Hello, Hollywood? I know I said I wouldn’t call again, but I can’t sleep, and it’s all your fault. For ages, summer—the season during which I flee the heat by watching superheroes punch superbaddies in AC-blessed theaters—has marked a very specific period in my equinoctial year. You began unraveling the cycle back in 2008, when Iron Man decided he owned the first weekend of May. The fifth month of the year is never summer. Period. Neither is the fourth month, but that didn’t stop you—greedy corporate time bandits!—from releasing Infinity War in April. Now, in a perversion of the Time Stone worthy of Thanos, Captain Marvel is coming out the first week of March. March! Great Gregorian gods, why? You’re messing with ancient circadian oscillations here. I’m so used to the temporal rhythms that seeing Deadpool in the nonheat of Valentine’s Day 2016 even threw my menstrual cycle out of whack—and that’s just an n-of-1 example. They tell me glaciers are melting due to climate change, but what if it’s because movie publicists are being asked to blow hot air year-round? When I gotta disrupt my hormones by eating fake-cheese nachos at the megaplex in coldest climes, seasons cease to matter and all entertainment mushes together. Seriously, I’m one more spandex-in-springtime experience away from dropping the “seasonal” from seasonal affective disorder and never leaving my couch again. Captain Marvel could’ve been my ray of sunshine—if only she’d been allowed to glow in June.
This article appears in the March issue. Subscribe now.
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