We Watched All the Marvel Universe Movies in Chronological Order: What I Learned

adventure

Eighteen movies and about forty hours of explosions: That’s what the Marvel Universe was — up until Avengers 3: Infinity War turned it all on its head. There are NO spoilers ahead for Avengers 3… and if you haven’t seen the other 18 movies, well, you might as well quit reading now.

To get ready for the big adventure, Pat and I decided to watch all of the Avengers movies in chronological order — not in order of release — in the weeks leading up to Avengers 3. Here’s what we (I) learned:

  1. That’s a lot of time to spend on the couch.
  2. Winslow does not like explosions.
  3. Chris Hemsworth is a manly specimen of awesomeness; even Pat acknowledged that… repeatedly. **ANGEL PIRATE!**
  4. The second outing of every character’s series appears to be the weakest.
  5. It goes without saying, but seriously people: WHY DOES ANYONE LEAVE THE THEATER AFTER THE CREDITS START TO ROLL?

Here’s the order to watch – and the events in Galaxy Vol. 1 and Vol 2. apparently happen pretty close together, ergo back-to-back, which is a lot of fun. Added bonus: My quick thoughts on whether you should invest in couch time and Thor ogling:

  1. Captain America: The First Avenger – This is where it all starts. Pay close attention to the location and the villain. Oh, and beefed up Captain, shirtless! Special appearance by the Space Stone / Tesseract. MUST WATCH.
  2. Iron Man – Without Robert Downey Jr. as Tony Stark, none of these movies happen. Pay attention to his Dad. MUST WATCH.
  3. The Incredible Hulk – We skipped this one. Now that Mark Ruffalo is the Hulk, it wasn’t worth revisiting Edward Norton Jr. SKIP IT.
  4. Iron Man 2 – Not my favorite Iron Man, but it gives us a little more on Tony’s relationship to Howard Stark. OPTIONAL
  5. Thor – Hello, Chris Hemsworth, oh, and welcome to the party, Hawkeye! Oh, and please take off your shirt again, Thor. MUST WATCH.
  6. The Avengers – Fun to see the band getting together. Hulk, smash! And please take off your shirt again, Thor. Hello Mind Stone / Scepter. Greatest post-credits ever: Schwarma! MUST WATCH.
  7. Iron Man 3 – Good character development for Tony Stark, and really fun callbacks to the 1990s. OPTIONAL.
  8. Thor: The Dark World – The best part of this movie is Chris Evans playing Loki playing Captain America… and shirtless Chris Hemsworth. Natalie Portman doesn’t have anything to do. The only reason you’d watch this is for the Reality Stone / Aether. SKIP IT.
  9. Captain America: The Winter Soldier aka Avengers 1.5 – Again, the second outing is always weak for these characters. They could’ve done so much with Steve Rogers integrating into the modern era, but it plays more like Avengers-lite. Would’ve loved to have seen more on his and Bucky’s relationship. OPTIONAL. (If you’re trying not to sacrifice an entire week of your life on the couch, you can skip it — but my friend Paul says it’s a MUST WATCH)
  10. Guardians of the Galaxy – Chris Pratt, shirtless! Truly, a breath of fresh air from the brooding, overwrought Dark World and Winter Soldier. Still the greatest soundtrack in movie history and so damn funny… Hello, Power Stone / Orb. MUST WATCH.
  11. Guardians of the Galaxy, Vol. 2 – Still fun, but needs a lot of editing. Scenes go on a little too long and the Kurt Russell / Ego infodump-diorama is tiresome, but it’s still funny. OPTIONAL.
  12. The Avengers: Age of Ultron – This really is a mess — the second outing is always a drag — gets confusing at times and again, could use a good edit, but, Thor shirtless! Basically, Vision is invented, and this is important for Avengers 3. Plus, Thanos throws on the gauntlet in the post-credits sequence. MUST WATCH. (sorry)
  13. Ant-Man – Paul Rudd, shirtless… DAAAAMMMMNNN, son. Has he been working out with Thor? This is fun and funny with terrific special effects. OPTIONAL.
  14. Captain America: Civil War, aka Avengers 2.5 – Again, this really is more of an Avengers movie right up until the end when Captain America and Iron Man duke it out. Still, it deals with interesting themes, and some neat callbacks in the history of the universe, but no shirtless Thor. Welcome to the party, Black Panther! It does set us up for Avengers 3. MUST WATCH.
  15. Doctor Strange – Kind of like Iron Man but with magic! And I could watch Benedict Cumberbatch all day. Introduces the Time Stone / Eye of Something-Or-Ruther. Important for Avengers 3. MUST WATCH.
  16. Spider-Man: Homecoming – I felt a little weird watching shirtless Tom Holland, but this was adorable and a lovely reminder that, at heart, Peter Parker is a kid. Plus, he and Robert Downey Jr are terrific together. OPTIONAL
  17. Thor: Ragnarok – Thor got his groove back (and his shirt is off!). This is so much fun, especially as it becomes a bro-mance between Hulk and Thor. Sets up well for Avengers 3. MUST WATCH.
  18. Black Panther – There’s so much good here. Feminism. Anti-colonialism. Cool tech. This is one of the best in the MCU, plus lots of shirtless Chadwick Boseman and Michael B. Jordan. MUST WATCH.

So this is your list. Suffice it to say, we really enjoyed watching Avengers 3 and will likely see it again. That 2 hours, 40 minutes flew past, though sadly, no shirtless Thor. But, dear Lord, Captain America’s beard!

Hierarchy of Hate 2018 – The Vindication

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Now, with 100% less Brent Musberger.

If it’s New Year’s Day, you must be ready for some college football… to be over.
If you’re like me, you probably don’t have a dog in this four-way fight, and you have other things to do with your day, but if you’ve already taken down the Christmas tree or Hanukkah lights, and it’s below below-freezing in your neighborhood, and there are no wholesome alternatives on your horizon (like filing your nails or rearranging your garage cabinets or sleeping) and you’d like a non-political alternative for your spleen-venting, well, turn on the TV kids and let’s get ready for a hate-rumble!
Yes, it’s the Hierarchy of Hate 2018 – The Vindication. No, I didn’t complete it in time for the Cheribundi Tart Cherry Boca Raton Bowl, but I’ve got you covered for the Final Four in this delicious sham of a playoff… Because sometimes it’s not about cheering for a team, it’s about rooting against them.
And don’t worry, Baylor, after this year, your penance is almost up and you’ll matriculate from Hate Us Emeritus into the wasteland that is the Big 12 or 13 power-bottoms for the Oklahillbillies. Meanwhile, keep the seat warm for those assholes at Liberty University who seem to believe that the Christian thing to do is to hire Baylor’s disgraced, rape-cover-upping, victim-blaming, athletic director to overhaul their football program. Praise Jesus: We can only hope that the Liberty Flames find themselves facing the Great Satan on a future Bama homecoming schedule. I know who I’ll be cheering for!

The Hierarchy of Heartbreak – Or Weekends Without College Football

rage, school

We left the house in the third quarter, right after the Aggies took a 44-10 lead over UCLA.

It was our 17th wedding anniversary. We had reservations — and a gift card! — for Flemings. We arrived early and waited in the bar while our table was being prepared: 44-17. In the blink of an eye to start the fourth quarter, it was 44-24.

“Uh-oh.”

“They probably have the second team in by now. Nothing to worry about,” Pat said cheerfully, as the hostesss escorted us to our table.

They put little paper hearts on the table to honor our special day. Since it was a Sunday, I hadn’t checked the schedule to see whether football would conflict with our dining experience, but it was too late to reschedule. In literary circles, this is called foreshadowing.

To commemorate Baylor’s loss on Saturday, Pat ordered a bottle of Liberty School cabernet: Such delicious irony with bright notes of blackberry and undertones of toasted oak, without the rich self-righteousness and bitter hypocrisy of Jerry Falwell’s core curriculum.

Then my Apple Watch skipped a beat with a text from my old friend Jim (an LSU Tiger):

WTH happened? In boredom, I turned off the game an hour ago!!!

And we checked the score: 44-38 with less than 2 minutes left in the game.

“They can’t. There’s no way,” Pat said, with the confidence of an LSU Tiger who no longer fears the Mad Genius of Les Miles late-game decision-making.

WTH happened? We got out-coached. The glaring lack of discipline that has been the hallmark of the Sumlin era made its debut in September rather than waiting to crush us in November.

It was the second-biggest comeback in NCAA history. The Bruins scored five — 5!?! — touchdowns in a little over a quarter. Yes, our backup kicker missed a field goal that could have put it away. Yes, our starting quarterback was out with a foot injury. Yes, safety Donovan Wilson also injured his foot… but he wasn’t the only defensive player on the field. We missed FIVE chances to stop UCLA quarterback Josh Rosen’s ascendancy to the Downtown Athletic Club’s hallowed stage in December. We just had to stop him one time.

ONE TIME!

We ran roughshod over them throughout the first half — and in the second half, we decided to work on our passing game with an untested freshman? Our O-line looked like world beaters in the first half… and then they looked like Spaghetti-Os. Uh-oh. Roughly the same personnel were on the field, but the exact same coaches were on the sidelines: None of the running backs broke their ankles, and we knew we had issues at linebacker.

As we finished the bottle of Liberty School, my weekends suddenly unfurled like a flag of furious joy and well-deserved relief: Now that college football is no longer a part of my core being, I’ve got a lot of spare time on my hands… and a better outlook on life.

Learn to butcher a hog? Why not! It’s not like I’m gonna waste three hours watching us get  a participation ribbon against Nicholls State. Re-do our master bathroom? Hell yeah, especially since I don’t have to scour 600 channels in search of the University of Louisiana-Lafayette tilt: I’ll just zip on over to HGTV and binge watch The Property Brothers. Enter that mountain bike race? Of course! It’s better than destroying my manicure during another Arkansas debacle.

I can motherfucking macrame new curtains for the whole house if I want, because I’ve got all kinds of time, bitches. My Saturdays are now open.

I knew this day was coming: When we got our NFL Sunday Ticket renewal in July, we decided to cancel it after 20 years of loyal viewership. We didn’t watch it enough to justify the price tag, and autumn is prime mountain biking, hiking and general outdoor fun time in Arizona.

DirecTV played Let’s Make a Deal and by the end of Pat’s negotiations, they were paying us $5 a month to keep Sunday Ticket.

There’s a lot of good science out there investigating sports and traumatic brain injury (and the contents of this blog are mine alone and do not reflect the linguistic tenor or editorial bent of my nonprofit employer or its parent). There’s also a lot of great reporting on the football-overlords’ roles in obfuscating that science. There are professional athletes asking whether this game is worth the risk — and more importantly, there are moms asking the same questions.

There are also moms who think that their precious angels (and future Tiki-torchbearers) are deserving of full-ride scholarships just by virtue of having been enrolled in ridiculously expensive sports camps since the age of 5… which is another good reason that I’m no longer a sportswriter: Sport is rife with economic inequity, and it’s bottled at every level with a hypocrisy-by-volume ratio to rival Liberty University’s hiring of Baylor’s former rape-ignoring athletic director.

Don’t hate the players, hate the game: At least that’s what the young people say, and that’s a fair assessment of how I feel. I love Texas A&M and cherish my time there. I just don’t know that I care that much anymore about football, now that we have become the Vanderbilt of the SEC West… or worse, the Texas of the SEC (overrated, underperforming — and by the way, who were the Darrell Royal apologists that thought it was a good idea to give the Longhorns a preseason ranking?).

Sure, I love the trash-talking that floods my feeds every Saturday, and I enjoy the virtual pep rallies that ensue among my old friends. But I’d rather reunite with them around a cold beer at Duddley’s Draw than at a football game that could take three years off my life.

I’ll still have the Hierarchy to fall back on: It’s worth some good laughs and keeps my design skills up to speed, especially when I’m waiting on my pot of gumbo to finish. But you don’t have to reschedule your Saturday for the New Mexico tilt in order to play the Hierarchy of Hate: It’s like hitting a 16 when the house is showing a 10. Take your hit — you’ll win or lose — and you don’t have to agonize about the outcome.

We’re So Vain – An Anniversary Anthem

adventure

 

Departure on the 5:30 AM to Salt Lake City

Today, September 3, 2017 is our 17th wedding anniversary.

Having seen and survived the Great American Eclipse and subsequent Great Apocalyptic Traffic Jam, I am reminded anew why there’s no one else on earth that I’d rather spend my time with than Patrick Bertinelli.

So much so, that I was inspired to write a song about our recent adventure (see below).

But first, a recap: We decided at the last minute (37 days out) to witness the first total solar eclipse in the continental United States in 38 years. Based on factors ranging from our dog sitters being in Oregon for the eclipse to almost all airlines and routes being sold out (plus ridiculous hotel rates), we decided to take the path of adventure: First flight in, last flight out. Take the 5:30 AM to Salt Lake, arrive at 8:05 AM, grab our rental car, drive it like we stole it (which we did) for 217 miles to Idaho Falls, Idaho, and maybe, just maybe, arrive by the 11:33 totality. Then kill an afternoon in the Gem State and fly back to Phoenix on the 8:20 PM.

We agreed to pull off Interstate 15 wherever we could at 11:10, regardless of our bearing on the centerline. The threat of bottleneck traffic made it an adventure, and bonus round: I’d get to cross Idaho off the list of states I’ve visited.

At 11:10, a few miles north of Idaho Falls and well into the path of totality, we pulled onto a country road, drove about a mile, took a right and ended up in front of a freshly mown field, adjacent to three cows.

Moo.

Patrick set up his cameras. We prepared to conduct our scientific observations, and we monitored the moon’s progress across the sun with our special glasses… and then it happened: The moon blocked out the sun. The bucolic landscape descended into a dusky darkness. Stars sparkled the purple sky. Somewhere farmers and their families shouted and shot off firecrackers in the distance.

Photo credit, Patrick Bertinelli – because he is awesome.

Staring gobsmacked at the silvery corona sending its tendrils around the moon, we cheered and embraced and laughed, trying to burn the memory of that magic two minutes on our brains. It was your first kiss, your first glimpse of the Grand Canyon, the birth of your first child… the thrill of all of the magical things we want to cling to and never can quite describe again: Seeing Pat when I walked with my Dad into the chapel with all our friends gathered around to celebrate our union.

When it was over, we got back in the car with an empty afternoon before us. Three miles into our return, we hit traffic in Idaho Falls, spent an hour traversing four miles, and decided to wait out the rush by grabbing lunch. An hour later, we merged back into a six-hour line of bumper-to-bumper bound for Salt Lake City. The miles crawled by as did our hopes of making the return flight. Siri warned us of our dwindling estimated time of arrival — 6:18, 6:43, 7:12, 7:35, 8:02; 8:35. We canceled at 6 PM when we were still two-and-a-half-hours away.

The view never changed. Even when we were inside it.

At 8:35, we rolled into the Luv’s Travel Plaza to fill up. I bought two toothbrushes, a tube of Crest, two liters of water, and a six of Gooseneck IPA. Ten minutes later, we checked into the Mircotel at Salt Lake City International Airport. Exhausted from our seven-plus hour return trip, I didn’t even finish my beer, but we did make the flight at 6:30 the next morning. Thank you, Southwest Airlines app.

Room sweet room. There was a fridge and a microwave. Photo credit, Patrick Bertinelli

The state of Idaho has roughly 1.6 million people in it. Idaho Falls has about 64,000. The Idaho Division of Tourism Development estimated an additional 200,000 people traveled to Eastern Idaho for the eclipse… and they all decided to leave at one time.

The same thing happened to friends in South Carolina, Kentucky, Tennessee and Oregon. After the forced march back from Idaho, I have come to the conclusion that, in the event of an apocalypse (nuclear, zombie or otherwise), the majority of Americans will likely die in traffic because we are the worst drivers in the world (USE YOUR SIGNAL, BUDDY! TAKE YOUR FEET OFF THE GODDAM DASH, IDIOT! TAKE WATER WITH YOU WHENEVER YOU TRAVEL, MORON – oh, wait).

That said, there is no one that I’d rather be stuck in traffic with than Patrick Bertinelli.

And now, I have commemorated our adventure in song. Please enjoy:

We’re So Vain (with mad respect and due apologies to Carly Simon)

We walked in to the airport
Like we were hunting a big eclipse.
Our map zeroed in on the centerline.
Our time, it was an ellipse…
We had one eye on the stopwatch, as
We watched the miles tick by
And all the while schemed
That we’d be there on time
We’d be there on time, and…

We’re so vain.
Why did we think that we could just do it?
We’re so vain.
We really thought that we could just see it.
Did we?
Did we?

Oh y’all made plans several years ago,
And we waited until too late.
Well, you booked your rooms and got your flights set,
While we dragged ass to the gate.
But we still forgot that traffic sucks,
And now we’re all stuck here.
I had a dream there were clouds in the eclipse,
Clouds in the eclipse and

We’re so vain.
We didn’t think that gridlock could stop us.
We’re so vain. (We’re so vain!)
We sat all day in terrible traffic.
We did.
We did.

We wanted to take a short vacation,
Just out and back for some fun.
So we flew on Southwest and drove to Idaho Falls
To see the total eclipse of the sun
Well, we made it to the path on time
And when we left, we paused… on Highway 15
in stop-and-go traffic
stop-and-go traffic…

And… missed that plane
‘Cause we were stuck in post-eclipse traffic
Missed that plane (that plane!)
And then we got to stay in a Salt Lake
No-Tell
Motel
No-Tell
Motel!

We’re so vain.
Why did we think that we could just do it?
We’re so vain.
We really thought that we could just see it.
Did we?
Did we?

This is the after photo. Still married.

Too Soon – Hate Bowl

rage

This is not happening. Not today. Not now. It’s September 2, forfuckssake, not January 2.

The football gods are asking me to be in postseason form, when I just discovered that hockey season has finally ended.

I’m talking about Alabama-Florida State. Tonight at 5 PM MST.

It’s a HATE BOWL, and it’s opening day! I haven’t even updated my chart! Are you kidding me?

“Hey, don’t sweat it,” my sweet husband Pat said. “You’re like Larry Fitzgerald. You don’t need to practice. You can go right out and hate like a pro. You got this.”

I don’t think Larry Fitzgerald stumbles out of the gate with his pants this far down around his ankles. A week ago, I made reservations for our anniversary dinner tomorrow night … and I didn’t even bother to check and see that my alma mater, Texas A&M would be playing UCLA on FOX right while I’d be gazing lovingly into Pat’s eyes and throwing back my second glass of cabernet sauvignon.

I changed the reservation, so I can lovingly throw the remote at the TV when Sumlin calls yet another unproductive off-tackle run on first and 10. All I can say is thank the old gods and the new that Game of Thrones ended last week — that would have been a tough call for me.

These are the times that try my hate, and for that, I invented the Hierarchy of Hate: I don’t have to make decisions, I just have to react: Drink heavily, hold my nose and root for Bama, because…

  1. We root for the SEC against nonconference foes (helps in the power-rankings)
  2. We hate all teams from Florida against any non-Floridian team, regardless of the opponent
  3. Nick Satan may be the coach of Alabama, but the Florida State Criminoles are the dingleberries on Lucifer’s buttcheeks: Remember that.

How do I hate thee Florida State? Let me count the ways…

Serial apologists for accused rapist Jameis Winston (FSU settled with the victim for $950,000 — the price of innocence has gone up)… Just since 2010, 28 F-Ass-U football, baseball and softball players have been arrested according to Arrest Nation, the sports criminal database, though to be fair, Alabama has 29 on the tote board… But the good news is that ESPN reported that two-thirds of FSU players arrested never face criminal prosecution!

Crab legs for everyone!

My hatred for Florida State goes back to the early 1990s and their taint-licking succubus of a former head coach / parole officer Bobby Bowden (the Supreme Allied Commander Emeritus of Assholes) And let’s not forget, FSU brought us Lee Corso…

Fucking Lee Corso.

If these aren’t enough reasons to sway your hate, well, you’ll be a lost cause come ESPN’s Samsung Rivalry Week, aka Thanksgiving, and the Capital One Bowl Fortnight, aka Hanukkah, Christmas and New Years.

At least we don’t have Brett Musberger to kick around anymore.

Roll Tide.