I'm Getting Too Old For This Sh*t with Roger Murtaugh

So the weekend of debauchery went ahead much as planned, with a delightfully civilised meal with friends and colleagues on Saturday evening followed by karaoke until the early hours of Sunday morning. This, topped off with an epic game of laser tag (consisting mostly of us ganging up on prepubescents in order to claim the crown), and much fun was had all round.

Unfortunately, with the new term kicking off at school this morning, I awoke feeling far from fresh as a daisy. 

A three-day-in-the-making hangover was coupled with the aching joints that follow running around in the dark like a madman, pretending to be District Attorney Dredd (not long before the promotion), lead to a general realisation that I am indeed, getting too old for this shit.

As experienced by the cast of How I Met Your Mother, Murtaugh's law states that eventually we all reach a point in our lives when we simply cannot handle the frivolous activities we once enjoyed; whether they be busting some ass on the mean streets, or simply busting a move at 2am, eventually we all have to grow up, or at least deal with the consequences of desperately clinging on to our youths.

Of course, my clinging usually entails playing with Lego and watching copious amounts of Disney movies (my knowledge of which never fails to come in handy in my line if work - a brief verse of "Let it Go" always breaks a smile on even the most morose of children), but nonetheless, a good old fashioned outburst of stupidity, whether it be shooting the heck out of strangers, or a spontaneous slut-drop to Ke$ha, is sometimes very much in order.

I fear that in the coming future, my body's tolerance to my childish exploits will continue to lessen, but when all's said and done, it's a price I'm willing to pay for being awesome.

'Cause after all, you're never too old for anything.

Except possibly dungarees...

I Gotta Feelin' with Will I Am

Having done absolutely nothing for my birthday last year (we had not long moved down to Bournemouth, and as such were both penniless and rather lacking of a social circle), I decided that this year, in honour of my final twenty-something anniversary, celebrations were in order. Only one more year before the big three-oh, and therefore one last chance to keep a fleeting hold of my ever-disappearing childhood.

So, nursing a rotten hangover, brought on by Belgian drinking games and end of term partying, I have spent the morning fumigating the house and guinea pigs, readying for the arrival of friends from afar.

Stinking of bleach, I'm now sitting on the bus on my way to fill my tum with ramen before this evening's festivities begin.

So how to celebrate? Why with three of my favourite nostalgic exploits of course! Pizza, karaoke and laser quest!

Indeed, it's funny how, as a child, your birthday is all about the excitement of presents and being utterly spoiled for a day. As we get older, however, these things become rather trivial - in fact, save for a rather groovy Pokémon t-shirt, there's nothing I actually want present-wise (that's not to say I shan't be delightfully chuffed by whatever gifts do happen to come my way...) and am instead just looking forward to meeting up with friends I haven't seen in far too long and getting up to some ridiculous antics.

Over the next few days, expect battle reports of the great laser tag revolution, hideous caterwalling karaoke clips, and, most importanly, the continuation of my present state of hungoverness.

'Cause I've got a feelin' (wooohoooo!)

Exploding Snot with Mr. 5

Being ill is a pain in the backside. This is common knowledge; the headache, sore throat and general coughs and sneezes that we all have to go through a couple of times a year are just one of those perpetual annoyances that come with being human.

Unfortunately, when you're a teacher teaching an array of different nationalities from across the globe, each arriving in the country with a somewhat delicate immune system due to climate shock and countless hours spent in recycled airline air, you find yourself in a veritable Petri dish of coughs and colds pretty much throughout the year. 

Whilst teaching kindergarteners in Japanland, I quickly got used to the eternal nose picking and snot-flinging that comes, literally, hand-in-hand with teaching pre-schoolers, and learned that a man's best friend is a bottle of hand sanitiser kept at all times in his stylist yet affordable manbag.

When I began teaching adults, I truly believed that my part-time position as matron would make way for essay marking and tutorials.

Alas, it transpires that adults are even more sickness-ridden than their childhood counterparts, and no amount of barrocca and vitamin supliments can ward off the inevitable.

Of course, being a teacher, it's actually more hassle to take time off to recover than it is to organise and rely upon cover cover. Not to sound like a martyr, but we teachers, we've just got to push on through.

So do us a favour; if you're sick, stay at home! Think of your health, think of your classmates, and most importantly, think of your teacher!

'Cause as my mum always said "I'm far to busy and important to have time for the doctor."

Sorry for the Inconvenience with George Agdgdgwngo

I hate banks. To be quite honest, I'm tempted to embrace the ideologies of our fore-fathers and start burying my pitiful savings in burlap sacks in conveniently hidden places around my house and garden to be forgotten about until the future tenants luckily stumble upon them decades from now.

Of course, by that point, I will have died in abject poverty, and the noble pound sterling will have been replaced by that wonderful representative of utopia gone wrong, the Euro.

Banks seem to deride a masochistic amount of pleasure charging extortionate fees for the most trivial of mistakes, and yet realistically, all they do is profit from the profit of others.

This morning (a sleepy Sunday may I add), I was rudely awoken by "James" calling from the Halifax to inform me that I had exceeded my credit card spending limit, and that he was terribly sorry to inconvenience me, but I would be being charged twenty four pounds for the courtesy of his calling.

Now, normally this would have irked me somewhat, and I would have done the natural British thing and apologised profusely, dealing with the matter at the closest possible time. Unfortunately for "James", however, I had already dealt with the problem with another jolly representative from ten thousand miles away, and then again on Friday with yet another overly-chummy Halifax employee based somewhere in Mumbai.

Call me cynical, but surely all of these long distance calls, and indeed a calibre of workforce able to actually make a simple note stating that the balance would be settled via my next scheduled payment would negate the need for extortionate bank fees? One phone call from a centre just down the road, with a representative qualified enough to simply unclick the "keep calling this poor sap halfway across the world" box would save our dear British bank a heck of a lot of money.

Add to this the rage of being awoken from a peaceful slumber by inane mandatory security questions first thing on a Sunday morning, and quite frankly you should be sorry for the bloody inconvenience. And you should be grateful for my twenty years of custom thankyouverymuch "James". So you can stuff your fees up your jacksy, elswise I'll be spending this month's paycheck on burlap sacks and shovels.

Douchebags.

The End of an Era with The New Directions

A friend recently ridiculed me for being a rock singer with a not-so-secret passion for high school musical comedy drama Glee.

I responded accordingly, telling him "good day" before storming out of the room in a strop.

The fact is, Glee has been a bizarre comfort to me over the last six years; yes, I will freely admit that I am a fan of the music (a capella has always been one of my favourite musical genres), but more than that, its perpetual underdog tale has struck many a heart string throughout it's six season run.

At its best, Glee is emotionally charged and touching, at its worst, it's saccharine and inherently twee. Fortunately, for the most part (save for the inevitable season five slump - find me a long-running TV show from the last few decades that did not take a seasonal nose-dive somewhere along the way), the good has outweighed the bad, and it's one of the few shows that has not only kept me coming back week after week, but also managed to keep me emotionally invested for its entire run.

The main reason for this lies in its original premise; teacher searching for creative output re-starts school glee club and leads them, against expectations, to victory. It's simple, but in its execution, it works beautifully. Mr. Schuester's struggle to balance his rocky private life, wavering bank balance and passion for his students pretty much rings true to every beat of my own life.

Why do I love Glee so much? Because I am Will Schuester.

Whether it's trying to juggle home life with work life, work life with creativity, or, most importantly, education with inspiration, I have connected with Mr. Schue from day one, and although the stories of the students have been touching; Kurt's coming out to his father (a scene which will always have resonance due to my own family circumstance), Puck's realisation that he will never amount to anything more than a Lima Loser, and Coach Bieste finally coming to terms with who she really is; it has always been Will's journey (excuse the pun) that has kept me watching week in, week out.

As the curtain closed on Glee this week, I was safe in the knowledge that tears would be abundant. And I was right. But not for the same reasons as the tweenage audience. I found myself in the shoes of my hero; watching as the students I had grown to love finally found their places in the world, I felt a strange sense of relief and pride as the lessons Schue had taught finally paid off.

In my own reality, I find myself believing once again that perhaps some day, I too can have my dream job, inspiring students and at the same time managing to take care of my own life. Eventually, I too will find that perfect balance between education, inspiration and aspiration...

Don't stop believing...

Trapped in a World I Never Made with Howard the Duck

Howard the Duck has always been one of my favourite Marvel heroes. Despite his relative anonymity (save for the godawful George Lucas movie), I have, since the early days of my comic collecting career connected with the anthropomorphic waterfowl much moreso than his humanoid cohorts. Indeed, my copy of the Howard the Duck Holiday Special is one of the prize pieces in my collection. So much is my love for this oft-forgotten character that I actually emitted an ear-piercing squee at Seth Green's brief portrayal of his in Guardians of the Galaxy's post-credit teaser.

His sarcastic, cantankerous nature as he wanders lost in a world that neither he understands or will ever understand him has been a personal comfort in my so often confusing and meandering existence.

And so, this week, it was with great delight that I arrived at my local comic book shop to discover the first issue in his new on-going series awaiting me in my drawer. 

Still, after decades stuck on this earth, Howard is struggling to find his place; a plethora of useless knowledge and experience still leave him without any real direction in life. And yet, he picks himself up; the under-duck if you will, and determines to find his place.

So, after months away from the blogosphere, without writing, without drawing, and indeed without any real path ahead, I figured, if Howard can pick himself up again, then why the hell can't i?

So some resolutions;

Take Control

Drop the dead weight and start doing the more productive stuff in life; I've come to realise in the last few weeks exactly what's been getting me down, and now I'm working on the a aspects of my job and my home life that actually keep me motivated. Teaching students that actually want to learn rather than those simply looking to coast through life without really giving a damn.

Regain my creativity

I've been kidding myself over the last few months that I haven't had time to pursue my artistic outlets; the manga I've had in mind for the last year, the half-dozen unfinished songs, even the simplistic ritual of this blog have all gone unattended for far too long, and it's time to get my groove back.

Stop worrying about moolah

Not a day begins of late where I don't immediately check my bank account. Sure, I'm not swimming in a giant money bin, but I'm getting by, and perhaps it's time to let the savings grow naturally rather than keep being so negative about minimal interest.

All in all, I just need to start grabbing life by the cahones again. After all, if a duck from another dimension can do it, then why the heck can't I?

Waugh!!