I had the chance to see the trailer for the new movie "Thor: The Dark World" while watching a football game on a recent weekend. It was hard to miss, because it ran about 17 times, and that was just during the first inning. OK, so I don't watch a lot of football, which would explain why I didn't realize it was a movie ad until about the 10th viewing.
In my defense, the trailer consisted mostly of huge, muscle-bound men bashing each other, so the line between fact and fiction was blurred. It wasn't until a really big guy picked up a hammer and obliterated his opponent that I finally realized I was watching a commercial for a movie. I'm no expert on the NFL, but I'm pretty sure using a hammer would draw a flag on the play.
As I watched it several more times during the game, something about the commercial began to bug me. And it wasn't just that I'd memorized the lines. In fact, I was so troubled I confessed to my husband, "I think there's something wrong with me." I don't know what kind of reaction I was expecting from him, but it wasn't the one I got, which was basically a shrug suggesting he'd come to the same conclusion about me long ago.
Undeterred by his lack of response, or perhaps to provoke one, I admitted that I secretly wished Thor's evil brother, Loki, would win once in a while. "Of course you root for Loki," my husband said without skipping a beat. "He's a wiseass." Was it possible my husband was right (it's been known to happen every so often, but only when I'm sleeping or in a coma)? Was I fine with the wholesale destruction of planet Earth as long as it was accompanied by some snappy one-liners?
The issue was further complicated by the fact that when I was 4 I had a huge crush on Thor. With his flowing golden locks and Viking helmet, he was the cutest of The Marvel Super Heroes on Saturday morning cartoons. Every weekend, I would look forward to watching my future husband cross the rainbow bridge from Asgard to Earth. I never considered whether it was even feasible for a human to marry a two-dimensional animated Norse deity, even one brought to you in living color. But it was the '60s, and I figured the times they were a-changin'.
So it didn't make sense that I'd now root for the villain instead of the guy I fondly remembered watching defeat Molto the Lava Man. After all, I'm a rule-follower by nature. The most rebellious thing I've done lately is refuse to download the iOS7 operating system to my iPhone, despite Apple's daily requests to do so.
Maybe the reason I sympathize with Loki is what is at the heart of every sibling rivalry. Like most kids, he'll resort to anything to get his parents' attention — trickery, deception, unleashing hordes of angry aliens to destroy New York City. You know, the usual stuff. But no matter what, his brother, Thor, always outshines him.
Sadly, Loki was doomed from the start. In the world of superheroes, having a testosterone-laden, monosyllabic name like Thor virtually guarantees you're going to win. On the other hand, no one's going to take you seriously when your name rhymes with okey-doke.
It's not hard to guess which one is the favorite child.
Not that I'd know anything about that. Although I do have a sister named Lynne, which is about as monosyllabic as it gets.
Not to mention it can be a man's name, too, making it more macho than my name, which, unfortunately, rhymes with "wetsy."
All of this is dredging up more issues than I care to deal with right now. Besides, I'm pretty busy cooking up a nefarious plot to gain total domination of our family this Thanksgiving. I can only tell you it involves green bean casserole and, if I can find them, some angry aliens. My sister's probably too busy fighting crime and saving the world to take the time to read this. But, just to be safe, if you see her, don't tell her I said anything. And if she picks up a hammer, duck.
Betsy Bitner is author of the blog lostintheadirondacks.com and a mystery writer. Her email address is bbitner1@nycap.rr.com.