League of Lobby, volume 6

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.

Typically, this is a perfect recipe for Player Y to lose their shit, and fight with Player X, but in this instance, we had a very earnest and accepting Player Y, that was fully aware of how they underperformed on account of their general lack of experience with kaRRRRthus.  And with this Laissez-faire attitude, they were not only able to take Player X’s punches in stride, which only served to piss them off even more, they won their slightly more well-adjusted opponents over with their candor.

Welcome to the League of Lobby!

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An heirloom, as far as I’m concerned

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.

Naturally, I went through the childhood phase where I was afraid of the dark, and bunny light was what got me through it.  Even as I got older, bunny light remained in the house, because my dad habitually woke up in the middle of the night and peeked his head into my sister and mine’s bedrooms.  Bunny light wasn’t so much of a tiny light to fend off the fright of nighttime, but simply a useful tool for people in my family to have the ability to see at nights.

The above photo was taken the last time I was at my old home.  My dad still has the light, and still has it plugged in, in the upstairs bathroom.  There aren’t a lot of windows in the upstairs rooms, and the hallway itself is completely shielded from any windows.  There’s no chance for the occasional full moon light to creep into that hallway, meaning when night falls, the hallway is pitch black.  Except it’s not, because of bunny light’s soft tiny glow emanating from the bathroom, so that anyone who needs to use the bathroom at night, or like in my case, sneak quietly back into the bedroom without turning on the light and waking my dad, is vastly more easier to do.

One of these days, I’m bringing bunny light back home with me, and plugging it into my own home.  At this point, bunny light is a family heirloom, and I want it back when my dad doesn’t need it anymore.

Ballparks: Yankee Stadium

Real Men Don't Wear Small

It’s only taken seven years to make it to one of New York’s ballparks, but my 2014 travels concluded in the Bronx, where I got to make my first-ever visit to Yankee Stadium.

It wasn’t the best park I’ve been to, but it was also far from being the worst park I’ve been to.  Only one way to find out what the hell I’m talking about.

I guess I do intimidate people at work

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.”

If the definition of “difficult” is sending back a project on account of not being given enough (read: essential) information on how to complete said work request, and requesting specific information, and specifically what they could do to expedite said information (write it out), then I suppose that I were being difficult.  However, I like to believe that I was making legitimate, reasonable inquiries, and that the person I am working with is being lazy, obtuse, and lazy.  The spineless part comes, when they circumvent actually working with me, to complain about how I’m being obtuse for asking reasonable things, like information vital to the completion of their project.

This is the third documented time that this has occurred.  Once is someone too sensitive, twice is less questionable, so three times means that I must, definitively, intimidate people in my office.

I can kind of understand why this is probably the case, because I have resting bitch face, and I’m often times equipped with my headphones, because I have a co-worker that’s always on the phone with doctors or scammers.  But the combination of an upset-looking disposition, and the headphones clearly gives off the impression that I want my peers to fuck off.  That’s not entirely false, but when the day is over, I still take my job seriously, and if anyone comes up to me to discuss a project, the headphones come off immediately, and I’m ready and willing to discuss on how to get the job done.

The problem is that people are clearly too afraid of doing such, because this is the government, and everyone that’s a part of it is spineless and lazy.

So if I’m all mean looking and scare my co-workers, so be it.  I accept that.  I can’t change my face, and I can’t change my peers from being on the phone all the time making me want to have headphones on to drown them out.  If they don’t want to do their job on account of being afraid of me, that’s their problem, but it’ll probably make them shit their pants when I go to them to resolve issues, because I do take my job seriously, and their petty incompetence isn’t going to prevent me from doing it.

Eventually, I’ll get some sleep

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.