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

 
Saturday, December 03, 2011  
So, apparently my mother's a hot item on my hometown's senior singles circuit.

I spent most of the past six months with her and I'm clueless as to how this escaped my attention until now. There were some random calls from men from church, and some of my dad's golf buddies and former work colleagues occasionally called to check on her. But the calls seemed innocent, perfunctory. The men are all old friends of the family or my dad's friends. Without exception all of these men have known my parents for 20 or more years. (It's a really small town...and people tend to either come and go quickly or serve a life sentence. The lifers all know each other.) So it didn't seem odd or out of place that occasionally a man called my mother to check in on her and inquire about her health and well-being. Especially since my mother has been in an ongoing health situation. She has friends. My dad had friends. They care about my mother. They want to help. I didn't think there was anything, erm, unusual about these men calling or visiting my mother.

And my mother certainly gave no indication that she was even remotely interested in, you know, erm, socializing with gentlemen callers.

She's still bereaved. She still struggles with my father's death. She gets misty eyed over him at least a couple times a week. They were married a really, really long time. Happily married.

And that's not to say that she can't, you know, socialize with men or even, gulp, love again, but I just never considered it.

That is, until she had to have another surgery and an extended hospital stay. For the past two weeks there has been a steady stream of visitors to her hospital room. Couples, women...and several widowers.

At first I didn't think anything unusual about the widowers visiting. They are nice guys, they've been great about helping my mother with guy stuff like car repair diagnostics, minor home maintenance/repair, schlepping stuff to charity donation drop offs...that sort of thing. The sort of things you do for your friend's spouse if your friend dies.

But the past couple weeks in the hospital has been eye opening. These cats are turning up in their good dress slacks and sweater vests over shirts festooned with jaunty prints (pheasants seem to be a popular motif), freshly barbered hair, perfectly polished shoes, and...after shave. Very smelly after shave. I didn't even think too much about that, really, I mean, okay, in a couple of cases yes, I did think, "huh?" but for the most part I just wrote it off to their age. Old school guys behaving old school. Visiting a friend in the hospital is an event that requires one's good attire. But then the after shave got stronger and the shoes got nicer. And the chilly greetings and icy glares exchanged between men became more obvious.

One guy, we'll call him "Bob," was visiting my mother with his freshly coiffed hair and shirt adorned with golf paraphernalia and trousers starched and ironed with a Ginsu sharp crease and faint hint of Black Suede, telling her news from the marina and golf club when another guy, we'll call him "Jim" appeared with a straight-from-the-dry-cleaner green shirt and light-up Santa and reindeer tie and Sans-a-belt slacks, hair pomaded just so and an overpowering aroma of Old Spice. "Bob" greeted "Jim" with a disdainful glance at his lack of belt and light-up tie. A disdainful glance that said, "Pfft, gimmickry."

"Bob" greeted the newcomer with, "Hello, Jim." He couldn't have been more curt.

"Jim," ever full of bonhomie, ignored "Bob's" contempt and, undaunted, pressed Rudolph's nose which made his tie chirp out the melody to "We Wish You a Merry Christmas."  He then crossed the room, extended his paw-hand to "Bob" while jocularly patting him on the back and gave him a hardy, "Bob, always good to see you!" That's right, Jim, kill him with kindness.

And don't count "Jim" out just yet. He one-upped "Bob" by coming over to me and going in for a big hug, making a big show of it. Sure, "Jim" has always been a hugger, a bear hugger, but even for him this was an over-the-top hug. That's when I realized what's going on with these guys.

"Jim" was clearly making a point to "Bob." That over the top hug to me was his way of marking his territory. He knows he'll never get anywhere with the mother if the daughter doesn't approve. All the light-up musical ties, pomade and Sans-a-belt slacks in the world will get you nowhere with the ladies if the kids don't approve.

This revelation was startling to me. These men, these men who were my dad's friends, these widowed men whose deceased wives went to church with my mother, volunteered on fundraisers and scout projects together, played cards with my mother, had barbecues with my parents, these men were vying for my mother's affection. Not some slick Johnny-come-lately, not some creepy new guy, no, something more sinister, more stealth: Old family friends. Who were clearly having some sort of pissing match over my mother. My mother who was laying in a hospital bed two days after heart surgery.

Oh swutting Belgium this cannot be happening. It has to be some bizarre dream. A nightmare.

I stood there, dazed in my new realization that my mother has the widowers of my home town worked up in a low-T frenzy. I quickly replayed the past few months. I guess there were some clues but I was blind and didn't see them.

And I did think it was a little odd that "Bob" showed up after my mother's surgery with a book of classic English poetry, but I wanted to believe he was just being thoughtful.

Yeah, thoughtful, all right. Real thoughtful.

After he released me from the extended bear hug, "Jim" went to my mother's bedside and planted a kiss on her cheek. Up to this point, that wouldn't have been a big deal. But with the extra dose of Old Spice and the glaring exchange between him and "Bob," that kiss on the cheek took on new meaning.

"Jim" launched right into a ribald tale of a senior's casino bus excursion which clearly disgusted "Bob." At the end of the tale "Jim" pulled out a $20 poker chip from his pocket and presented it to my mother by way of "magic trick," pretending to pull it out of her ear. It should be noted that "Jim" has been "magically" pulling things out of peoples' ears as long as I've known him. (I've known him pretty much all my life.)

"Bob" clearly didn't think much of "Jim's" magical prowess. I'm sure I saw "Bob" roll his eyes. He cast me a glance, caught my eye for a moment, and gave me a conspiratorial "can you believe this guy?" look.

These two men typify the diversity of my parents' friends and social life. To say my parents' friends construct a rich tapestry of personalities, lifestyles and status is a gross understatement. The only common thread is that they're all decent, nice people.

"Jim" is a bit, you know, convivial. Jolly. Sort of a cross between a John Candy character and Fozzie Bear. Not classless but not exactly a class act, either. However, he's genuinely a super nice guy. He's had a rough time since his wife died 8 years ago. Their kids and grandkids live thousands of miles away. He's lonely. The local senior citizen activity group has been good for him.

"Bob's" widowhood has been equally lonely but he remains focused on his boat and golfing. One would never call "Bob" jolly. But. He, too, is genuinely nice. He and my dad golfed together and our families boated together quite a lot.

I stood there reflecting on the contrast between these guys, my dad's friends. My parents' friends. The only thing these guys have in common is that they know my parents and they're widowed. And now, apparently, they share an, erm, interest in my mother. Out of all my parents' friends, my dad's friends, I never would have guessed these two guys would be the ones to make moves on my mother. There's another Bob in town I kinda thought might pounce on her because he pounces on all the newly widowed women in the area. But so far the other Bob, Pouncing Bob, hasn't made a move. At least not that I'm aware.

It really unnerved me to think about anyone making moves on my mother. As in, I had a visceral reaction to the thought of a man, men, these men, any man, making moves on my mother. I know, I know, my mother's a viable human being with, erm, needs, and now that she has a re-charged heart she's feeling a lot better and should be up for a more active life very soon. I know, okay? I know.

Cut me some slack. It was a lot to process. And I was tired. The surgery was a surprise and an emergency and it's been a rough couple of weeks. And this is my mother. Who was married to my dad. For a really, really, really long time. I have never, not once in my entire life, thought about either of my parent's "with" anyone else. I know before they were married they each dated several other people. My dad was apparently quite the party boy. And my mother, even with her extremely high standards, managed to have a couple rather intriguing alliances and some fun flings. But. That all ended when they met and that was that. Happily ever after. End of story. The end. Period. Finis.

And then it hit me. Oh crap. I could end up with a step-father. And one of these guys could be him. I highly doubt it...but...crap. My mother could have a more active dating and romantic life than I do.

That shouldn't bother me, I know. If this is what my mother wants, I should be happy for her. I know this. But. It's a lot to digest. The concept of my mother loving, or even caring about a man other than my dad is far too abstract for me to grasp. I know it's wrong of me to feel that way and that's even more difficult to grasp. Why don't I want my mother to have some male, erm, companionship? A little romance? Or even just a little socializing, some dates? What's wrong with me? Why am I such a horrible daughter? I'm pretty sure my dad would want my mother to have some fun, get out and socialize. But I'm also pretty sure he would not be keen on the idea of my mother getting married again.

I know, I know. No one said anything about marriage. And these guys weren't even asking my mother out on a date. But. "Bob" brought her a book of classic English poetry and "Jim" wore his light-up musical Santa tie and brought her a $20 poker chip. I'm not sure what either of those mean in senior citizen terms, but it seems kind of serious to me.


And what of my mother?

She has not mentioned anything about male companionship. I don't see her scoping out men.

Although.

She did enthuse about her heart surgeon and how good looking he is. She did mention his handsomeness several times. She even told him he looked like a doctor in a movie. Okay, she was heavily sedated at the time, but still, she noticed. (He is easy on the eyes.)

But.

I cannot imagine that even if she wants to "get back out there" that "Bob" or "Jim" are what she has in mind.

Let me very clear about this: My mother is not a tease. She has not "encouraged" these men or given even the faintest indication that she's, erm, *gulp*, interested in them. And no, I don't think she's playing hard to get. I think she really is hard to get. Impossible to get.

And I suppose that's the allure. These are older men, old school men, men who came of age in a very different era. An era when men wooed and pursued women and women were not as desperate easy available as they are now.

And "Bob" and "Jim" were not making advances on my mother, at least not now. But. Were they building up to something? Weaving romantic webs to ensnare my mother so that they have her where they want her when they make their big move on her?

The more likely explanation is that they feel some sort of chivalrous code of honor toward my dad and are "looking after" my mother "for" him. And they are lonely widowers. And my mother was friends with their wives. And on and on, all very innocent.

But it made me realize that I haven't given any thought to my mother's romantic, erm, needs. Just because I'm happily collecting dust on the shelf doesn't mean she is, too.

It's not that I don't want my mother to have an active, positive social life - including, erm, interaction with members of the opposite sex - it's that a) I don't want to know about it and b) I don't want "Bob" or "Jim" (or perish the thought, Pouncing Bob) to be my stepfather.

And I know that makes me something...something not very good. A bad daughter. Selfish. The kind of selfish daughters with issues you see on Lifetime and Hallmark movies. I do not want to be that kind of daughter.

So I've decided I need to wrap my gray matter around the concept of my mother dating. Just in case she does want to date, or socialize, or whatever it is the kids are calling it these days.

Suggestions welcome.

11:42 AM

 
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