Brilliant or Bonkers: "Muscle Music" Edition

We had a few weeks of really nice weather here in London. We had a bit of (dare I say it) summer (not enough, of course) and I promptly fell off the face of the world for a bit. First there was an unexpected trip home, then the Olympics, a new writing project and now its nearly September . . . I have no idea where the time has gone. It's completely bonkers.  But, as it's nearly autumn, and I always think of autumn as a good time for getting things back on track, I'm back to blogging. Sorry about that.

So, here we go. Another brilliant or bonkers . . .

I seriously can't tell how I feel about this ad. The technology behind it is fantastic allowing the viewer to make 'muscle music' is inspired  . . . the hot guy is definitely a plus, but the screaming 'muscle' over and over again? Um . . . yeah, not so much. What's your verdict: Brilliant or  Bonkers?




Old Spice Muscle Music from Terry Crews on Vimeo.

Addicted to Revenge

It's been such a washout of a summer here in London. In any given day it can rain, sleet, hail and then the sun will make a valiant effort and attempt to shine. But mostly, the weather has erred on the side of miserable.

That's probably why I've been finding myself escaping to the Hamptons this summer. Yes, I'm originally from Long Island (not that area of Long Island!), so in a way it's like coming home for the summer. The sunshine, the endless beautiful beaches, the beautiful people, the scheming the plotting the desperate need for REVENGE!

This is such guilty pleasure TV, but honestly I'm addicted. I can't wait to see what will happen next as Emily Throne takes on Queen Victoria in a battle royale for revenge and control of the Hamptons. It's brilliant to see a heroine like Emily who essentially is doing some pretty unlikable things in her quest to get retribution against the people who wronged her father. There are moments where you realize that you are rooting for the utter downfall of characters and then wonder does Emily's punishment fit their crimes? Only time, and the plot of this series will tell . . .

Panda Awareness Week (London Style)

There are so many reasons why London is an amazing city. I could list them for days. The upcoming Olympics, the fantastic culture, museums, restaurants and world heritage sites. I could go on and on . .  . but I won't.

Instead, here's London celebrating World Panda Week in style yesterday at Trafalgar Square! Why  yes, those108 Panda's are performing Tai Chi.  Enjoy!

Fourth of July on Mars . . .

Since I moved to the UK there are only two US holidays that I really struggle with, the first is the Fourth of July and the second is Thanksgiving. I struggle because they are so uniquely American, so integral to what makes Americans, well...American, that you can't find anything similar to them in the UK. Despite what Americans, think they are not global holidays. My first Thanksgiving in the UK was horrible.  I spent the day putting on a very brave face. I was a week into my first job in a foreign country and I didn't want to seem like a whiny kid. When I got home, my English husband of just over a month had prepared a feast of wine, chicken and chips and cake. I had asked him not to make/buy anything American because it just wouldn't be the same. I burst into tears. This wasn't Thanksgiving. It wasn't even close. I called home and spoke to my family, kept my voice light and thought, I can do this, I can do this.

But I really couldn't. It wasn't 'til about two years later that I understood why I couldn't.

Being in a foreign country (for the long haul, for life) on the same day as an important holiday back in the homeland is like celebrating the Fourth of July on Mars. It's just another day. It has no meaning. The idea that something fundamentally important to your life is just another day is beyond depressing. It's also beyond comprehension. Because that day, that day that you spent the first 20 odd years of your life marking as vital, as special, is now just another day. The loss of that specialness, that uniqueness, broke my heart. You can say all you want that you'll keep the holiday in your own way (more on that later), but you don't. You allow yourself to be changed. You give away this piece of yourself to fit into this new world that you live in. Giving up that part of yourself, the part that expects fireworks, family, BBQs and the beach, is filled with a sense of loss.

The people I've met in the UK are really lovely, and do listen to me natter on and on about brilliant Fourth of July memories, or why it's important (which is really above and beyond, considering it's our Independence Day from their country), but it's not the same.

This year will be my 6th Fourth of July in the UK. I have to work. Usually I take the day off. So does my husband. We get up early and go out somewhere. Anywhere. If the weather is nice we go to the beach. If it's dreadful (which seems to be the theme this summer) we'll go to a movie or museum. We mark the day by being together. Our first few years I used to tell my husband that the Fourth of July was a "presents holiday." He didn't believe me, but I think he went along with it because of how glum I tend to get. I told him that if he didn't give me a present every Fourth of July I had the right, as an American, to declare Independence. So now I always get a little present every Fourth of July. Is it the same as seeing my family? Is it the same as the fireworks? Is it the same as having the day off and chilling at a BBQ or by the beach? No.

Part of moving to a new country means you have to take on new holidays--some are fantastic (I am the world's biggest supporter of Boxing Day--getting the day after Christmas off--jackpot!), others will be as incomprehensible to you as the Fourth of July is to them (Guy Fawkes Day). In the process of taking on new holidays you have to find a way to assimilate the days that matter to you into this new country, this Martian landscape which at times feels so familiar and yet is so different. It's about the things you do to make new traditions that matter. You can't force a holiday or feeling on another country. But you can make something new. Something that becomes special.


So, this year I'll get my 'don't declare independence day' present, and on Thanksgiving we'll have chicken and chips, because that's our tradition. It will never be the same as when I lived in the US. It can't be.

I'm alright with that. It's new. And while new is strange and scary, sometimes it's wonderful too.

Happy Fourth of July!

An Open Letter to Katniss Everdeen

Remember how I promised to finally do a Hunger Games post this month? Well, I have. This is my Open Letter to Katniss Everdeen after reading the entire series. {{Warning this post contains spoilers}}


Dear Ms Everdeen,

Actually, we’ve been through a lot together, three books, is it ok if I call you Katniss? Too bad I just did. I’m writing to you because I think we need to have a chat. You are fictional, so I know you won’t respond, but after reading your adventures I wanted to say a few things. First, as a hero, you really let me down. You had your moments where I thought, wow, baring your ridiculous name, you are incredible. You face insurmountable odds and triumph. You bring down a government with a single act of defiance. When I was a kid, I would have wanted to be you. When I have kids, I’ll want them to read your story. You are an inspiration. 

 And then there was Mockingjay. I always struggled with you as a character. You were just this side of likeable and then you crossed the line. You went to Crazytown, took up residence in a small condo on the River of Despair (the South Shore, just north of Utter Failure Town) and decided to become one with a drain pipe. It was terrible. I attach a file copy of my map of Crazytown*. This was recently commissioned by some good friends of mine because in life you never know how often you will need to take out your trusty map of Crazytown and let people know where they have gone when they leave the grid.

 After railing against your mom for curling up in bed and neglecting you and your sister after the tragic death of your father, you essentially did the same thing. Only you curled up around a drain pipe. I have to say, with your fame (or infamy) I should have thought you could have found a better place to have a breakdown? However, I understand, you had been through a lot, there was that whole PTSD thing. Not the mention the fact that between the Capitol and District Thirteen everyone was looking for ways to use and exploit you. That does bring about a certain level of depression, granted. But what happened to your ‘leave no man behind’. What happened to protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves? What happened to Peeta? For that, Ms Everdeen, as a hero, you failed me.

 Second, as a reader, I failed you. I expected you to be more than you are. You are a girl. A wounded, damaged, broken girl who was asked to take on something far too big for her. Something that you admitted many times you weren’t good at—let’s be honest Peeta was the brains, he was the man of words and you were the girl of action. You saved his life time and again in the arena and he saved yours on the stage. Together, you were a fantastic couple. Alone, you are both just a bit broken and sad. As a reader, I wanted you to be fantastic always. I wanted you to be a hero all the time. I didn’t want you to be a person, people are boring they have real problems. Heroes have adventures. People are complicated, they breakdown, they fall apart, many times they need someone to kick their arse out of bed (or out from the cupboard with the drainpipe) and into action. Heroes just do the right thing because they have no other choice. I wanted you to always do the right thing. I wanted more. For that, I’m sorry.

 Because of Mockingjay I got to see you as a person. In the end it made the experience both frustrating and richer. I still wanted you to bitch-slap Gale after what went down with Prim. Honestly, that boy had it coming. But you didn’t. You lost yourself for a long time. I didn’t even get to see the process of you coming back to who you were, that was all rushed through in a sloppy epilogue. For that, I’m sorry. You had a rich adventure, both inside and outside of the arena. A story that I loved so much I’ve taken the time to write you this letter. I’m sorry I let you down as a reader.

 Yours,
Genn xoxo

 PS- How are the kids that you said you never wanted to have, but then did because Peeta talked you round (see, I told you man of words!) and Peeta?


*Map of Crazytown below for reference.

Where I've Been . . .

I spent much of the month of June out of the office (and country). I was back in my homeland (USA) for both work and visiting my family. Don't worry, they'll be more posts and photos (or maybe you should worry? Not sure yet, posts aren't written yet!).

But, as I get my feet back under me and slip back into my daily grind here is something that made me beyond happy. I'm sure I'm not the first person to post this (probably more like super late to the party) but if you've missed it here is the fantastic Maroon 5 Game of Thrones Parody. I'm a self confessed Game of Thrones addict. I love books. I read the first three back to back last summer. Then I took a break. About a year long break. I think my husband might have politely asked me to put the books down for a bit when I was beginning to develop unhealthy obsessions with fictional characters. Anyway, I still have books four and five to read, probably this year. In the meantime, if like me, you've just watched the end of Season Two and are feeling a bit Game of Thrones deprived than this is the perfect antidote. Be warned that the video contains spoilers so watch it at your own risk if you haven't seen Season Two yet! Enjoy!

A blip on the road trip of your life

This weekend I met up with a good friend of mine who I hadn't seen in years for far too much wine at outdoor pub on sunny Saturday afternoon on the South Bank. We met for the first time years ago when be both worked for a non-profit book publisher in New York City. It was one of those first jobs that you have fresh out of college. A job that seemed so important, so big and so pointless. A job that even though you were technically proficient, even great at your job, somehow took something out of you. Wore you down.

Essentially sucked your soul out through your eyeballs.

It got me to thinking about all the things I wish I could go back and tell my 20 something self. There's a lot of them. Bear with me . . .

A note to my 20 something self . . . 

These will be hard years. It's not about growing up or dealing with the real world that will make these years hard, its how woefully unprepared you will be. Even given your childhood, your four years of college, you will still be a 20 something child for the first half of this decade. You will still want to please everyone. You can't. You won't. Give that up now.

Everyone will give you great advice. Most of it will even be sound. You won't listen to a word of it. It's ok, that's how it should be. There comes a point in time where you have to just learn. Live. Words. Advice. Hindsight. It will all come later. Now is the time to be fearless. Enjoy.

You will lose people who you didn't know you could live without. And yet, you'll live.

You'll learn how to do a million things that will seem impossible. At the time they will seem probable. The only real option. It's not until later, when you think back to your tiny apartment and the ramen noodles you ate three times a week that you'll wonder how did I live like that? Could I do it again?

Yes. The answer is always yes. You wouldn't want to though.

You'll make decisions now that will matter. Decisions that in a decade you'll wonder about. Decisions that felt throwaway at the time and then changed the course of your life. Don't over think things. Sometimes the only way to move forward is through. Move forward.

It will get harder and harder to make new friends. It will become harder to 'be yourself' an essential part of this 'real world business' is turning yourself into the professional you, the girl who wears dress shirts and pencil skirts and leaving the girl in paint splattered jeans and a hipster tees to the weekends. You'll wonder where you went. Why you can't make friends the way you used to.

You can't because you are only you some of the time. The best version of you. The weekend version of you. The rest of the time you are guarded. You are trying so hard to always look the part you are playing. It's not until much later that you'll let things slip, let people in, and realise that the you who you are on the weekends is always there, she just doesn't let her hipster/freak/geek/nerd flag fly enough.

You miss you. You miss the way you used to laugh. The inside jokes you had with close friends. You miss laughing about nothing. You miss laughing about an awful day. You miss the way you could laugh until you cried and then move on.

You'll be bonded to the salad day friends you make now. You'll remember tea and sympathy, the chronic time wasting emails about your career options when you give up your office job and become an Upper West Side nanny. You'll remember the heat of NYC, the post work walks around the Central Park Reservoir, riding on the swings at 8pm and wondering why it is no one goes on the swings anymore.

What age did it stop being cool to ride the swings? You want to go back to that version of yourself and smack her across the face. You want to tell her: THIS. NEVER. STOPS. BEING. COOL.

You'll remember Summer Fridays, margaritas in the afternoon in Harlem. Wandering down the streets singing the lyrics to 'On the Radio' at the top of your lungs with your best friend. People will think you're high. You're not. For the first time since elementary school it will be because you are happy in a way only an eight-year-old is. Every word has meaning. Every lyric feels right. So sing. It won't stop the world. You'll miss it years later when for some reason you can't understand you'll have lost your voice. Sing loudly. Who cares who's looking?

You'll remember these days years later. That cheap pair of pink ballet flats you wore all summer, until they were warped from the heat and falling apart. Until one day, in the middle of a massive NYC thunderstorm your right shoe falls off your foot in the cross walk. You'll chase after it, hop walking for the duration of the intersection, praying no one sees you, that a cab doesn't run you over, and slip the shoe back onto your foot. You'll remember that girl, the way she furtively dashed onto the sidewalk a smile on her lips. She got away with nothing, but she believed she did.

You will always think too much. You'll always be older than your years. It's a part of your upbringing, accept it and move on.


You will live in a tiny apartment in Queens with total strangers you found on Craigslist. They will be normal people. Not crazy. You got lucky.

Your room will be the smallest. In the summer your room is airless. So you will buy an air conditioner. Your hand-me-down TV has one volume-- too quiet. You can't watch TV and run the air conditioner at the same time so you alternate. You'll watch TV until the commercial break and then blast the AC. Your room will never cool down. The TV will never be loud enough. You'll read instead. Stacks of novels that you never would have read in your teens. Fantasy, YA, romance novels. Books you once deemed unworthy will consume your time.

You'll want to write. You'll feel its important, but you have no words. Everything feels too big. Too overwhelming. Words will come. Later. Don't stress.

You'll think about these days as the days when your skyline was dominated by the Empire State Building. How everyday when you leave your apartment and look right, there is the entire city spread out across the river, and the Empire State Building is all you can see. How each day you pass the Empire State Building, it's literally across the street from your job. You can't escape it. The colours on top of the building define your seasons. One building becomes integral to your experience.

Remember this because one day you'll leave your first apartment for the last time. You'll turn right, you'll wink to the Empire State Building. You'll be humming 'On the Radio' as you pull away from the city you love in the world's tiniest UHaul ready for another adventure. The first of many. This was just a blip on the road trip of your life.

Be brave and sing loudly.


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