You want to know a secret? My life is perfect.

I’ve got family, friends, health, and comfort. I’ve got a university that loves me, an ample supply of medium-sized t-shirts, and all the peanut butter and jelly a growing boy could ask for. Sure, my favorite sports teams make it a point to underachieve, but at least I never became a Boston bandwagoner or a Green Bay groupie.

And you want to know something else?

I thought all this before last Monday, when all of that changed. Now, I can no-doubt-about-it claim that perfection has inhabited my being, crafted a lifestyle mimicking my own, and made it a point to touch everything I do.

Because last Monday, I attended the world premiere of The Dark Knight.

As a man-child of 20 years, it is my childhood aspirations — and a dash of Neutrogena Anti-Aging cream — that keep me young. And to those who know me best, there’s one fictional man who ties the mythical, mighty 1990s to the current epoch of malaise and mistrust. Yes, he’s a man in tights, but he’s my man in tights.

Batman.

From the moment I laid eyes on the hulking, penciled-and-inked incarnation of Batman: The Animated Series, I was hooked. (It also helped that I won a totally rad Super Nintendo in a B:TAS contest). With the darkness of a decayed soul, the reprobate rogues gallery, and those so-close-yet-so-far gadgets (if only my parents upped my allowance), the path to Batman was one I sought to follow the rest of my days.

And follow it I did. Throwing puberty, drinking, and Tupac to the wind, Batman remained pinned to my wall and glued on my television set. I was naïve enough to soak up the gaudy, incandescent Batman and Robin without a moment’s hesitation, arrested by the vibrancy and faux machismo that only a prepubescent child could have enjoyed.

And after a dearth of Batman fodder — stemming from what can only be termed “Bat-nipples” — my beguiling interests in the Caped Crusader yearned for a return to the multiplex. Fortunately, the financial whims of Warner Brothers provided the growling Christian Bale, the erudite Michael Caine, and the genius Christopher Nolan, setting my fervor aglow with the staid, superior Batman Begins.

But you all know the journey the Gotham Guardian has taken.

Now comes the fun part.

From the second that Batman flipped the indubitable sign of the Joker, crouched on the rooftop in conversation with Lt. Jim Gordon, I knew I would make the sequel my own. An inner pact was made: I would follow the development of this movie, from infancy to (hopefully) instant classic, from the very next day forward. From the news of castings to the release of production schedule to the layout of the Chicago freeway system, I would find out every detail the Internet could offer. Hell, if Chris Nolan so much as sneezed, I wanted to know about it.