I found this bit of wisdom on a pirate T-shirt on Chincoteague Island. Calico Jack's skull and crossed cutalsses on the back with "the journey is the destination". More Deepak Choprah or Obi-Wan Kenobi than Capn' Jack, but there it is.

And just when you think you know the Destination; it shapeshifts on you.

I had pried (using a large mysterious hammer engraved with Elder Futhark, the Plus Five Sword of Doom, and all my Jedi skills) two, count'em TWO Saturdays off in May. One was for a sail on the excellent and doughty Schooner Sultana (1768), the other was for a sail on a local lake on a much smaller craft without cannons.

Saturday Off: Part One:

A friend and I travelled to Chestertown MD (on the mighty Chester River) for the Sultana sail, then to Eastern Neck Island to poke around this tiny National Wildlife Refuge (at the mouth of the Chester, one side of it faces the open expanses of the Chesapeake Bay). We found osprey and eagle, ladybugs and aphids,  little mooncurves of beach scattered with oyster shell and pebbles smoothed by wave and sand. I've seen the fins of cownosed rays slicing the water, heard the dinosaur cries of great blue herons, circumnavigated the island in my kayak to watch eagle chasing osprey, migrating waterfowl, and dance in the waves. I'd just done a bunch of field trips on a local farm where my job was to help kids find cool macroinvertebrates in the pond. I'd brought a few nets and a camera to record our Eastern Neck finds. Mostly I found sand.

But the water was the clearest I'd ever seen it. I could stand in waist deep water and still see my feet. For those of you who have vacationed in the Caribbean, where fifty feet of visibility is a very BAD day, I remind you, this is the Chesapeake Bay. It still largely gets a C- on its health score. We have a lot of issues to clean up: the vanishing SAV (eelgrass and other submerged aquatic vegetation), oysters and small forage fish depleted, runoff from development, agriculture, mines and industry.

I could see my feet. I could see bits of SAV, of the marsh edges, of tiny fish zooming in the shallows.

And I'd left the snorkelling gear and the underwater housing for the camera at home. "Oh, yeah, it's the Chester and the Chesapeake... why would I need the underwater housing..."

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Saturday Off: Part Two.

When the friends with the sailboat bailed, I decided to use that Saturday to go back to Balticon. For the science fiction-impaired, this is one of the finest science fiction/fantasy/comics/etc. conventions on the east coast. I had exhibited in the 80s as an artist, and went back last year with less than resounding success (though the programs are useful and interesting). I had also spent way too much money there. So this year, thinks I, I shall return without investing heavily in art no one is buying, and I shall go for one day and I shall not spend money and I shall go to the lectures and panels discussions and Learn Something.

There I stood, staring at perfectly clear water with no underwater housing, no dive mask. I would see this again when someone decided to turn the Silmarillion into a film...

I rounded up a few friends, the dive mask, the fins, the underwater housing. I vowed to return to Eastern Neck.

Thor was hurling Mjolnir at Frost Giants all week (zzzzotz! rrrrrrrrrummmmmmmmmmmbbbbble), it rained randomly to accompany the thunder and lightning. I envisioned lots of silt flowing down the Susquehanna into the Bay. There goes the visibility, and any hope of underwater doings.

By Friday, the friends of the expedition had bailed, and I had begun to question whether I should just pack it up and go to Balticon for the day. Perhaps I am getting to old for solo expeditions into the wild.

I still had doubts when I filled the car with expedition gear and set out somewhat late Saturday morning. I strolled down 74, across the Conowingo Dam, down the Delmarva Penninsula, mostly ignoring the muted GPS (which has some random brainfarts about what direction I SHOULD be going). I passed dozens of yard sales; Memorial Weekend, to memorialize Those Who Have Given Their All for Our Country... and to redistribute our mathoms. (For those of you who are Hobbit-impaired: a Mathom is anything you no longer need, but can pass on to someone else, as in, stuff you find at yard sales. Hobbits gave away mathoms on their birthdays.) The car was already stuffed, I was already sort of late, I just wanted to get out of the summer heat and into the water.

Then the Death Star-like tractor beam of one yard sale sucked me in.

Somewhere in northern Maryland, I pulled over, scanned the tables of clothes and mathoms and a box of kittens. I found a Han Solo action figure, still in the box: "How much?"

"A buck."

A keyboard. "How much?"

"A buck."

Random clothing.

"A buck."

A pillow with swordwhales on it.

"For you, a buck."

The entire set of Star Wars films on DVD (a bit more than a buck).

I wandered over to a stout middle aged woman in a lawn chair in the shade, guarding a crate of piebald kittens. I admired the little fuzzies with their pink toes, we talked about neutering and spaying, about dogs. She told me about her Rottweiler, how she'd wanted one when another dog passed, but couldn't afford to buy a puppy... then a friend brought her this puppy. He was her Guardian, her Protector, a velcro dog whose mission was to be the Loyal Companion.

"What was his name again?"

Thor. All her animals had weather theme names. The Rottie was Thunder and Lightning incarnate. I'd grown up reading Norse myth. My ancestors were Germanic, it was part of their culture. I spent a few decades sailing two different Viking Longships in southern Maryland. I'd gone to the Sail Virginia Governor's Ball with our Viking crew... in full regalia (yeah, they let us in with swords and hatchets). When I saw the Marvel film, Thor, it was like revisiting an old friend. I'd watched it, and the Avengers, twice. I was wearing the Thor's hammer someone in the Longship Company had given me long ago.

"And then he got cancer." The problem with big dogs is their lives are small, short, abrupt. Not immortal. She kept him alive for a year after the vet said he couldn't. She fed him liver. Dug the grave months in advance; "Look, hole. You don't want to go there." He didn't. He had a mission.

Crossing the Rainbow Bridge has become the animal lovers' imagery for a passed pet. Bifrost, straight out of Norse myth. When Thor passed over it he left a gaping Rottweiler-sized hole in his human's life. One day a friend took her along to a pet psychic. She didn't really believe in it, but hey, the money went to a good cause, and, hey, it could be fun.

The psychic nailed everything about her and Thor. "He was a mission dog." she said. A dog with a mission. To change your life. To support you through tough times. To be your hero. Mission accomplished, he returns Home.

I stopped at a yard sale, I found some clothes, a keyboard, and stories. The Lucas stories I love so much. And a personal one involving dogs and a mythic figure I'm fond of. I might have stopped at any yard sale, or none. I might never have talked to the Lady With Thor. But I did, I found a story.

The universe is not only wierder than you imagine, it's weirder than you can imagine.

I went on. Somewhere in one f the little hiccup towns on Delmarva, I passed through the square and (windows down, no air conditioning in the car) smelled barbeque. I am not normally that much of a carnivore, but this screamed "STOP!" The local fire company had a small barbeque pit, a barrel of cold water, and half chickens on the grill. I ate one. An entire half chicken. And began a conversation with a small, wiry 70-something woman with a spotted dog on a pink lead. The dog was unlike anything I'd seen. It was houndy, shaped sort of like a German shorthair, only Beagle sized. It was sort of blue merle, only without any white; just the bluey grey with a smattering of black.

"What is that?" says I.

"Koldbeenythng."

"???"

"They were bred for royalty, as food testers." She smiled. "No, really, her mom was a championship Cocker Spaniel, her dad a championship Daschund."

Gretchen looks like neither, but is pretty cute, eyes up my chicken, and is invited to consume some of the tasty bits. She was a rescue. She was abused. It took several years to get her socialized. "A shopping cart and Lowes did it." Wheeling her through Lowes in a cart, instant socialization. She's quite friendly. I hand her another piece of decadent chicken skin. We have a long conversation about the Bay, about beach erosion, about people who come to the Bay and want to treat it like Suburbia. Who want green lawns and pristine beaches, then are appalled when their "cleanup job" erodes their pristine beach away. We swap addresses. I am invited to come visit.

"Are you a teacher?" she asks.

Well, no... I mean, I've done some informal stuff for wildlife rehabbers, for art classes, for the park, for the farm. I like it. I hate the public school system. I read. I educate myself. I explore.

I have found another piece of the Story.

I go on, south. It's afternoon now, the sun sliding down the southwestern sky. I'm losing light in the water, if I want to get some underwater footage. I yawn, wishing I'd had nore sleep. I hate long drives. I need coffee; the only time I drink it is on long drives. It's hot, sunny. I want to just jump in the water.

I wind down through Rock hall down the long only road that leads down Eastern Neck (the local name for penninsulas), across the bridge (no rainbows, just fishermen) to the bit of neck that has broken off; Eastern Neck National Wildlife Refuge. Gulls wheel and wail over the shallow bay, the sun is still sliding down the sky over the vast expanse of the Bay to the left. Marsh, then woods. then a long black squiggle in the other lane. I stop. A black rat snake is stretched, like a bent slinky, across the whole far lane. Uh oh, someone ran over this excellent member of the Rodentia Patrol. I back up, stare at it. It's head is up, staring back. It's wrinkled; every two inches it's bent the other way. It's squiggled and S-curved for its whole length like a child's drawing of a snake. It stares as if to say, "what's up, dude."

"You shouldn't be on the road. Some tourist will run over you."

"It's warm here."

"It's warm everywhere. It's, like, 89 in the shade. I'm jumping in the water. You should be hiding in the bush."

I consider how I'm going to remove the Snake from the road. Shooing could get me a nice bite in the leg, and while it's non-venomous, that can still be a nasty bacteria-laden mess. I reach for one of the butterfly nets I brought to search for macroinvertebrates. I gently slide it against Snake's head. Snake looks vaguely surprised. I shove against Snake, pushing him back toward the weeds along the road. He looks like he'd rather just stay where he is, sunning on the warm macadam. I shove a bit more, he turns and slides into the weeds like a bolt of black lightning.

And the ^%&^%!!! camera is still in the car.

I only thought of "get the snake off the road before some idiot smashes it"... not, oh, cool, get some video.

I drive on, winding through the wildlife refuge. I stop to take pictures of the ospreys and their nest by the road. I drive with the camera on video mode, pointing out the window. (there's no traffic, and what is, is very slow). I change into a swimsuit. I stop at Bogle's Wharf, the one place where people with boats on trailers can launch. I've launched kayaks there; it has a boat ramp, a nice sandy mooncurve of beach about the length of my van, docks to fish from, the beach to launch Chesapeake Bay Retrievers from. And last week, great visibility.

This week, there is chop coming off the Chester River on the SSE wind, black detritus washed up in a wrack line, and zero visiblity.

I head over to the other side of the island. Ingleside is a horrendous place to launch a kayak; all rocks (imported to slow beach erosion; the Bay is mostly sand) and slopes and weeds. Last week it was full of lovely clear water, some SAV (submerged aquatic vegetation) and a view of the open expanse of the Bay.

On a twisty bit of road leading across the island I see movement in the weeds by the edge. I stop. A small red fox appears. Disappears. Reappears like an illusionist's trick. Finally comes into full view. I verrrrrry sssssllllooooooooooooooowly find the camera, put it on video mode, focus through the windshield. The fox looks up nervously. Looks down, grabs a piece of something half hidden in the grass by the road and begins pulling bits off like he is starving. His dinner is shiny, metallic, like a fish. Perhaps an eagle chasing an osprey, someone drops the fish, can't find it. The fox wins a free lunch. He pulls quickly at the meal, looking up. Yank yank, gulp gulp. Looks furtively into the bush, as if he hears something coming. Looks up at me. Can't see anything beyond the large object sitting there, quietly. Returns to eating. Looks up, looks left, looks right. Vanishes into the bush. reappears. Gulps down more food. Looks around. Vanishes like a wisp of red smoke. Reappears.

The dance goes on for some time; the Fox furtively gulping, looking around for larger scarier predators. Vanishing. Reappearing. Gulping. He is small, about the size of a cat, perhaps either a little female or a yearling. He has a fine world to live in, a National Wildlife Refuge, but he is still a Fox, a very small predator in a world full of larger ones, and he must use his skills to avoid them. He twitches his black velvet ears like radar dishes, scans the world around him with his golden cat eyes. I wonder why we never domesticated foxes. They would have done the job of cats; ridding early human settlements of rodents. Perhaps they have always been too shy, too wild, too clever to live with us.

A car comes down the road and he vanishes into the bush. I wait. The bush remains silent. I drive on.

Ingleside has clear water. I can see beds of SAV from the parking lot. I load up the camera into the underwater housing (it's dinosaur, given by a friend, a huge plexiglass tank that my little digital camera looks ridiculous inside of... but it works.). I'm in diveskin (SPF 100 sunscreen), dive boots and a PFD.

The water is about a foot deep.

The tide is low, I scramble down over rocks, then wet rocks, then rocks covered with green slime. I have bad knees, a heavy camera casse, and have spent an inordinate amount of time this week shovelling mulch. This is not fun.

I reach the real Bay, the water without rocks. I slide the camera around through the SAV beds, fly it over the sandy desrt bottom, sail around a tiny island you could fit in the bed of a pickup truck. I use the island to readjust the camera (after I let go of the housing and it all goes upside down), and restart a second video clip (I can't do anything to the camera after it is locked in the housing). I lurk in a foot and a half of water, watching tiny fish orbit me and the camera. They come up, check out their reflections in the plexiglass. I hope the camera can focus that close. I walk the camera back, and realize I am too old to be doing this bend over and touch your knees (while maneuvering a plexiglass tank) thing for more than about thirty seconds. I heave the camera and its housing back up on land, clunking it down on rocks, using the other three hands and feet to clamber over the slimy rocks, the wet rocks, and the big annoying rocks.

I want to have a word with whoever decided to put rocks here. I have a Nerf Mjolnir with your name on it...

I put the camera away, get the snorkelling gear. It's not the Caribbean. It's only a couple of feet of slightly murky water in the Bay. But it's water, and I can see past the edge of my mask. I sprawl in less than two feet of cool bay water, floated right on the surface by my PFD, and slowly finstroke out into the Bay.

OK, mostly I pull myself along on my fingertips because it's too shallow to really kick the fins. I get out a bit deeper, find bits of SAV beds, flip my fins slowly along. Sand, sand, sand. Useful SAV. Sand sand sand. A dead crab. Sand sand sand. A rock. Sand sand sand sand. A bit of oyster shell. Sand... a clam shell, both of them, still joined. The feeling of cool water sliding past. Of weightlessnes. Of your world, above the water, stretching from here to the horizon, beyond it, along the curve of water that is the Bay to the sea and to the whole round world. Of the world below the water stretching as far as you can reach in the murk. Of "what's out there?" What's going to appear in the next fin stroke? I've seen the fins of cownosed rays surfacing by my kayak. Big rays, six feet wide. There have been reports of all kinds of seathings coming this far north in the Bay: sharks and dolphins and whales and turtles... even a wandering manatee.

I find a tiny crab, hiding under a rock (washed down from the riprap on the beach). I watch him creep out cautiously, then pick off bits of plant patter from the chunk of marsh sod over his house.

I swim on. Sand... sand... SAV like an enchanted underwater forest, tiny bubbles caught in its branches. In Chincoteague's back bay, the eelgrass beds have all kinds of sponges and fish and macroinvertebrates. Here, at Eastern Neck, it is salty enough for clams and crabs and oysters and rays...

...and something else inn the grass. A squiggle of camo color, a short stroke of rattlesnake browns and sands and beiges. I pause, stare unbelieving at a tiny snakeshape the size of half a pencil. Its nose is pointy, like a sharpened pencil, it's about as thick. It lies on the sand among a tuft of grass. It is a pipefish, a relative of the seahorse. I watch him poke at the plants around him, nibbling off bites too small to see. I don't know if pipefish are common here, or if he is a wayward wanderer.

And, of course, I have put the camera away.

There is no glorious golden sunset tonight. the sun has slid down in silver and blue clouds. The Bay goes all steel and pewter and iron. It's gone from steaming tropics to chill, or at least, I am. I stow my gear, go back to Bogle's Wharf to launch my boat.

This boat is about a foot long, an elegantly simple toy I found at Chestertown's Downrigging Weekend. It has two masts, sails made from plastic bags, a moveable keel, and sheets to set the sails. I experiment and find she is a fun little sailer. I watch the marsh go to blue iron, feel the wind off the Chester driving the biting bugs inland. Sit on a piece of marsh with legs dangling in the water. Talk to a guy about Chesapeake Bay Retrievers.

The Journey is the Destination.

I had a picture of what I wanted to do this day. It changed, it shapeshifted. I did find clear water. I did my underwater footage. I also found stories: a dog named Thor, and one named Gretchen. A Grandmother who has seen too much of the wrong kind of change on the great Bay. A man who only needs dogs and ducks and a boat to be happy. A mask, a snorkel and a bit of clear water. A dead fish and a live fox. A wrinkled snake, alive after all. A tiny pipefish, invisible to all other visitors that day. Ospreys wheeling, the dinosaur croak of herons sailing overhead in the iron-blue evening sky. The wink of fireflies in the marsh grass and the bite of hungry mosquitoes.

I fled to the car, in dry clothes. Stopped for roast beef and much coffee, and drove back up Delmarva to the woods of PA. Stowed in the camera's memory chip is the Journey, or parts of it. Bouncing by the radio is a small irridescent mussel shell. 

Other than knowing a calico cat (who lived to the epic age of  21) named “Pirate Jenny: Agent of Shield”, I had no familiarity with Marvel comics’ Avengers series. X-Men, yes, Batman and Superman (DC), yes: they were  icons of 60s TV as well as the first superheroes of the 20th century. I watched the Bill Bixby/ Lou Ferrigno version of the Hulk, so I knew the big green guy. I
read Norse myth, lived in Aelfheim (a house in State College named by some fellow fantasy fans) and hung out with Vikings (sailing two different Viking longships over the years with the Longship Company) so I knew who Thor and Loki and Odin were. I grew up on Robin Hood (the 50s British version) and fell in love with another archer when I first read Lord of the Rings in 1978... then I
played a few Elvish archers  while kicking orc butt on paper in D&D, and fired a few real arrows into the air (mostly, into the air) with the SCA. Somewhere about 1981 I dyed my hair red,
picked up a sword and spent some time beating up guys in armour.
 
So some of the Avengers is beginning to look very familiar. Verrrry familar: some of it was shot in Pennsylvania.
 
I am sucked through the imaginative wormhole into comic book films as easily as I find my way into Middle Earth, or the worlds of Pixar and Aardman and Lucas and Spielberg and Burton, Miyasaki and Rodenberry. I loved Ironman, Captain America and totally missed Thor. 
 
Bad Viking. Ggzzzzzzzzzzzzzottttzzz!!!
 
The Blockbuster had closed, and I loathe the epic journey into the city to find a merchant for the little round disks that I can put in my magic movie playing box.
 
Then someone put up the Evil That Is Red Box.... right there at the Walgreens on the corner of my not quite rural anymore road. I approached the Evil Box, looked for directions. The screen flashed ominously. I poked at it. 
 
After more poking, some conversing like a mariner, and some mighty wishing for my own version of Mjolnir, I succeded in wresting a copy of Thor from it for a buck and some change.
 
Somewhere in the first five minutes of the film, it was apparent that writer, actor (Chris Hemsworth, you rock!) and director had nailed the character I remembered from the myths. The good hearted summation of the power of lightning and thunder and forge, the warrior who’d take out an entire army by himself to protect his people, then pass around a few dozen kegs. Oh yes, and the overenthusiastic hotheadedness and the Fall From Grace (how often in myths, comics and cartoons it is a literal fall from a great height), and the Learning What It Means To Be Mortal, and the Offering of Oneself In Place of the People as the Sacrificial Hero, and the Regaining of Power... with a bit more wisdom this time. They had done a nifty sci-fi twist on the myths; Asgard and Jotunheim and the rest are actual planets connected by a “world tree” of energy and wormholes in space. A character quotes Arthur C. Clarke at one point (famous sci-fi writer, he did that 2001 a Space Odessey thing); “any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic”. Thor is a wonderful fish out of water, floundering about in the 21st century without a clue. He has the heart of a Golden Hero, mere mortal strength (he has some trouble adjusting to that) and a serious problem with a relative. How he regains his power, the emotional arc of the character, all plays beautifully in the midst of some great action and gorgeous settings (Asgard, space, New Mexico). The girl who runs into him with her van (twice) is a science geek who helps him adjust. I hope they bring her back. 

One of my favorite bits of the Thor myth, missing in the film (but apparently not in the comic) is his chariot pulled by goats. I've had a number of goats in my life, including one Toggenburg wether (neutered male) who we taught to pull a cart. He's been replaced by three Siberian huskies in this decade, but I have always loved goats.   Tanngrisnir (Old Norse "teeth-barer, snarler") and
Tanngnjóstr (Old Norse "teeth grinder") are the goats of Thor, mentioned in the Poetic Edda (13th century) and the Prose Edda. Goats generally do not bare teeth, snarl, bite, kick or do much of anything else obnoxious and predatory; they're pretty mild mannered. But, then, these are Asgardian goats.

Perhaps the films could have him driving a Dodge Ram... though the appearance of a goat chariot in the midst of a traffic jam would be hilarious. Especially when everyone expects Heroes to drive up on a White Horse.

I noted that all of the characters in the Avengers (also, Spiderman and other comcic film adaptations) move and fight in very specific ways; it appears to echo the wonderful poses of the comcis... and it does. Here's what Chris Hemsworth had to say about Thor;
      ... gained 20 pounds for the role by eating non-stop and revealed that "It wasn't until Thor that I started lifting weights, it was all pretty new to me". Regarding his take of the character, Hemsworth said, "We just kept trying to humanize it all, and keep it very real. Look into all the research about the comic books that we could, but also bring it back to 'Who is this guy as a person, and what's his relationship with people in the individual scenes?'" About approaching Thor's fighting style, he remarked, "First, we looked at the comic books and the posturing, the way [Thor] moves and fights, and a lot of his power seems to be drawn up through the ground. We talked about boxers, you know, Mike Tyson, very low to the ground and big open chest and big shoulder swings and very sort of brutal but graceful at the same time, and then as we shot stuff things became easier.

It occured to me, somewhere along the line, that Thor is a Leo. Big-hearted, extroverted, strong, thunder and lightning and fire, wild-maned, hotheaded, sometimes arrogant Leo. He is born to be a leader (as Leos are) but must learn compassion and wisdom before he can. And that's what makes him someone I can relate to, empathize with, even though I'm female.

Oh yeah, and he's hot.

In the film, the imagery of Heimdall, the all seeing Guardian of Bifrost, the Rainbow Bridge, was awesome: Idris Elba, he of the awesome real name, and the glowing eyes, the imposing figure in golden armour. Elba's casting prompted a proposed boycott by the Council of Conservative Citizens and a debate amongst comic book fans, some insisting it was wrong for a black man to play a Nordic god. In response Elba called the debate "ridiculous". To these idiots I say: "What part of Rainbow Bridge do you not understand?

And Natalie Portman's take on her character? Worth repeating, especially to young women... 'What a great opportunity, in a very big movie that is going to be seen by a lot of people, to have a woman as a scientist'. She's a very serious scientist. Because in the comic she's a nurse and now they made her an astrophysicist. Really, I know it sounds silly, but it is those little things that makes girls think it's possible. It doesn't give them a [role] model of 'Oh, I just have to dress cute in movies'".
 
I returned the epic on Thorsday, and the Avengers appeared on Friday (which I believe has something to do with Freya). 
 
I postponed a date with Johnny Depp to see this.... ok, I postponed a viewing of Dark Shadows to see Avengers instead...
 
OK, that was fun. Definitely fun.
 
The only characters I was unfamiliar with were Black Widow and Hawkeye. And they were quickly introduced and explained. Hawkeye is the archetypal Archer, the same figure as Robin Hood and Legolas. He of the keen eye, the perfect aim... and mere mortal powers among Superheroes. The Black Widow is a little too slinky, too deceptive, too pretty for me to identify with, but when she goes into action... holycrap she’s awesome crazy!
 
So, we have our band of misfits... (oh, wait, that was Aardman). The Keen-eyed Archer, the Dangerous Beautiful Woman, the Purehearted Golden Hero, a high tech Trickster Hero, the Beast (or Jekyll and Hyde), and another Golden Hero with a good heart and a really big hammer.
 
And a villain: complex as the best are. The interplay between Thor and Loki is great; the tension of brothers, of secrets that grew bigger and toothier in the dark, of power, recognition and love wanted, and lost. And of the difference between Hero and Villain... the line is very thin. Both Thor and Loki have their falls from grace. So far, only Thor has redeemed himself by offering himself up as the Sacrificial Hero.
 
There are two Tricksters here, and a wonderful scene between them. There is Loki, the iconic Trickster of Norse myth, dark and brooding and manipulative, he would probably score quite high on the Psycopath Test I heard about on NPR the other day. Then there is Ironman. Yep, Trickster. A lighter, funnier, generally goodhearted one. And it is his unusual heart that fuels the confrontation. Loki, who has already done Evil Mind Control on Hawkeye and a scientist tries it on Ironman... it fizzles. We laugh. The Ultimate Trickster tricked by another Trickster.
 
There are other great little moments; a knock down (trees), drag out (vast tracts of land), blow heroes) out (of the scene) battle between our heroes (before they figure out they are, in fact, on the same side): Thor, Captain America and Ironman. I think this is something comic book writers love: “Wonder what would  happen if we pitted a demigod with an irrisistable force against a superhero with an immoveable object...” The clash between Cap’s shield and Thor’s hammer... well, epic. Hulk has some great momets, including a clash with Loki himself. Let’s just say it's what you want to do to all the Stupid People you meet every day...
 
The creatures that come through the wormhole to level Manhattan looked a bit like a number of other Epic City Levelling Critters of Sci-Fi-Land. There are only so many ways you can make something look scary to humans, and generally it requires plugging into the unconcious, to the imagery of predators in the dark (glowing eyes, big teeth), slimy tentacles, bones (especially on the
outside of bodies), slithery snakelike movements, and stuff that looks like bugs that are waaaaaaaaaaaay too big.
 
I note that WETA did some of this, and as always, they are awesome. The Epic City Levelling Critters resemble, slightly, the ones from Transformers, Dark of the Moon. Those were mechanical constructions that coiled, slithered and flowed, snakelike, through the city. Avengers’ Critters swim
through the air like giant mosasaur skeletons with photon torpedoes. There’s a great little Jonah and the Whale reference from Ironman.
 
The film is full of GLMs (great little moments); one liners (Thor: “He’s adopted.”), Hulk casually punching out one of his teammates at the end of a fight (payback’s are a stitch), Hawkeye shooting down flying BEMs (bug-eyed monsters) without looking, the Black Widow doing an entire fight
scene... while strapped to a chair. Thor crashlanding spectacularly, then approaching Mjolnir, hand outstretched... and nothing happens...
 
Thor summoning lightning.
 
The Black Widow flying a BEM bike... with the BEM still attached.
 
“Was the Hullk scary?” I heard a dad ask his preschooler (hey, yeah, it’s PG-13). Yes, he was. And the actor playing the Bruce Banner half was the perfect slightly Stephen Hawking scientist.
 
There’s a nifty camera shot of the Heroes in a Last Stand Circle, camera panning around them, one of those Iconic movie Moments.
 
Of Thor and Loki in a confrontation on a dark hill... and two ravens fly past, croaking. A flash of dark feathers and gone.
 
Hugin and Munin, thought and Memory. Odin’s ravens. Dad is still watching....
 
Avengers generally follows the Hero Journey format that works so well for this genre. We gather the heroes, they disagree, they disagree louder and harder, it seems like they will never work as a team, they get a Reason to work as a team, they wade into battle... 

Josh Whedon, on just that subject: (at the 2010 San Diego Comic Con International), what drew him to the movie is that he loves how "these people shouldn't be in the same room let alone on the same team—and that is the definition of family."
 
There are enough surprises to keep you from guessing what’s next. Despite the number of characters, it makes sense, each one gets developed, gets great little moments that endear them to us, make us identify with them, even if we don’t have superpowers, or flying cars, or a really big
hammer. It lifts us, as all good myths do, out of our mundane world into the Realm of Possibilities, the place where we can be our own superheroes.

And it'll surely send some of us to the toy dept. for a set of those Hulk fists, or a Nerf Mjolnir...