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<




Trillian McMillian
Trillian McMillian
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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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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

 
Monday, November 01, 2010  
Okay, I'm going to just say it. Come clean, just come right out and admit it, I've been living in the lie of silence, guilt by omission, for too long.

I'm going to let the truth set me free.


I like Cher.


So much so that I talked seven other people (and two accessories) to go as "The Stages of Cher" with me to a Halloween party.

And we won a prize. Money. Cash.

So, I want to say, "Thank you, Cher, for the $83 and 33¢ in my pocket."

Well, Cher can't get all the credit. Much credit also to MAF who, with a mere three cases of make-up and a lot of hairspray, artfully transformed all six of us regular schlumps (including two men) into the many glorious "Stages of Cher" (and two other men into accessories, Sonny and Greg Allman).

And I gotta say, the two men who became, and I do mean became 1986 Oscars Cher and "If I Could Turn Back Time" era Cher were startling doppelgangers. (None of us chicks had the confidence to attempt "If I Could Turn Back Time" era Cher - testament more to Cher's Cher-ness than to our self-esteem and body issues.)

My suburban mom friends channeled their inner Chers and slipped into their Cher eras, "Cheras" as they're known, to create their Cher-sonas: Moonstruck Cher, "Do You Believe in Life After Love" Cher, bio-hazard Silkwood Cher, Native-American/"Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves" era Cher and Witches of Eastwick Cher became, you know, less suburban mom-ish and more, well, Cher-ish.

Because I have the boobs, legs and sense of humor to fill out a Bob Mackie-esque polyester halter jumpsuit (and already owned a pair of silver go-go sandals, don't ask) I was 1972 variety show era Cher. My friend's height-challenged husband was Sonny. (Ironically, his brother was Greg Allman, or All Man as he preferred to be called.)

What we immediately discovered is that people, almost everyone, likes Cher. We brought so many smiles to so many people it was like we were visual Prozac. Sure, it's funny, and Cher is funny, but she's also, you know, talented and aware and even, yes, a little vulnerable, so even in her most out-there get-ups there's still a tiny hint of, I swear it's true, humility, about her. Going out in public as the Stages of Cher (or Cheras) was liberating. Not only were we saying, "Yeah. We like Cher. You got a problem with that?" We were all more, well, happy. We liked being Cher, in any Chera, we liked pretending we had that kind of confidence, sense of fun and disregard for what anyone else thinks of us. I loved being Cher, even if for only a few hours. I loved being in the company of other Cheras. I love what it did to us, for us.

What this proves is that given enough alcohol, we all have an inner Cher, or at least the ability to attempt to find our inner Cher. And maybe we don't need Halloween and a costume and makeup to channel her. Maybe it would be good for all of us to say, "Today I am Cher. I have talent and a sense of humor. I will not take myself too seriously and I will succeed. And even if I fail, I will have tried, made the effort, put myself out there, which is a success in itself. It is more than most other people can say for themselves. The people who are not in touch with their inner-Cher."

Doubt me? Try it. Choose a Chera and pretend to have that attitude. See how it makes you feel. See how it transforms you.


So there it is. I feel good, better, to have this out in the open. I feel relieved and liberated to be out of the Cher closet.

I like Cher.

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2:42 PM

Sunday, October 31, 2010  
The Halloween Sunday "Dracula Brunch" at the local Hungarian/Romanian restaurant sounded like a fun way to celebrate Halloween. The special holiday-themed menu posted online offered plenty of options for the vegetarians and even the vegans. Eastern European food is not traditionally vegetarian but because of the promise of offerings for the non-animal-eating members of the group combined with Romanian wine tasting the group enthusiastically made a reservation.

Judgment blurred from the free and liberally flowing Carpathian-region wine offered by the proprietor, they didn't notice when one-by-one the vegetarians in the group didn't return from the pastry buffet.

They were unaware that vampires scoff at vegetarians and view them as cheap, disposable swill compared to the exquisite sweet nectar of meat-eaters' blood.

They were too drunk and too busy enjoying the Eastern European fare to realize the Halloween Dracula-themed brunch was nothing but an elaborate ruse to lure in trusting vegetarians so the vampire proprietors could ensnare the non-meat-eating patrons, let the young ones suck their blood as a holiday treat, then push their drained bodies into a cauldron and serve the up as an ironic Soylent Green ghoulash on the buffet for the meat eating patrons.

The next evening, when they gave accounts of their last sightings of their missing friends (all of whom happened to be vegetarian) to detectives, the Dracula Brunch diners wondered why the bloodhounds incessantly sniffed at their stomachs and lower GI regions.

Trick or treat.

Happy Halloween.

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7:59 AM

 
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