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, April 15, 2011
WARNING: Hell might be freezing over.
My sister is going to see the Pixies with me.
Now this outta be interesting.
The synapses are sparking and short circuiting too quickly for me to accurately process this freakish turn of events and what led us to this point.
Two of my "Why do I still have this?/I thought I sold this/No one will pay much for it but I'll take the 50¢ the used store will give me for it" CDs sold for, *gulp,* a lot more money that I imagined they would. I mean, a lot more money. I knew some of them might garner more than 50¢, and they did. (The Birdy soundtrack netted a nice little profit, as did Messiah, but both were well within my expectations.) But some of the others, I mean, they're not worth much, not selling for much...I knew the approximate values, and I knew what they are garnering on flEaBay and Amazon, but apparently here in the greater Chicago metropolitan area these CDs are rare finds.
Yay.
But.
Oh crap.
*I owe Bono a pubic apology.*
Ahem.
(nervously tugging at shirt collar, hanging head, humbly biting lip)
*Sorry Bono.*
Trillliannnnn...apologize properly or don't apologize at all.
I mean, Sorry Bono.
No, I don't live in the Third World, and therefore I am unworthy of your magnificence of benevolence, but...
Trillliannnnn...apologize properly or don't apologize at all.
I mean, thank you, Mr. Bono, sir, for netting me some much needed cash.
Trillliannnnn...is there something else you'd like to say to nice Mr. Bono?
Oh c'mon, do I have to?
Trillliannnnn...the nice man has netted you some surprise cash...
*I'll try really hard to remember this nice little windfall when your circus comes to town this summer...*
Trilllian!
*sorry*
I'll do my best to refrain from snark when your tour arrives in Chicago in July. I hope your back is feeling better. May your Jumbotron always be big enough to hold your ego.
Trillian!
Oh come on, that thing is huge. It has to travel in its own semi-truck. The amount of electricity it uses could power the entire Third World. For a year.
Go pay your phone bill with the money nice Mr. Bono netted you at the used record store.
