You know how you’re growing up, and your mom tells you to date someone that appreciates you? Respects you? Loves you?
And then you have your sexual awakening. There’s the first hole you cut in a Victoria’s Secret magazine. Years later, in a moment of desperation, you learn the hard lesson that Icy Hot is not an acceptable lubrication. Then you grow older, lose your virginity to a 37 year old you met on MySpace, and you have one nights stands, you meet women at bars and hook up, maybe you have a long term friends with benefits. Or maybe you even find a glory hole at a night club and pray to god the person on the other end if a woman. You reflect on your conquests, and while you have fond, blurry, possibly rashy memories, there was always something missing. Your past always leaves you unfulfilled.
THEN! You meet her. She’s there, put together so meticulously. Like she spent 10 years getting herself ready, but you ain’t even mad because it was SO worth the wait. And then the first date comes. And it. Is. Perfect.
You wait and you wait and you wait for the time to come, and you finally pick her up. Maybe the conversation starts slowly. You might feel like your breath is taken away. You can already tell when you go to sleep tonight, you’ll dream about her. Then you do what you said you were going to do. You go out, you eat, maybe you dance, see a movie, go bowling, play putt-putt…you keep talking.
You discuss your friends. Your families. You talk about yourselves to the point where you get lost in each other. Then you have a fleeting thought about a past flame, but you realize that this is what it’s all been leading toward. The love of your life. And you look at her, she looks at you, and she says “I think this could work.” You can only respond with “I know. And I already don’t know what I would do if it doesn't”.
In the final moments of the date, you run into a long, last friend. Someone you always loved and was hilarious as hell, but fell on some hard times. He asks you if he can join you for a little bit, and you’re still stuck wondering how he got out of his shitty situation. You look at your date, and she embraces the turn of events. She lets him sit down, and the night is just beginning.
Your heart pounds. You get chills. And before you know it, this girl who’s only given you the slightest taste of what she has to offer is already making you crave more. You need it. You desire it. YOU LUST FOR IT. This is the perfect woman.
It’s also the first trailer for Avengers: End Game. If I could bring this trailer back to my apartment, turn the lights down low, put on some light jazz, and make vigorous, athletic love to this trailer, I would absolutely do that.
There’s a reason fans of this never ending franchise (the literal Never Ending Story, if you will) clamored for this trailer. Even with the looming badassery of Captain Marvel, arguably just as amazing and awaited as End Game, the fans were relentless. And after several weeks of speculation, the trailer was quietly released 5 days ago and it destroyed. 289 million views in 24 hours is not only a staggering record, but it’s also the same as 50 million Elvis fans: they can’t be wrong. I swear to god, December 7th felt like Christmas morning.
I know our fearless leader has already written an article, but I have a couple questions:
Who saves Tony? Pepper “Rescue” Potts, Captain Marvel, or maybe even Thanos with the Space Stone? Anything can happen.
Steve Rogers has been carrying the same picture of Peggy around. Does she factor into this film with quantum time travel? Are we in for a super gut wrenching reunion?
How did Lang escape the Quantum Realm? To end the first trailer with his reveal might seem small, but I really think he’s the personification of the Dude’ rug: he’s gonna really tie the film together.
That’s it. I’ve spoken ad nauseam about this trailer and upcoming film on three separate podcasts. I’ll let you guys sit with Stephen’s article, and when the second trailer’s released, I’m going to completely unload on you guys. I’m so fucking pumped.
Celebrity deaths never really bother me. Yes, it’s sad when someone you admire passes away because the potential for constant creation is gone, and you’re only left with their finite body of work. What seems endless now has a definite beginning, middle and end. But sometimes the consumers get lucky, and your favorite people make more in their lifetime than another person could make in three.
To date there are four celebrity deaths that really shook me up.
Ryan Dunn (June 20th, 2011). He was always my favorite Jackass. The other guys always seemed to have some sort of persona, but Dunn was the everyman. Some normal dude that stumbled into this weird stardom. His stunts always made me laugh hardest. I really wish he wasn’t driving that night. I got the news while at work, and I cried in the bathroom. Every June 20th, I watch at least one Jackass film.
Robin Williams (August 11th, 2014). Smart. The guy was a legendary genius. I don’t have to write much about him, because everyone knows who he was and what he was capable of doing. He passed away on my dad’s birthday, and I got the news on the way to celebrate with family. I pulled into the nearest barber shop and had all my hair shaved off while I cried in the chair. Impulsive, yes, but I needed to grieve.
Chester Bennington (July 20th, 2017). Hybrid Theory is, i think, the best selling debut album since Guns N’ Roses. It was also the best selling album of 2000 (which is crazy because it was released in fucking October of that year), as well as the best selling rock album of the 21st century. What I admired about Linkin Park is that the angst was there, but there was always a cathartic release that gave way to hope. Until One More Light. That whole album was a recorded suicide letter, and it hurts that much more when you listen to those lyrics after everything we know. I got the news while I was cleaning my apartment. The only thing I could think of doing was getting in the shower and crying while listening to Meteora.
I cry a lot, by the way.
The fourth death that really bothers me, and the reason why I’m discussing it right now, is Stan “The Man” Lee (November 12th, 2018). This is the worst one on this list. I’ll tell you that the day he died, I started writing an article about him. It sucked. I couldn’t get my thoughts together. Four days after that, I started a new article. I wrote it and deleted it about 5 times because I couldn’t get it right. The article was called “Never Be The Same”, because at some point we’ll stop seeing him in his cameos within the MCU. At that point there will be a noticeable void, and quite literally no one else will be able to fill it.
If you really want to get a little more in depth as to why Lee was so influential on comic books in general, you can read our Marvel VERSUS DC. But really what he did was give the ability to be super to every Tom, Tori, Dick, Diane, Harry and Harriet. If you look inside yourself, you can find the potential to be super. Stan Lee gave us the dysfunctional super groups plagued with infighting and arguing, he took a stand at against racism and bigotry in a time when that issue was reaching it’s social apex, he gave us normal, every day people who were forced to rise to an occasion that bigger than the self, he was a devoted husband who was married to his best friend, and above all, he gave us a super hero with dandruff who only wore a mask so the villains couldn’t see when he was afraid. When it comes to comic books, making the hero relatable to the reader was a necessary connection that Lee never gave up on. His influence spread to DC, Dark Horse, Image…Lee’s thumbprint will always, now and forever, be seen on the pages of every comic by every publisher because he was the guy. He was the pioneer that made and makes everyone think, “How the FUCK did he come up with that?!”
I got the news of Stan Lee’s death while at the gym. I immediately googled “Stan Lee Death Hoax”. The first article was about a hoax from 2016. The second said, “Stan Lee Dead at 95”. I was devastated, and I left the gym with tears in my eyes (I cry a lot, don’t forget). But I was so busted about this particular death that I couldn’t get the words onto the page. I couldn’t tell you how many hours of fun this gave gave me. How much of an escape he provided me with when I needed to get out of the real world. Or how he encouraged me to find the strength or courage inside me when I needed it most. Oh shit…I’m about to start crying at Twin Peaks.
I’ve said time and time again, but I’ll say it once more.
His characters were my apostles. The books were my gospels. The films are my bible. And Stan Lee is my god (small g, on the days he’s feeling as humble as Drax).
And now, he’s walking among other gods. And I can’t help but think Heaven just got a little more creative. Give Stan Lee an 8th day one week and see what he does. Probably blow all our fucking minds. I won’t do anything on the anniversary of his death. Nor will I do anything on his birthday (December 28th). I’ll always wear the shirts, read the comics and watch the movies. That will never change.
Thank you, Stan Lee. It sucks that it’s already been a whole month, and even though your absence has yet to be felt in the films, it definitely casts a shadow over me. I’m forever thankful.
Robbie Clark is a senior writer and contributor to Cinema Soapbox