We’ve been watching Jessica Jones, along with the rest of the world, because we want to be cool. I tell you this not because I want you to think that we’re cool (you already know that we’re too cool for that) but because otherwise the story I’m about to tell you will make no sense at all.
It actually won’t make much sense anyway unless I explain further, so let me back up a bit.
I swear, I do make notes about conversations to blog about later. It’s just that, sometimes I’m making those notes at 1am or while running from here to there or I’m in the middle of something else and people are shouting at me to put my phone down and look where I’m going, dammit. So they’re not always a complete record of the conversation, just a few blurbs to jog my memory. Which is how I end up with notes like this:
What the hell? I mean…. clearly he said something stupid, and then I called him on it, and then there was something about not being able to prove it, but I can’t actually blog that conversation because what the everloving fuck?
ME: Seriously, what was that?
HIM: Probably didn’t happen, like all those snoring stories.
ME: Yeah, I got another one of those ready too, like the baseball thing. You know, not next up but the one after?
HIM: On deck?
ME: Yeah, like that. See, I know sports things!
Yes, the snoring is still a thing. And yes, he still pretends it’s not a thing. Please don’t assume, just because I’m not telling you about the latest “angle of the sun” or “I don’t snore” moment, that they’ve stopped happening. It’s just that if I were to tell you about every single one, I would be blogging daily (which you would love) about those things to the exclusion of all else (which you would probably not). The last thing I need is for you lot to get so bored with me that you tune me out. I’ve already got him if I need someone to not listen to a word I say.
HIM: (snoring, in that erratic way that means I will never get back to sleep)
HIM: (goes right back to it, because of course he does)
ME: Honey, PLEASE
ME: The SNORING! Roll over.
HIM: Oh…. was that me?
ME: (calculates how many years of this we’ve got left)
Where were we? Oh, yes. Jessica Jones. So we were watching Jessica fail to catch Kilgrave because her priorities are as screwed up as his “plans” (seriously, that is not a spoiler) and I just could not. Stop. Venting about it. I mean, really? Really, Jess? You just – you know what, I don’t think I’ve calmed down enough to have this conversation with you. Her. Whatever. The point is, that wasn’t actually the point.
You’re used to that by now, right?
The actual point, if you’re still with me, is that we got to talking about the nature of intelligence in villainry and the following exchange occurred. I made diligent note of it after the fact, because my husband asked me to – which is why we just went through all that other stuff above – and I repeat it to you now so that you may have the vicarious pleasure of sitting in our living room, shouting at the TV with us.
ME: It’s not like stupid mistakes are a disqualifier for Marvel villains. I mean, Loki.
HIM: Yep, we allow some pretty ridiculous plans from the villain
ME: And what’s his name, the bald one…. it’ll come to me
HIM: I know which one you mean.
ME: But I can’t think of the name… it’s going to KILL me now, I swear…
HIM: Right, and he could have done just fine if he’d, you know, not insisted on doing everything himself.
ME: Yeah. Like the whole end of the movie would have been different if he’d thought, “You know who should go in the big untested metal suit of death? Not me. Not the most important person in the world, as far as I’m concerned. Tony Stark can wear his own untested metal death suits and I’ll send someone out in mine and maybe set the voice to sound like mine and they’ll fight and if my suit wins I win and if Tony beats my suit to a pulp then I’m still alive and he rips the face off it all Darth Vader style and goes ‘oh, no, it was Ted from Accounting!’ and I’m the one getting shawarma.”
HIM: The Russian had it right. Drone is better.
ME: Okay, it’s too much. I can’t remember his name. It’s a noun, too.
HIM: Obediah Stane.
ME: YES, that’s IT! I was never going to remember that. I was thinking, it’s like a bad thing, don’t want it, not mud but…. yeah.
HIM: It’s spelled different, though.
ME: Right, but even if you’d given me the first name, I never would have got that. Obediah, what’s that even?
HIM: Jebediah with an O.
ME: Exactly. That’s not a thing.
HIM: It’s like he got his name off a Starbucks cup.
ME: I’ll bet it is. I’ll bet that’s his Starbucks name.