Phoenix Jones and the Real Life Superhero movement. Is it too late to order that magenta bodysuit in an XL?

It probably wasn’t apparent in my little blurb last week about Phoenix Jones, Seattle’s own superhero, just how fangirl excited I am about his appearance.

Because, obviously, I am.  Hi, have you met me?  Comic-book superhero stuff combined with weird new social phenomenon?  I am so there.

And yet I am totally late to the party, because this is apparently a whole Movement, not just this one guy.  The Real Life Superheroes have apparently been operating globally for about 5 years.  They’re a very loosely organized group of individual humanitarians, social activists, environmental activists, and yes…crime fighters.  They give blood, work in soup kitchens, stage protests, and prevent muggings, all while wearing a costume.

You’d think that would get attention, and it has.  There’s a movie, The Real Life Superhero Project.  There’s a book, Heroes in the Night.  (There’s even an unofficial manual, in case you’re interested.)  And yet…not as much as attention as you’d assume, over the course of 5 years.  I mean, they are wearing spandex and patrolling the city streets.  I’m a comic book nerd and I live my life online, and yet, I hadn’t heard of them until I started looking into this Phoenix Jones dude.

Apparently, despite the flashy spandex outfits, quite a lot of the Real Life Superheroes aren’t interested in personal media attention at all.   They just want to do their part to make the world a better place, raise a little awareness about being kinder to your neighbour, and go home and hang up their capes at the end of the day like everybody else.  The irony of wearing an attention-seeking outfit while eschewing the press seems lost on them, but they’re out saving the world (which is more than I’m doing), so I guess they’re allowed to be a little quirky.

Phoenix Jones, on the other hand, is much more vocal.  And…hands-on.  In less than a year he’s already been stabbed, and last week he had his nose broken while being held at gunpoint.  He seems to think this is all in the line of duty, and is adamant that “Everyone on my team either has a military background or a mixed martial arts background, and we're well aware of what it costs to do what we do."

(Of course.  Because nobody’s ever been maimed or killed because of a cockup in the military.)

Phoenix and his ‘team’ have already been offered several reality TV opportunities, because, OF COURSE THEY HAVE, and I’ve read conflicting reports about whether he turned them down or is “considering” them. 

And, in true comic-book fashion, another Real Life Superhero has already created a public schism by calling out Phoenix Jones for his amateurism, though that persona doesn’t appear on the Real Life Superhero roster, and Phoenix Jones does.  Phoenix Jones has also informed the police that they “shouldn’t listen to” Knight Owl or Captain Ozone, as they’re not part of the team.  So nyah.  I smell Evil Arch Nemesis Origin Story, how about you?

(And does it make it worse, or does it make his message of “people looking out for people” stronger, that he apparently has a 9-5 job and a wife and kids?  What kind of wife is okay with her husband wandering the streets looking for carjackings to stop?  What kind of employer doesn’t care if you come in totally exhausted and covered in blood?  And where can I apply?)

Eccentric do-gooders, or attention whores?  I’m not sure, but they’ve certainly got MY attention.  And I’ll be watching. 

Though I draw the line at the reality show.

There was more, but I ran out of postie notes

Nothing should be able to fly AND inject venom

Because I'm still battling whatever Pollen Fiend is causing my sinuses to be so revolting, I'm totally phoning it in and re-posting something I wrote when not even FoN was reading my blog. But it's pertinent, because guess what I saw crawling their icky selves all over my deck this afternoon? Time to call the exterminators...

I try to be a tree hugger, I really do. I grow a garden that is never that successful because I can't bring myself to thin out my plants; I think they should all get equal growing opportunities. I admire vegetarians (but I can't be one - if we weren't meant to eat cows, they shouldn't be so tasty). I try to buy organic, stay away from chemicals, recycle, reuse, live simply. I think everybody is equal and all creatures should be treated with respect.

Except for wasps.

Bees? See, bees I can respect. Bees are useful. Bees have honour. They don't sting you unless you totally deserve it, and when they do they at least have the common decency to promptly die afterwards. Even spiders, which are creepy and wrong and omigod nothing should have that many legs, have a purpose (eating the mosquitos, which in turn spread the West Nile many hypochondriacs so desperately need now that Chronic Fatigue is out of fashion).

Wasps are like the head cheerleaders of the insect world. Sure, they look pretty cool (look at one up close - most sensibly, one that is dead - and you'll see what I mean. Whoever designed wasps should be working for Porsche) but they're vindictive little bitches and they get more aggressive as the season draws to a close. And they always know to target whoever can do them the most damage.

It's pretty hard to believe in a cosmic balance when there is something that mean out there that can fly and inject venom repeatedly. Not only that, but it has friends. How fair is that?

Go and lay on the couch and feel sorry for yourself, dammit!

On Tuesday I had a minor vent about our ninja office manager and how trying to keep the workplace running in her absence was virtually impossible.

Can I take that back? Floundering around, appearing like an idiot to clients, and spending an hour tracking down one single work order is INFINITELY preferable to listening to her wheeze and cough and attempt to convince people she isn't contagious.

Seriously - my biggest office pet peeve EVER. If you're sick - keep your disease-ridden carcass at home where it belongs, thankyouveryfuckingmuch. I don't need to quail at the sound of a ringing phone, wondering whether you answered it last and how big of a loogie you hawked up onto the receiver.

Also? If I bring home last month's pig-flu-du-jour because YOU "need to work", I'll be pissed.

I mean, at least make it something with some retro cool appeal, like the bubonic plague, or ergotism.

Or leprosy. Now there's a sexy disease.

I feel all headachey and tickly in my throat now. And my fingers feel perilously close to falling off.

Damn office ninjas.

Maybe if she got a job or cleaned up once in a while, y'know?

This afternoon someone walked their medium-sized punt dog past our house and our dog, as per usual, lost her shit. She leapt up on the ottoman that sits under the living room window like she was some kind of hound from hell and barked her fierce bark mindlessly. The window shook. There were hackles.

I try not to yell at her when she does this but it was the end of the day and my patience was wearing thin. So I grabbed her nose in the "mother correction" and glared at her sternly, my "there must be silence" finger pointed skyward.

And she growled at me. SHE GROWLED AT ME.

So I growled right the fuck back.

We're cool now, but still. That was probably one of the 3 times EVER my dog has growled at, or around, me. It worries me. I have a rather short person living in my house who is unconcerned with teeth or growling, who thinks it's freaking hilarious to poke the resident canine in the eye and tease her mercilessly with carrot sticks. (I keep telling him that he's going to lose a finger doing that, but I'm not sure he gets it).

I get it. I get that the poor dog is ignored and underexercised, and there's probably some spring fever mixed in there. I think I'd be doing a lot more than growling if someone only let ME out of the house twice a day to piss, and yelled at me every time I tried to eat something.

(Maybe I should get someone to do that. It might help the diet).

I get it that mostly, this is my fault, but still. The growling is not cool. There were many things about our dog that I took issue with BEFORE we had a kid, and pretty much the instant I gave birth the dog fell to the bottom of the priority list. I feel guilty every goddamn day for that, but there it is.

Next time, I'm getting a fucking basset hound.

Or an iguana.