Snap...

So, there I was feeling all accomplished because I'd kept myself animated through a thesis writing break by knocking off a blog post.

Then I notice Michelle has sent me this glorious video. And I realize that writing a blog post really isn't as cool as being able to snap the Mario theme.

I'll satisfy myself with being able to burp an eighth of the alphabet though. And being able to touch my nose with my tongue.

Maybe.

Needle drop, noodle drip

In my fourth year of my undergrad (can you believe that was THREE YEARS AGO? I... can, actually. Huh.), there was a period when I was really into the 1951 Gene Kelly musical, An American in Paris. I guess it stands to reason that I'm thinking about this now, considering I'm in the thick of working on my final(!!) thesis chapter (yes, apparently I'm taking a break from writing by... writing. H'okay, Kevin), and keep referring to Scott Bukatman, who famously aligned the exceptional, performative combat choreography of the superhero with dance numbers in the movie musical. Now I'm thinking about how much I'd love to see a superhero movie musical. Heh. Heh heh. Heh.

Anyway - An American in Paris. Good movie. A bit more indulgent than some of its contemporaries, but it had some genuinely beautiful and charming bits that resonate with me to this day. One of these is a line that I remember out of context, and think about from time to time: "I'm old enough to know what to do with my young feelings." Now, if memory serves, this line was said while scrutinizing a couple of attractive young women, so it takes a bit of a creepy turn. Sigh. Nonetheless, the wordplay stuck with me. And this is what was running through my head as I sat here, munching on Mr. Noodles (not dry anymore! I've been converted! Surely this is a sign of growing up...?) and carrots while nursing my third cup of coffee of the night, at 2:30 in the morning: "Am I too old to still be doing this?"

Ahh, yes: the mid-all-nighter existential crisis. I know it well.

"But seriously, Hatch -  focus. This kind of behaviour wouldn't be unbecoming of someone in their early 20s, or working on an eight-pager for a throwaway undergrad class. But here you are, 25 years old, and finishing your last thesis chapter the night before it's due, and you STILL haven't learned! This could have been a glorious opportunity to get your work done early - to chip away at it over several days, or weeks even(!), and be able to enjoy a good night's sleep before submitting it. Instead, here you are, same atrocious work habits as usual, and oddly blasé about it. Shouldn't you feel at least a bit ashamed of yourself?"

The part of my brain that likes to respond to all aggressive queries with Eminem lyrics responded, "Yeah, I probably got a couple of screws up in my head loose, but no worse than what's going on in your parents' bedrooms."

The rest of my brain giggled momentarily at that sick burn, then returned to its usual programming. And that's when the An American in Paris line floating through the dredges of my sleep-deprived brain. And I reflected. And then responded in kind.

"You know, brain - you're not wrong. Realistically, I know that this sleep-deprivation, though I may be getting awfully skilled at functioning amidst it, is pretty bad for me. As are Mr. Noodles, for that matter. And you're entirely right: one of my foremost New Years Resolutions this year was to finally teach myself to stick to a sensible work schedule when it came to thesis writing. Womp womp.

But you know what, brain? I'm going to go out on a limb and say that I feel old enough to know what to do with my young feelings - or, in this case, tendencies. Yeah, this isn't a super desirable situation. And I know I'd normally try to rationalize it away by pointing out how busy a week it's been - I had my 25th birthday party and am moving in two days, after all. But I won't. I know that I could have been working on the actual writing of this ages ago, and that I spent most of my work hours dicking around on point form notes, which, granted, are actually pretty helpful. But here I am - working away, and actually kind of enjoying it. And this is probably the second or third last time I can even foreseeably do this on thesis work before I finally defend this sucker. So, instead of lamenting my inability to move on past outdated work habits, why not just enjoy them while they're still around, and I'm still able to sustain them, even if just a bit?"

Brain is impressed. Brain is satisfied. Brain nods approvingly, and backs away. Mike drop.

So that was cool.  

Anyway, I will momentarily be putting this cursory late-night wisdom to practice. But, before I depart, I even managed to stumble across a lil' fact type dealio today amidst my writing, reading, and procrastipacking. I squeezed in a long overdue skype session with my friend Kate, and with it came this piece of previously unknown knowledge:

#59: Catnip is a plant. You can grow it in pots. In your house.

So there you have it. I must admit, I had never devoted too much thought to the ontological nature of catnip prior to our skype conversation, but I did assume it was some sort of dog food-esq mismash of various unsavoury crushed animal bits and chemicals, so this was news to me.

And that's all, folks! Back to writing about supervillains, violence, the military, and Iron Man! And - you guessed it - taking the chance to remind myself that I actually love what I'm writing about when it gets down to it. And that's pretty rare and special, and worth appreciating. So off I go!

Jarvis - drop my needle. 

Well, it's my birthday too. Yeah.

So. 

Yes. Hi. Remember me? 

I'm going to assume that, yes, you do, or you wouldn't be here in the first place. Unless you're one of those folk who meets people through their blogs. In which case... greetings. Earthling.

(Oh shut it - I'm trying to get back into the swing of things. It's been a long, long time, in case you hadn't noticed. You can oblige me a dad joke or two. Hopefully, because I'm bound to have a second one.)

At any rate, this bit of Jumanji-era glory is appropriate, not only because of my dearth of blog posts (so sue me. I did some stuff... I taught a class and wrote two thirds of a thesis, acted in one play, and directed another. About squids), but, as the particularly astute readers will know, because I am writing this on my 25th birthday. Yup. I just reached a quarter of a century (phrasing it that way always reminds me of the How To Succeed in Business Without Really Trying song). And I suppose that's pretty noteworthy. 

For a while, I struggled with the idea of being 25 - mostly due to "oh gawwwwddd, what have I accomplished in all this time?!" moanings, which usually progress into my vindictive mental soundtrack, courtesy of Forgetting Sarah Marshall (and Kristy by proxy - that'll teach you to introduce me to things). But lately I've been pretty zen about solidifying my status as a 25-year old. I've been referring to myself as such for weeks to try to help wear it in, and I daresay it fits rather more comfortably now. Occasionally I still get pangs of "Eep, what are you doing with your life?" but for the most party I'm feeling pretty solid about where my life is right now. I'm on the cusp of finishing my Masters Thesis, I'm in the thick of job applications, and I'm moving in with someone rather special to me. I'm not sure if it quite matches up to where childhood Kevin imagined he'd be at 25 (especially since that version involved being an astonishingly successful Hollywood actor/director/writer/producer married to Emma Watson), but I like to think that he could still spare me a high five at least. 

So, taking example from my dear friend Sym, I thought I'd shake things up a bit for this 'welcome back/you're old, you slob' post. Instead of structuring these ramblings around a fact, I've challenged myself to document '25 significant (sort of) things'. Initially I was going to have a list of "25 important life lessons I've learned in my 25 years of life, but I could only think of about four, and it was embarrassing. Instead, I've structured them into five convenient, pocket-sized "Top Five" lists, High Fidelity style. Enjoy! 

Top five places I'd like to go:

1. Bali

2. Galápagos Islands 

3. Scotland (well, I'd be revisiting this one, but I'd really like to spend a longer chunk of time there - perhaps a bunch longer)

4. Hawaii

5. San Diego Comic Con

Top five favourite animals:

1. Manta ray

2. DOG

3. Rhino 

4. Chameleon

5. Humpback Whale (not so fun fact: you can see how the shittiness involving this pipeline controversy has ramifications for their survival here)

Top five cartoon ducks:

1. Darkwing Duck

2. Deadeye Duck 

3. Daffy Duck

4. The Mighty Ducks

5. Donald Duck

Bonus: Howard the Duck

And now, for your viewing pleasure, a quack-tacular photo gallery!

Ahem.

Top five fears I'm glad I got over:

1. That if I didn't see anyone in my friend group for over a week they'd all hate and exclude me when I came back (I'm particularly this one died out a while ago, or coming to Vancouver would have been particularly agonizing)

2. Butterflies

3. Slugs and snails

4. That if I got drunk I'd just be a belligerent mess who just tried to horn on everyone and pick fights all the time (this, thankfully, could hardly be further from the truth) 

5. Claustrophobia in crowds (it's not really gone, but it has died down substantially in the past year or so, which I'm very thankful for)

Top five things I'm looking forward to doing at age 25 (Kristy's suggestion - she's better at this sort of thing than I am):

1. Moving in with Kristy (perhaps a bit of a "duh" entry, but it's significant enough that I don't think it's a cheap inclusion at all)

2. Defending my thesis and graduating my Masters (ditto. I'm at the point where I'm actually really enjoying my writing now, which can only mean it's about to end)

3. Going paintballing. Yes finally. Shut up Becky...

4. Doing a century club. Maybe on a beach with MIKE AND GRANT once they VISIT VANCOUVER in August (I'm a little bit excited - can you tell?)

5. Occasionally feeling, and even acting, my age, and being titillated by the prospect. Maybe I'll throw an adult-style dinner party! Perhaps even buy a couple of button-up shirts not just for fancy occasions! Maybe even go to bed at a reasonable time!

...whoa, okay. Let's not get too ambitious here. 

But that's not all! I even have a fact, courtesy of my fabulous, Cephalopodian friend Michelle! Check it out!

#58: 'Hysteria' in women, in the days of yore, was believed to have been caused by a floating uterus. 

That's right! In the astoundingly patriarchal days of humours and leech blood-letting, the concept of feminine hysteria was so linked because of the overwhelming feeling of floating many patients would describe. As such, it was believed that getting knocked up was a good medicinal(!) solution, because those helpfully heavy ol' sperm would help weigh down that troublesomely suffragettin' uterus(!!). If you ever wanted a prime example of ideology at its finest... 

So there you have it! I'm old, I like to ramble, occasionally pictures of cartoon ducks crop up in my writing, and... uh... welcome back, I suppose! I'll see you in another four months!*

(*Hopefully not that long a gap this time, but I promise nothing.) 

And now, in conclusion, here's a picture of Jeff Goldblum with a monkey. Don't say I never did nothin' for ya.