Deconstructed Superheroes Ate My Baby

As my stay at Chez Chestnut reaches its final weeks, I am trying to absorb as much of its comics library as I can. Reading Astro City in random order, now. It's a good read, but on the other hand, it looks like Yet Another Deconstructed Superhero Comic Book, and I can't shake the feeling that it's never too good to linger long in a meta-genre, not even as a reader.

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Work is the antidote for whining. Secure in the knowledge that
I can harrass the denizens of Coyote House whenever I need an OS X
machine, I yesterday started reworking the chapters as requested,
tapping in the edits on eightbits, our trusty rusty
firewall. I feel pretty confident that I'm successfully wrapping my
head around the target style, because, two weeks after I wrote it, I
can't believe some of this crap. It's downright embarrassing, and
makes me want to correct it all the quicker. So this should keep me
busy until the iBook comes back, and so long as it hasn't gotten more
broken since I sent it out, everything should be OK.

Yet again, I find myself doing everything on paper -- the hardcopy
Chuck prepared -- before turning to the keyboard. Minas Morgul will
need to invest in a printer, I reckon.