Happy words, healing dogs, and all things Swedish (yes, including pantsless Stellan Skarsgard)

On Sunday, at our MMRP rehearsal, a particularly cool thing happened. 

We had a guest presentation by Caroline, the creator and head of Vancouver's "Beauty Night" program for impoverished and abused women. This woman and her organization are hella cool, and extremely worth your support, and her presentation involved breaking into pairs, and doing a mock makeup tutorial in a non-triggering fashion. For someone who isn't even able to do his own stage makeup to date after doing theatre for almost ten years(!!), this was kind of cool. Yes I will attempt to learn to do my own stage makeup this year. Yes I said that last year too. I digress.

That wasn't the cool thing, though. The cool thing was the warmup exercise we did to get comfortable as a group. This involved taping a piece of paper to our backs, then walking around the room as a group and, whenever we made eye contact with someone, (anonymously) writing down a compliment about them on their sheet of paper. The idea is that the person is left with a piece of paper extolling a ton of positive and affirming things about them. For me, it has absolutely worked, and my sheet of paper not only made my day, but has been consulted many times since, as my body and self-esteem became a bit ravaged and frayed over the next couple of days as I finished my Zizek essay, failed miserably at reading and comprehending Jean-Luc Nancy, and generally tried not to let the upcoming weight of Cinephile and my end of term work flatten me. If you ever get any such chance to get delightfully overloaded with compliments from near-strangers and keep it for posterity, for the love of God, do it.

(I enjoy the cameo of my plastic Nightcrawler suspended from my windowsill in this picture. No, that wasn't staged. My room is just more awesome than yours)

And now, for your reading pleasure, and my... err... lived pleasure, here is my transcribed list of compliments from a room full of people who I barely know - my co-stars of MMRP and The Vagina Monologues!

-gentle voice
-awesome shirt
-thoughtful :)
-great eyes
-amazing friend (I'm guessing this was one of the few I did know... unless someone just really wants to be my friend and hasn't spoken up yet. In which case: what's keeping them? I like friends!)
-very nice smile
-great actor
-strong voice; great actor
-great, positive energy
-awesome smile
-really nice
-so handsome and positive <3
-gorgeous
-so positive!
-love your smile and eyes!!
-nice hair (as my hair was particularly long and disheveled this day, Kristy was a fan of this one: "I'm not alone!!")
-nice eyes :)
-sweet guy, wants the best for everyone (this one really took me by surprise in a good way)
-awesome spirit, so smart
-great smile
-good energy
-superhero star (hello thesis my old friiiiieeeeend - also pretty fantastic)
-human (this one was underlined for emphasis - glad we cleared that up. I guess I'll stop referring to myself as a frog now)
-great energy
-very considerate
-powerful (Well, y'know, with great power comes superhero stardom)
-Great energy, bouncy and confident (I enjoyed "bouncy"- some of these suggest people actually getting past the more generic - yet still very much appreciated - adjectives and suggesting a sliver of actually knowing me a bit)
-smiley and calm :) (it is particularly nice to see that so many people see me as calming, even if they clearly don't know me as well as the above individual)
-total coolness
-sharing, caring, sweet and lovely
-amazing eyes
-amazing personality and smile
-Classy pirate (I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that was my friend Jonathan - still awesome, though)
-the kind of laugh that infects everyone else (I loved this)

I'm feeling better now just having transcribed all of these. Never underestimate the power of a page full of compliments in healing and picking you up.

Speaking of healing, howzabout a pertinent and equally 'good-happy-fluffy-feeling-yield-y' fact?

#57: Dogs licking you actually helps wounds heal.

As this, the certifiably most awesome study in the history of science, suggests:

"A dog kissing you obviously feels wonderful, but it might actually have physical benefits too. Studies have shown that saliva, both the human and doggie variety, can help stimulate nerves and muscles, and get oxygen moving again, which is the secret ingredient in helping wounds to heal. In short, “licking your wounds” is not just a cliche after all."

And if that doesn't make your heart grow three sizes, Grinch-style, I don't know what would.

And now, having successfully inundated myself with a case of the warm fuzzies, and, having just watched the Swedish version of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo for class, I'm off to... watch the American version of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. For class. Yay for getting to watch two MORE graphic rapes for the second day in a row. Said no on ever.

(On the plus side, that film always gets this rather excellent Led Zeppelin cover stuck in my head. Now I'm stuck ruminating on the vaguely offensive and comical nature of using the "Immigrant Song" that contains the lyrics "We come from the land of the ice and snow" for a Swedish film being reappropriated by Americans, and an opening title sequence that not only nods to Daniel "Least. Swedish. Person. Ever." Craig's 007 casting, but... something about oil. And sperm-like computer cables. Yeah, I dunno. If Bond and oil is what you want, you'd really be better off watching The World is Not Enough instead. And yes - that is another one of my favourite tunes, uncoincidentally)

At least this one has Stellan Skarsgard (yes, the non-Swedish version cast Stellen Skarsgaard - it seems his new nationality is "Hollywood" now). Which means that all the while he's doing horrible things, I'll just be picturing him running around Stonehenge naked in Thor: The Dark World. And that makes everything better.

In conclusion, my new favourite film catchphrase:

"Better get my pants."

Collect yo-self before you recollect yo-self

*SPOILERS FOR THOR: THE DARK WORLD, INCLUDING ITS CREDITS CODA, HEREIN!*




It's late. I'm tired. I've been copy-editing for more hours than I'd care to admit, to generate less work than I'd care to terms with. I should be calling it a night.

But instead, the ol' brain is ticking away.

My existence at this moment is a funny one, as all of my rungs of work and fun are blending and overlapping. That's what you get for studying and writing about superhero films when you love... superhero films. On any given day, idle browsing on my facebook news feed will lead to me discovering Screen Rant articles that I will both be reading out of personal interest and stashing away in one of my ever-growing word docs of pertinent reading material for the brewing thesis. So, tonight, I take a break from copy-editing articles about superhero movies for Cinephile by... reading and thinking about superhero movies. Sigh.

Here's what has been occupying my thoughts for these past few minutes, and where the Thor: The Dark World (and otherwise) spoilers really kick into gear.

So. As I said, yesterday I saw Thor The Second. And I was thoroughly amused. The film basically affirmed everything from my thesis by blending levity and wit amidst the titular darkness with welcome, breezy ease, all working toward the project of masking the morality behind some pretty astonishing, neck-breaking (it seems the most 'Divine' superheroes are all about neck-breaking these days) spectacle-violence. Also, let's talk about 'Odin's-Asgard-as-American-wish-fulfillment-global-police-turned-fascist-creepiness' subtext here. Later, perhaps. I am sleepy. The thought is there.

And yes, Loki does not disappoint. Character twists and welcome nastiness persist amidst enough charm to get every Hiddlestonian across the world panting our their lustful "Ehehehe"s.

Also, never did I think a naked Stellan Skaarsgard would be my favourite part of a movie, but he may have taken the cake here. Also, comedy-relief Natalie Portman worked surprisingly well in my books. Screw all the 'Thor and Jane have no chemistry' haters - I'm totally sold on the two of them and their strangely quirky mythic romance.

I also won't discuss "that cameo" for fear of ruining it even for those of you hell-bent on spoilers, but, suffice to say, I HOWLED with laughter.

But, as is now Marvel custom, half the fun lay in the mid-credits tease, which, in the midst of a delightfully jarring tonal shift, boasted the grand reveal of THIS GUY!

In the words of Kevin, and perhaps four other nerds in the theatre: "Squeeeeeee! Best twist reveal since Thanos!"

["who's Thanos again?" ask 90% of my readers. Fret not, non-Marvelites! He's this guy! Remember - from halfway through the credits of The Avengers, when you were all annoyed at having to struggle with the possible significance of this unknown purple dude, delaying your chance to dash out and go empty your bladder?]

In the words of a trace amount of film buffs in the theatre: "Is that... Benicio Del Toro...? What's up with his hair?"

In the words of about 90% of the audience: "...huh?"

In the words of everyone in the audience: "MY BLADDER!!!"

Don't worry - this is why we're here.

The weird dude, of course, is Benicio Del Toro playing The Collector, one of the weirder recurring characters in Marvel's backhistory, and very indicative of Marvel setting their sights on going cosmic in future films. He will, of course, figure heavily in the upcoming Guardians of the Galaxy, though as a hero or villain (or somewhere in between) remains to be seen. In at least one interview, Del Toro has discussed something about shooting up a room full of people, though it's also unclear whether that was intended as a figure of speech or an actual anecdote from shooting.

What is clear is that his comments, regarding Infinity Stones, definitely tease the inclusion of the Infinity Gauntlet storyline in upcoming Marvel movies - likely Avengers 3 at this rate, if this whole superhero thang remains popular enough for it to get made (fingers crossed). There's a more thorough breakdown of the scene here, for those foolish enough to not indulge in Thor 2 but still curious.

At any rate, I, in my sleepy state, have been ruminating on The Collector, a character I never gave too much thought to in my younger days.

First off, he is anchored on a pretty cool conceit: the Collector is an immortal, who was once married to a fellow immortal, until she died, having simply lost the will to live in the face of the aimless monotony and purposelessness of infinity. The Collector, grieving, realizes he needs a hobby to sustain his existence, so he begins collecting essential artifacts from the universe, in the hopes that, if the universe should end, he can preserve its essence. Take that, Edward from Twilight, listening to all popular music in his century of sleepless nights! Marvel did it first, and better! As usual.

So, rather than having the train of thought stop with "Mmm. Cool. Sleep now yes", Kevin's brain keeps on going. It thinks about collecting. It thinks about how collecting is somewhat of a universal western obsession, and certainly one that helped Kevin himself thrive and get excited about things as a child. And it thinks about capitalism, and Adorno and Zizek, and how this whole narrative boils down into the manufactured desire to possess stuff to support societal infrastructure. By this point, Benicio Del Toro's Collector has, in Kevin's brain, become surrogate mascot for Marvel, speaking to the draw of their products in the first place. Now, Del Toro, rather than simply being a delight, has become the most gleefully flamboyant agent and allegory for fiendish capitalism to date.

Go home, Kevin's brain - you're drunk.

Still, I read a CinemaBlend article this week titled "Loki is the Only Good Villain in Marvel Movies - And That's a Big Problem", and it stuck with me something fierce. This is something I'd only fleetingly thought about, but the article really brought into context. It also really made me reevaluate my own role as a comics fan, and how effective banking on iconography from source material can be for an adaptation: other people may have thought Jeff Bridges as Iron Monger, Tim Roth as the Abomination, and Hugo Weaving as the Red Skull were drab and unconvincing (I won't fight anyone on the lameness of Mickey Rourke's criminally mishandled Whiplash or Guy Pearce's "Mandarin-ish"- at least Sam Rockwell and Ben Kingsley are both more fun than a sackful of caffeinated ferrets as contrast in both films respectively), but for me, this was easily overshadowed by my joy at seeing the comic antagonists embodied in live action. This really made me reflect on how effective textual fidelity can be in terms of selling and masking ideology - to the thesis cave!

And they're absolutely right - as cool as Thor: The Dark World is, it is severely lacking on the singular antagonist front - Christopher Eccleston's Malekith looks cool (although I dearly wish they hadn't digitally fucked with his voice - that trope became tired more than ten years ago), but is given nowhere near enough screen time for sufficient resonance, and is probably the most physically unconvincing villain to date - hell, he's bested in combat absurdly easily by everyone from Thor to Loki to Thor's mom Frigga. I couldn't help but think if Chris O'Dowd's comic relief cameo had taken a swing at Malekith he'd probably topple the head Dark Elf himself.

So the hope is there: with more intriguing, eccentric and weird antagonists upcoming in Guardians of the Galaxy - Del Toro and otherwise - and Avengers 2, with the reveal of psychotic robot Ultron (I. AM. EXCITED.), we might actually get some decent competition for Loki on the "who gives a shit" scale. Granted, they probably won't be real life Disney princes. But they might tip the balance somewhat from the populism of Marvel's hero-centric films to having villains who own their screentime slightly more.

And there we have it!

Oh, a fact?

You want a fact, you say?

Screw you!!!

Okay FINE! Sheesh.

#56: The 'skull-cap' hat is a derivative of 'liberty cap' hats given to freed slaves in Ancient Greece and Rome. They called it the "Phrygian cap" - check it out!

And now you know one more thing - two, probably, since I'm assuming few of you knew about the Collector. Twice the bang for no buck (there's a dirty joke in there...) - you're welcome!

And now, that fabled sleep thing. G'night, yo!

No coats and no Banthas make K+K Thor (geddit? GEDDIT?! Yup, thought of that one all m'self. Except I didn't, because I stole it from my friend Brad's brilliant facebook pun, but I digress...)

A story.

Today, Kristy and I joined her friend Alex and her boyfriend for a delightful brunch at what seems to be our favourite non-Kits haunt, The Wallflower, on Main Street. After our scrumptious vegan/gluten-free/everything-involving-meat-and-cheese (guess who got what...) meals, we lackadaisically perused some of the nearby shops on Main.

Next door to the Wallflower: a tiny but kickass comic shop that definitely warrants my more regular attention. And just what treasure do I stumble across there?

THIS. This obnoxiously adorable stuffed Bantha from Star Wars. 

This was me:

But, then my stupid superego kicks in. 

"Now Kevin," it croaked, "Do you REALLY need another stuffed animal? As in, another addition to your already vastly excessive army of stuffed animals? Aren't you trying to save money for more grown-up things, like your trip to France? Or your flight back to Ontario? Or... y'know... food and rent?" 

"Shut up superego! Didn't you hear me, circa Agnes from Despicable Me? I'm. Gonna. DIE! This is a matter of life and death!!" 

"Kevin. You're 24 years old. You should be devoting your money to more grown up things. Like saving for a hip replacement or something." 

"SHADDAP STUPID SUPEREGO YOU DON'T KNOW MEEEEEEEEE."

Needless to say, in a surprising plot twist, despite the bleating of my inner voice, and Kristy totally joining forces with it ("Kevin, are you really going to say goodbye to your friend? And leave him on that cold shelf all alone?"), my superego won out, and my Bantha friend was left on the shelf. Cold and alone. And we pressed on to the next shop, me brushing a single tear from my eye. So this is what growing up and resisting childish impulse buys felt like. I wish I could say I felt proud and responsible and shit. But really I just kept thinking of how much cozier I would be in the chilly Vancouver winter wind if I had a Bantha friend snuggled up with me under my coat.

So, we press on to the clothing store across the street. Kristy buys this shirt on a mega sale, which was a triumphant find. 

Now we both have matching Calvin and Hobbes referencing t-shirts, and can be obnoxiously couple-costume-y, and the like. Yes, all seemed to be well in the world. 

Except Bantha. 

So, just when we're about to leave, Kristy stumbles across a coat. And not just any coat. THE coat, according to her. A coat that looks stylish as all get-out on the outside, and feels like a sheep on the inside. Kristy quickly falls madly in love with this coat. All other coats are ruined for her. 

This soul mate of a coat, however, is not cheap. And Kristy promptly engages in the same ferocious battle with her superego. And, like me, her superego wins out, and she leaves, bidding a sad farewell to her coat friend. Both of us are feeling staunchly non-impulse-buy-y, and should be feeling rather proud, and money-savvy. But instead, we're both silently being sad, and feeling a distinct lack of fluffiness in our lives. 

So we take the bus home, and, despite our best efforts, both begin lamenting our lack of Banthas and dream coats. We both try to console each other - surely we can sleep on it, consider whether this is just a case of capitalism sinking its fiendish hooks into us, and whether we actually really want these consumer products, or are just ensnared in the luster of their immediacy. 

We get home. 

"Maybe we could take a quick trip back to Main St. tomorrow..." 

"Tomorrow? What about tonight...?" 

So, within a few hours, despite our best attempts to be restrained, responsible adults, we've quickly devolved into this: 

The point, I think, if I have any, is that it's important to pick your inner battles. Yes, it is important to not give in to every silly impulse buy, and to BE responsible, and money-conscious, and grown up, and whatnot. Stopping and deeply considering the validity of our desires was admirable. But it's also important sometimes to really keep in touch with that inner kid, who knows with every fiber of his or her being, that maybe this is a special thing, and worth indulging in, and 'treatin' yoself'. 

As Kristy said, "We don't need to eat for the rest of the week, right?" 

This story doesn't yet have a resolution, but I wouldn't be at all surprised if it ends with us back at Main St. tonight or tomorrow, eagerly awaiting reuniting with our fluffy friends. And if it does, at least at this rate we've established it will be a happy ending. 

So: you're probably yearning for a fact at this rate, aren't you? TOO BAD. PLEASE, NO GANG SIGNS.

Nah, throw it up. I'm kidding. 

This is a sad fact, unfortunately, so consider revisiting the exuberance of the beginning of this post afterwards to pep your spirits back up.

#55: The Western Black rhino is now extinct. 

Bit of a sober counterbalance to our absurdly first world problems here, n'est pas? The world can be a very sad place, and is now all the sadder through being more rhino-deprived. But still: all the more reason to take comfort in the (non-rhino-poaching-related) fluffiness we can get, is it not?

But, there is a happy ending, even here: guess what tonight is?  

That's right! It may not be Thursday, but it is THOR'S DAY! 

(Guffaw). 

And, as I've been fiendishly excited to see my favourite Marvel Norse God take on The Dark World for quite some time, AND as Kenneth Branagh's Thor might be a case study for one of my thesis chapters, this is kind of a big deal, both for fun and for work purposes. 

Kristy, of course, has been diligently preparing by watching all things Tom Hiddleston-related. Y'know - for science. This is my personal favourite out of all of them.  

And, just in case that hasn't warmed your heart enough, there's always Meet The Sloths, which Kristy just showed me. Yup, my heart just exploded. You guessed it: with fluffiness. 

Friend-Becky, why aren't you as cool as this Becky? And by that, I mean why don't you speak sloth. Jus' sayin'. 

Now I want to listen to System of a Down's "Prison Song"...

Bleh. Quick post today, as Sisyphean struggle with procrastination, schoolwork anxiety, marking and Cinephile badassery continues. Since submitting my thesis proposal earlier this week (I "celebrated" by posting this video to Facebook... this is my life these days) and my Inglourious Basterds essay today (it was nice to write on something other than superheroes but not Lacan/Zizek for a change), my mood has taken a drastic upturn, in spite of all the other work I have looming still. 

Oddly so, in fact, considering how lukewarm I feel about the quality of work I've submitted. Bit sad that completing things rather than completing things to more than a fragment of full satisfaction is all it takes to kick me into a better mood - but hell, I'll take it. The downside, of course, is that once I find that moment of calm happiness, I find that all of a sudden I've taken most of the afternoon off and am now (more) behind on work. And so it goes.

As a side note, considering how sleep-deprived I've been of late (Kelly pulled up the above gem, which beautifully sums it up), I thought it was worth giving a shout-out to how much better a mood I can find myself in when I'm bumbling along on 3 hours of sleep. My concentration, oddly enough, ratchets upwards, and I find myself pleasantly interested in just about everything I encounter - not to mention that just about everything becomes substantially funnier. Kristy equated it to being high, and -granted, speaking as a non-drug-partaker - I don't think she's particularly wrong. Regardless, it's a nice silver lining and momentary stress relief, and thus, it has my approval.

So, here is the fact that prompted me to cobble this little ditty together! Where did I get it from, you ask? Why, from the little sister of my best bud Becca, whose first year kinesiology essay I was editing as a "study break"this evening. Ready? Here goes!

#54: The cost of jailing an inmate in a New York City prison for one year exceeds the cost of four years of Harvard tuition.

Fo realsies? Fo realises. Check this out! Really makes you reconsider the structure of the current criminal justice system, especially considering what the article points out about most of the inmates being there for drug offenses...

Speaking of, if you were curious about the System of a Down song, here it is. Makes a pretty good companion piece to this info. Listen and imagine you're Kevin in grade 10-11, feeling like a total badass.

And now, for your Jon Stewart-style moment of zen (and because the bandwagon of mocking and lambasting has nowhere near run its course yet), I bring you "39 Breathtaking Photos of Rob Ford".

Here are my favourites. Good day to you.

I hope you like link-clicking...

I thought about prefacing my 'back to school' blog in September with "Dark times lie ahead, Harry". I decided not to. Not because framing my year with a Harry Potter reference was excessively nerdy (puh-leeze - have you read the rest of this shyte-show that is my blog?), but because I found it to be excessively foreboding in a way I wanted to avoid, and chock-full of expectations I wanted to rid myself of. I knew the term would be hard. I knew it would be busy as fuck. And I was ready for all that.

[and now my brain has playfully flitted off to think of awkward Voldemort moments. This is why I can't reference nice things]

It's been a more difficult term than anticipated though, and not just because of getting flattened by film theory, or being paralyzed by fear in regards to finalizing and submitting my thesis proposal (case in point: right this moment). It's been a strange term of learning to come to terms with anxiety that seems to flare up far more than I'm used to, and in weird contexts. A term full of being surrounded by strange tension and drama that I thought I'd closed the door on back in high school. A term of trying to learn to reclaim a voice in public contexts that somehow I seem to have (quite uncharacteristically, I might add) lost along the way, and learning to re-prioritize what I need and what is important to me.

And, of course, there were the big ol' exterior factors, like the slew of sexual assaults that have been happening at UBC campus. The hope is always that an event this scary will end up with everyone banding together, and surprising you with the multiplicity of positive reactions. And there have been kernels of hope, but more often than not, I've just been wryly remarking all the ways in which this event has been a rallying cry to draw out the worst in so many people and organizations. It's an interesting time to start taking part in A Memory, A Monologue, A Rant and a Prayer (henceforth referred to as MMRP), as the atmosphere is particularly charged not only with threat and awareness of sexual assault, but of people getting all kinds of things wrong about them, from initial coverage, by police and others, tumbling into victim blaming ("well, they shouldn't be walking alone at night anyway", or the equally delightful, "well, all the victims were drunk and wearing skirts. Jus' sayin'"), to lots of people piggybacking the issue into love/hate spats about contemporary feminism, "fuck the police" ranting, or general anti-man sentiments and suspicion fuming, barely under the surface. All of which, of course, is missing the point: that this is not a new thing, and that this narrative of trying to translate all fear of sexual assault into a single, creepy person (which, yes, should absolutely be taken seriously) ignores the fact that sexual assaults happen constantly, and often within families, relationships or friendships, where the assaulted party feels unsafe saying or doing anything about it. The assaults on campus are terrifying, yes, but it's not a case of "we catch this guy and 'it's over'", which a lot of people are unconsciously suggesting. This is why a lot of the proposed security plans of addressing the issue upset me - because they're all really short term, rather than using this as an occasion to start a paradigm shift in terms of addressing and confronting this problem henceforth. Specifics as to how to do this? Everyone is struggling on that part - yes, including me. Go figure.

 Last week, I witnessed a female friend of mine target and interrogate a man standing alone at night on campus, immediately suspecting him as a contender for the perpetrator of the sexual assaults, and interpreting his aversion to her being in his face and blaming him as clear guilt on his part. This nearly resulted in her following and reporting him as "suspicious", simply for standing alone, in a lit area, with a highly credible backstory. I was pretty rattled by this, and not in the same way she was. Look - just as it is (tragically) learned behaviour for women to learn to be cautious when walking alone at night from a young age, it's equally learned behaviour for any non-oblivious male that, walking alone at night, they could be interpreted as a threat, simply because of terrible statistics. This makes for a pretty weird and unsettling thought process (how best to be 'not creepy' just in the act of getting home from the bar at night? I myself utilize techniques as widespread as crossing the street when approaching women on the sidewalk from behind to not freak them out, coughing to alert them to my presence and not startle them, or even faking phone calls or singing aloud to music to better telegraph my presence), and for about ten years I've been trying to unlearn feeling guilty and intimidating by association. I'm now trying super hard to not let this incident set me back by validating my fear of constantly being seen as a threat when I'm just innocently walking by myself at night. I'm not sharing all this to try to tip the balance towards "Oh poor men - men have it so hard. Men are the ones truly suffering in the midst of these sexual assault threats". I'm just trying to reassert that it sucks for everyone. Period.

Anyway, the inevitable response to my above story is "Well, if it upset you so much, why didn't you say anything?" Good question. The answer isn't actually as simple as my aforementioned struggling with voicelessness. The answer is that said woman was really triggered. She was shaking and hugging herself and visibly trying to keep herself together. Just for having seen a man alone and wondered if maybe, just maybe, he might be "the assailant". And ultimately I just felt so sad. Sad that this had affected me, but moreso sad that it had affected her so sincerely and strongly. She clearly knew that this was likely ridiculous, and she could all too easily be written off as having a "hysterical female moment" (no one present insinuated that, but still). And feeling like your genuine terror is devalidated simply because of unlikely circumstances is pretty shit. So, in conclusion, it was not worth further triggering her and adding to her sense of shame and ludicrousness just to engage in a moral battle to make myself feel better. It just sucks. And makes me sad.

Then there was UBC's "Take Back the Night" rally on Wednesday, which I attended for a bit. The Ubyssey has published a shittacular response to it, which is a strong candidate for one of the worst pieces of journalism I've ever read. They are right in regards to one thing, though: the rally was absolutely problematic. Initially, I was happy just to be allowed to go, as I was still nursing hurt feelings from Laurier's "Take Back the Night" in 2009, which I really wanted to help out with, but wasn't allowed to partake in, as they wanted it to be a women-only walk (with male allies waiting by the side of the road in the cold cheering the women on - why even invite me and court the illusion that I can take part?). But when I got there, there were more problems than the rain - there was a ton of anger in the crowd (understandable), but which led into a pretty uncomfortable, rather than reclamatory, atmosphere. Then, of course, things dissolved into "fuck the police!" rantings, and a lot of murmurings in the crowd that "men shouldn't speak!" and "men shouldn't be here - this is a women's issue!", which led to my (male) friend leaving. He later posted on the facebook group for the event that he had been sexually assaulted as a child, and left because rather than supporting an extremely valid issue, he was instead made to feel like his own experience was devalidated and erased in what was supposed to be a safe space. He is my hero for speaking up in such an articulate and unaggressive way. Later on - I'd already left at this point - apparently there was a big commotion when a trans woman spoke about how she'd tried to take refuge with the organization when she was sexually assaulted, but was likewise turned away. When she tried to share this story, people started talking over her and urging her to leave, at which point she exclaimed "this is actually aggression at this rate" and left. Damn straight, and a damn shame to taint what should have been such a positive event with such petty and shitty ideology.

So, that's all been pretty bad. Then there was that whole deal with Russell Brand's sudden turn to political revolutionary and 'voice of the people' after his editorial/"manifesto" (seldom have I used quotes so scathingly - it doesn't help the fact that you can't help but mentally read it all in his intolerably screechy, grating voice) in The New Statesman. I was initially going to write a longer feature about how much Brand's hypocrisy, idea-free cry for revolution, and trying to re-code himself as 'the John Lennon for this generation', as well as a new poster boy for several generations to hide behind in their defense of not voting out of ignorance annoyed me, but school and more important things sapped my energy too much. So, instead, to quote one of my favourite Collegehumor Batman parodies, "I don't like it!"

Apparently Brand's recent tour is called "Messiah Complex". Fuck everything about this guy.

Anyway, it's been a funny time in the world. The day the stupendous trailer for Captain America: The Winter Soldier comes out, with its highly poster-quotable line "This isn't freedom - this is fear", I read an article about the NSA spying, and how the French government was indignant because "We knew they'd been spying, we just didn't know they'd been spying THAT much!" All I could do, experiencing both of those things in a row, was chuckle. Faintly.

Then, this past weekend, I found this , which also pissed me off. Again, feminism gets a poster-girl and reputation of being exploitative, rude, mean - having horrible grammar and being pretty racist here - and generally just not giving a shit. Yup, this is progressive, all right.

But, lest it seem too much like I'm becoming this:



 There are good things too! Yay, good things! [Kelly's rather resonant quote from last week was "I thought we could have some fun! Remember fun...?" - I do, Kelly! I do!]

One: right after the aforementioned crap, I came across this, which I thought was pretty cool. Lookee - an example of people doing things proactively, with a long-term scope in mind!

Two: I have a fact, courtesy of roomie extraordinaire, Mr. Ty! And it's a glorious change of pace from the rest of this dour diatribe.

#53: Flying squirrels have two penises.

Or at least two-pronged penises.

Yup. Apparently it's because female flying squirrels, in violent defense, will often rip off the penis of a male making unwanted advances at them.

And somehow this all comes full circle.

Oh right - did I mention that thesis proposal that's still due? Yeah, maybe I should go worry about that for a bit.

In conclusion, if all this sounding off has gotten you down a bit, console yourself with the knowledge that, if if nothing else, there's always the world beard championships.


You're welcome.

The Doctor is in

Yesterday I explained to Kristy the image that usually comes to my head when I think about being stressed: namely, this scene from Spider-Man 2, of all things (what - me, using a superhero movie scene to think about my life? Shock!). 

My brain, I suppose, is Dr. Octopus' fusion reactor here. And almost all the time, it's functioning pretty according to plan. Occasionally, there are little surges of stress, but there is usually an equivalent of Dr. Octopus' tentacles in my head (my superego, I suppose, if you want to get Freudian and jiggy wit' it) to calm and contain such surges. But then occasionally, when everything accumulates or something really sets me off, I have somewhat of a "containment breach", that is simply too large to be held back by mere tentacles, and then, for the next little bit, I have to mediate it accordingly, lest I, as Kristy aptly completed the metaphor, "become Dr. Octopus". 

That's a bit of a dark reading - and besides, I think I lack the qualifications to be a disgruntled, insane, homicidal nuclear physicist, let alone one with four artificially intelligent mechanical arms that I designed grafted to my back. At best, I'm qualified to write about such an individual, and what he means ideologically, or whatever. In reality, it's more likely I'll just briefly fixate on being worried about whatever set me off, maybe get some tightness in the chest, and I notice I always feel very deliberate about my breathing. If its really persistent, occasionally I find my stomach getting all knotted up, the chest pain will worsen, and I'll realize my whole body is tensing up to the point where my face and jaw hurt. I haven't had that extreme happen in a while (honestly, barely even the first rung of this has happened for a while), thankfully, though it was fairly common last fall. 

I write this not to be indulgent, for a change (don't think I can't see you rolling your eyes, hypothetical reader), but because I was in the midst of feeling pretty stressed when I started writing this, and wanted to see if documenting it - publicly for once; I've written in my journal about this relatively extensively - would help calm me down. In the summer, when it turned out I had been (I think...?) experiencing some psychosomatic anxiety responses, the best remedy was to very factually and deliberately repeat to myself "This is a psychosomatic anxiety response, nothing more", and just let things trickle away. The key was not trying to force it out ("I'm FINE"), but just acknowledging what was going on in my body, and allowing it to exist, "without judgement", as they very helpfully say in yoga. My Dad's buddhism-derived metaphor of letting feelings flow around and out of you like water has also proved a very helpful visualization to gravitate to. And, oddly enough, in my own experience anyway, there actually is some credence to that old maxim of "If you smile long enough, you'll trick yourself into feeling happy". This might not work for everyone or all the time, but it has worked for me from time to time, so it's worth a shot. And, if nothing else, my Mom taught me to drink a shit-ton of water, so your body can pee out the chemicals making you anxious, which will otherwise remain in your system for a while. Again - this can't hurt. Unless you drink too much water and get a stomachache, I suppose. Don't do that. 

Writing about things like this is a tricky prospect, though. There's always the fear that the act of putting these feelings into words might make them worse, through interrogating them in more depth. Then, it's natural to be resistant to retrospectively write about such feelings when you're not currently experiencing them, for fear of setting yourself off. I've felt both, and I realize writing things down isn't everyone's cup of tea. But it does work wonders for me. Granted, I am an extrovert, and it generally helps me to dump out the thoughts and feelings in my head, but there's something more privately healing and affirming about doing it through writing, rather than conversationally. It allows me more command over what's going on with me, rather than getting sidetracked in conversation, and I worry less about blathering on for too long and capsizing the conversation. 

 So, I suppose I started writing this more to help calm myself down (which it mostly has), but also on the off chance that anyone else might care for some stress solidarity on a gloomy Monday morning, or care to pilfer any of my means of addressing and rectifying surges of stress. Feel free, and, if anyone actually is reading this silly tome regularly, I encourage you to comment in regards to your own experience or means of keeping equilibrium if you feel comfortable doing so. 

Or, if you're just here to enhance yo brains, I even found a fact for you! Now wasn't that nice of me? 

#52: There are currently no Canadian women on any monetary bills. 

Obviously the Queen still adorns the $20 bill, but she, at this rate, is the only woman on our money period. There have been no Canadian women on any bank notes in Canada since 2011, where the first Canadian women depicted on money, The Famous 5 celebrating the Persons case and Thérèse Casgrain (on the reverse side of the $50 bill from William Lyon Mackenzie King), were replaced by an image of an icebreaker. Namely, the only representation of famous Canadian women on our money was replaced by an old old wooden ship. Ron Burgundy's words could not be more topical. 

There was a big deal when women WERE included on monetary bills in the U.K. recently, but even they did it in reaction to the fact that Canada ditched all of theirs. D'oh... 

Anyway, if you are similarly miffed by such things, there is a petition here to implement more Canadian women on our money, if you'd care to express your two cents to the government. If not, seeing as I'm feeling much calmer, I'm going to delve into my massive workload du jour. Sayonara! 

Hamletdoubladejokerfrancoflagtank, baby

"WHO'S THERE?!"

"Nay, answer me: stand and unfold yourself."

"Long live the king!"

"Hatch?!"

"He."

Yes, I am now going to start all my writing with Hamlet references from now on. This is an executive decision I've made as of... now.

Actually, I don't think I can commit to that. Hell, I can't even commit to writing a blog in the thralls of academic insanity. Maybe you've noticed. Or, more likely, you are in the vast multitude of people sharing my woes amidst what I've dubbed "The most ass-kicking-est of ass-kicking fall terms". Seriously. I've yet to find a single person who ISN'T looking forward to next term (if you are such a unicorn-like individual, identify yourself, and help share your bliss!).

At this point, you're probably expecting this post to turn into a big mopey "At this rate, I shall never be king"tirade.

(which is referencing not only The Lion King, but what else? Why, it's source material, Hamlet! INTERTEXTUALITY WIN! Ahhh, don't pretend you haven't missed my vivacious wit, Blogger)

BUT!

(God I miss Futurama. The only upside of last fall, which was largely miserable, was marathoning it.)

The cheerfulness train is still well on its way to proverbial Hogwarts! 

Or something. I blanked on a good train allusion. The point is: I'm still very content!

And I've had some damn good experiences along the way! Why, last weekend alone, I fulfilled two bucket list adventures: I dressed up as Nightcrawler, for Kelly's delightful "Come as your favourite superhero" birthday, and saw humpback whales with Kristy, including one that breached (of course, right after I put my camera away to save battery... cheeky bugger)! And, lest that be too little, the following day, Ty and I cooked a turkey for Thanksgiving (both of our first times doing so), and entertaining a dinner party of 10+. A mere matter of weeks before, along with a company of stalwart friends, I also completed a The World's End style pub crawl of all the pubs on Broadway street between MacDonald and Alma (eight total), with a pint at each. Not too shabby indeed.

...and, Pokémon X and Y were released. I had resolved not to succumb to its void until Christmas to make sure I didn't fail grad school, until Kristy also showed an interest in playing. Immediate purchase of 3DS and game. Goodbye any free time and productivity ever. Goodbye Master's degree. Oh well. At least my Doublade is pretty badass... 

Worth it? Probably. 

My perpetual quest for facts, however, has faltered somewhat, as my brain has been unnecessarily cluttered with poisonous gas clouds of self-doubt/impostor syndrome/despair/etc. or general mind-fuckiness due to the rhizomatic wonders of Gilles Deleuze - the man who once kept me up until 4:00am, too busy overthinking time and reality to sleep, yet too exhausted to do anything productive, which, for some reason, led me to the logical act standing in the dark in Kristy's room by her bed facing the door. My sleepy-Deleuze brain had determined, you see, that if she woke up and found me idly staring at the bed she would be terrified. Thus, I faced the door. See? It makes perfect sense. Sheesh. 

But! I did my best to record as many facts as I could in the meantime, even if I did so with shameful downcast eyes, knowing I probably wouldn't be publishing them anytime soon. I'd resolve to do better on a regular basis from this point on, but, let's face it: I probably won't. I'd intend to just post a fact every day without all of this banal preamble, but... well, see previous answer. So enjoy these for now, take what you can get, and stop demanding so much from me, you greedy bastards* **! 

*I mean loveable readers. 

**My word choice is actually a Freudian*** slip - I'm currently procrastinating working on my Inglourious Basterds presentation for my Hollywood violence class. Shut up, subconscious... 

***My use of the word "Freudian" is equally indicative, as I'm also procrastinating reading Zizek****, who discusses Lacan, who discusses Freud. FUCK SUBCONSCIOUS WHAT DID I JUST SAY. 

****I also make use of Zizek in my thesis proposal, which I also meant to finish this weekend. Fuuuuaaaaaaaaaggghhhhhhhh. 

And now you understand how I get to my 4am door-staring state. 

FACT DUMP!

#44: Heath Ledger was once offered the role of Batman. Given the fact that he effectively "changed things. Forever. There's no going back" by playing a different role in the franchise*****, which you just might remember, the fact that he wasn't so keen on embodying Mr. Wayne is probably a good thing. 

*****In Violence last week, we discussed superhero films, and watched The Dark Knight, which was fantastic except now I'm thinking about how I'm not doing my work for that class. Again. Fuck. 

Moving on.

#45: Just for a complete about-face: children need to be 12 years old to be legally tried for manslaughter in Canada. 

I'd give a more in-depth reaction to this, except I'm too stressed and weary. So, instead, I think I'll just move on, rather than give some kind of hilariously oversimplified commentary along the lines of, in the words of the wonderful Danny Wallace, "War is bad" (from the fantastic book Yes Man, which, on Kristy's urging, I'm currently reading. So far her book recommendations are 3/3, so if she ever recommends a book to you, I advise you to take her seriously). 

Also, I can't think of a witty picture to accompany this fact with, so I'm definitely moving on. 

 #46: Back to the funnies: James Franco sold an art installation called "Fresh Air" (which, I assure you, was very aptly named) for $10,000. 

Another Yes Man plug: Wallace is so cool that he has an entire party scene in his book designated to sharing facts. It's like he, psychically and preemptively, knew my blog would be flagging and in need of facts, so he gave me a treasure trove! So, feast 'yer eyes, as I'm just going to blatantly include all of them. William Burroughs, eat your heart out.   

#47: "The cry of the Howler Monkey can be heard at a distance of up to ten miles."

#48: "The national flag of Italy was designed by Napoleon Bonaparte." 

#49: "If a statue of a horse has its front legs in the air, the person died in battle. If the horse has one front leg in the air, the person died as a result of wounds received in battle. Finally, if the horse has all four legs on the ground, then the person on top of it died of natural causes." 

(I thought this one was really cool. Also, it had the added benefit of making me think of GoldenEye's tank chase through St. Petersberg)

#50: "The first ready-to-eat breakfast cereal was Shredded Wheat in 1893, beating Kellogg's Corn Flakes by a full five years." 

#51: "In Hartford, Connecticut, you can receive a five dollar fine if you transport a dead body using a taxi." 

(This one made me think of this, which is far more disturbing and far less awesome than Pierce Brosnan driving a tank. Also, when I was searching for key words for my title here, I realized this is the second post which involves children and death. Far less cool...) 

So there you go. Gorge yourself on my accumulated knowledge as penance for my extreme gap, and the likelihood of another before my next cameo appearance. So, lest Zizek and Lacan eat me in the next week, you stay classy, interwebz.       

'Feckless' optimism and car cameras

I love the smell of back to school in the morning. Smells like victory.

Actually, this morning I probably wasn't smelling very much, as I drearily stumbled around, bumping into things, trying to find coffee in the most unexpected places, like the oven, and generally thinking that if I willed it enough I could time-turner the shit out of my life, with the outcome being, rather than Hermione-style keener-ness and altruism, grabbing a few more hours of sleep.

[okay, that was hyperbole, as I'm sure you've deduced. I didn't actually look for coffee in the oven. Now, in the shower... that's a different story]

BUT. That said, going back to school felt entirely right. I know I will probably be eating my words in a few weeks time (not at all unlike Werner Herzog eating his shoe), but, today at least, I was sufficiently swept up by the intoxicating promise of a new term, actually having some work of substance to keep me busy and provide me with some sense of purpose, and the glories of expanding my mind with regular immersion in the delights of Deleuze, Lacan, and Zizek.

...yeah, I'm overindulging in optimism here. Between classes on theory and violence, Cinephile, teaching and life, this is probably actually going to be me:

I'm surprised it took me this long to bust out the best Cronenbergian gif ever.

But, Kelly and I did get to set up our office today, which was a pretty nifty feeling. Nifty enough, that when I got to Kristy's after school and made a crack about "Oh honey, I'm exhausted after a long day at the office", she pointed out that it was actually applicable. Snap! 

In conclusion, to continue my train of seemingly incurable optimism, I am back in Vancouver, feeling great about it, and, tuition frustrations aside, pretty pumped for school. 

[side note: I wanted to use the word "feckless" just there, but, upon dodecachecking the definition, decided it didn't quite allow for the emphasis I wanted. However, I found it to be cool enough that it was worth giving a shout out to anyway. My runner-up for blog structuring device, if not 'fact of the day' was 'word of the day', don'tcha know] 

ANWAY! Here's my back to business fact o' the day, courtesy of Jon Stewart, circa Kristy (as usual):

#43: It has become a trend in Russia to install outward-facing cameras in the front of cars.

Apparently, this is usually to try to debunk cases of fraud of people faking incurring injuries from being hit by cars (my immediate response: "Why have I never tried that?"), or to catch people destroying or vandalizing cars. But sometimes they also catch meteorites on film. And trucks full of cows toppling over. And horses on highways. And all sorts of amusing things, as The Daily Show's video details. 

So there you have it. Consequently, this factoid led to me watching a bunch of The Daily Show (which I should really watch... like... every day. Why don't I? Seriously) with Kristy, and learning a bunch more about the situation in Syria (which, again - why don't I know more about? Ahhhh, I digress). Nonetheless, an informative and largely enormously positive day. 

Apart from me throwing a minor tantrum when I ran into some difficulties trying to pay my tuition last minute. Kristy assures me it was more cute than annoying. I hope she's telling the truth. 

And, in conclusion, now I have class tomorrow that my outdated copy of the syllabus didn't inform me existed, so I must adjourn to bed. Best perk of still being effectively on Ontario time? Not staying up until friggin' 3am Vancouver time all the time anymore. Yeah, that's pretty rad. 

GOODNIGHT. 

In this post...

(couldn't resist) 

In this post, I reference every movie, book and comic known to humankind. Well, almost.

Finally, a blog post from Calgary! I know you've all been waiting on bated breath.

Anyone?

An obvious gif and everything? What's happening to you, Hatch? 

Shut it, perceived-voices-of-readers-in-my-own-head.

And now, to honour a pic Kristy pulled up, which instantly became one of my favourites, and all too illustrative of my own life:

Yeah. It's the best, all right.

[in my best Loki voice] Enough of this madness! I have a blog to write, you dull creatures, and I will not be bullied by... Well, okay. My references have officially collapsed upon themselves. Well done, sir. 

SO YEAH. I've been having a spectacularly swell visit here in Calgary, chock full of good chats with family members long cherished, and good bonding moments with those I've seldom gotten the chance to talk to. Overall, pretty damn nifty. Still feeling like I'm very much on a roll of late in terms of life and interpersonal interactions and positive personal growth 'n stuff of late, and enjoying every second of it. AND, today I even got to see Banff for the first time, which was pretty stellar. So there. 

Is it weird that every time I say the word "Banff" I want to pronounce it as "Bamf", which, to me, should make me think of "badass motherfucker" but ultimately makes me think of Nightcrawler? 

Okay. Reining myself in now. 

Heh. Heh. Reindeer. 

Apparently I should just rewatch The Avengers. Sheesh. As RDJ would respond: "Good move." 

OKAY, FACT TIME. Many facts, to be specific, since I stole three more from Bill Bryson's phenomenal The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid, and have one from actual life experience. Like whoa, man! 

Here we go. 

#39: In the 1950s, they seriously attempt to kickstart mail being delivered by rocket as an exciting new life venture. Needless to say, it didn't catch on.

#40: Likewise, people would flock to Las Vegas to witness atomic bomb tests - not even from much of a safe distance, as they would feel the rush of the blast, and joke about how radioactive they were - as a tourist attraction. 

#41: Macgregor clothes once designed a clothing line geared specifically for watching television. Suffice to say, it also did not catch on. 

So, yes, the 1950s was a silly, albeit fascinating, time. But here's one I witnessed myself. Are you ready? Here it comes! 

#42: Babies can have zits. 

How do I know this, you query (or, perhaps, if you have more experience with babies than me, you're chuckling at my naivete. Or lack of experience with babies. Whichever)? Why, from spending some time with my newborn cousin, who happens to have had an adorable little case of baby-breakout! Cool, no? 

Duuuuuuuuuuuuude, it's 4am (or 3am Vancouver time... or 6am Waterloo time. Friggin' time zone confusion). I should probably sleep. I have a wedding to crash - okay, fine, attend... I'm not actually as cool as Owen Wilson and Vince Vaughn - tomorrow. But, let it be known that one of the things I am most excited for, returning to Vancouver, is the chance to see The World's End again. Now that is a fucking phenomenal movie. See it, and conclude the glorious Cornetto trilogy in style. Seriously. 

Okay, I think I've safely referenced virtually every movie in existence by now. So now, I'ma make me an offer I can't refuse, get a bigger (metaphorical) boat, not talk about Fight Club, and instead take the red pill, and pop off to dreamland... where we won't need roads. 

And your response? 

Ahhhh, yes.