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
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Sometimes I lie awake in bed wondering if I'll ever not share walls with people, especially complete strangers. I lie awake contemplating this usually when a neighbor is a) having a party, b) having sex, c) peeing, d) slamming their door(s), e) cooking something odoriferous or e) listening to their television or stereo really loud.
My (not so new) compartment is a bazillion times better than my old place in terms of noise/smell/intimacy pollution. Really. The past year has been so much more calm and peaceful in terms of neighbor noise and smells there's no comparison. No screaming banshee nympho next door. No cacophonic lesbians below me. No 11PM to 3 AM Tuesday Night Bongo Sessions in the park. No couple across the courtyard fighting and yelling all day and night. No frat boy neighbor steaks and brats barbecuing on the back steps wafting the scent of blood and flesh in my windows and under my door. (Ahhh, communal urban living, ain't it the life?!)
Someone asked me if I missed my old hood. I got nostalgic for a second and then remembered the banshee nympho and the Bongo Sessions and I said assuredly, No.
My (not so new) compartment isn't exactly vacuous silence, there's noise. But. Not as much noise. There are rules in my new building. Too much noise gets a person "written up." Too many "write ups" gets a person evicted. We're a large and diverse community. There are a lot of us. We share walls, halls and a roof deck. There have to be rules. I think most of us are pretty cool about it, at least down in my neck of the plaster.
But. I can hear the guy who lives above me peeing. I sometimes hear a dog's bark echo through the air vent. When I first moved in I had an über hip guy living next door. He owned a restaurant. He'd come home around 2:30 AM, turn on super swank electronica music and have sex with his special of the day. All of this was muffled, at first I didn't even realize it was right next door. One night when he brought home a particularly exotic (noisy) special of the day I got mad enough to get out of bed and try to figure out which apartment held this bachelor Bacchanal. I quietly and gingerly stuck my head out the front door (in that way you do in the middle of the night, as if you might be "caught" by, hmm, I don't know exactly, just caught) and heard the music and screams coming from behind the door right next door. I was really surprised the Bachelor Royale lived right next door to me. In my compartment it sounded a lot farther away. Our bedrooms share a common wall. Even though he (more accurately, his daily specials) were loud, they didn't seem like they were RIGHT NEXT DOOR WITH NOTHING BUT A FEW INCHES OF PLASTER BETWEEN US. I thought about putting in a complaint because the music was really loud and it was happening on a nightly basis. But I didn't and in a few months he moved. And a med student moved in and she's either on rotation or studying and I never hear her. She's either really quiet or has a sex life as nonexistent as mine.
One night during some sports playoff the guy above me had a party. I know this because every few minutes the silence would be punctuated with a "YEAH!!!!" and hoots and applause and yells of "woo hoo" by a lot of people. It didn't occur to me to complain.
People let their doors slam a lot and the guy on the other side of me seems to open and close his kitchen door a lot.
When I actually notice some of these noises, that is, when they're loud or frequent enough to be noticeable, I think about the old place and the Banshee Nympho and the Grill of Death and the Friday Night at the Fights couple and I think, "ahhh. okay. perspective. This is but a mere whisper in comparison."
But.
That changed.
Something happened to make my lie awake in bed contemplating if I'd ever not share walls with complete strangers, or anyone, and how sad and pathetic my life is because I don't have walls of my own and that I'll probably spend my life sharing walls with complete strangers.
I am quite certain there's nothing in this world that can make a person long and yearn for a place of their own, with no shared walls, like Zydeco.
I am sure of this because with every fiber of my being I never wanted anything more than I wanted a home with no shared walls the night I "met" my new neighbor below me. Via their obvious love of Zydeco, Loud, loud, LOUD Zydeco. Zydeco is loud by definition. Accordions and twangy guitars are loud all on their own. Amplify them through speakers and they're REALLY LOUD. And annoying. Yes. It would be annoying if it were any type of music THAT LOUD. But. Zydeco is loud and boisterous by nature. It's all about New Orleans and partying and booze and crowds and dancing and hootin' and hollerin'. So yes, the fact that it's Zydeco is relevant. And yes, I am not a huge Zydeco fan. A little accordion goes a long way. So yes, it was even more annoying because it was Zydeco.
And it was even more annoying because it was 11:30 PM and had been going on non stop since 9:15 PM.
And even more annoying because I wasn't feeling well.
And so it was that it came to pass that I would lie awake contemplating the pathetic nature of my life. "Well, Trill, here you are wide awake listening to your neighbor's Zydeco when you need to be resting because you have mumps."
Yes. You heard me over the Zydeco.
I have mumps.
Yes. The Mumps. The virus most people get when they're a kid or not at all because they've been vaccinated.
Please don't ask me to explain how I got The Mumps because I have no idea. I don't remember having them when I was young. My father doesn't remember me having them, either. Though my father's not exactly good at remembering stuff like that. We didn't ask my mother because we didn't want to worry her. She'll worry if she knows I have mumps. I assumed I was vaccinated against it. Apparently even if I was vaccinated it was a long time ago and I'd need a booster to prevent this strain of mumps.
I didn't even know I had The Mumps until I went to my doctor thinking I was having a bad reaction to medication for something else. (Don't ask. Really. Do not ask. Suffice it to say it's more embarrassing than mumps, though not quite as much fun to say.) I told the nurse on the phone my symptoms: aches in my throat/neck, stinging watery eyes, pains under my arms and stomach, light headedness, feeling like my body's on a two second delay, headache, nausea, bloated everything, numb lips, salivating...and she said, "You better get back in to see the doctor. Those aren't the usual side effects."
So back I went to see my doctor who poked, (ouch) squeezed, (seriously, ouch.) swabbed, (ewwww) and squinted (what? what's that? what do you see?) at various parts of my body. Within three minutes my doctor proclaimed: "It's not the medication. You have mumps. They're going around and they're bad this year. Go home and go to bed for a few days. You're contagious. Stay away from children and the produce aisles and refrain from sexual activity at least until the weekend."
Yeah. That last one's really cramping my style. No sex until the weekend?! How will I manage?!
Actually.
I was contemplating taking up Shitz Ewwww's offers to go out this weekend. Shitz Ewwww has been relentless in his pursuit of grossing me out, I mean asking me out. So far I've had legit excuses to protect me. But he's persisting and I'm sick and tired and you know, I mean, I have mumps and I live in a tiny compartment sharing walls with someone who listens to REALLY LOUD Zydeco so do I really have any room at all to be even remotely particular about men? No. I do not. I have no valid reason to be selective. I have found a man who wants to see me again and that is the only thing that matters.
So what if I don't like him that well? So what if he's immature? So what if he doesn't get my sense of humor? So what if he's got a thing about poop? He's a man and he wants to see me again. Maybe you can be selective in those areas but I can't.
I told him I had mumps. He asked me if I was puking. I said no. He said then I could go out with him. I said I'd see how I felt on Friday afternoon.
It's him or the night in bed with The Mumps, the cat and REALLY LOUD Zydeco from downstairs.
