Gina's RantSpot

Here's a venomous rant . . . One of my pet peeves is when people talk a lot and have NO IDEA of what they're talking about. I met a guy last night who said he was in the entertainment industry after I gave my usual musician's kid spiel (I have a high alcohol tolerance and when someone asks me about it I jokingly tell them that, because I'm the child of musician, I have a genetic predisposition to being a seasoned partier. I'm a professional.).

Anyhoo, I typically don't pay attention to people who say they're in the "entertainment industry," specifically the "music industry," unless I 've seen evidence because it's usually an erroneous claim. (Just like I hate telling people that I'm a writer because then I get everyone wanting to send me their poetry, but I digress.) Some of these people think that the entertainment industry is a "cool" industry, which it is, but I can't figure out what a lot of these folks actually do. Most of them don't play an instrument, can't read music, haven't gone to school for it, and have no real experience. They can't work a board, and don't really know what it means to be a producer. It's like they wake up one day and decide to be Puffy or Russell Simmons because they've seen the houses and diamonds on MTV Cribs, and they don't realize how much work was done to gain that status and notoriety. Granted, I'm sensitive about this topic because I grew up in it, and I know how hard it is, so it boils my blood when someone with limited experience and even less knowledge has diarhhea of the mouth about their pseudo-profession without anything to back it up. (Whoo! That was a rant, wasn't it?)

He decided to keep pushing it and ask me questions about BMI (which he referred to as EMI before I corrected him). Then he wanted me to put him in contact with someone at BMI (once he figured out the correct name of the organization), because he had some "things he wants to do," and he feels that if he goes through normal channels, someone at BMI will conspire to steal his magnaminous idea. I assured him that this probably wouldn't happen.

Then he asked about my father and said that perhaps my dad would like to do some projects with him to further his notoriety. I told him that I didn't think that would be a really good idea. Then he says, with a tone that I didn't appreciate "Well, what else is he doing right now? I mean is he really doing anything that would take him further?"

I was proud of myself, because I showed tremendous restraint. To give the brief version, I asked him if he'd ever heard of Chess Records. He said that he hadn't, and I asked how he could consider himself a person in the music business if he didn't know the history -- at LEAST the history in his very own hometown. Then I suggested that he do his research before he starts flapping his gums in the future.

And then, of course, he accused me of taking his comment personally, which is the only defense of the defenseless. Without saying this directly, I told him that I actually took his stupidity personally. Fortunately his friends were leaving and he had to go. Fortunately for him.

Went to a party at Japonais last night, where I met another writer -- a local Chicago columnist -- who wasn't extremely nice -- not at all. This is what I don't get . . . if you're not "playing well with others," why go out? All you do is force yourself to be in social situations and not be able to live up to the social obligation of at least being cordial. If I'm not in "nice mode" I remain on the couch with my boyfriend (TiVo) until I work it out. Unless this person is naturally a bitch, in which case, never mind.

STILL can't find that journal. Hmmm . . .

My chiropractor (Dr. Cutie Pie) gave me the good news that I only have to go once a week now . . . as opposed to the original three times a week that I had to go a month ago. yay!

Here's something I've noticed: Is anyone else in their thirties and have started to notice a lot of couples breaking up? SO many couples I know are splitting, and these are couples that I thought would actually make it, and served as role models to those of us who have been single for a while and observed the ebbs, flows, and crashing tidal waves of relationships around us. I'm fond of saying that all of the starter marriages are dissolving, creating a new pool of single people with more emotional and physical baggage. It should be an interesting next couple of years.

So, the other day, I came home and pulled into my garage.  There was a good song on the radio, so I left the car running after closing the garage door, just so that I could sing along for another minute or so.  When I finally turned the car off and got out, I realized what asphyxiation must feel like.  I had almost fumed myself to death. Obviously I didn't -- otherwise this blog would be an interesting paranormal experience -- but I can understand how it happens.

Then I started wondering about the other people who might have done this by accident.  Are they not suicidal, and just music-loving morons like myself?

And then I think of the possibilities if something serious would have happened.  If I'd passed out in there, it would have been days until I was found.  Or if I did manage to accidentally kill myself, that would have been horrible because my house was in complete disarray and I can just hear my mother saying "I told Gina to always wash her dishes immediately," or "Didn't I tell her to make her bed FIRST thing in the morning?  I swear, she acts like she was raised by wolves."   Leave it to my mother to haunt me posthumously!

The next thought was of my journal, and how I would hate it if anyone should read it.  I'm one of those people who writes in my journal when I have extreme emotions, so someone really would get the wrong idea if they were to read it for answers about the goings on of my life.  So, that started me looking for my current journal, and I discovered that I can't find it.  I have no idea where the hell it is.  It's not next to my bed, or even haphazardly slid under the bed.  I've been a little panicky trying to find it.  I'm sure that I misplaced it because nobody's been in that area besides me lately (a testament to how exciting my life is!  :-)  )  I'm still on a hunt!

 

The highlight of my day -- a new Godson was born!  Andrew McCuen Wheeler, born to Lauren and David Wheeler made his debut at 1:00 am.  He's an 8 pounder, and 20 inches long!  (This was for the benefit of those who might know her, and for mine, because I'm very happy.)  Don't worry . . . I'll be posting pictures!  :-)

So, it ended up being sort of a Gina-weekend.  I migrated to various areas of the city.  It's funny how the people are so different from neighborhood to neighborhood. 

I wanted to take a walk and be in the midst of people on Saturday, so I went to the Taste of Lincoln Avenue in Lincoln Park -- where there was less food than one would expect for a "Taste" event.  I was one of about 7 black people in a sea of DePaul students, people who  wished they were still DePaul students, "trixies in training," Iowa (or Michigan) transplants, and people really excited about beer and consuming as much as possible before sundown (at which time they will consume more, go home, pass out, and spend the next day talking about how much they consumed and hearing, from their equally hungover friends, about the things they did the day before but forgot about).  The highlight of that experience was walking toward a hip-hop beat that was coming from the mainstage, and realizing that the performer was a white guy with several gold chains and blond hoochie-esque backup dancers doing their rendition of "Baby Got Back."  The crowd was really into it, and I couldn't help but feel like I was in a bad episode of The Twilight Zone. 

I was hungry, so I left the Taste and went to Wicker Park, where there was a party going on in an alley off of Milwaukee Avenue.  A lot of my friends were there, and it was the antithesis of Lincoln Park with much diversity.  Even though there was a guy spray-painting a mural on the wall near the party and I was convinced that I was going to pass out from fume inhalation at some point.  Didn't happen, obviously.

The next day, Sunday, I roamed my old neighborhood -- the Gold Coast -- for a few hours and eventually trekked to the home of good friends for dinner in Orland Park, and got a taste of quiet suburban life, which seems nice if you're married and settled down.  I'm too urban, single and cagey for a subdivision, but their home is beautiful and the food was grrrrrreat.  And, they have a 10-month old puppy that I couldn't stop playing with the entire time.

[Speaking of animals, it seems that my cat is in stages of renal failure, which makes me very unhappy.  She's going to have to eat special food, which should stabilize her condition, but, as I was reading on a veterinary website, I guess I have to realize that what she has is terminal, as much as I'm trying to be in denial about it.]