A Scene from Chapter 8 of Stroke of Genius!
(Archie and Elise are sent to Las Vegas to investigate the case of a young man who, seemingly, died while masturbating. Even checking into their hotel room proves to be quite the hassle. This scene takes place directly after learning their room has been double booked and they are forced to take a downgrade. Enjoy.)
Stupid Myra Hotel!
At first glance, the room appeared rather nice; two nice big bedrooms and a common room with a decent television, sofa, small kitchen table and kitchenette. The bathrooms were also impressive with a large tub, a steam shower, two sinks and a toilet featuring a warm seat and a bidet. It was almost tempting enough to make me try out a used toilet seat.
If the room had stayed that impressive I would have been happy and able to put our previous setbacks out of my mind. No luck though, of course. I opened my suitcase and removed my pre packed Rockstars. Then I took out my fresh can of Lysol to spray everything down. I was going to give the inside of the fridge a good once over so I could put the drinks in there when I discovered that it was not cold. Nope. Not cold at all. What it was, though, was fucking broken! I called the front desk. Apparently, someone would be up to fix it.
I wasn’t holding my breath.
Second, I plug my iPod into the dock near the TV. Does it work? Of course not. I called the front desk again. Someone would be up shortly. MmHmm.
I was getting aggravated and was mildly pleased to see Elise getting rather pissed off herself. She decided she would take a bath to try and calm down and relax a bit. I told her I would be sitting here in an anger filled stupor.
Less than two minutes later I hear a loud GOD DAMN IT echo through the bathroom and rattle my soul. I quickly shot up and headed into Elise’s bathroom. My first step onto the tile soaked my sock. The ground was covered in water. Apparently, Elise had the nerve to turn the jets on in the bathtub. Instead of shooting air and bubbles into the tub, this particular unit shot water out of the base and onto the floor. Elise was livid. So pissed, in fact, that she didn’t even mention me standing there while she was naked.
“Get dressed, Archie!” she barked at me. “You, my good man, are taking me out for dinner and drinks. Lots and lots of drinks.”
“You know she’s dead?” I ask.
“What?! What the hell are you talking about?!”
“Mayra… Urkel’s girlfriend from Family Matters. She died a long time ago from cancer while the show-“
Yikes! I stepped back a few feet and told her I would go get ready. She got out and started getting dressed while I went back to my suitcase and unpacked my sheets. I stripped the linen from the bed and began replacing them with mine after I drenched the mattress in Lysol. Elise caught me.
“What the hell are you doing?”
(The mouth on her lately, I swear.)
“I’m putting sheets on my bed.”
“Well, this is a new one. I don’t recall you doing this at the beach. You were terrified of a motel but not the sheets. We come to a five-star hotel and now the sheets disgust you?”
“The motel was at the beach. A nice family vacation spot. These sheets are located in this aids-pool called Las Vegas, with their hookers and their crabs and their greaseball, juiced-up douchebags in Tapout and Affliction shirts. There is no way I’m lying on these disgusting sheets. Jesus himself could descend from heaven and wash them with his magical bible powers and they still wouldn’t be clean enough for me to sleep on. No way, no how. Now get dressed.”
“What are you going to do about the scary, scary toilet? Are you afraid of that, too? Did you bring your own toilet seat in your bag there?”
“Very funny. Don’t be silly. I don’t use the toilet at all while on vacations. At least not sitting. Strictly number one.”
“Right, you had to sit on the toilet at the beach, we were gone for over a week.”
“Nope. My body knows what’s up. Didn’t have a single poop the entire time we were gone. No sweat.”
“Wow.” I could tell she was totally shocked and mildly disgusted, but I was proud of myself. “That’s just…Wow.”
I could tell she still didn’t understand, but whatever. She said fine, she would get dressed, then returned to her room. Forty-five minutes later she emerged wearing tight white jeans and a tight red top.
“That’s what you’re wearing?” I ask.
“Yes, rude! What the hell is wrong with it?”
“Oh nothing, I guess.”
“Yeah, well, it’s just…you kinda, a little, look like a giant used tampon.”
She turned around rather quickly and stormed off back into her room, slamming the door behind her.
“That’s for making fun of my poopies!” I yelled to her. I snickered, rather proud of myself, if I do say.
Fifteen minutes later we were exiting our shitty hotel, Elise wearing a black top now, and were on our way to somewhere with a little more inspiration in its design.
We had a much needed fun night out. I’m not a big drinker, it’s not something I really enjoy or look forward to, but seeing as we were in Vegas I decided I would let Elise pick our evening’s entertainment. Between the kids, me and the job, her nights of partying had all but come to an end (unless you count that stupid date,) and she decided our first stop would be the next door’s hotel bar. Followed by another hotel’s bar. I ordered a Medina and told the bartender to make it funky and cold. He stared blankly at me, un-amused and ready to rip my throat out. I changed my order promptly. I ended up having one vodka-Redbull at each stop, trying to take it easy. Elise had three drinks to every one of mine. Our final stop on our casino crawl was the MGM Grand across the street. As we were walking up to it from the outside, above us on a massive screen as bright as the noon hour’s desert sun, was my main man, Tom Jones.
A portion of this weeks sales goes to The Golden Hat Foundation for Autism in honor of my wonderful son and to The American Cancer Society in honor of Adam Yauch, who had a tremendous impact on my life.
The world lost one of the good ones, yesterday. RIP MCA
My first real memory of the Beastie Boys was from the early summer of 1987. I was seven years old, a few months away from eight, and the airwaves were being bombarded by a group of three young and wild jewish boys from New York. Their style was fresh and their song was like a shotgun blast to your face. It was everywhere, from the radio to the television, and I wanted in.
Understandable, from a parent’s point of view, perhaps these weren’t the best role models for an impressionable boy of seven, but there was little they could do. The world was now fighting for its right to party. The Beastie Boys had taken over.
I’m pretty sure my parents were hoping the fad would soon die out. It didn’t. That summer, my friend from down the street’s older brother had scored the audio cassette of License to Ill and brought it over. My friends and I gathered around my parents stereo and had a listen. I was overjoyed. My parents were not.
I begged for a copy of the tape, but my parents said no. I wouldn’t stand for that answer. By the time my friends had left, I had persuaded my parents to, at least, let me have a copy of Fight for Your Right. I grabbed my friend’s brother and told him to come back. I was allowed to have a copy. We made a recording of the song and then I got another blank tape from the cabinet and told him to make the whole thing, now. We sat in the corner, giggling at our utter disregard for parental demands, and made a copy of the entire album. The single was allowed to be sitting around, the full album lived under my mattress. Sorry mom. Sorry dad. The Beasties had already taken hold of me.
Licensed to Ill fun fact: Hold the album cover up to a mirror and look at the plane’s numbers.
The fad did, eventually, appear to die down. Not to me, though. Their next album was unlike anything I had ever heard before; a cut and paste masterpiece titled Paul’s Boutique, which is not only, I believe to be, the greatest hip-hop album ever recorded, it is always the answer whenever I am asked what my all-time favorite album is. At the time of its release, it was considered a flop.
I was in junior high when Check Your Head came out. By now, my parents had all but given up. I had multiple posters all over my room, the cd playing endlessly throughout. I would walk down to my best friend John’s house and listen with him, in his room that nearly mirrored mine with the posters. We would enjoy the music and discuss. We even had the Skills to Pay the Bills VHS cassette. It was well used.
Shit was taken to a whole new level when Ill Communication came out at the end of my freshman year of high school. I was none-too-happy when I had to travel to stupid Ojai the day before its release, and then to stupid UCLA on release day to do…something or other, with my parents and cousin. (This right here, shows you how big the Beasties were in my life.) I don’t remember what I was doing down there, and I don’t care. What I do remember is finding a record store down in the heart of Westwood and bolting off to see if they had the album. They did. I spent every penny I had on it. To this day, one of the best purchases I’ve ever made. Sabotage had already blew me away and I knew the album would be good…but not this good. It had it all. You like rap? It had it. You like punk rock? It had that, too. Good, ol’ fashion rock n roll? Check. In fact, branding the Beasties with one specific genre is all but impossible. They were their own genre, paving the way for all who would come along and being a huge influence on the world of music. They were true innovators.
I couldn’t get enough. Ill Communication was all I listened during the summer of 1994 and well into my sophomore year of high school. I remember carrying around my Sony DiscMan at all times, just so I would never be without my Beasties. Don’t even try to talk to me on the bus because I certainly wasn’t listening to you. I was busy. I even had the Sabotage VHS compilation in my backpack, for some reason.
One day after school, I remember getting bored and taking a walk to World Records near my house. Of course, I went to the B’s and thumbed through various albums. Ya never knew, they could have released something without my knowledge, especially since I had picked up a copy of Some Old Bullshit a few months prior.
I wasn’t disappointed. They had an import single of Root Down. I snatched it up and that’s when I became obsessed with the imports. I talked one of the employees there, a soft-spoken, heavy set fellow who seemed to know his shit. He said there were several imports available and he could get them. My only problem; I was broke. He agreed to order one for me, allowing me to pay when it arrived. I would have the money, I assured him, by any means necessary. Sorry dad.
With a twenty missing every week or so from my dad’s wallet, I began to build my Import Empire. When I got my driver’s license, the first cd I put in was the Root Down EP. I wanted to be heard listening to shit no one else had. I wanted rare cuts, remixes and live recordings. Pretty soon, my official, licensed Beastie Boys shirts weren’t good enough for me. Sure, I pretty much lived in their ringer tees of the Atwater Basketball Assc. and the Beastie Boys Van with ALOHA MR. HAND written across the back, but anyone could have those shirts. I needed more.
I decided to take some of my rare album covers to a screen printing shop on California Ave. right next to the Sub Station sandwich shop. Apparently, this store didn’t much care about such trivial things as copyrights, and gladly printed my own, one-of-a-kind t-shirts, which I proudly wore to school. The first one I wore, I remember, featured the album cover for Ma, What Are They Givin’ Me? It caught the attention of a young man in my photography class and we sparked up a conversation. It seemed he was a huge fan as well. I hung out with him after school and was amazed to see his Beastie’s collection. He had albums and tracks I did not have, and I had some he didn’t have. We made tape recordings for each other. I wish I could remember his name, but it escapes me at the moment; another sure fire sign that I wasn’t that interested in the friendship, just his Beastie shit.
Fun fact: I wore my Aloha Mr. Hand shirt to my high school graduation and to Grad Nite at Disneyland.
1998 was another non-stop Summer of the Beasties. Intergalactic had dropped and knocked me flat on my ass. They had evolved again. On album release day, I sat patiently outside Target, waiting for them to open. There was one girl there, also waiting patiently. The cds weren’t even out of the box yet when we stormed the electronics section. We each got the freshest copies available.
The album was played nonstop. When it was announced the Beasties would be playing at The Great Western Forum, I was over the moon. I had never seen them live before, believe it or not. My mom recognized the importance of this to me and actually handed me her Robinson-May credit card and told me to go get some tickets. A friend and I pulled an all nighter. We sat at home staring at our watches, got antzy and sat outside the mall, watching the sun rise. There was a problem, though. There were a few other people outside, waiting for tickets to whatever bullshit they were in to, and there were three entrances into the store, and only two of us. Which entrance would be opened first?!
I’ll give you a hint. It was NOT one of the two entrances we had covered.
Once inside, we bolted upstairs to the Ticketmaster and stood there, rather impatiently, while some fat bastard at the counter debated what 49ers tickets to buy. The clock was ticking. How did this tub of shit beat us up here? I was furious. I was rude. He was wasting valuable time with his indecisiveness. At one point, I spoke up and said “Hey, step aside if you can’t make up your fucking mind!” It didn’t work.
By the time it was our turn, the floor section had sold out and we were stuck with upper concourse. Oh well. We had tickets.
I bought a handful of tickets, accepting the consequences from my mom, and me and a group of friends, including John from down the street and his friend Trevor, headed to the Forum. I have such fond memories of that day. Every event seems burned into my brain, from getting lost in Compton, to tailgating, conversing with a cop who warned us that a right turn out of the Forum would get us shot, to seeing the Target girl in the parking lot. And the show. My god, the show. No one could have left that place with anything but a smile on their faces. Money Mark opened and the Beasties tore the place down.
In 1999, when The Sounds of Science compilation came out, the internet was a new and wonderful place. I remember they had a promotion where you could make your own compilation, choosing from hundreds of tracks and they would put it on a disk and send it to you. This was amazing. I took full advantage, picking the most obscure of tracks and remixes, including another copy of Honkey Rink.
The Beasties never stopped evolving. They went from bratty kids to intelligent, caring humanitarians who never shied away from standing up for what they believe in; from MCA’s Free Tibet movement, simply speaking up about the several incidences of rape at the latest Woodstock attempt, ( a speech which actually got them lead off the stage prematurely while accepting an award. A move I have never understood. ) to changing some past lyrics that they now found offensive.
My friend Trevor said yesterday, that the Beasties were the soundtrack to his life, and I couldn’t agree more with him. Play me any Beastie Boys song and I will have a memory fire-up in my brain, whether it be the summer my parents were gone and the house was all mine, powder-puff cheerleading practice or the time I got beaten up at Quailwood Park as I stepped off the bus for no reason what-so-ever, and I refused to fight back. Violence is never the answer. I had learned that.
I had tickets to their show at The Hollywood Bowl a few years ago. Julie had bought them for me for my birthday but the show was cancelled and MCA recorded a video message, with Adrock by his side, informing us of his cancer. He said it was treatable and hopefully he would be okay. He even apologized to the fans for getting it. But, I didn’t care about the concert being cancelled. I only cared about his recovery. I wanted him to take as much time as he needed and get better. I could deal with a missed show, I couldn’t deal with a dying Adam Yauch. I foolishly believed everything would be okay, especially when Hot Sauce Committee part 2 dropped early last year. But then he no-showed at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. I pretended that maybe they weren’t interested in performing and pushed it from my mind.
The world lost a good man yesterday, and it is a shame. In a world ripe with celebrity train wrecks we have to lose someone of such kindness and heart.
I got the news from my wife while i was driving on the 99 South freeway towards LA and had to pull off. I was devastated. I still am. I didn’t even know what to do, so I texted my mom. She told me she knew how I felt because she, too, was devastated when John Lennon and George Harrison passed away. She told me that you develop such an emotional connection to certain people you forget you don’t really know them, and when they die, it’s like losing a friend. That is exactly what I feel like, right now. I am absolutely heartbroken. This has been the hardest thing that I have ever written. I’m sitting here alone in my office, proudly wearing a B-Boys shirt with Check Your Head playing in the background, a complete and total wreck. I’ve listened to their stuff for the majority of my life, they were featured heavily in my wedding, and I will continue listening. But, this is hard pill to swallow.
Yesterday morning, I awoke with Skills to Pay the Bills stuck in my head; Something I found rather odd at the time, especially since I haven’t even heard the song in probably a year. It makes sense to me, now.
I hope you died peacefully, Adam, and at peace with the world you helped make a better place. And, just so you know, I am proud to share your music with my son. Thank you for becoming a true role model.
You will be missed.
It’s (finally) a good time to be a nerd!
I’m not exactly sure when or where, but a funny thing has happened in the past few years. It seems that Nerd has become Cool. True, I wish it would have happened a bit earlier as it may have made my junior high and early high school years a little better and more friend-filled, but still, its happened. Comic books and superheroes have not only become socially acceptable now, but are gaining a tremendous new fan base. With the opening of The Avengers this week (a movie I NEVER thought I would see made) and the release of the newest Dark Knight Rises trailer, I decided to take a look back at this strange little occurrence that seems to have taken place.
One of my earliest childhood memories is of me and my best friend, running up and down the aisles of the local supermarket while our moms grocery shopped. I know this doesn’t seem like a very important memory, but there is one detail I have yet to fill you in on. While running up and down said aisles, we were wearing nothing but our Superman and Batman under-roos, matching t-shirts and, the coup-de-grace, homemade capes. Yeah. Be jealous. Two little boys running through the aisles, saving the world.
Superheroes, Star Wars and horror movies were the only things I seemed to be interested in while growing up. I was an odd child. I remember watching Superman: The Motion Picture, Star Wars and Michael Jackson’s Thriller on VHS over and over and over until the point my young little mind had them all memorized. I would watch recorded versions of the old live-action Spiderman series starring Nicholas Hammond as Peter Parker, The Incredible Hulk with Bill Bixby and Lou Ferigno, Wonder Woman with Lynda Carter and The Greatest American Hero with William Katt and Robert Culp. Soon after, I was introduced to the wonderful world of Freddy Krueger via a tape my mom, for one reason or another, allowed me to rent when I was a mere five years old (My mom has told me a story on several occasions about how when I was two and a half, my parents were going to watch The Howling and asked if I would like to watch it. I said yes. They made sure to stress the fact that it was just a movie, not real. Would I still be okay? Yeah mom. I watched the whole thing and slept soundlessly throughout the night. Again, thank you mom and dad.) Freddy had it all. Sure, he was a child molesting kid murderer, but meh, did you check out that glove? Right?! When other kids went to the school Halloween party dressed in family-friendly costumes, I showed up with a scared face, fedora and a home-made razor glove made from Popsicle sticks. That’s right! My weekend nights were now spent watching Freddy, Jason, and whatever other amazing horror flicks I could get my tiny little hands on, and as I got older, not only was I excited for more entries, I also used them as my source of female nudity. I was a kid, shutup.
Anyway, as usual, I have gotten far off track. My point is, I was a nerd. Big time.
I began reading comic books in my spare time. I started with what I knew; Batman, Superman and The Incredible Hulk. The Hulk led to Iron Man, which led to Thor, which led to Captain America which led to Ant Man, Wasp, Hawkeye and, of course, The Avengers, my favorite team. When asking any other kid my age who their favorite team was, you would get answers like; The Los Angeles Raiders, or The Chicago Cubs. When asking Grant, you’d get The Avengers! This was my reality. Who’s your hero? Ozzie Smith? Bo Jackson? Nope, Batman! Superman! Tony Stark, if he would just PLEASE ditch that drinking habit from Demon in a Bottle. The Punisher!
The 80’s were a great time to be a kid. In fact, in 1987, a little known comic book was adapted into a Saturday Morning Cartoon and exploded. True, the show had only the basic premise of the original comic book, but still, it was quite a phenomenon. Shortly after its premier, it was Ninja Turtle Mania. I remember sitting in my room at the art desk my parents bought me, trying to perfect my Ninja Turtle art, so I could show it off that night at the Cub Scout meeting or the following day at school. It had taken over and I was finally on the same page with a lot of the children. It was a nice feeling.
As the 80’s were coming to a close, another funny thing happened. After suffering through the monumental disasters which were a god-awful Captain America movie and a, somehow, even worse Punisher movie starring Dolph Lundgren (where the only action was him shooting up an empty room and riding his stupid motorcycle down in the sewer, completely disregarding the plot hole my stupid, nine-year old brain spotted, as to how in the world he got a goddamn motorcycle down into the goddamn sewer and then back up to the goddamn street then back into the goddamn sewer, but nevermind. If that was the movie’s only fault, it would have been a miracle,) there was news of a Batman movie. I didn’t know anything about it but I spotted the large, bright yellow logo on a poster outside of the AMC Stockdale Six theater one day while with my parents. Interesting. It couldn’t be as bad as the last two heartbreakers I watched. Could it? Nah. Then I found out Michael Keaton was Batman. Mr. Mom himself as the Dark Knight. Things weren’t boding well, dear readers. But soon a trailer hit. Then the movie. It was massive. Lines around the corner, kids wearing Batman logos on every conceivable article of clothing; Batman Mania had taken over. The movie was great. The Joker was a little more Caesar Romero than the ‘Jokes’ I had known to love in the comics, but that was okay, it was still a damn entertaining film; one I revisited several times.
When The Simpsons began in 1989, a few months after Batman hit, I was in Nerd-vana. An edgy new show I loved, one of my favorite characters finally getting some respect and the news that Jim Henson would be releasing a live-action Ninja Turtle movies early next year. Things were going well for me and my nerdy little lifestyle.
The 90’s started off strong with two Ninja Turtles movies back-to-back, Dick Tracy and a Batman sequel, but things quickly began to downturn. Studios began, once again, only caring about the all-mighty dollar. Quality lowered while quantity was raised. The third Turtles movie sucked. Badly. Tim Burton left the Batman franchise and Warner Bros. passed the directing duties on to a guy who had made a few decent flicks in the past, but who obviously had no idea Batman was a comic book long before it was a terrible 1960’s television show. Gone was the darkness of Gotham, replaced with bright, neon lights, rotating, kitchy camera angles and bat nipples. I loathed Batman Forever. Absolutely despised it. The 90’s were turning out to be a bust. For every Crow, there would be a dozen Spawns, Phantoms and Shawdows. Studios were digging deep for any potential franchise they could get their hands on and, in turn, destroying them. The 90’s became all about the Disaster Pics. The loud explosions and big effects. My superhero movie days seemed over. Sad indeed, when the best comic movie I get is Casper. I returned to comics. I began, once again, hanging out at Inner Sanctum on Ming Ave. with all the other heartbroken nerds. I would wear my Stark Industries t-shirt, my Beware of Gamma Rays t-shirt, but no one would get it. They just assumed it was some nerdy crap that they were too cool to be bothered with.
By the time Joel Schumacher officially ruined my beloved Batman franchise with Batman and Robin and George Lucas was gearing up to rip my heart out, I had all but given up. I read my comics quietly and in private. No one really even knew. The Punisher #1 my dad bought me for fifty dollars for my twelve birthday was framed and hanging on my wall, (it currently resides in a new frame in my office, now) Superman had been killed by Doomsday and I seemed to be the only one at school who cared.
Even the hardcore nerds didn’t seem to notice. They were too interested in playing Magic: The Gathering under the trees at lunch. Oh well. I continued to read. I continued to go see all the new movies as they came out, each one worse than the last.
The decade ended with a thud. Nothing went right for us nerds. Even the comic book stories seemed a little weak, with reimaginings and character changes. But whatever. I stayed loyal. When news of a new Spiderman movie hit, the internet was front and center. This Spiderman was like no other live action Spiderman I had ever seen before. I caught myself getting excited, but again, tried to curb my enthusiasm. It was a good thing I did, too, because Spiderman was a dud. Sorry fans, but it was. Despite all the rave reviews, Spidey did not deliver. Mary Jane gets in trouble, CGI Spiderman swoops in a saves her. Mary Jane gets in trouble again, Spiderman swoops in to save her. Over and over. No thanks. But fans ate it up, for some reason. And it was 1990 all over again. Studios dusting off any bottom-of-the-barrel superheroes they could get their hands on and rushing out lackluster products. Daredevil, Elektra, Fantastic Four…all awful! Even the much hyperboled Spiderman 2 was barely worth watching. And Hulk…don’t get me started. Catwoman, however, proved to be entertaining, but for all the wrong reasons.
The Batman reboot was set to open the June after Elektra and F4. I wasn’t looking forward to it. Not at all. While I was a fan of director Christopher Nolan’s previous film Memento, I viewed this new Batman as a chance to cash in on another established name. After learning it was another origin story, I cared even less. We already had a good Batman origin starring Mr. Mom. My hopes were not high, but being the loyal sucker I am, I dragged my then-girlfriend, now-wife to the Sunday afternoon showing, expectations all but in the gutter. It didn’t take long to figure out something was different this time around. Gone were the cheesy jokes, the unremarkable cast and the lack of consideration of the source material. I was watching a Batman I was familiar with. It didn’t take long to win me over. By the time Bruce Wayne began his icy training with Ducard I was sold. This was the real deal.
Then, finally, it seemed to be Iron Man’s time for a movie. Now, Iron Man was always, kind of a, let’s say, B-List superhero. He never really garnered a huge fan fair. Aside from Ghost Face Killa being a fan, most people would have no idea what you were talking about if you mentioned Tony Stark to them. I hoped for the best, but prepared for the worst. The trailer looked promising, the casting appeared to be pretty good, but I still had that tinge of worry that he wouldn’t be given the proper respect, especially since he wasn’t one of the Major Marvel Players. I bought my tickets in advance. The morning of opening day I get a message from my buddy Adam who hit the midnight showing, informing me that it was good. Spiderman 2 good. This was kind of conflicting since I didn’t much care for Spiderman 2, but, was kind of reassuring since, even though not caring for it, it was one of the better superhero movies in a while. My anticipation grew. I blew off my Relay for Life responsibilities and dragged my pregnant wife who didn’t seem to share my enthusiasm. I was blown away. Nick Fury even showed up at the end talking about, to much confusion to the audience, the Avengers Initiative. No way. Could it be true? Nah.
The Batman Begins sequel was hitting that same summer. For some reason I had had ill-feelings about the casting of Heath Ledger as the Joker. That was dumb of me.
Comic book movies were back. Comic books were back. Being a nerd and enjoying such nerdy, trivial things was no longer looked down upon. A new Incredible Hulk movie was made and, thankfully, was better than Ang Lee’s nightmare version. Tony Stark made a cameo. Wait a minute. Could it…Could they really be…Nah. Iron Man 2 was a hit. The entire movie was like a setup for The Avengers. The next summer followed with Thor and Captain America.
And now, nearly thirty years after I started reading about them, The Avengers are set to hit the big screen, and from what I hear, it was worth the wait.
Talk about something I never thought I would see. Just getting all the rights to the characters seemed like a big enough struggle, but to put them all together and not have a giant cluster-filled mess? Seemed almost impossible. But here we are. And if that wasn’t enough, another Batman trailer is set to play before it that will blow your hair back.
So, nerds, I am pleading to you, now. Do not be the kind of people who hate things they once loved just because they have become mainstream. This is it. There is no better time than right now to be a nerd.
Be proud of your nerdiness. We stayed strong and we didn’t change to conform to society. We were happy with ourselves even when others looked down upon us. Don’t ruin that by starting bitter internet rivalries about Marvel being better than DC or Batman being better than The Avengers. Who cares?! We live in a world where, this summer, we get both…and an Alien prequel! (I should also mention, my wife is now a fan.)
I see no reasons to complain.
Be happy with who you are.