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
Sunday, September 04, 2005
People are weird. We know this. Human behavior is curious, funny, bizarre....
My family is going through a difficult ordeal. An ordeal which involved a funeral. Naturally there were a lot of emotions involved, most of them unpleasant or at least very difficult.
Maybe it's me. Maybe I've got it all wrong. Or confused.
But.
Can someone please explain why people bring cameras and take photos at funerals?
Not one. Not two. THREE people brought cameras to the funeral home and/or funeral. And wanted to take photos of the family. All three of these people know about the events leading up to the funeral and what my family is enduring. All three know we have been under a tremendous amount of emotional stress and upset. All three know these were not exactly our finest hours. And yet they had their cameras at the ready and wanted us to gather round for group photos.
"It's rare that you're all together, let's get a few of all of you together!" they enthusiastically encouraged.
Oh yes, let's do that! Let's mark this occasion with photographs! The red and swollen eyes, the mouths which are unable to produce a smile, the pale and tired skin, the head to toe black and dour clothes, the bodies so tired they're weak and barely standing, yes! Yes! Let's capture this special time! Let's mark this momentous occasion with a photograph or two! Line up by those gorgeous flowers. The ones sent out of sympathy. The ones around the casket.
Fortunately none of the three photographers were the type who photograph the deceased person. I have witnessed this special breed of weirdness. Fortunately not at a funeral of a family member or close friend. I'd heard about people doing this but I suspected it was a myth, a suburban legend. But I saw it. Someone walked right up to the casket, gave the deceased the beatific "finally at peace" look and then produced a camera and snapped a photo of the dearly departed. I didn't know this particular dearly departed. I was merely a colleague of the deceased's daughter. But I felt a lot of emotions over the photographer's desire to snap a photo of the deceased.
I'm a very snappy person. I like photos and the process of photography. But. Even I have my limits. I do not want a photo of a dead person, no matter how much I liked, loved or hated them when they were alive. I do not want photos of my family and friends when they are going through difficult times. And I cannot understand why anyone else would.
What do people do with photos of dead people in caskets? Do they put them in special scrapbooks? Frame them? Put them on the fridge? Turn them into holiday greeting cards?
I know the crapbooking thing is reaching a fever pitch. I am sure there are crapbookers out there who think a poem and special thoughts adorning a casket shot of the deceased would make a touching and fitting tribute and final page to a crapbook. If you're nodding in agreement, wishing you'd thought to take a camera to gran's funeral, you're at the wrong blog. If you're sitting there thinking, "This crapbook thing really is getting out of hand..." follow me.
It goes back to the whole respect and taboo topic issues. People take liberties with dignity and respect in the name of their hobby. They're enthused with their interest/hobby and stop at nothing in their pursuits of fancy. Zeal and passion are fine. Good for those who have passion over anything. I used to be that way. I understand. It's fun. It makes life interesting. But. When courtesy and respect is sacrificed in the name of enthusiasm there's a problem.
There should be 12 step programs for hobbiests/enthusiasts who take their interests too far. The ones who throw respect and dignity out the window in their dogged pursuits. Like alcoholics, the ones who are in most need of help are the ones who don't realize they have a problem. The solution to this is intervention. I proposed one for one of the funeral photographers. Many in my family thought it would be a good idea, but wouldn't back me up in deed. Intervention might not work very well with this person. The best solution in that case is to steal the camera. But for other rude hobbiests, a 12 step program might be a good idea.
"Hello. My name is Sue and I'm a scrapaholic. (Hi Sue) I have a problem. (What's your problem, Sue?) I take photos of everything for the sole purpose of creating crapbook pages. (That doesn't sound so bad...) I don't enjoy the moments or events as they happen, I record them to enjoy later. But I never look at the crapbook once it's finished. (Oh dear.) But I make other people look at it. Even and especially complete strangers. (God help you, Sue.) I want to stop, but I can't. My home is filled with crapbook supplies and my vacations are spent at crapbooking conventions. I hit rock bottom when I made a crapbook of my crapbooks."
Meanwhile, back at Trillian's life, I received an email from one of the photographers. No "sorry for your loss" or "in this time of sorrow" but instead, "great to see you and your family! Your father gave me your email address!" Attached were several photos of my family. At a funeral home. During visitation for deceased family member. Here I am trying to move on, trying to get through the grieving and mourning phases, and there, bringing all the pain and sadness of the funeral are photos of my family and I in the midst of the funeral process. The (I guess) well meaning photographer/friend thinks only of the fact that they've snapped a rare photo of most of my family altogether. They're proud to have accomplished this feat. They think we'll be delighted to have these photos. They don't consider the occasion or what we're going through and the reason we were together.
Is it rudeness if a person is ignorant? Except where the camera is concerned, this person is otherwise a thoughtful and kind person. So I am making myself believe they have nothing but kind intentions in this.
I deleted the email and the photos. I have enough painful memories, thanks, I'll do just fine on my own without the aid of photographs marking the occasion.
