If you haven't noticed, I've been reading a lot of comic-book superhero stuff lately, and reading the journals of people in the fandom. By way of somebody linking to the superpowers episode, I caved and downloaded RealPlayer, and now I have access to *every single episode* of This American Life¹, *legally*, online. I foresee my room getting very clean, my notes getting very organized, and my quilt getting progress made on it, as I search desperately for things to do while listening to the radio.

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I came into DCU online fandom by way of the Robinlove, from stuff being written by people I like in other fandoms (And I thought, oh, Batman and Robin, I know enough about *them* to read the fanfic. Silly me.) One thing that comes up frequently in writing-about-Robins is a statement in which it is implied that of course they are seriously messed up, emotionally and mentally -- after all, they've been wearing capes since they were only thirteen!

*pause for everybody who knows me in real life to snicker*

Because, see, I *have* worn a cape since I was that age. The self-portrait on my webpage is as accurate a representation of my day-to-day appearance as my default icon is. Of course, my situation's a bit different-- after all, superheroes generally have real-life identities they go back to where they *don't* wear capes and brightly-colored tights. Me, I wear that all the time. To class, to dinner, to family gatherings and sports games. In fact, it's become so much a part of me that it wasn't until I started thinking way too much about superheroes, and had in fact run into that statement about Robins enough for it to sink in, that I remembered that yes, dear, that *is* seriously weird, even for your normal level of weird.

I'm pondering a massive post of cape-meta, but will probably be too lazy to ever actually get it in postable condition.

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I've been noodling about with designs for a superhero comic (for values of 'noodling' which include having drawn *two actual pages* of story and doodled characters and ideas all over my class notes alongside pictures of Snape and McGonagall kissing and little boys with feathered goat skulls.) It was intended to be a modern version of the Golden Age and early Silver Age books where every story is a stand-alone, continuity and plausibility are nonexistent, and nobody tries to tell Deep Stories. Instead, after a couple of character-related epiphanies yesterday, I find myself needing to research long-term TBI-related aphasia and memory problems. Oh, and urban planning theory and culture. Why does this always happen to me? I try to write a silly idea with no research required, but *no*, it wants to get all ambitious and stuff. (By the way, if anyone has some good links for those beyond what's googleable, it'd make me happy.)

(Yes, I'm designing a silver-age style hero around the gimmick of urban planning. stfu. Zoning kicks butt. q-:)

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¹ For any philistines who don't know This American Life, it's an hour-long NPR show which consists of three or four themed audio essays on... well, interesting stuff. Often, it's an interesting or funny anecdote followed by interviews with the people the anecdote's actually about; sometimes it's going into strange places like prison drama clubs and all-night diners and talking to the people there; sometimes it's other formats. Sometimes about American life, sometimes not. But always about people being people and always very, very, interesting. It is *the* best show on radio,without exception².

² Yes, including A Prairie Home Companion. These days I only listen to Prairie Home Companion for Guy Noir, The Ketchup Advisory Board, and Lutheran jokes anyway.