Just Because I Can. STUPID THREAD III
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Here's the render. The first one rendered on the new laptop, and in DAZ Studio 4.5 Pro.
The original size is 2560x2048, maybe that is stupidly big, but then I can always size it down...
:gulp: Ooooo. Cool & scary at the same time!
This pic really reminds me of that movie "The Fly".
Who was it that said in the news, instead of: "Man gets drunk - shoots wife"
it would read: "Man gets high - forgets to shoot wife"
Tonight my right foot fell asleep because I was sitting on it. so I stretched my legs out so I would not be sitting on my foot. Then I changed my pose and sat again on my right foot and it went back asleep. So I had to stretched my legs out one more time.
COOOOOOOL! That is a great render! Though a bit dark on my screen, could be the sunlight blinding my nocturnal developed eyes... Curse nightshift! LOL
RARRRRR! I spontaneously had a stupid desire to 'rarrrrrr' like a scary monster.
Just watched last night's episode of Who. It was great. Next week will be about the Angels. Do not blink. Whatever you do do not blink. There was a quote that explains it well but I forgot it.
Have I finally gone off my rocker or am really I seeing Ostriches all over the Forum today?
Really though I think that's kind of a cool model for such a (I want say stupid) silly looking bird.
I think it is pretty stupid to feel like I want to curl up and just hibernate the winter away. Dead tired. :( Sadly, my control over brain chemicals is limited at this stage, as I borrowed my bright light lamp to someone else who needs it much more badly than I do this winter, and medicinal way is still whole lot of guesswork at this point. Maybe I should start doing daily visits to a friend of mine who has one, and lives next door...
My Doctor recommended a 100watt (output) florescent bulb for the same effect for me. I also get the winter blues. Seems to work and I can find them very easy now days. A 100watt soft white one is 100% equal to true sun light in all the wavelengths except UV A and B.
Jader, Are you trying to get sunlight without real sunlight?? That's funny
vampires cannot handle REAL sunlight!
MAybe you people from down under aren't aware of SAD, or Seasonal Affective Disorder which can affect people in the Northern hemispere during winter months. One of the treatments is special lamps to try and mimic Sunlight.
May sound Stupid, but actually it is not.
That depends on the author. Some of my Vamerian Vampires can handle sunlight better than others. It all depends on if one was born a Vamerian or was turned into one. Ones who were born Vamerian are able to handle sunlight better than the ones who were turned into Vamerians. Also it depends on which planet they are on (actually which type of sun(s) that the planet they are on is orbiting around.)
I now have to go to the bathroom. Be right back
MAybe you people from down under aren't aware of SAD, or Seasonal Affective Disorder which can affect people in the Northern hemispere during winter months. One of the treatments is special lamps to try and mimic Sunlight.
May sound Stupid, but actually it is not.
I get something like that but instead of it happening in the winter it happens in the spring. for some reason I have difficulty during spring.
If you are a Drow, I am a Dhampire.
MAybe you people from down under aren't aware of SAD, or Seasonal Affective Disorder which can affect people in the Northern hemispere during winter months. One of the treatments is special lamps to try and mimic Sunlight.
May sound Stupid, but actually it is not.
OHHH... I just read up on it. Sorry Jaderail... I thought you was joking, I had no idea it was what it is.
Cho - Thanks for mentioning it. As it turns out, it is rare in Australia, but does indeed affect Australians too, according to a couple of medical sites, which I skimmed through, It's not just confined to the northern hemisphere, but it is less common in the south.
Sorry :)
I am :vampire:
There seems to be no way to search threads on this forum, Some of these threads (like this one) are very long. I cannot find stuff said that I want to remember
Some reason I cant post images 'at this time' :(
I got logged out of Daz forum.
It just let me now... It was weird, every time I tried to post an image I kept getting an error that said "Unable to receive your message at this time" (Or something to that effect) Maybe they was updating something on the site.
surprising the aliens didn't attack lol
I need to get to sleep soon.
Yus, I can haz SAD something fierce.
This is how sunlight hours fall on me (you can check out yours in here). On the other hand, I am friggin' happy that I don't live in Utsjoki.
Prob not so much here. FYI - I'm between these two.
MAybe you people from down under aren't aware of SAD, or Seasonal Affective Disorder which can affect people in the Northern hemispere during winter months. One of the treatments is special lamps to try and mimic Sunlight.
May sound Stupid, but actually it is not.
...it's actually quite serious where I live, and is one of the main causes for suicides here.
Stupid Question - How does one export a brand new prop he has made, with the textures and morphs so that others can install the item on their computers and use it???
I have made a bow prop, with a texture and a drawn morph :cheese:
Today I waffle on as long as I can.
I haven't slept and I have a meeting early in the morning with my employment office case worker. She -- or rather, she representing the system behind it, is the reason why I haven't slept a wink. I stopped my futile attempts at sleeping 5 am, just so that I could worry and fret for the next five hours 'till the meeting.
I try to lose myself into my art, and work on my Pit Fiend character some more; I try to nullify all those shadowy whispers creeping out from that basement of my brain.
She's a nice lady. Yes, but she also represents bureaucracy that can reverse the decision of paying unemployment benefits. You know that's not true. Oh yeah? Forgotten the 1990s so fast? That was sodding 1990s, and you know it was a different era! Mmmhmm. Really, remind me again, when you were one of the unemployed, just fresh out of school, in a sea of 750,000 unemployed people. Out of five million total. How was it then? Remember trying to get into schools, just so you wouldn't drop off, spending three years studying something you weren't really that good at, on account of it needing physical human-to-human interaction. Shut up. She knows that I can't do schools. So? Just because she knows doesn't mean a thing if the rules have changed again. They haven't! Yeah? Didn't you just read... Shut up shut up shut up sh-- Shutting up, yessiree.
I feel doubts hammering the back of my mind, like a prisoner using a rusty spoon to dig through loose dirt to be free again. That annoying voice did its job, though, and I'm back to fretting.
I can't delay it much longer. I must shamble to the shower, dry off, pack my stuff to a drab, olive-green used gasmask bag from Finnish army's surplus store, and haul myself to the bus stop and the city. The bus is nearly empty and I vegetate 'till reflex makes me reach for the button and signal for stop. I already regret my choice of clothes; I could have gone outside wearing t-shirt, it is still warm enough for me to do so. Everyone else seems bundled up.
I meet my case worker. She's a nice, older lady, who understands nothing about my line of work. The reason why she handles my case is because she's a caseworker for those who lack formal education. This is the second instance of Stupid today: I am a fully professional system administrator, but I have no piece of paper to prove it, I got nothing but 12 years of work experience behind it. The third instance of Stupid is the assumption that in order to be professional one always needs a piece of paper, but lacking one, I get directed to a case worker who is not technically oriented, because underlying assumption is that people who lack formal education are likely stay-at-home moms, housewives, or older people who worked in construction and similar things in the past and got laid off.
Which is why I'm meeting her. Because their system says that she's the one handling cases like this. I am a highly irregular piece with a cow's head on it in a puzzle of life depicting spinning cogs, I do not fit.
She beams me a friendly smile, but I can already see her eyes glazing over, as she recalls who I am. I'm the Tech Woman, Spewer of IT Jargon.
We talk. I show her what I've been up to, carefully coaching my words with clauses like "AS A HOBBY" and "FOR FUN" and "ACTIVITY". Even with more care, I put forward the notion that I might want to try selling some of my work.
This is not good. That triggers her urge to try and encourage me to start my own company. Not her fault -- I do have an idea about what kind of pressure current policies are putting on people like her. Get 'em off the dole, make them private enterpreneurs.
I gently remind her that I can't. That while I'm capable of putting an item or two available every now and then, I lack the energy to keep doing so every day. At best, I can supplement my income with such thing. She understands.
Except, yeah, maybe she understands, but she does not understand it like I do. To me, a good day is one where I can get up from bed. To me, a really good day is one where I get up from bed and take a shower. To me, an exceptional day is where I get up from bed, take a shower, and socialize with other people. An astonishing day is all that, except those people are strangers.
I feel my stomach knotting up; there are no fingers pointing at me, but I still have a bowling ball in my stomach and desert in my mouth, and Tori Amos sings to me. The unholy mix of Coca-Cola and energy drink are fomenting rebellion in my stomach; tension becomes worse and worse, and I wonder if I can make it back home before I burst.
She talks. She means well, she wants to help me, and she's not offending me, but we just share so different reality. Her reality allows her to sleep at night, get up from bed, and meet people like me without going completely to pieces. She wants me to sign up to a class intended for people who suffer from social anxiety. She really does mean well, but I feel pressured, and get this, anxious. I sign up. I can cancel it afterward, she reminds me, if something else comes up. This is completely voluntary and if I cancel, I won't lose anything.
Pretty Stupid again; while anxiety is an issue to me, a notable one, depression is even worse. She talks about it being a peer group. The problem is that while they may be my peers in having anxiety and depression, that'll be likely all we share. The twenty-day long class is in November. "It'll cheer you up and get you moving during that dark time." she says. Once again, our realities diverge sharply, my stomach is tying itself to harsh knots, and I wonder if my case of IBS is going to burst right away. I stare at her hair, and wonder if I could ask to take a close-up of it as a photo reference. The coloration of it is like one of Peppermint Hair's variants.
I still sign up. Or ask to be signed up for the class; difference without distinction, except in my mind. Like spinning cycle of a washing machine, my stomach begins to roll to a different direction for a harder knot. Her voice feels distant. She hands me something to sign, I make a tense joke, we say byes, hope things will go better, yada yada. I want to leave before my stomach wants to unload itself and oh god, I have to endure a ten minute bus ride back home. At least this side of the city does not have cobblestones.
I shamble through the corner grocery store and forage for food; instead of spear and leather backpack, I'm armed with a debit card and shopping basket. I hunter-gather some minced meat, stew ingredients, stop by ice cream and consider it -- it was a good day, wasn't it, don't I deserve a treat? -- until my stomach reminds me that it has not forgotten the insult of energy drinks and cola, and I feel pressure building up again. Will I make it to home and bathroom before it happens?
Rain drips down like random tears from ragged grey ghosts looming up above, and I see Autumn squatting on the edge of nearby roof; she gives me double-birdies, and I ignore her and her work, keep my eyes on the road as I walk at brisk pace and hope to make it back home without an embarrassing mishap.
Crossing the doorstep, pressure vanishes. Which is kind of stupid.
Looking back at what I wrote, everything about it is kind of stupid.
Anxiety is stupid. Depression is stupid.
I am not stupid. And that's all that matters.