My plan all along was to avoid the actual submissive experience of sitting down (or standing in the back of the theatre) and watching Avengers: Age of Ultron while selectively quoting this weekend from this or that dismissive review. Get the hate on, wear it like a sweater, run it up the flagpole. Then it hit me this morning that this won’t do and that I need to suffer through it first-hand. God help me but that’s what I’ll be doing an hour or two from now. The suffering will happen at Leows 34th Street, or a six-minute walk from the Starbucks on Eighth Avenue and 23rd Street where I’m now sitting, proscrastinating, dreading it.
