The Conditions: To start with, I could have seen it under better conditions. While a quality movie shouldn’t be dependent on context, pretending that context doesn’t play a role in enjoyment and perceived quality is naive. I could have seen it in a crowded theatre with a giant screen surrounded by the fans that would have laughed and cheered along with me. Instead, I saw it with a small crowd in a small theatre. I’m not sure how much of that contributed to the 3D aspects being extremely underwhelming to the point of making the movie look cheap, but that was only half the problem. Without the fanboys, there was no excitement or fervor in the air. Studies I totally just made up show that being surrounded by people enjoying a thing contributes to your enjoyment. It’s subconscious peer-pressure. Instead, I was left turning to Ryan asking if the Asgard bits were as silly as I thought. (they were)

I was the only one who cheered when Hawkeye showed up. For serious. Also, I cheered when Hawkeye showed up. What have I become?

The “Ironman” Factor: “People” kept comparing this movie to Ironman. It doesn’t matter if they said it was almost as good as Ironman or not, I walked into the theatre with the expectation that I was going to heart it as much as I heart Ironman. And beyond any discussion of quality, this movie has very little in common with what I enjoyed about Ironman. There’s something about movies made by Jon Favreau that work on me in a special way. WIthout realizing it, I went in expecting to be entertained by Kenneth Branagh the same way I’m entertained by Jon Favreau. Lord, what fools these mortals be, indeed.

If I had considered this movie was going to be similar to Ang Lee’s The Hulk (which I liked and it totally is), I think i would have enjoyed it much more.

The Super Story: But here’s the real “problem:” Thor’s story and Thor’s problems aren’t interesting to me. What I dig most about superheros and supervillans are their origin stories. What were they like before they got this power? How did that transformation change them? How do they deal with their new lives within the context of their old ones? Thor was never not a god. He starts the movie as a big, arrogant, blonde oaf who solves every problem with a hammer swing. He ends the movie slightly less arrogant (arguably more arrogant), but other than that, pretty much the same. Yaaaaaaaaaawn. Add to that the choice to have most of the peril/battle/ultimate stakes take place on worlds other than mine? Why am I invested in this?

There were so many interesting looking characters with stories just begging to be told, but nothing came of any of them. The only character that didn’t end exactly the same as he’d begun was Loki. His arc was as close to interesting as the movie was. Even though he’d always had the power, there was still a rather traumatic “reveal” and aftermath. The movie glossed over most of that, since he wasn’t the big, dumb hero.

The Fallout: Consider my expectations completely reset for Captain America. I don’t really know Joe Johnston from a hole in the wall, and the movie certainly doesn’t lend itself to a Favreau-style joy ride. I do hope/want the actual Avengers movie to have a Favreau-like tone, and with Joss at the helm, it should.

I am suddenly terrified for X-Men: First Class, though. That’s the one that I’ve been most looking forward to and that I “need” to be great.

If the second half of 2010 had a theme, it was Challenge is the New Black. A couple of months ago something snapped and I realized that who I think I am isn’t set in stone and even though I’m 33, I can still redefine the things about myself that I’m not down with.

I got so tired of saying “I can’t do that” and “that can’t happen” and “that’ll never work.” One day I stated saying “why not” and “but what’s the worst that can happen?” and “let’s try it anyway.” It’s so obvious and so simple, but it’s so hard to do if you’ve spent years thinking the opposite.

So I challenged myself. As a result I’ve had a pretty productive 2010:

• I landed a great job that’s (slowly) putting me on the path towards what I’d like to be when I grow up.
• I sang a (tiny) solo in my chorus’ Christmas concert.
• I started up an online “studio” for my writing and wrote tiny stories every day for 10 weeks.
• I even started a podcast with the help of some talented friends.
• I learned how to make my own Pho and had some fun with puffy pastry making individual Beef Wellingtons. It may have been only half my 2010 Culinary Goals but it was a tasty half.
• I got into comics. This may not sound like much, but considering the tiny windows I have for reading, it really helped me absorb some new stories into my brain cloud.

Not a bad list for 2010, considering I didn’t really get my wake-up call until later in the year thanks to pregnancy, babydom, and a gall-bladder removal. That helped me lose 30lbs and I’ve managed to keep (most of) it off even after I stopped nursing and ran out of time to go to the Y.

And now it’s 2011.

My goal is more of the same. Work harder. Go for a bigger solo. Write more often. Lose more weight. Find more challenges in areas I’m already focusing on. Set my sights on the neglected challenge areas (reading, cooking, meditation..ing).

How will I know if I’ve succeeded? I’m not making a quantifiable list this year. I’ll succeed if I can come back to this post in 362 days and feel like I’ve got the same outlook for 2012.

A while later (it may have been moments, but I drifted back to sleep and it felt like an hour or so), I heard it again. It was less loud, but still enough to wake us. It repeated three times, almost like a bell tolling. The “metal” sound was still there, but there was another component I couldn’t place. If it hadn’t been ridiculously early on a Sunday, I would have just assumed it was construction noise. Someone loading or unloading heavy things or whatnot. There’s still enough “urban renewal” going on around here that random mornings get a bit loud. After the third boom, there was some indistinct yelling. Was this someone being chased off? Was this a nearby resident voicing his displeasure at the sound? I’m not sure. After that, it was still again and I went back to sleep.

In the morning, we discovered what had happened and it was…disconcerting. The entrance to our building is inset and more or less directly below us. It has two sets of doors to get through, both glass, with glass “walls” that let in a bit more light. The first set grants you access to the shops on the first floor, the second set grants you access to the residences. There’s a security box on the outside that lets you in if you know a code, or lets you dial some friends to let you up. The outside doors are unlocked when the tea room on the first floor is open.

At some point in the night someone had used a steel cigarette receptacle to break through two glass walls and into our apartment complex.

So what happened? Who did this? There didn’t appear to be any additional vandalism or theft, so either breaking down the doors was the point, or they were chased off before they could go any further. It makes me wonder, though. I figure there are pretty much two types of scenarios: malicious thievery, or stupid drunk people.

Which of these bothers me the most? Not the idea that someone was trying to break in. It happens. I mean, it hasn’t happened here. Most of the theft-y crime in our area is car related. Despite what the news tries to tell you about this being the most dangerous city in America, it’s actually not that terrible unless you’re stupid about protecting your valuables, training to be in a gang in a real city (or live in the relatively small area where such training goes on), or are a halfway-house resident who isn’t particularly interested in rehabilitation. …Sorry. Soap box. My point is, that the idea that someone (or a few someones) took the time to plot how to break into our building doesn’t really bother me. Plus, they’re completely random (unless you’re very stupid about advertising how easy it would be to steal from you) so there’s ultimately not much one can really do to completely prevent them without living in a fort.

It bothers me much, much more that this is the work of stupid drunk people. Perhaps it was just a group of passersby daring each other into something stupid, but the fact that a second set of doors was damaged, granting access to the apartment building makes me suspicious. I can’t help but imagine that it was the work of someone who lives in my home and thought it would be cool/fun/easier to just bash in the doors so they could get upstairs when they forgot their code or whatever. This may sound less plausible, but it’s well within the realm of possibilities. This building is a pretty solid mix of older couples, a few very young families (like us – young referring to the age of the children, mind you), and whatever we’re call yuppies these days. Young kids acting like they’re the shit because they’ve got a swanky loft downtown and haven’t realized that college is over and they probably shouldn’t treat the place their parents have paid for like it’s a dorm. It’s only noticeable on big party weekends (this is St. Pat’s weekend) or when one randomly throws a party. Sunday morning the elevators reek of sticky beer and people leave bits of trash or whatever in the lobby, the garage, or in the elevator banks. It’s not cool, but in a building that’s large enough that you can remain relatively anonymous, you’re bound to get a couple of bad eggs who think that the rules don’t have to apply to them because odds are nobody will know it’s them.

At first, my reaction surprised me, but then I remembered how our country generally reacts when under attack. Remember the Oklahoma City Bombing and how devastated and freaked we were that it was “one of us” that planned and executed the whole thing? It didn’t seem possible, and in many ways it was more disturbing than 9/11. At least then, it was “others” we could point the finger at and take a small amount of comfort in the fact that they want what we have. Am I oversimplifying? Of course I am, but the general sentiment is the same.

I’d just rather when the email comes out that it talks about an attempted break-in that was scattered by our alarm system and talks about the ridiculously fast response time of the local police department. I don’t want to see the cops pull up in a couple of days and arrest someone I’ve shared an elevator with who couldn’t bother to respect our communal space.

It was a huge flashback to nanowrimo in November, and my “excuse” was largely the same: pregnant.

My response, however, was not the same. I guess that’s the difference between nanowrimo and Lent. Realizing that the several days of backup was causing me stress (“I’ll never catch up” became my unwelcome mantra), I wiped the slate clean. It’s what Jesus would want me to do, after all. I took the the overdue assignments off my teux deux list so they wouldn’t keep haunting me and started fresh on Monday.

Although it wasn’t posted until Wednesday (it needed some graphics and a test result update, on Monday I started with a blog post about Elliott and my 26 week checkup.

Tuesday just wasn’t happening. It’s hard to make Tuesdays into anything but a rough day, and once I get home from rehearsal (the bright spot, granted, but makes everything else difficult) I need something to help me wind down, but writing is too much effort on a Tuesday. I know, I know. Hanging out in the desert being tempted by the devil wasn’t too much effort for Jesus, but still. He’s Jesus. I’m not.

Wednesday I went to the zoo and although I didn’t technically write fiction, I did spend a good half hour or so hanging out in the lakeside cafe plotting a crazy novel. I’ve decided it counts, since it was a dense 3 pages of notes and lots of character motivation and logistics got worked out. In short, it was a solid half hour of writing.

I also made this entertaining note, which isn’t a “story” but is longer than what twitter would have allowed me to say:

Today I watched what looked like a battle if the sexes, but may have just been sea lion vs. seals. I’m fairly certain that only sea lions hang out in this pool, but I have vague memories of a zoo keeper saying differently during a feeding time lecture. Anyway, three females (or seals) were sunning themselves on the main rock formation. The Alpha Male (or the lone sea lion) hops out of the water and starts barking up a storm, basically telling the girls to get off his rock and out of his way so he can have his seat back. In his defense, he had been there earlier, by himself, and when he went for a swim, the girls jumped at the opportunity for some sunbathing. The Alpha Female (who was sunning herself on the highest point) turns to the other girls (who are shifting to make room for the guy without so much as a complaint) and starts barking at them. I’m guessing she told them to hold thief ground, because they stop making room and go back to sunning. The Alpha Male starts to bark at the Alpha Female, but he eventually concedes and worms his way into some of the free space on the rock. Clearly discontent, he picks his head up every so often to bark or snort or wiggle around on the uneven surface he’s been resigned to. The crowd gets a kick out of it (most haven’t been there for the whole show) but the girls on the rock generally ignore him.

The larger brown lump in the center is the boy

It turns out that I’m much better suited to giving something up than adding something in. I can handle the “withdrawal” issues of giving up chocolate or internet, or soda (not caffeine mind you, with true withdrawal issues) much easier than forcing myself to spend 30 minutes each day writing. Last week I was at 7 of 8, but only 5 of those were “on time”.

This week, I managed to pull off 4 of 7, plus make up for the one missed last week.

On Thursday I wrote more fiction. The story I’m working on is one of those self-indulgent “will never see the light of day” deals triggered by a dream I had after playing a bit too much Dragon Age. It’s not fair to say that it’s fanfic, because it’s all original characters and could be anywhere at any time, but it’s certainly not quality and I’m not bothering to work on the world behind the story at all. I’m sticking with it, though, because it’s the first fiction I’ve written in several months and being all secretive and self-indulgent and letting it be the crappity-crap that it’s become is the best way I can get back into fiction writing.

My hope is by the end of Lent (and possibly before), I’ll be warmed up enough to take another stab at a fairly robust world that I’ve created. There’s still a decent amount of ground-work I’d like to lay before I start writing much of the story. Usually I don’t do quite this much pre-work, but I’d like the story to be more than just a relationship between two primary characters and to do that, I need a web. I’m trying to be more George R. R. Martin and less …oh, let’s go with Stephanie Meyer. It has not escaped me, however, that all this plotting is delaying the actual writing for more nefarious reasons. So long as I don’t write it, it has maximum potential for being awesome. I’m not so paralyzed by this silly dream story, which is why I’m working on it, instead.

Friday I posted a bunch of reviews on Yelp. This almost felt like cheating, since it was 4 or 5 very short efforts that I combined into about 45 minutes of writing. Since it was for an audience other than me, however, I feel like it counts. I was also getting (nicely) nagged by my community leader for not posting anything even though I’d received the “Elite ‘10″ sticker on my profile. I suspect I’ll be going back to the yelp well a few times this season, assuming I visit enough new places or dig through old ones I haven’t reviewed.

Saturday I did nothing. I’m not sure why.

Sunday I wrote more fiction. I stopped on Thursday in a good spot where I knew what would happen next, hoping (like Hemingway(?) suggested) that I’d easily be able to get going. Sadly, I failed to make any notes about what would happen next, so by the time I got to it, I’d forgotten. I also failed to note anything I’d thought about including on Saturday, so I was a little stuck. Eventually I worked it out and made sure to not only end at a high point on Sunday night, but to also write down where that note was going next.

Monday was a big day. Since Charlotte’s at daycare all day, I can sacrifice some chore or personal time and easily make up a day or more. I started with an article for murmur that’s been ridiculously popular. I can’t take even a portion of the credit. I mostly just opened the floodgates for everyone to talk about their favorite subject: themselves. Also on Monday, I made up for a skipped day in week 1 by whining about my easy pregnancy because it’s only 90% easy instead of 100% on my blog about my kids. Kids. The fact that’s plural is still pretty flipping absurd to me, and #2 isn’t even here yet.

And then…. And then I didn’t write any more this week until late this evening – nearly 3 full days later. Tuesday was more or less understandable, since Tuesdays are my fullest, most brain-stressy days. I still could have smashed a bit of fiction in that evening, but I didn’t. Wednesday I have a great excuse for, and yet not at all. It was another “Charlotte-free day,” but around 12:30 I took a pretty rough tumble and crashed into our TV console. I spent the rest of the day (and coincidentally free evening) lying on the couch playing video games while being both shell-shocked and relieved that I wasn’t spending the time instead in a hospital room dealing with a broken hand, dislocated shoulder, trashed knee, or god forbid, a fall-induced pregnancy complication. Any or all of which it seemed I had just narrowly escaped. Especially the shoulder one. Could I have spent some of those hours writing? Oh sure. I should have, too, but I was just…completely not in the mood. I could have dropped one or two in this afternoon, too, but instead my body decided that I really, really needed to sleep. Worth it.

That means as of completing writing this (which I’m counting – but for Week 3 since it’s Thursday), I’m now 3 behind. That’s not terrible, and it’s easily surmountable so long as I take the time to fix it, but it’s … disheartening.

So what’s the problem? Lots of things. Like I said, it’s much easier for me to be tempted by something restricted and walk away for a couple of moments over and over and over than to sit down and say “do this until it’s done.” It’s a procrastination issue. There will always be more time later in the day, or extra time “tomorrow” to catch up when I’m not feeling in the mood. Except there’s not more time later. Or there is, but I don’t use it. Or there is, but something comes up and I don’t have the chance to take it.

My plan for week 3 is to put myself on a tighter schedule and restrict certain other activities until after my writing is done for the day. I also need to up my reading (from not at all to every day – just like writing). I’ve been tempted to modify this lenten goal to be “read or write every day”, but I feel like I’ve committed to writing and switching it up now is cheating.

Plus, it’s a sneaky way to avoid writing, which is the opposite of the point.

This happens every so often. I start craving a specific type of story and I can’t let it go. If whatever I’m currently reading doesn’t fit the bill, I can’t focus on it. I’ve started three books in the last few days, questing for the “right” combination of voice, plot, and character and they’ve all been dissatisfying. I’ve flitted through my stack of books (both tangible and digital) over this same time and nothing even looks like it’s going to be the right fit for this craving.

The solution is somewhat obvious: write it.

Which works. It’s the primary reason fiction gets into and then out of my brain. The trouble is that until I have a better idea of what this story looks like, I can’t write it either. I flit from idea to idea the same way I do with the books. It’s like the craving itself is distracting me from fulfilling it. In the mean time i just, well, I flit.

And flitting is annoying.