Please take this column as my own version of a self-help exercise.

Apparently, envisioning something helps a person achieve whatever that something happens to be, and I am trying to be less of a miserable git. Yeah, I know, without the miserable git part of my personality, I have nothing but the occasional spark of borderline kindness caked with over-hostility but I ask you, is that enough?

No, of course not. So anyway, I’m probably going to change my mind about what I am writing by the time you read it but please remember I had good intentions when I started. Thank you for your consideration.

Well, look at me being all optimistic and whatnot.

When I go home after writing this column on Friday, I will tune into Netflix’s Iron Fist, the fourth of the streaming service’s original Marvel series. The early reports, to be kind, are not great. If one were to put any stock in review site Rotten Tomatoes, only about 20 per cent of people will like the show with the critic’s consensus stating “despite some promising moments, Iron Fist is weighed down by an absence of momentum and originality.”

Now, far be it for me to impugn the mighty Rotten Tomatoes or argue that professional criticism is a joke (aside from my criticism of course because mine is the only opinion anyone should ever care about). I’m going into Iron Fist without no concerns or premature appraisals. Why? I am starting to believe people.

I kid of course. People are idiots… except for you folks who read this column of course. You guys are cool. I am talking about everyone else.

Anyway, Netflix’s treatment of its Marvel properties so far is all but untouchable. Daredevil, Luke Cage, and Jessica Jones are all better than good shows. My only issue with the three is the decision to use too many characters in the second season of Daredevil but it was still better than anything the major networks came up with in the last year so the only reason I bring it up is for the sake of honesty.

Also, even if there are problems with the show (pacing, casting, whatever), I have something close to trust when it comes to Netflix. If anything is wrong, I think repairs will follow in time for The Defenders, a series involving all four of the streaming service’s titular Marvel characters. I am slightly pumped… or I would be if I cared about anything. (Whew, my reputation as a non-caring cool guy is safe… except I just used the term cool guy so now I am ruined. Oh god of gods, how will I live with my social status torn asunder? How will I face the mean kids in school? Will no one ever love me again?)

Anyway, it’s an odd and somewhat freeing feeling to have what you folks would call hope. Personally, I don’t care for hope and have a tattoo indicating so, albeit in a much more profane matter. I prefer to think of my current state as using a positive mental attitude or PMA, as the Bad Brains called it. (The Bad Brains are cool and if I talk like them it means I am cool again, right? I thought so. Take that, deep-seeded feelings of insecurity. I rule once again.)

I’m done now.

SHARE
Previous articleMy notebooks
Next articleEarly birds vs. night owls
Antigonish native Matt Draper has been a photographer, reporter and columnist for The Reporter since 2003.