd like to invite to a party, what animal I'd like to be and what book I enjoy above all others. They can then try to suss out my religious leanings by my answers. I know, that sounds so paranoid, so conspiracy theorist. I know. Which is precisely why I didn't want to think any of this. And why I refused to resent being asked those inane questions of no significance to the job. I don't want to think there's anything untoward, deceptive or judgmental going on. So I chose to just roll with it, smile and pause for a bit of reflection then answer the questions honestly.
And yes, for the most part the interview focused on the job and at times they seemed a little apologetic for the stupid questions. And I suppose the color question is valid given that I'm a designer. But, then again, all the more reason that's a stupid question: I can make a case for just about any color. Because I'm an artist. That's what I do. For a living. (If I was being cheeky or purposely contrary I would have said, "I love the dark crimson color of the birthmark on the back of my head, the way the light and shadows highlight the scarlet hues and tones of burning ember in the curves of its lines forming the 6 shapes.")
I probably bombed the interview because I didn't say I want to be a lion or lamb, a dove or a shark, a gazelle, a Yeti or a unicorn. Instead I said I'd like to be a cat living with someone like me. (If I was being cheeky I would have said a snake in a lovely garden. But I wasn't, and didn't want to be, cheeky.)
And if that didn't knock me out of the running the fact that I didn't invite God, Jesus, Mary or an apostle to my party did. Instead I said I'd give anything to be able to throw a party big enough to have my family - deceased, living and future - and my friends all together in one place. With some really, really great bands for entertainment and some artists, writers and scientists thrown in to keep the conversation from turning to family lore and arguments. (If I was being cheeky I would have said Jimi Hendrix, Kurt Cobain, XTC, Salvidor Dali, Jackson Pollack, George Eliot, Ayn Rand....But I wasn't, and didn't want to be, cheeky.)
And I'm almost certain that if those answers didn't put me out of the running the answer to the final question undoubtedly did.
What book, what one tome of reading material would I grab if I knew I was spending a lot of time on a deserted island?
Would I take The Bible?
No.
Me?
I'd take Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.
I mean duh, of course.
Yes. At a job interview at a Christian-based company I said the one book I would grab and take to a deserted island is Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.
Not the bible. Not something by CS Lewis or Paulo Cuelho. Not something like Watership Down or Jonathan Livingston Seagull. Not Canterbury Tales or The Prophet or even Road to Mecca. I could have rattled off any of those books, I've read and even enjoyed plenty of religious and spiritual books. I admire and respect loads of spiritual authors. But did I say any of those at an interview at a Christian college? Of course not. Because I'm an idiot. And I'm honest. And my favorite book is written by someone who is such an atheist he called himself a radical atheist.
And I am probably still very unemployed.
I wasn't being cheeky. I mean, I could have gone in there and been deliberately contrary and cheeky, all sensationalizing just to jangle their chains. I could have, but wouldn't. I do respect religion, faith... and I would never intentionally mock or judge or offend anyone for their beliefs. (Unless their beliefs include anger, hate, violence, mortal judgment, intolerance...but honestly, even then I just silently walk away.) I'm not evil incarnate.
At the very least I could have played it safe and towed a distinctly purposeful secular line. Purposely keeping things innocuous and giving no discernible clue to my beliefs or lack thereof. The religious dialog version of Pat of It's Pat. That's what a smart person would do.
But no. Not me. I opened my mouth and the truth came out.
I mean, how stupid am I? Apparently really, really, really stupid. Of all the books I've read and admired, of all the authors I cherish and respect, I could have chosen hundreds, and I mean hundreds of more religiously correct books, or at least one written by someone who didn't go around publicly bashing religion and declaring himself a radical atheist.
Somewhere Douglas Adams is slapping his knee in a fit of hysterics over that scenario. Given his distaste for HR managers and marketing and BS in general, somewhere out in the Universe the embers of his being are absolutely cracking up and proud of his role in the theater of the absurd known as a job interview. Nice to have him on my side but I really need a job. Dead Douglas Adams is not the person I need to impress right now.
Right now I'm unemployed. Because I'm an idiot who wants to be a pampered cat and who wouldn't invite Jesus to a dinner party or take a Bible for salvation on a deserted island.
I confessed all this to a friend who tried to console me. "Okay, Trill, let's pretend this was all a ruse, a set up to tease your religious beliefs out of you. Let's take their party stance on dealing with difficult situations: What would Jesus do?"
"He'd say His favorite color is purple, that He'd like to be a dove and He'd invite His Father(s), mother and apostles and all the little children of the world to a party to hear readings from Hhis favorite book. The Good one."
(Exasperated sigh from my friend.) "Yeah, true. But, he'd answer honestly and openly, right? He'd be true to himself and not play into their game. He would not practice to deceive, He wouldn't get sucked into their game and be untrue to Himself. So you did exactly what Jesus would do. You were honest and open and thoughtful and candid. You didn't play their game. You may not have given the answers they want, but you did give them honesty and isn't that more important than hearing what they want to hear? What more could they want from those idiotic questions?"
And of course my friend is right. If I was judged by my answers to those questions then I don't want to work with them. I don't think Jesus would think deceptive questioning and critical character judgment is appropriate. I shouldn't speak for Him, I know that, but from what I've read, in the Bible, yes, I've read it, He isn't down with deception and critical judgment and intolerance. My friend is right, if their stupid questions were a thinly veiled way to tease out information about my beliefs, they are the ones not acting in a Christian manner. A point she very solidly made by responding to my silence with, "The term you're searching for here, Trill, is self-righteous indignation. You should be feeling it. You should have huffed off with it."
But my friend isn't enduring abuse and threats working a low paying telemarketing job. My friend isn't living without health insurance and a steady paycheck. My friend isn't going to be homeless in a few months.
I wrote a ton more but it can all be said in those four words. It's a case of what isn't said carrying more brevity than what's spelled out nice and neatly, I guess. Like a Hallmark movie scant on dialog and big on significant penetrating looks between actors.
10:02 PM
