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

 
Monday, July 20, 2015  
It's really happening.

My mother moved out of my parents' house.

We're prepping for an estate sale. And having a little work done to pretty it up for potential buyers. And in a  few weeks there will be a for sale sign in front of my parents' house.

And then that's that.

I knew emotions would reach up and bite my mother when she least expects it. And I knew I'd have a few "moments."

It's just a house. But it's not just a house. My parents built it. They tilled the land. Even when we lived abroad my parents kept the house. One of my cousin stayed there much of the time we were away. It's been "home" for me all my life. So I knew I would have some emotional moments. But. It's too much house and too much yard for my mother. She needs a stress-free, trouble-free, safe place to live. And she found one. She has a lovely, large retirement apartment with a patio overlooking a private courtyard. She has friends who live there. Once the emotional letting go happens, I think she'll be happy there.

Meanwhile, there are weekends filled with numerous trips back and forth between home and the new place. I tell her we need to make the switch, call the new place "home." She can't do that, yet, and it's not exactly rolling off my tongue, either.

We've pretty much emptied the house of all the things we want. All that remains are the things we left behind for the estate sale. Our discarded items, some of them predate my parents' marriage, some are relatively new. My parents and their three children called it home. During my sister's divorce her three children called it home, and they all still refer to their grandparents' house as "home." A couple of my cousins spent extended stays there and refer to it as "home." Cats, a few stray dogs, hamsters, fish all called it home. There are trees, huge trees, that were taken as saplings from my grandparents' yard.

You get the picture.

Home.

Every time we pull out of the driveway some stupid home-related song enters my head. Madness' "Our House." Edward Sharpe "Home." CSN's "Our House." Simon & Garfunkle's "Homeward Bound."

The Nails' "The Things You Left Behind."

What? I'm talking about the general feeling of discarded stuff left behind. Not so much the heroin and garter belts. More the Canasta cards and records.

My mother and I sorted the difficult stuff last weekend. My parents' record collection. Their books. Stacks of insurance papers. During the many trips between the old and new homes the abandoned stuff looked more like sad remnants. Soon home will look like the Grinch was there when his heart was still two sizes too small. I started making mental notes about what my mother wanted at the new place and what was to be left for the estate sale. I repeated the list on the ride so I wouldn't forget. That's when Marc Campbell's raspy rap started beating in the back of my head. After a few trips The Things You Left Behind was updated for my family. I imagined The Nails performing this updated version and pretty soon I was giggling as I packed up stuff and discarded other stuff. Rock and roll can, and does, solve most emotional problems.

The Things We Left Behind

A set of Canasta cards, an old tin toy
An 8-track tape by the Beach Boys.
A vintage bottle of Bal a Versailles
A poster of Iggy Pop Blah Blah Blah
A third place ribbon from a relay race
A Time Life series book about space
A gas station workshirt covered in grime
These are some of the things we left behind.

Cards and letters from people they knew
Back before they had kids and things to do
A cookbook signed by Liberace
Wait, a Liberace cookbook? Is that worth anything?
Five yellowed pages of gran’s scrawled recipes
A Marine Corp jacket missing a sleeve
A couple spools of Macramé twine
These are some of the things we left behind

Two postcards in a cling film photo album
Anyone have a rhyme for album?
Soap on a rope, a book of clans,
Springform and bundt cake pans
Forgot how much we used to celebrate
Birthdays and holidays we always ate cake
A junior high school ID, that hair cut was ill-timed
These are some of the things we left behind

A box of broken beads and rhinestones
We always meant to restring those
A bag of Mexican jumping beans that hatched
Bought on vacation at a tourist trap
A highschool class ring that isn’t ours
Found under a seat in the old car
A bottle shaped like swans with necks entwined
These are some of the things we left behind

A Count Basie record set
(We haven’t had that valued, yet.)
A box of empty Pendaflex folders
A telephone desk with a phonebook holder
A spiral notebook with band names written in ball pen
Containing second year French verbs conjugation
A box made in third grade for school Valentines
These are some of the things we left behind

A reading lamp, some Barbie dolls
A few paintings that adorned the walls
A first aid kit from a Scandinavian cruise
Including “medication” no one used
A cookie jar with the ill-fitting lid on
Where there were always a few twenties hidden
A pantry door marked with children’s heights in penciled lines
These are some of the things we left behind

A set of canasta cards
A third place ribbon
A cookbook signed by Liberace
Bundt pans
Macramé twine
Soap on a rope
An 8-track tape
High school class ring
A Marine Corp jacket missing a sleeve
A Valentine box
Broken beads
A cookie jar
Money? Did we get the twenties?
One last entry on the pantry wall
Two words

“Our Family”


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8:24 PM

 
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