Nobody Puts Genna in a Corner

Back in December, my friend Liz and I were walking home after gift shopping, when Liz stopped suddenly. She stooped down and brushed away snow, picking up a black key. We examined the key mysteriously, wondering who had lost one. (Liz announced that she would keep the key as a memory of our conversation about (I believe) the word nappy. )

Night passes, and I find myself walking down the same sidewalk the next morning. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a flash of something familiarly black and metallic. A key. The exact same key Liz had spotted last night. I wondered "Did Liz drop it? I will have to tell her I found it."

I continued walking, wondering if I should text her about the missing key or not.  This would not be necessary: Key #2 was spotted.

I looked closely at this black key of mysteries, which I now noticed had a button like-quality about it. I began to wonder if some trendy individual had lost the button keys of his or her winter pea coat.

I pondered what the coat with key buttons would look. Probably odd, and loud as the keys may clang around.

Then: Key #3 is spotted. I stoop down to pick it up. I briefly contemplate how dumb I look to the rest of the pedestrian commuters on busy Fullerton Ave: stopping and picking random articles up off the dirty snowy sidewalk every few paces.

I began to feel guilty: was I ruining someone's treasure hunt? What child would cry today because of me and my key-thieving activities?

I found more and more black keys: over 6 in total! I knew something was up.

At this point I was a positively giddy nerd. A mystery to solve? I think yes.

Once at work I began googling "black keys, lincoln park". Nothing.
Then I looked closer at the key, and noticed an inscription: Coraline.com.





Damn, foiled by a promo.

Aside from the slight feeling that I had been gypped of a REAL mystery, I was EXTREMELY impressed by the viral marketing tactics used for this movie. Yes, they must of had people drop black keys onto streets. (As friend Kip pointed out, this was a' la Aqua Teen Hunger Force Blinking Light Promo, sans-legal issues.)

They also contacted bloggers with high readership and past blogs or expressed interest in Neil Gaiman (the author of Coraline, the book which the movie is based off of). Then they sent each of these "chosen" 50 bloggers handcrafted boxes full of artifacts from the Coraline movie. Given the animated, stop-motion shot movie took three years to hand-make the set and puppets, I would spend a large amount on advertising as well.




Update: The black keys are available on Ebay. Hi-larious. What a scam.


P.S. The title of this blog is stolen from a line in Willy Wonka.

I know New York is the city that never sleeps, but I have to say that Chicago is up for second place, at least. I feel as though the city is constantly moving and bustling with people. Days can feel hectic and rushed. Sometimes it feels good to just stop-especially in a calming place that stops with you, in a place that is quiet and relaxing.

As far as finding those places of relaxation, I have a great book recommendation for Chicagoans. While perusing Barnes & Noble,  I came across a title called Chicago's 50 Best Places to Find Peace and Quiet.

One place profiled was Thousand Waves Spa for Women, located at 1211212 West Belmont, Chicago, Illinois 606572, where you can spend three hours taking advantage of the dry sauna, eucalyptus steam bath,  Jacuzzi hot tub, and relaxation room- all for $20. Talk about a relaxing and affordable "getaway" from the stress of city life.

Recently I discussed City v. Nature with a friend. He prefers nature, fields that go forever, shady trees full of animals, and the quiet serene atmosphere you find in the solitary air of forests. I can relate to the intoxicating feeling of being in love with an atmosphere, but for me, I enjoy the landscape of the city.

For me, I find myself missing my neighbor's rooftop, which I would climb up onto during summer nights. You can see the whole skyline from here. It is a fantastic thrill to see the city I have fallen in love with- glittering lights against the canvas of the dark night.

Doing research this afternoon (and by research, I mean watching television), I came across a delightfully pitiful commercial. It was an advertisement for Metal Detectors. Yes, the gadget used to find money on beaches. The commercial blasted that this was a growing pastime and excellent new hobby for people.

It got me thinking : why are they advertising for this summer activity during the winter? Has it really gotten this bad? That metal detectors should now be used to scrounge around for extra money to make ends meet in a struggling economy?

It's sadly hilarious. Now, while I couldn't seem to find the exact commercial that flashed before my eyes this afternoon, I was able to find this gem on youtube for your enjoyment. Do yourself a favor and watch this 30 second commercial- the end is the best part.


I can't help but wonder what companies will think of next to advertise for all of us poor people.
A commerical for a How-To-Pickpocket  instructional video?
A tool that quietly breaks storefront windows?
Passwords to hack into online bank accounts?
Kits to create imposter identities?

Ok, I'm done.
I just had to comment on the metal detector commerical, it was too odd not to notice.......

Sadly, the CTA Holiday train has finished its run for this year. I was able to ride this el once, however, and it was splendid. Christmas music, elves passing out candy canes, and lights galore.
What more could a commuter ask for?

People in my life are urging me to find a hat for this chilly season. I generally just put my hood up.

I thought I would reconsider my head-covering procedures, though, and try to find a winter hat. After much trying on of hats in department stores, my reason for not wearing hats has only been reaffirmed: I look like an idiot in a hat.

Doesn't matter what kind of hat: baseball cap, sombrero, beret, cowboy hat, or  top hat. I just look awful.



I asked my mom to give me feedback on how one of my try-on's looked like and she said, "You look retarded. We just don't look good in hats. Give it up. Try earmuffs."

Gah. I'm going to hide my retarded head in shame. Earmuffs it is.

Today I experienced my first Fall this season!  .....I decided this warranted an official announcement.
Fall, you ask? This is the experience of walking along icy sidewalks, slipping onto said icy sidewalks, as well as dealing with the emotional trauma (if only fleeting) of a bruised ego (and possibly bum) and the embarrassment (or entertainment) that ensues.

I began my walk to Panda Express (in the quest for the Holy Orange Chicken) innocently enough, treading the sidewalk along with the rest of Chicago's working class, wearing my pink pseudo-Ugg boots. Did I mention these boots are pink?
I should also mention that they do not come with rubber or any other super sticky fall-saving substance attached to the sole.

I went down slowly. I classify it as a "I Could See it Coming" fall. This one is not as painful as a "Down for the Count with Bruised Bum" fall. However, both are similarly embarrassing.



Of course when you fall, your limbs flail a little bit in their failed attempts to keep you steady. So this causes a scene that rushed Chicagoans are sure to notice even despite the blur of their own fast commute to reach lunch ASAP GET OUT OF MY WAY OR YOU'RE DEAD. Well, I fell failing near Jackson and State.

Two cute guys ahead of me I suppose noticed the flail (or possibly the pink boots) and turned to feign concern.
"OH! Are you alright?"
"Yeah, yeah."
One sympthasized, "That happens to me twice a year at least."

His average per year is surprisingly low, I'd say.
I'm due for at least another 5 falls.

:)

"There I strolled, lost in love, down the corridors, and through the stacks,
touching books, pulling volumes out, turning pages, thrusting volumes back,
drowning in all the good stuffs that are the essence of libraries."
                                                – Ray Bradbury, Zen in the Art of Writing


It's four in the morning and I'm doing that crazy writer thing. You know, drowning in words. This includes writing my own on the computer and with pen. I've found you get more writing down on the computer. However, writing with pen is much more intimate. Its like your brain is stroking your mind with ink. Or something. I'll get the metaphor more down pat later.

I really don't even think this blog will make sense to people who don't write.

However there is a deeper reasoning for writing about writing: and that is that NaNoWriMo is coming up. If you aren't familiar with NaNoWriMo, it stands for National November Writing Month. The goal is to push yourself to write a 175 page (50,000 word) novel in 30 days, starting Nov 1. and finishing Nov 30 at Midnight. The website explains that "its all about quantity, not quality" and that the "kamikazee approach. . . helps you write on the fly" but "make no mistake: You will be writing a lot of crap."

Anyways, there's a Chicago group, with Chicago writer meetups to encourage each other to literally write a LOT of CRAP.  

I'm considering trying this insane endeavor. I have a profile still from last year.



P.S. I missed my one year anniversary since my first LJ blog entry.
So, Happy One Year and Four Day Anniversary to MEEEEeee!!!

(thank you and good night)

Yah, that's right. A Sing-A-Long.
It's called Dr. Horrible's SIng-Along Blog in fact.
You MUST watch it. It's realllly funny.

>>>Watch the Amazingness now!<<<<


And who, you ask, is the creative genius behind this witty musical sci-fi episode?
That would be Joss Whedon.
Death upon those of you who are unaware that he is the creator of Buffy, Angel, Firefly, and a new show called Dollhouse (here's the trailer), starring Eliza Dushku (Buffy, Tru Calling, Bring it On). Joss also guest wrote two episodes of The Office. Here's a mini documentary about the vampire-themed episode.

So I was in the Dominick's checkout, paying cash for my vanilla coffee creamer.
I dug through my wallet for exact change. (Because I'm an old lady like that.)
After giving the cashier 3 dollars, 2 quarters, 1 nickel, and 3 pennies, I instantly regretted this action.
Not because I was spending money, but because I had given away precious quarters.
You know a person does coin operated laundry when they value quarters over dollars.
Psh. I'm so messed up.

It all started when I was grocery shopping with my mother. She instructed me to get some Gala apples (yummy) and I obliged, putting about 6 into the bag.
Seeing the amount of apples, she said "Oh put some back, those are expensive."
I responded, "That's because they're the shit."
Confused, she asked, "I thought those were your favorite?"

*awkward pause*
I thought, WOW. Perfect example of generational word meaning confusion.

The conversation proceeded as follows....
 "No, mom, 'The Shit' means something's really cool or good."

"No way, you're making that up. That's like saying that nasty dirty poop in the toilet is cool."

"I'm not kidding."

"I'm asking your brother. I think you're yanking my chain."

"Okay fine, ask him. He's going to say that it means it's cool."

(We pick my brother up from football practice, and my mom grills him.)

"Blake, what's the shit?"

"Huh wuh?"

"Mom! You said it wrong. Blake, what does it mean if I say something is The Shit."

*grunts* "It's cool."

My mom laughed and exclaimed "NO WAY! I can't believe that is a positive word."


The debate about this phrase continued later at dinner. I asked my Grandma the same question and she didn't know what The Shit meant. None of the adults did, in fact. But my Grandma, being hilarious and also a smart-ass, sent me this email a couple days ago:

DEAR GENNA, SINCE YOU TAUGHT ME THE NEW PHRASEOLOGY I AM SO THE SHIT!!! GRANDPA GOT A HAIRCUT AND ASKED ME WHAT I THOUGHT OF THE CUT. SO I TOLD HIM THAT HIS HAIRCUT WAS THE SHIT. HE REPLIED, WELL, KISS MY A..! TO WHICH I EXCLAIMED, WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSSED TO MEAN. HE SAID IT MEANS, THANK YOU. SO I JUST WANT TO SAY KISS MY A.. FOR HELPING ME BE THE SHIT AT MY AGE. I LOVE YOU GRANDAUGHTER SO MUCH. I WAS AFRAID TO ASK HOW TO SAY, YOUR WELCOME!!!!     
HUGS AND KISSES,
     YO  GRANDMAMA

Anyways. I never really realized that The Shit had made it into our everyday vernacular. Since it's on Urban Dictionary, it must be.

 

>>>>> Crystal Light Raspberry Ice <<<<<


When I was young, my Grandma used to serve me this beverage. It was her favorite and she was always well-stocked with the delicious Raspberry flavor. Excitement would always fill my face as I watched her make a batch of the juicy liquid. I would climb up into the high bar stool at the counter in the kitchen, and observe as she poured a tinfoil packet of powder into the glass pitcher and slowly add water, which would cause the liquid to magically change from clear to a bright BRIGHT red.

It was this color Red, of course, that created such a stir with my Mom, who demanded that I only drink the Red (and therefore Stain-Causing) Beverage at the counter, and no where else. My Grandma only rolled her eyes, she trusted that I could keep the drink in the glass, but followed my Mom's wishes.  I was allowed to sit at that counter for hours listening to my Grandma tell stories as I sipped, and never spilled, the magically delicious and dangerous Red Raspberry Drink.

But It was this color that I pondered on, how red was suddenly something to be wary of. Couldn't blue drinks cause just the same amount of damage if I were to somehow carelessly spill it?  Part of me always found it so alluring: was it the drink of the devil? Was I living in sin by gulping Crystal Light?

Or was this simply just one way that I was living on the edge, becoming a grown-up - literally being allowed to taste the forbidden?
Deep down, I loved that the drink was so dangerous, yet I was still allowed to touch it. It was one of those moments when you are a child and you feel a sort of smugness because in a small way, you've been granted a secret pass into the adult world.

One thing I know is that in sipping Raspberry flavored water, I felt exhilaration.
I held in my hands a thing of power, a thing of danger, but a thing of delicious beauty. ;)
I think everyone should be allowed a sip of this every once in a while.

Yeah, So Cassie and I made our first decorative apartment purchase.
This lovely tin sign is currently nestled on the wall above our stove.

Be excited.

Seriously, or Else.

"Young lady! Young lady!" A large black woman calls out to me at Taste of Chicago this evening. She is carrying a cup of beer in each hand, and looks at me from behind sunglasses. She stops directly in front of me, and I stop in the pathway as well. What could she need?

"Young Lady, I KNOW this is gon' sound CRazy, but can you PuHLease push my sunglasses up for me?" She says this desperately and with her hands clearly full.

I laugh loudly and unchecked, loving this small favor I can do for a stranger. I giggle a timid "Sure", before using a pointer finger to push her sunglasses back into their rightful position.

She loudly gives her thanks and explains, "Thank you! That was drivin' me crazy and I've got these in my hands...thank you thank you...." She continues to expel praises as we both continue in opposite directions on the pathway.


I felt for her. I seriously hate it when that happens.
Damn slide-y glasses.

Upon receiving a text message from my mother tonight which read,
 " Molly just bit me in the arm. She is evil." ....

I mentioned to my brother Max how much our cat reminds me of a snobby, gorgeous, school girl who treats people like crap.

----Therefore, the creation of this blog posting.-----

Yes, I am comparing my cat Molly to the fictional character in the movie Mean Girls- Regina George.
As you may well know, Regina George was labeled the "Queen Bee".
Molly and Regina both have a face that says: "I only LOOK sweet."

Anyways, I'll let you be the judge of their inner evil.......

 

(Topic Requested by Steve...you butthead)

Blogs have a Bad Rep. For the following reasons:
        1.They are often emo, whiny rants to the world
        2.They beg for attention

Now, I would like to think that I have evolved past that kind of a blog. (READ: I may have had that kind of blog before).
But It's not like that anymore. For the following reasons:
        1.My emo shit will remain in spiral journals only, thank ya very much
        2.I don’t care if you read this or not!


In short, blogs are usually “Emo Attention Whores”, but I’d like mine to be more “Enjoyable Reading Material”, or even “My Funny Thought of the Day”.

Yes, I currently have mono. 
However at this stage in the game (me v. mono) I don't feel the affects anymore. This is likely because I am awesome.

(Or because I slept for 2 weeks straight, but "I'm Awesome sounds better")

One can place a name on the actual affliction, can scream it triumphantly to you in the hospital room ("You've Got Mono!"), but can never truly be sure who exactly the source of the germ-er was. 

No one usually knows who you contract strep, colds, and the flu from either, but for some reason, mono holds more of a mysterious aura. 

Also, to make matters worse, it's called the "kissing disease", so much speculation has been done about my love life in lieu of this ailment's nickname.

Particularly funny speculation came from from grandmother, in the form of THIS email:

DEAR GENNA,
I HOPE YOU ARE BETTER. YOUR MOM SAID THAT YOU HAD MONO. NOW IN MY DAY THAT WAS CALLED THE KISSING DISEASE. SOOOOOOOO, MY QUESTION IS, DID YOU HAVE FUN GETTING IT??? DID YOU TELL YOUR MOM THAT YOU CONTRACTED IT FROM A TOILET SEAT????? DID YOU HAVE TO KISS A FROG AND PRAY LIKE HELL THAT HE WOULD LIKE, YOU KNOW, TURN INTO A HANDSOME PRINCE.!!!!! DID HE , IN FACT, TURN INTO A HANDSOME PRINCE AND HAVE MONO??? OR DID YOU JUST GET RUN DOWN, GET A FEVER AND CATCH STUPID MONO. IF THE LAST IS TRUE..........LIE LIKE A RUG. I LOVE YOU SWEETNESS AND ALWAYS WILL. YO GRANDMOMMY

(aside from the hilarity and altogether insanity that this email conveys, why did my 70 year old white grandmother write "Yo"?.....)

Anyways, Grandma, yes, it was a prince:

He feels awful about giving me mono, and thinks he may have gotten it from some algae.

But I am Not a Lesbian.


That is all.

It's a dorky guy in a Crush soda t-shirt dancing fairly simple moves to pop hits continuously for 6 minutes......

Okay, I will give the guy credit for taking the time to splice together six minutes of songs of the decades from Elvis to N'SYNC, and then learning the famous dance moves from each.....

But really, this is the most watched Youtube video?? REALLY?

Actually maybe the reason I have such a grudge against this video is because it's too much of a reflection of me. I don't like being reminded that I myself am also a nerdy pop-hits dancer.*sigh*

I don't know, I'll let you be the judge.....