The I can't remember what I was Complaining About Complaint Thread
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George Carlin! What a great mind.
Dana
Buckaroo Banzai !!
(in the bar scene where they introduce Penny Pretty, as I remember)
... man, it is too bad they never did more of those movies - that was great fun!
And yes, that was a fun movie!
Dana
5 - 10 $ / month for full service, FTP, HTTP, redirects & 100 email addys here
I guess we have different ideas of full service when it comes to website hosting. That stuff is fine for a blog or something like that. But that's all it will be unless you have a database so you can do eCommerce, and a decent development platform. Then the price goes up considerably. If only the customer service would as well.
Dana
...The Oy Me Brain Hurts Complaint Thread.
My Grandad had a choice, thatch roofs in Ireland, or emigrate to Canada and homestead.
The rest, as they say, was history.
... so he went ahead to get things ready leaving behind his beautiful young, pregnant bride to create a domestic paradise for her in the utopian promise that was Canada. Letters came back telling of his ocean voyage, landing, and journey inward... then of his clearing a spot of ground, and beginning a cabin... and then the letters stopped coming. Time passed but no new letters came... the child grew... tales of gold strikes (and the beautiful, wanton women around a mining town) ran through her head as the years went by and turned to decades and she knew he had found another. Her child grew and married, and as the gray became apparent in her own hair she became a grandmother as well. Several more years passed and she decided it was time. She would travel to Canada to find the disgraceful lout that had deserted her to a life of hardship and disgrace with a young baby to raise alone. Alone to face the despirate times, alone to face the bills, trials and years. Alone. She would find him to laugh and spit in his face (after knocking him to the ground) and inform him that she had succeeded despite him! Taking what of her savings she could spare, she retraced the journey she knew so well from the letters... the cold Atlantic crossing; the surprisingly large cities that gave away so (even more surprisingly) quickly to the vast, untamed wilds; the ever smaller, clannish communities with their increasingly odd speech, and over dirt trails to where 'the cabin'... *her* cabin had supposedly been built. Would it still be there, but inhabited by *she* who had taken her place? Would it be abandoned? Would it ever have actually been built to begin with?
Arriving finally, she was rather startled to learn that the area was known for its artists, who all had traveled to live there for 'inspiration'. At the inn, she asked about her long 'lost' beau and half expected some tale of drunken tragedy or (equally drunken) wealth but was totally unprepared for the total looks of puzzlement and claims of no knowledge of him. The innkeeper sent her to the general store manager (since if he was around, he would have to buy food and goods), who sent her to the local minister, who sent her to the tax assessor (after all, even if the rest of them had not heard of him, the tax man ALWAYS knows).. yet none had heard of the man she had called husband. Confused and depressed, she returned to the inn to ponder where to search next. As she mulled and picked at her dinner disinterestedly, the innkeeper (trying to cheer up this determined and still attractive woman) pointed out that at least she should spend the next day or so visiting the local crafters and artists - "best in Canada!", he claimed" around town... and of course, 'the diorama'. "Diorama?", she asked confused. "Oh my yes!", he beamed in obvious glee, "why, it is the cornerstone of the town! It is what drew all the artists (and tourists) that gives the town its population and livelihood! Can't miss THAT - just head on down to the town square!" The more she thought about it, the better it sounded, and she resolved to take a day to think about what to do next and see some of the artwork - she always had loved art, but had never (of course) been able to afford any.
The morning dawned in all its summer glory as golden rays reached weakly through the dense evergreens and the painted sky shown with its pastel hues of pink, orange and blue. She was surprised at the crisp edge to the air in which she could almost *smell* the trees (and unfortunately manure of the several mules and horses that served as transportation here) and marveled at the warmth the day promised. She took a moment to 'bask' in the (relative) warmth of that Canadian summer morning, then hurried off to make her way through the surprising bustle of such a small town. Walking the weathered, wooden boards that served as a sidewalk here, she dodged this way and that as the locals hurried to start their mornings and more than once wished that this town had gotten electricity already as people rushed in and out of the gloom of storefronts and alleys - why even her small village back home had been 'wired' for over a decade now! Many, she noticed, wore heavy cloth smocks of the type artists adopted - probably, she mused, due to the areas' reputation rather than any artistic interest they had themselves!
Arriving in the town center, she paused amazed at the dense wooded area that stood in the City Square. She had expected the usual well trimmed garden for a town square, not some pocket of primal wilderness! She walked slowly along the edge, peeking in between the boles of trees to try to see this supposed 'art' that had built a town, and was stopped by a bemused gentleman in a painter's smock. "Com 'ta cee de statue? 'Maxvell's Mastarpiece', yea?", he asked with a warm grin. Her eyes popped open at his friendly greeting - obviously not a native despite his casual appearance; why she could understand what he was saying without even having to pretend she was hard of hearing so it was repeated several times! "Yes," she replied with a smile, "I had heard about it, but I can't seem to find it... am I in the right place?" Beaming, he nodded, "H yeh, yew innada rite pla'! Jus' aoun de way - ere, I jhow yew!" as he motioned for her to accompany him around the corner to where a path opened up to lead into the Square. They walked that slow, thoughtful walk people unconsciously adopt in museums as they followed the dirt path inwards. As the rocks and soil crunched beneath their tread, she took in the feeling of natural isolation that, even here in the middle of town, almost immediately surrounded her here and marveled at the dark green foliage that despirately stove to absorb every erg of the sun's rays while the occasional small, chittering mammal scurried frantically to find something edible before something found it edible. "Zee peepl 'eep zis place aas et waz 'ound zo many ears aho", he explained quietly as they strolled up the curved path, "Maxvell ad weint ta zuc ofvert 'n zee prezentashen of zee peece; Et geev zho mooh powar.. zho mooh mahzhestree 'o zee verk.." He continued on such scholarly insights helpfully, though while she tried to listen she was too distracted trying to figure out exactly what the origins of his dialect and accent were... definitely a LOT of French, but she could also see a fair amount of Norwegaen and perhaps a little Swiss and... German? Whatever the history of his speech was, it seemed to her that it was as if the band of them had ambushed poor English in the alley of a port town and now dragged its beaten and battered corpse through the streets! At least his speech was less pronounced that most, she mused again with a hastily suppressed grin. "Ahund ere vee har!", he proclaimed suddenly, bringing her back to awareness of the majestic scene before her.
A small clearing had been cut back through the dense (and often huge) trees and the beginnings of a split-rail fence surrounded most of the clearing in a frail and vain seeming effort to keep the overwhelming power of Nature at bay. A half constructed cabin rose from a raised foundation of field (found) stone with the open walls facing the viewer plainly showing the meager furnishings and 'Franklin Stove' that sat in what would (have been?) one day the main room. A heavy, tan canvas sheet was tied over the end of the room near the stove to form a shelter for the builder of the cabin, with various tools and packs neatly stacked about in the feeling of a long and well-established camp. A high pile of neatly split and stacked firewood rested along the side wall and what appeared to be some sort of animal pen could barely be seen peeking from behind the cabin. Dominating the scene, however, was the incredibly realistic and imposing pair of statues that seemed almost alive and frozen in a moment of time in the midst of their confrontation. On the right and in front of a broken and scattered part of the rail fence, a monsterously huge bear, reared with one massive paw pulled back to as if to crash forward in a rake powerful enough to fell even the largest of the surrounding trees; it's lips pulled back from enormous curved teeth and lolling tongue caught seemingly in the midst of roaring challenge. Facing this ursine behemoth was the simple statue of a man, clad raggedly in tattered and tied layers of clothing in an apparent attempt to keep warm with an unkempt beard, holding a common woodcutter's axe that was frozen mid-swing as he impossibly faced this primal king of this realm. The striking aspect of the statue was not intense detail the sculptor had given it, nor even the laughingly immense difference of size between the man and the bear, but rather the man's face; stoic... serene with a touch of sadness but resolute in his (probable) fate.. and absolutely unswerving. It was a face she recognized even more than her own or those of her parents; it was the face in her memories and the face she saw each time she looked at her child. The enormity and impossibility of it all warred within her and her body froze as her mind searched for some answer to what was running through her head; her eyes darting around for something that she had missed - something that would make sense out of the suddenly insane world. Then she saw it, a third statue, hiding behind the large stump of a tree behind the man; the statue of another, younger man with a torn coat, an an obviously broken arm and wide terrified eyes that stared out in horror at the confrontation.
"... zpeeks 'o zee mozs nofel alf mahn'z ...", the man was still talking in glowing admiration as the Answer snapped her out of her timeless moment. "What?", she asked distractedly, "what did you say?" Her guide smiled, used to the diorama's effect on visitors and started to begin again, but she interrupted him, "Where is the grave?" "Ahhh! Zo yew da kno aulf zom aulf ze peece!", he responded happily and pointed over behind them where a simple cross was almost hidden by the encroaching trees that they had passed unseen. She slowly, and painfully walked over and read the name carved into the cross, "Thatcher". She stood a moment as tears swelled in her eyes, then noticed a bit of smaller text nearly hidden beneath some fallen leaves. Kneeling, she brushed them away to see a short message and a date, "I am ashamed I do not know the name given the man who saved my life, but as I knelt over him after he had slain the grizzly, he looked up to me and laughed, 'I guess I should have been a thatcher after all! ... tell her...' I never found out what to tell or who she was, but I think I know what he wanted her to know. And, I would think of any woman worthy of a man like him, that she already knows it." She could barely read it all through a world suddenly gone blurry as the looming tears matted her lashes, but made out the date... not even a week after the last letter. She closed her eyes at the unexpected and gnawing pain that was warmly spreading throughout her, when her companion's muttered, "huh, I 'evah knoo daht vas zere..." brought her back yet again to the unavoidable present. Not trusting herself to speak to him as he most certainly did not actually *deserve* to have this strange woman shrieking at his ignorant insensitivity, she slowly rose to walk back over to the statue of her, renewly beloved husband and found the resentment, anger and bitterness suddenly shattered... melted in the rising warmth and pain as she looked upon his face again. She understood that expression, and the love behind it... and even the love that had put him in this position instead of staying safe 'for her' - and loved him all the more for it. He knew, she realized.. he *knew* that, as much as she *wanted* him, she didn't actually NEED him - she would survive. She would raise their child to be a good and decent person. She would overcome whatever life threw. He knew all this and the knowledge of that and all the lost days hurt him, but he also knew that this other man *did* need him; and he was never the type to turn his back on someone in true need. It was not 'simple' courage.. nor bravery... nor heroics... nor even stupidity that had rove him to face that bear - and she loved him all the more for it.
"What did you say the name of this was?", she asked in a quiet, almost brittle voice to the man who had brought her to what was unexpectedly her goal all along. Seeming to sense the intense importance of something he didn't quite understand, he replied simply and quietly, "Zhe Holmsteddar" Then, after a moment added, "Ess et no' magnifizent?" "Yes," she replied through a suddenly tight throat, "yes, it is perhaps the most wonderful and beautiful thing I have seen in decades."
She stared into the stone eyes of the face she knew so well and could see their intense blue again, and after an eternal instant, turned without a word and began to walk down the path. The guide looked at the statue of the man again and then at her, and was about to say something when her voice stopped him, "I will have to tell my grandchildren about this..."
Now, Gecko, you seem to have almost as much faith in humanity as I have.
"I got this letter from the IRS, can you help me?"
Examine letter. "Where are the other two? The one that tells me what the issue is that is sending them to collections in a week?"
(btw, the third letter has at least a 60 day window, and follows 60 days after the second... which comes 60 days after the first one.)
I have *plenty* of faith in humanity!
... I expect them to be true to their nature!!
... it is their nature that is highly questionable most often! ;-)
Buckaroo Banzai !!
(in the bar scene where they introduce Penny Pretty, as I remember)
... man, it is too bad they never did more of those movies - that was great fun!
OK, the person attributed with that statement's origin is...
...
Confucius (551- 479 BCE)!
Dana
there you go bringing facts into it again!
... like bringing a gun to a friendly brawl! :lol:
Gecko, thanks for that wonderful story! The Homesteader. Very nice short story!
Dana
glad you like it :)
see... and they say leezards are cold-blooded!
... I actually *started* to do one darkly humorous and sarcastic, but as I went I saw something much better as it developed and so after I finished I went back to (mostly) rewrote the beginning. I think a little of the humor stuck, but I liked the effect and how it set the tone so differently from where it took you... which (I think) allows a much more empathetic connection with the subject / protagonist in such a situation.
(which is a wordy and $25-word way of saying, "a bit of misdirection and surprise allows the reader to be as surprised at the character and so get a stronger response")
...beautiful story. I could almost see the scene as it was unfolding.
thank you - that is very nice of you to say.
... that means I did it right (means that to me, at least)
...you are most welcome.
I think it's amusing that many of the characters in this game will leave a comment when you click Exit Game, in a manner similar to oldies like Doom and Rise of the Triad. The dinosaur characters tend to be more amusing than the human ones, and the Dilophosaurus is the only one I've gotten two different remarks out of so far.
The Dilo's second comment I got when exiting the game - as well as its character selection portrait and unique abilities - kinda makes me think they're obsessed with goats :)
...AUUUUGGGHH!!!!! I wish that when you saved an updated render in 4.6 it changed the time stamp on the original file. I just wasted a fair amount of time re-rendering a scene after making a fix because It didn't show up as the newest file in my Saved Images folder. Instead after it overwrote the old one it kept the same time stamp as the original rendered image. Here I thought it was sending the file to some other folder.
Other software I use, from Word Processors to 2D programmes update the time stamp whenever a revision or overwrite of a file is saved. Seems like I need to make another suggestion on the Daz 5 thread..
"When in doubt, throw a goat." Words to live by. :)
Flock of seagulls turned out a little twee :lol:
I thought so too. :)
The in the cherry pits complaint thread.
8 minutes to wash, get dressed, and out the door, hike a mile to the bus, ride the bus for 65 minutes, make the coffee, file the things, label the things, update spreadsheets, get that phone call, page, write the while you away msg, ... :bug: 6 minutes ...
it's friday.
... so he went ahead to get things ready leaving behind his beautiful young, pregnant bride to create a domestic paradise for her in the utopian promise that was Canada.
Wonderful story Gecko, thanks so much for sharing :)
I thought so too. :)
hehe what a crackup :lol:
Think I made the mistake of making a flock predominantly in the X axis when it should be a follow-the-leader Z axis :lol:
Rolled over to look towards the alarm clock to see how much time was left before it goes off and managed to charlie-horse my calf >_<<br /> Fiancee had to spend several minutes to massage the worse of the knot out of the muscle, lay back down and the alarm goes off >_<
Had to stagger to the alarm clock (it's on my side of the room) with a leg that was still partially knotted >_<</p>
woot. 3 lottery numbers yesterday. came out to 25 dollars. :cheese: 4 #s woulda been 500. >.<
putting it into my christmas kitty, not to be touched til 21st-Dec.
...thatched roofs are also seen on older rural structures in the UK as well.
My grandad was the last working Thatcher in the Cotswolds in the 1960s, they had to revive the craft a couple of decades ago :)
way kewl!
May I make a suggestion to you? Change the file name for each render. Example: MyRender1, MyRender2, MyRender2, etc. I've gotten into that habit long ago.
Dana
I guess we have different ideas of full service when it comes to website hosting. That stuff is fine for a blog or something like that. But that's all it will be unless you have a database so you can do eCommerce, and a decent development platform. Then the price goes up considerably. If only the customer service would as well.
Dana
i been using yahoo hosting over 5 years now. can't connect with Dreamweaver8 anymore, need a ftps utility to move more than 5 files at a time. the da will host your portfolio with the premium memship, claims to be ad free.
They are at least in formation - not sure if they are on their way to attack the Death Star or the palace of Ming the Merciless.
hehe what a crackup :lol:
Think I made the mistake of making a flock predominantly in the X axis when it should be a follow-the-leader Z axis :lol:
I don't think they act like ducks or geese. They seem to fly in a random pattern. I don't think they care so much for the rest of the flock as they do for the junk food or garbage on the ground. I often see them hovering in a circular pattern, but very random.
Dana
hehe what a crackup :lol:
Think I made the mistake of making a flock predominantly in the X axis when it should be a follow-the-leader Z axis :lol:
I don't think they act like ducks or geese. They seem to fly in a random pattern. I don't think they care so much for the rest of the flock as they do for the junk food or garbage on the ground. I often see them hovering in a circular pattern, but very random.
Dana
too soon since watching 'finding nemo' again. :lol:
woww. tee hee. i worked 5 days audit week, i'm getting to see what a full timer paycheck would look like. :wub:
it's also showing the daz sales gimmicks are falling down, cause i haven't seen that much leftovers at the end of the week in a while. :grrr:
22 posts from 10,000 :bug: holey moley :cheese:
The Dead Fish On A Tray Complaint Thread
The My Render Ate My Dog Complaint Thread
The Dragon Ate My Render Complaint Thread
The Hitchcock Was Right Complaint Thread
The I'm Out Of Truffles Complaint Thread
The Vicky Has It In For Mike Complaint Thread
The I Have A Code in my Node Complaint Thread
The Impractical Armor Rules Complaint Thread
The Dead Bird For Lunch Complaint Thread
:-P %-P ;-P
That is highly complaint-worthy. :down: