It’s been a while since we had a League of Lobby, but I also haven’t really played nearly as much as I used to, due to the whole epidemic of “the con season,” AKA doing shit for Dragon*Con, as well as a myriad of other occurrences that have unfortunately pulled me from the Fields of Justice over the last few months. However, there was also the “problem” that simply put, there just weren’t any good verbal spars going on in the lobbies worth chronicling.
Fortunately, given the nature of LoL’s player base, it really doesn’t take more than an observation, Murphy’s Law and tempting fate by pointing out how “quiet” it’s been, for a Player X to decide to throw some jabs at Player Y, and entertainment for all who stick around to watch.
In this edition of League of Lobby, what we have here is a Player X (playing Ziggs) on the winning team (mine), deciding that it would be perfect time to gloat about their victory to Player Y (playing Karthus) on the losing team, and about how easy the entire match was.
A friend of mine and I had a conversation about nightlights, and how a Jewish member of their household felt that one was unnecessary to acquire, in spite of the fact that they have two young children. Ultimately, I’m in the camp that believes that nightlights aren’t just something to help kids cope with the fear of darkness through their formative years, but simple aids in the middle of the night to be able to see where one is going, regardless of age.
Somewhere in the conversation, I reminisced about the nightlight I had growing up, which was this little Bugs Bunny clip-on head. All throughout my life, the nightlight was simply referred to as, translated from Korean would be “bunny light.” As far as I was concerned, bunny light was the phrase that translated into “nightlight.” I vaguely remember a time when the original light fixture died at one point, and I said that we needed to get another bunny light; fortunately, the Bugs head fit like a glove to that as well, and bunny light lived on. During one of the several moves my family endured, the Bugs head went missing for a period of time, and regardless of its absence, the light itself was still referred to as bunny light, and went into the upstairs hallway sans Bugs head.
This is what I look like while I’m at work. I am not having a bad day, and I have had an invigorating workout previously, meaning the day is vastly better at this time than when it started. I’m not necessarily happy, but I’m definitely not upset or in a bad mood.
Anyway, more than I wish for it to have occurred, I’ve once again been told by one of my co-workers that has a spine, that my correspondence with work-givers has once against given off the wrong impression to one of them. Instead of ditching the keys and coming to me directly to discuss project-related discrepancies, they have decided to maneuver around me, and try and get someone to speak to me on their behalf, citing that I was being “difficult.”
It occurred to me that at least once every single weekend over the last six weeks, I’ve had at least one night where I’ve stayed up past the threshold of “a long night,” and into the absurd hours of the day when everything seems to happen in a state of questionable reality. It’s in these nights that I feel like I’m pushing my physical limits at times, and there comes a point where the want for a place to lay down and close my eyes becomes the drive and motivation to finish up whatever it is I’m doing.
And god damn, do I feel tired thinking about it. The fatigue is actually probably because I’m getting fewer than the eight hours I like to get on weekend nights, and it’s actually making me think that I’m running myself a little too tired, I’m showing my age, or perhaps it’s a little bit of both.
Now some of the reasons for these crazy marathons of days are better than others, and ultimately I don’t have any regrets for any of them, but I certainly think it’s in my best interest if I can just find a weekend where I can sleep in my own bed and sleep until my body simply doesn’t want to be in a state of sleep anymore.
Because I don’t think it’s a great idea to have seen 5 and 6 and 7 a.m., before sleeping, as many times as I have over the last few weeks.
Over the weekend, I went up to New York. The reason for the trip was to visit Yankee Stadium, and take it off of my list of MLB ballparks, which I can happily say that such was mission accomplished. Otherwise, the rest of the trip was more or less a whirlwind of cabs, trains, booze, chicken fingers and cash flying out of windows.
I guess it could be said that I had a pretty New York experience, and I have no regrets about anything. I look back at the weekend fondly, and naturally I’m writing about it now, which says something too.
As for Yankee Stadium, I’ll get more in depth of what I thought about the place as a whole when I write about it for my ballparks page, but when my friend and I had planned the dates out for this trip, we didn’t even think for a second about the fact that this was the start of Derek Jeter’s final homestand. Not that either of us are remotely close to being Yankee fans, I have to admit that is something cool about having been there for a little bit of what people are perceiving as somewhat historic. Needless to say, tickets were pricey and the crowds were massive, for what essentially were games between two non-contenders, and I thought the vaunted Yankee Stadium was pretty okay, overall.
Because this is where I’d say that if I read another book with what becomes an obvious Mary Sue, I’d throw it out the window.
The definition of a Mary Sue is oft-debated and up to the reader’s interpretation, but for the most part, I personally see Mary Sues as characters in stories that are interpretations of female authors themselves, but melded into these idealistic forms that core characters of the story ultimately fall for.
Over the span of the last year, I’ve read far too many novels where one of the main characters are obviously Mary Sues. I’m not entirely sure why this keeps happening to me, but I have a tendency to gravitate towards novels involving people with mental illness, are spiritually broken, or are simply socially distant from the rest of the world. This type of blueprint appears to be the primary breeding ground of Mary Sue characters, because I simply cannot stop running into them. It’s probably because I’m a romantic at heart, and I like the idea of people down on their luck stumbling across the chance romance, but it’s becoming apparent that the chance romantic interest stands a high probability of becoming a Mary Sue.