Not So Super. Get Used To It.

This has been a summer of movie superheroes. We’ve been introduced to ultra-rich and ultra-clever Ironman, and reunited with dark and mysterious Batman. Yeah, there’s been a do-over for that enormous green guy as well. Sure, they’re human, but also endowed with such power, such talent that they can’t help but serve the world. It’s entertaining, but also somewhat disappointing. Nowhere in the bunch (except for maybe the uber-crusty Hancock), are there super-losers, individuals with flaws that can save humanity from itself. If like cures like, and the best way to fight fire is with fire, shouldn’t we be brandishing bad habits as weapons? Wouldn’t it be more productive (not to mention convenient) to use our all-too-ready weaknesses? If to err is human, then wouldn’t a complete screw-up be the best candidate for superhuman status?

Surely, there has to be room in the pantheon for poor saps who can’t parallel park. Might two left feet count as deadly weapons? When will human kind make proper use of the tone deaf, the stinky and those who can’t seem to find matching socks? We’re sitting on a veritable goldmine of super-human capital here, and we’re looking to well-sculpted aliens in tights to save us.

I’m currently cultivating my own superhero identity, based solely on my shortcomings. Henceforth, I shall be known as “The Nerve”, capable of channelling the nervous vigour that makes me bite my nails and check the stove three times, into more productive activities. I will spend my sleepless nights monitoring the weak and vulnerable. Instead of reorganizing my Tupperware when I have ants in my pants, I will incapacitate evil-doers with my mile-high stack of “to do” lists. My anxious giggle will serve as a primal call to others of my ilk. I will be clumsy and forgetful and decidedly human, and that will be more than enough to save the planet.

But I won’t wear tights. Seriously.