Iron Man, Too

Film can be inspiring to me in so many different ways.  Sometimes after a film I’m inspired to write something, whether a review in praise of what I’ve seen or a satire mocking it.  Other times I’m inspired to make a significant change in my life, like being less inhibited or not trusting robots.

On Saturday I saw Iron Man 2, starring Robert Downey Jr. as Tony Stark, a narcissistic industrialist and genius engineer who creates a suit of armor and becomes the superhero Iron Man.  I enjoyed the film.  It was a fun spectacle.  But more importantly, it inspired me.  Now did it inspire me to write a glowing review?  Nope.  An absurd sequel?  Nope.  Listen to more AC/DC?  Not possible.  Make a giant poster of Gwyneth Paltrow’s gams?  Well…no.  Then what inspiration hath this comic book adaptation wrought?  The inspiration to become a superhero myself, to become an Iron Man, too!

When I returned home from the theatre, I immediately began work on becoming Iron Man.  I didn’t have all of that cutting-edge technology that Tony Stark had in his cliffside Malibu lab/home, but what I did have were markers, loose leaf paper, fishing line and nails.  So I wrote “Complex Algebra Problems”, “Geometry and Stuff” and “Science!” all over all of the papers and then hung them from the ceiling with the fishing line and nails in the kitchen.  With my computer system operational, I went on to the most important part of a superhero: the costume.  I scoured my house from top to bottom for anything iron to use to manufacture my armor.  What I found was a decorative antique iron, a curling iron, a five iron golf club, iron supplements, and an “Iron” Mike Tyson VHS tape.  Next I needed my arc reactor and repulsor rays.  For those I got a couple of 9-volt batteries and two flashlights.  With several yards of duct tape, I fastened all of the iron to various parts of my body, the batteries to my chest and the flashlights to my wrists.  With my costume complete, I went into the bathroom, wiped the lipstick message “You may not be precious but you’re still a gem to me.” off of the mirror and took a good long look at myself.

“I am Iron Man.”

I looked good.  Hell, I looked super.  Now was the time to go out into the world and bring it some goddamned peace!

My first mission as Iron Man was to take a few photographs of myself in the suit and then upload them onto my Facebook profile – which I also needed to change my name to “Iron Man” on.  I got some great comments right away.  A guy I had a few classes in high school with wrote, “Whoa.  Dude.”  I responded, “You’ve been Thunderstruck by Iron Man.”  Then I laughed for a minute.

The next mission was going to be a little more difficult: I had to call my ex-wife and tell her that I couldn’t make it to Chili’s.  Her parents were in town and they all wanted to catch-up at dinner.  I picked up my i(ron)Phone to call when the screen flashed and then went black.  I tried to turn it back on but nothing happened.  Maybe it needed to be charged.  I tried that but, again, nothing.  I realized that it must have been all of the iron I had on.  The magnetism had fried it.  Now I was going to have to go all the way to Midtown and cancel in person.

“Ugh,” said Iron Man.

I flew to Chili’s on the subway and then a bus.  People respected the power and wisely kept their distance during the commute.  A little boy with an Iron Man backpack stared at me.  I gave him a nod and he cried tears of joy into his mother’s lap.

Inside Chili’s I was met with a welcoming fanfare by the employees.  I was a little embarrassed by it at first but then remembered how Tony Stark would act: cocksure.

“What’s hotter than a Jalapeño Burger on a Chili’s grill?”  I put my thumbs to the batteries on my chest.  “That—This guy.”  I might have to work a bit more on my superwit.

At the table of my ex-wife and her family, who were stunned by my super transformation, I explained to them that my mission for peace left me with no time for blooming onions, megaritas and, under my breath, passive-aggressive remarks about my career.

“Is he on drugs?”

“No, Bob.  I think it’s one of his weird sex things.”

My ex-wife agreed that it was best for me to leave.  Mission accomplished.

Before purchasing tickets for Iron Man 2, I had looked at my bank account online and noticed that Chase Bank had charged me twelve dollars for making more than six transfers from my savings in a month.  With a Chase across the street from the Chili’s, my next mission was to go inside and dispute this injustice.

Immediately upon entering, several alarms went off, no doubt because of the suit.  Before I could even get in the line for a teller, I was escorted out by security.  On the sidewalk, fuming, I plotted my attack on the villainous Chase when a woman began screaming at a cab driver behind me.

“You went the wrong way on purpose!”

“You pay me!  You pay me five dollars!”

“You’re lucky you got what I gave you, you sonofabitch.”

I needed to bring peace to this situation!  I walked over to the woman, still standing by the cab arguing.  Seeing my imposing reflection in the cab window, she turned to face me and I quickly blinded her with my repulsor rays.  She screamed and dropped her purse, which I picked up and took out the five bucks for the cabbie.  As she was swinging her arms wildly from the gutter I noticed her true nature.  On her shirt was a patch and underneath it a nametag.  They both had “Chase” written on them!  The villainess!  I went back into her purse and grabbed another twelve dollars.

“Here is your money, sir.  Remember that Iron Man has helped a wronged citizen!”

I was trying to hand the cabbie his money when a flash of neon came out of nowhere and knocked the bill from my hand.  Suddenly, another flash came down and knocked the Mike Tyson tape off of my crotch.  I turned to see where it had come from, readying myself.  Standing in the street with her hair slicked back, gold foil candy wrappers over her front teeth, tattoos written in pen all over her skin, a circle of double-A batteries on her chest and neon jump ropes in her hands was my boss/girlfriend.  She had seen Iron Man 2 with me and was also inspired by what she saw.  Since she’s got a thing for villains and charming rogues, she chose to become Ivan Vanko/Whiplash, played in the film by Mickey Rourke.

She said in a Russian accent, “’You come from a family of thieves and butchers.  And like all guilty men, you try to rewrite your history, to forget all the lives the Stark family has destroyed.’”

I couldn’t remember a line from the movie so I just started fighting her in the street.  Traffic came to a halt, lines of cars clogging the avenue.  Bystanders stood outside their cars or on the sidewalks watching our epic battle and loudly cheering me, their hero Iron Man, on.

After the police dropped my girlfriend and me off at home, warning us that if something like this ever happens again we would go to jail, I went inside to recharge my batteries.  The officers obviously didn’t understand that I had a duty to defend justice and bring peace to the world as Iron Man.  As soon as my batteries were juiced up, I was going to head right back out and save the world.  But the thing with 9-volt batteries is that they take awhile to recharge.  After a few hours I had completely lost interest in being Iron Man, in saving the world.  Instead, I went to work on a giant poster of Gwyneth Paltrow’s gams.