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, April 05, 2011  
I already sold a bunch of CDs.

But I kept, you know, the favorites, the best friends. And I also kept the ones that for no reason, logical or otherwise, I just didn't want to release.

Oh come on, you have them, too. I know you do.

And I'm not talking about the emotionally charged remnants of relationships past. Those CDs, that music, those songs...those are in an entirely different and distinct Stuff of Life category. And I'm not touchin' that with a ten-foot cattle prod. (I've let go of most of mine. I'll tough-love you through the elimination process if you want help.)

I'm talking about the unemotionally charged music that manages to escape downsizing and purging, sometimes remaining through several moves and shelving changes.

You never play them, you never even really liked them, you may have even had buyer's remorse an hour after the original purchase.

Or maybe they were gifts. Or promo giveaways (which explains a huge percentage of my former CD collection.)

Or maybe they were an old roommate's and you meant to give them back but then the roommate moved across country and you haven't heard from them in two years and...but...it just feels "wrong" to get rid of them because they don't really belong to you.

I'm boxing up the last of the few possessions I have and putting them in storage. Space is limited. So. I am forced to get rid of anything that is even in the proximity of detritus. If it's even only detritus-ish it's gotta go.

So.

Those inexplicable CDs that have survived a bunch of years, several moves, and a lot of reorganizations have to go. Sorry, Virus 100, I know you're a rockin' collection of Dead Kennedys covers. I always meant to listen to you. I always thought you'd make a great soundtrack and I have mused about what that movie would be...but I haven't played you since, um, crap, 1994? '95? I honestly don't remember the last time I even popped open your case. Why?

Not "Why haven't I gotten rid of it?" but "Why haven't I played this, not even one song, in like 16 years?"

And. More to the immediate point: Why am I struggling to toss it in the box going to the used record store?

I'm clearly not going to play it and if I ever want to finally nail down a movie that it can soundtrack there's always iTunes.

And yet...I struggled to release it, toss it in a box and take that box to the used record store where, if I'm lucky they'll give me 50¢ for it.

And then there's the ultra-special promo CD of Björk's "Army of Me" from Tank Girl. I like Björk. I like the song. Grrrrl power and all that. And I really love the graphics on the back cover. But I already saved plenty of other Björk music, including the full Tank Girl soundtrack. And it's taking up real estate in my storage locker - precious space.

And yet...like Virus 100, I struggled to release it, relinquish it to The Box.

And what of The Box? Were any CDs easy to toss into the used record store box?

Yep.

Don't ask me why I have Messiah's Rotten Perish. (I didn't buy it.) And really don't ask me how it survived even one move, let alone the seven it's survived since 1993. (Cripes. I've moved seven times since 1993. Is that weird? Is my "number" high? Am I a residence slut?) I meant to sell it years ago. I thought I sold it in a huge batch sell-off right after I was laid off. I could swear I already sold it. But there it was and there it went, poof, straight into the sell to the used record store box. Ditto the soundtrack to Birdy AKA Wherein Peter Gabriel Composes Music For Suicides.

Yes I'm a huge music fan/geek/maven/lunatic. I know this. And honestly, given my proclivity to listen to just about anything and my flea market habit it's testament to my will-power and self-restraint (and low income) that my music collection isn't bordering on something you'd see on Hoarders. I've always been fairly disciplined about not letting my music collection get too, you know, unwieldy. iTunes helped tremendously. I long ago purged the CDs that contained only one or two songs I liked. I had a huge Rip and Release party years ago. I ripped the songs I wanted and then set up a table with the CDs I no longer wanted. I then invited friends over for a party and told them they could take any of the CDs they wanted. I unloaded a ton of crap, I mean CDs that night. The CDs that no one wanted were then taken to my used record store of choice wherein I was given $20 for 30 CDs.

But now, the end is near, and so I face the final packing.

I fearfully suspect part of the reason some of these CDs remained in my possession is that they reassure me that at some point in my life I was hip enough to know the bands existed and open-minded enough to listen to their music and give them a place in my collection.

Yes. They're false-sense-of-security blankets.

I was never cool. Never. Not once. Not one second of my life. I have been "hip" to new stuff, "hip" in the "aware" definition of hip. But never cool. I love music, and truly, I will listen to just about anything. But craving music, going to concerts and hanging out at record stores does not make you cool. It makes you someone who loves music and goes to concerts and hangs out at record stores. Yes, I can rattle off names of super big bands I saw for a $5 cover on Buck-a-Beer night at seedy bars before they were super big. Woo hoo. That doesn't make me cool. It makes me cheap with a dash of lucky.

But those CDs (let's not get into vinyl right now) gave my self-esteem a little salve. People who came over to my place(s) would peruse my shelves and pull out a selection or two and either ask, "What the heck is this?" or "Wow, you listen to (whomever)?" Until iTunes I was the go-to music info source among my friends. A music matchmaker. A band whisperer. A song sommelier. (Which, by the way, is what I would have named iTunes (or at least Ping).) I know my friends and family well enough to know what sort of music they might like. They'd ask, "I heard this song/band the other day, do you know anything about them? Are they any good? Would I like more of their stuff?" Often I could hand over a CD or at least point them in the musical direction they would like. Again I say, I have never been cool. I just listen to a lot of music and know my friends well enough to gauge their musical preferences. It's too bad I can't get paid for this skill because I like to think I could make a fairly decent living at it. And that's my point. My music collection is my false-sense-of-security blanket. No one is going to pay me to choose music for them. I know this. But in my imagination I am capable of making a viable living by choosing music for people who can't figure it out for themselves.

Part of me wants to give the Messiah Rotten Perish CD to my head-banging stoner neighbor. Not as a peace offering or farewell present. More as a, "You're a stoner jerk with bad taste in music, you'll love this CD," joke's on him kind of thing. I'm pretty sure it would shock the pot out of him to find out I even know who Messiah are let alone have Rotten Perish in my possession. The reason I won't give it to him? Because until I'm evicted I'd have to listen him play it at wall-shaking volume. And my other neighbors already hate me enough because of my inability to pay my mortgage and dragging down their condo values, I don't need to add Rotten Perish to the reasons they'll show up at my door with pitchforks and torches.

I'm striving for the enlightened "this is good catharsis" mindset. Getting rid of those CDs will mean getting rid of my false-sense-of-security blanket and that's good. It's time. And truly, I am not going to pay to store these CDs. When it comes down to thinking of storing my life in a small locker making these decisions is easy. Homelessness gives you clarity that you cannot imagine until you have to make choices about what you want to pay to keep in storage. Sometimes it is like Sophie's choice. "My gran's silver or my mother's china? I can't keep both." But when it comes to music the choices get easier. "If I keep the Birdy soundtrack I have to get rid of another CD. Who will it be? Am I willing to sacrifice Thin Lizzy for Peter Gabriel?" Ah, no.

Sorry, Peter Gabriel, I know you're Very Special and Important and I love the movie Birdy, but I'm not cool enough to enjoy sitting around listening to the depressing drone esoteric lushness of the soundtrack without reaching for a couple bottles of pills and a fifth of Jim Beam. Space in my storage locker is prime real estate and you're not making the cut. I think this is best for both of us. Maybe in time, someday, we can be friends. I know there's someone out there for you, someone who appreciates you more than I do will snatch you right up the very second you hit the market. You won't be in that used record store bin very long. I'm sure you'll have an esteemed and coveted place in another music collection, someone might even play you once in a while. You'll feel more needed and wanted than you did with me. And I, well, I need to let go, I need to stop clutching my false-sense-of-security blanket.

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10:11 AM

 
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