Umbral Echoes Blog

I apparently left my instant messenger on last night when I was out, as I am wont to do.  So my apologies for not responding — I wasn’t ignoring you, I promise.  Except for you, Bagwell.  You, I was ignoring, you tall bastard.

I was hanging out at Stephen and Amanda’s place the other night, and Amanda tells me that Stephen was trying to get her to play World of Warcraft.  I paused and just blinked, confused.  Why doesn’t he just play himself?  Well, apparently he used to like watching his roommate play when stuff was going on (raids, whatever), but things liek the grinding and the travel time just bored him to tears.  So he’d just say, “Let me know when you get to the place,” then he’d come watch.

This struck me as pretty interesting, and I realize that I’ve done this myself in the past.  My Louisville crew used to be really into EverQuest, and though I never once played the game, quite frequently I’d come over and just chill at their house, munching on some Taco Bell and watching them raid.  It was vicarious gaming, and it actually kept my interest pretty well.  I’ve done this with roleplaying and console gaming, too — just take it in as someone else plays.  Granted, it’s not quite as fun as participating yourself, but there’s also much less of a time (and monetary) investment.  So while it seemed very odd at first, upon further thought it makes sense.

But regardless of the fact that it makes a weird kind of sense, I still find it pretty funny that Stephen asked Amanda to start playing WoW so that he could watch.

Helped my friend Blue move into her new apartment yesterday, which was an all-day affair.  It seems that most people think that helping someone move is a huge favor.  For me, it’s just hanging out with friends while you happen to be doing some physical activity.  Then again, I moved seven times in a span of five years, so perhaps I’m just used to it.  I love lifting heavy objects.  I just hate having to navigate around sharp corners and through finger-crushingly narrow entryways.

Also, dealing with objects that aren’t really heavy, but awkwardly shaped, is a pain.  I’ve got a nice bruise and minor laceration from carrying a (full) filing cabinet.  To keep a grip on it, I had to squeeze one of the edges against my bicep.  And the more I squeezed, the more the muscle flexed, and the harder the edge pressed into it.

Blue: Jesus, Mike… are you okay?
Me: What?  Oh, that.  Yeah, I’m fine.
Blue: [smirking] Oh, that’s right.  You like marks.

Hey, a little pain never hurt anybody, right?

Sometimes I miss apartment living.  Much less to worry about, and if the place pisses you off or you decide you don’t like it… you get another one.  But then I remember why houses are awesome.  In my first apartment here in Atlanta, the front door had a gap even when it was closed, and I’m fairly sure the seven-year-old neighbor kids used to watch… certain activities that went on in the living room from time to time.

I remember one time in particular when my partner was getting rather loud, and I heard some muffled gasps and high-pitched voices from the hallway.  The next day, one of the neighbor’s kids asked me if I was hurting that girl that was over.  I opened my mouth, meaning to say, “No, we were just wrestling,” or something to that effect.  Instead, what came out was, “Yeah, but she liked it.”

Do you ever have cases of the filter dropping at inappropriate times like that?

So I’m belatedly posting about my trip to Charleston, to visit Niquie and Jared.  I blame Niquie, for not getting back to me with a picture.  It is not my own lax attitude.  Seriously.

Though it was a bit rushed — only stayed one night — it was fun.  There was beer, and lots of walking around downtown Charleston.  They have some beautiful historic buildings there, and there was lots of wind by the coast.  I love me some wind.  I also watched Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels for the first time ever.  Guy Ritchie films remind me of Ravel’s Bolero.  They start out slow, and then eventually build to a fever pitch where blood is flying, things are exploding, and baby Jesus is running around twirling his umbilical cord like a lasso and crying out, “Yippee kayay, motherfucker!!!” as he ropes in triple-cunted undead hookers.

Anyway, here are a few pics from the trip.  Apparently the new Wordpress 2.5 “gallery” feature doesn’t work so well for me, so I’ll have to do this manually….

Okay, so it took me longer than planned.

Video - Chris McDonough deepthroating a corndog:

Video - The crew singing some Pat Benatar:

Pictures below the cut, so I don’t spam people’s friend page. Full gallery here.

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I’ve had a few discussions with people over the past few weeks concerning friendship. If a friend disagrees with you on something, does a “real friend” tell you, or do they keep their mouth shut? Or do they bite it down, and agree with whatever you’re saying?

Personally, I’ve always told friends when I disagree with something they say, or do. I don’t (or at least, try not to) do it in an in-your-face manner, but strongly enough to let them know that there might be another way of looking at things. Then again, I’ve always played the devil’s advocate — and not just after I played the part of Satan in a church play when I was 16.  I hate the “yes-man” type of friend, who always agrees with you, and never challenges anything you do or say.

On the other hand, friends should always be supportive of one another, even if they don’t agree with each other.  I guess it’s the same sort of mentality as, “I don’t support the war, but I support our troops.”  That isn’t to say that if your friend is getting hooked on heroin, you should support that.  Which I guess is another dimension — if you think a friend is doing something detrimental, how far do you go to try to stop them?  At what point do you say, “It’s their life, and they’ve made their decision?”