A Giant Bath with Tony Montana

I've been rather offline of late; indeed the last few weeks I have found myself in something of a late-twenties crisis (possibly mid-life... At this point, who knows?). As the turning point of thirty looms ever-closer, I feel the need to sort my life out a'proper. 

If I had asked my teenage self where I thought I would be as I approach the end of my third decade on this earth, I would have, without doubt, seen myself in a comfortable job (with a pretty high level of employment security), owning a small but cosy house somewhere in the 'burbs, with a dog and a nice little run-around car. Once upon a generation, these things were not beyond the reach of a young professional.

Instead, however, I find myself in a job, which although I love dearly, offers as much security as a chocolate fireman in the ever-tempestuous market of the EFL industry. I am living at the bottom of my overdraft in a job which, if my P60 is anything to believe, offers a net salary somewhere below the national minimum wage, supplemented by all-weather busking and private lessons with all-too-often sporadic students.

As such, I have had my head down of late, battling against the rising tide of depression with a trident of determination set on sorting my ruddy life out once and for all.

The dreamer in me has finally summoned the courage to do what I have been promising myself for years, and has auditioned for both The Voice and The X-Factor in the unlikely and yet seemingly possible fast-pass to a smidgeon of success, and although I have no pretence of getting anywhere, I have already made it through a couple of rounds of the former, so perhaps I stand a half chance of at least a few wedding gigs out of it if I can get some TV exposure.

The realist, meanwhile, is fighting valiantly against the ever-baying wolves of bills at the door, and is beginning to wonder whether it's time to pack in this teaching malarkey. Sure, I love my students, but it's time now to look to the future, and perhaps a job in copywriting would be a little more financially viable. Sure, I wouldn't enjoy it quite as much, but at least perhaps I could take a bit of a breather once in a while when it comes to the battle between monthly bills and the decision to eat.

So apologies, dear reader, for a somewhat more bleak than usual post, but this is where I have been of late. With continued oomph, perhaps soon I'll get out of this slump, both financial and psychological, and get some more positive posts coming your way. 

The day I can afford a bath I can actually lay down in and take a load off; that'll be the day I can relax.

On the plus side, only eleven days 'till Jurassic World! Suppose it's not all doom and gloom!

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!)

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!!

Being a Grown Up with Peter Griffin

I talked in the past many times about how being a grown up is rubbish. Along with the stream of social expectations and responsibilities you have to adhere to on a day to day basis, you also have to deal with greying hair, having to watch your diet, and aches and pains in parts of your body that you never even knew existed.

The most annoying thing about being a responsible adult, however, is having to cope with the daft little nigglings that come with living in your own home. Sure, having your own place brings freedom and a sense of finally taking a step towards getting somewhere in life, but it also leaves you having to deal with all those daft little tasks that you never realised needed doing...

The Plumbing

Nothing is more terrifying than the first time your boiler goes on the blink. The instruction manual (if anywhere to be found) is inevitably in some techno-babble completely nonsensical to anyone who hasn't studied particle physics. Thereafter, you finally garner some essence of understanding why your mum was always so stressed out whenever you needed to call in the boiler man. And let's face it, he's never going to have "that part" that's broken. Four weeks later, you're still using an electric heater and wondering why you didn't just find somewhere with a coal fire. At least then you wouldn't have to make tea and small talk with some hairy workman every other day for a fortnight.

Bills and Accounts

Not so much the having to pay. If you didn't realise you'd be spending the larger percentage of your paycheck on completely boring but annoyingly necessary things, then you were off to a bad start anyway. No, the infuriating part is setting the damn things up in the first place... Finding the best deal, waiting for your modem to show up, spending hours on the phone to customer services... It's all just an enormous headache.

Getting Locked Out

You've only got one key now. Or two if you live with someone else. But even if you do, you've got to wait for them to get home. Getting locked out when you don't have parents and siblings to let you in is just a gigantic pain in the bum.

Replacement Stuff

Bin bags. Light bulbs. Fuses. Batteries. Things that you don't think to get in your weekly shop that when they run out, you're stuffed. You never find yourself thinking "ooh, we really need some light bulbs" and then one goes and you're left sitting in the dark until Tesco's opens the next morning. And what the hell does a fuse do anyways??

Sorting out the Laundry

Doing the laundry I have no issues with. Indeed, my weekly trip to the laundrette is weirdly one of the highlights of my Saturday routine. The inanely dull part is the hour long folding, balling and ironing that follows. Maybe my brother has it right; piles of clothing dumped randomly on the floor would certainly save on matching up socks.

Of course there are some good things about bipeing a grown up... Stuffing your face on the sofa in front of a Family Guy marathon kind of makes the list. But honestly, isn't there enough to worry about in life without wondering how many bloody bin bags are left??

Friendship is Magic with Apple Jack

I've always believed that once you reach a certain age, your circle of friends elevate in importance to take on a much more familiar role. As we move away from home and begin to become the adults that will eventually replace our childish selves, we start to create close comradal units that in many ways replace the roles that had once been held by parents and t siblings.

The turning point for most is university, when you suddenly find yourself thrust into unfamiliar territory with unkown people, each of whom is in exactly the same boat. And so you latch on to the first few people that show a vague interest in your interests. You party with them, you study with them, and chances are by second year, you'll be sharing a house with them. If you're lucky, they won't turn out to be complete weirdos the moment you move in, and you'll spend the next few years happily cohabilitating with people who will eventually be stood next to you at graduation, hold positions of importance at your wedding, and probably stick around for decades to come.

As the fairytale that is university comes to an end, you'll find yourself moving away, possibly to a different end of the earth, and many of those who made up your cadre of everyday drinking buddies will become little more than a fond memory, mentioned at dinner parties. A select few, however, will remain a huge part of your life, and should be held on to; these are the people who would ride side by side into battle with you, and should be considered sacred.

As you move from town to town and job to job, you will soon accumulate a disjointed collection of confidants, many of whom may well disappear once you inevitably move on, but some, like a tattoo on your soul, will stay with you for life, no matter the distance, no matter the time.

This morning, due to the miracle of Skype, I was able to speak to two of my best friends in the world (literally). Both of them live over ten thousand miles away; one of them I have not spoken to since Christmas Day, and not seen since I left Japan a year and a half ago, and the other I have not seen since three years ago when he provided shelter after the Fukushima tragedy. But is it odd to talk after such periods of time? Of course not! You simply pick up from the last conversation and find yourself kicking yourself for not finding the time to speak more often!

My best friends from school (indeed I feel blessed that ten years on I am still very much in contact with friends I've known since before puberty) I see very rarely these days, but whenever we're in the same town, we make sure to meet up for a drink, and for a brief while we're teleported back to sixth form.

But that's the magic of friendship; friends not only provide you with an endless amount of support, they also remind you of the best times in your lives, the crazy stuff you did, and occasionally, just how good it feels to revel in your communal awesomeness.

So to my friends in Durham, in London, in Leeds, Stilton, the midlands and in Blackpool. To those in Cardiff, in Hamburg, in the Tokyo area and that town near Kobe that I can't recall. The the weird one in California and the even weirder one in Istanbul. To all of you, I extend my thanks and admiration. The journeys we've had and those to come. You're all freakin' awesome.

And friendship is ruddy magic!

The Bucket List Part One with Rachel Green

I've already ranted at some length about how life in your twenty-somethings is nothing like TV would have us believe, but one of the scariest parts of living in the later years of twentydom is the knowledge that the dreaded beast that is your thirtieth birthday is creeping ever more quickly around the corner.

Along with the grey hairs and aches and pains in places that were formerly unknown to even exist, the daunting prospect of turning the big three-oh announces that we can no longer kid ourselves that we are not adults, and that we really should be concerning ourselves with grown-up things like mortgages and life insurance (two things I am dreading having to sort out at some point soon).

So, like many of my comrades in the war against youth, I have decided to begin the compilation of my first Bucket List; thirty things to do before I'm thirty. A last ditch attempt to prove that I can deal with being a grown up, and to do a few of those crazy things that I wish I had conquered many years ago. So here's part one; the first ten tasks I shall be challenging myself to accomplish over the course of the next twenty months.

1. Learn Spanish

Learning a new language always crops up somewhere on people's lists, but since I already speak enough foreign languages to impress at parties, I figured learning one that I could actually use to travel to some of the places I'd genuinely like to visit might actually be a bonus. I want to go to Peru some day before I croak, and Mexico has always been on my to see list, so why not try and conquer South American Spanish? I'm already speaking it at a Dora level, so time to take it further.

2. Feed a Manatee

Manatees are my favourite animal. Always have been. I remember Chris Packham telling me when I was about seven that they would have disappeared from the face of the earth by the time I was thirty, so I should probably get over to the Everglades at some point and give one a lettuce. 

3. Publish a Book or Record an Album

I've written books, and I've recorded some very rough copies of musical albums. Some day, I'd like to see one for sale somewhere. Preferably not in a bargain bin. Any success to come from either venture would be an added bonus.

4. Quit Smoking

I've tried on many occasions, and even succeeded for a full six months at one point. Eventually I'd like to kick this self-destructive habit altogether. Don't start kids; it's really not worth it.

5. Read the Quran

Along with all ex other major religious texts. The key to understanding any culture is to understand the religion upon which it is based. As a teacher of English to international students, I'm determined to broaden my knowledge of their beliefs, and as such their views on the world.

6. Pay Off All My Debts

An utterly mundane addition to the list, but at some point in my life, I'd like to see my bank account truly in the black. It's not likely to happen anytime soon, but to actually have some real savings at some point in the next two years would be phenomenal.

7. Stay a Night In a Haunted House

Or one of those über scary hospitals from the movies... I love horror films, and a good ghost movie always gives me the willies. I'd love to challenge myself to spend a night in one of those typically creepy locations and not burst into tears at some point.

8. Cycle Somewhere

I don't know where yet, but my perpetual laziness coupled with my fear of bicycles makes this one a real toughy for me. I know I'd be truly proud of myself if I could accomplish some relatively large distance powered by my own steam.

9. Watch Every Film in the IMDB Top 100

As much of a film buff as I am, I am ashamed to admit that having just double checked the list, I have only seen 46 of the top 100 films of all time. And some of the films are missed are downright embarrassing. I've never seen Shawshank, there I said it.

10. Visit New Orleans

I love jazz, I love Cajun food, I love the voodoo mythology, and if I could travel back to any time period, it'd be 1940s N'awlins. Unfortunately, time travel isn't possible (can of worms on that one), so I'd happily settle for a trip to the modern day city during Mardi Gras. Just so long as there's gumbo all round.

Stay tuned for the next ten coming soon, along with another of our favourite TV twenty-somethings...

Condominium Life with Joey Tribbiani

I always envied the cast of Friends. For a group of twenty-somethings that rarely seem to go to work (yes we all know they all have jobs that suit their characters and whatnot), they lead a pretty cushty life. Lovely downtown apartment, partying hard at weekends, going to trendy coffee shops, and generally doing what TV has always told us we should be doing in our mid-twenties; enjoying life to the max.

Unfortunately, TV, as much as I love you, this evening I'm calling your bluff. You sir, are a downright liar.

The years of being a twenty-something a far from perk-filled (central or otherwise). Throughout the previous decade, we were told that if we worked hard at school, we'd go to a good university. If we worked hard there we would automatically find ourselves in a good job and living the life of the Gellars and the Bings in no time.

The reality is, however, that unless you have been born into a thriving family business, or you know a guy that knows a guy, no amount of striving will get you anywhere in this post-credit crunch world. I myself have a double bachelors degree, a masters, a teaching certificate and enough brownie points on my CV to open a bakery, not to mention fifteen years in private education with all the top grades to prove it, and yet I still find myself losing sleep as to how I'm going to be able to pay next week's rent.

Don't get me wrong, I don't kid myself that my experiences have any worth nowadays; indeed in the post-Blair regime, a degree is worth about the same as a roll of Andrex (and probably cheaper too judging by my shopping bills!), but I have single-handedly fought my way into a decent teaching post, and on paper the pay isn't all that bad.

And yet here I am on a Saturday night, just back from the laundrette, sitting in a "condominium" flat that would still have looked dated in the nineteen seventies, the floral carpet and brown bathroom suite quite honestly an affront to four out of five senses. My "treat" for this week, save for an after work pint with my colleagues (during which an old man decided to inform me that I looked like a child molester... Great ego boost for a teacher, I can tell you!) has been an M&S spinach and ricotta cannelloni. And a reduced to clear one at that. Paid for with gift vouchers.

I don't begrudge my life at all; I've always said as long as you're happy in what you're doing the rest will follow thereafter. But a few extra pennies here and there might be nice... The ability to order out pizza, to go for lunch with a friend without wondering whether I'll still have enough change for the washing machine... Perhaps one day I might even get a lazy boy. Or a play station, 'cause I hear play station is whack...