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
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
How about a little bad poetry? Yeah, why not. It's been a while. Being out there, traveling, seeing the world brings out the poet in all of us. Kerouac, Dylan...Chaucer. Several hours stuck in an airport observing my co-travelers, pilgrims, and I'm going all Canterbury.
Passenger in the Storm of the Century The storm of the century blows across the nation. Ten years into the century that's hardly a boast, But the deeply concerned reporters don't get the joke That the storm of the century is an hyperbolic aberration.
A baby cries. An Amish family prays.
"Attention passengers, squawk, hiss, squawk, there'll be a delay" The airline agents cackle bad news throughout the airport gates Every airline, every destination, every flight is canceled or late. The storm of the century is wreaking havoc on travel today.
A baby cries. An Amish family prays.
The would-be passengers react to the news and ponder their fates. They checked with the airlines, called ahead and requested alerts, All systems were go in spite of the weather but now planes are inert. The airlines waited for boarding time to announce all flights would be late.
Business travelers are the first responders to the bad news at the gate. Their platinum plus elite advantage clubs get them nowhere with the agents, So the business travelers are mad and band together to plot an insurgence. They yell in their cell phones and bang on their PDAs hoping to dodge fate.
A baby cries. An Amish family prays.
The cool guy sigh-cusses and cocks his Trilby lower over his eyes. Skinny jeans, soul patch, mod leather jacket and eating a veggie burrito, Is he truly cool, fiddling with his iPhone aps? Or merely incognito, Hiding his insecurities behind last year's hipster mag how-to disguise?
The tangerine glow of the young woman's freshly harvested fake tan Sets her apart from the others with their ghostly white winter pallor. Pink lipstick, red coat and blond highlights, she's in living technicolor. She's a living cautionary tale for those flying to fun in the sun and sand.
A baby cries. An Amish family prays.
Grandma and Grandpa are weary of snow and cold weather Back in November they were set to embark on a Winter tropical trip But Thanksgiving Day Grandma fell on the ice and had to replace her hip She's wobbly, he's frustrated, they're antsy but at least they're together.
Mom is traveling with two loud, anxious and cranky toddlers. Using not rules but ineffectual saccharine sing-songy words of praise She appears to be parenting in a mood-altering drug induced haze The kids outbursts crescendo with no discipline from their mollycoddler.
Travelers tout the virtues and benefits of grand expeditions, "It's great to see the world, explore and meet interesting new people!" Their wisdom is true but "interesting" is code for creeps and assholes. People are people wherever you are, there's no escape from the human condition.
A baby cries. An Amish family prays. It's all mirth and blue skies Until there are weather delays.
