I don't go to many movies.  The operative word here is go. When I watch them now, I see old ones on TV or new ones on demand, for money.  But my son Matt and I go to the "picture show" as it used to be called long ago.  He does't like talky movies and I don't like horror, so we go to Marvel movies, shoot-em up, bang bang, action stuff.  Hence Spiderman Two this weekend. Well, duh. And also aaargh.

Usually I let the falling buildings and flashing 3-D images wash over me and let them go but this blockbuster  woke me in the night.  It had too much plot, too many arbitrary decisions with no explanation and way too many unanswered trail ends.  I was busy writing in my head trying to fill in the blanks. Some of it was just stupid, though.  Too bad, because good supporting actors were wasting their energies.  Just think: Colm Fiore, the human villain, as opposed to some unexplained iron men, is going to be King Lear this summer at Stratford.  And Sally Field has gone from Mrs. Lincoln to Peter Parker's aunt, unaware after all these years that he was  laundering his own  Spiderman smalls. The principals, Spiderman and his girlfriend, are charming and fairly good actors when they get to play something other than the angst of the moment, and I would rather have watched them do something other than making out on the tallest building in the city.  Maybe that's just me because I have a fear of heights. 

So I was awake far too early and went on from there to other considerations, too much to cope with at three in the morning. It's almost six now and I'm going to swim.  I call my morning swim wet meditation and I really need it today.