Bring it, and get a fresh pack, and a fresh bottle.
I one of my colleagues here, a fellow modeler, could scroll back to my first post and provide me a bit of insight about the Jack bird “ghost wireframe” I asked about there, I would be doing a massive slam dance of thank you.
I’ve not been able to get this anomaly to go away, and am quite frankly sick and tired of looking at these “ghosts”—I’ve tried several model file formats, each exported out from SketchUp, but have not been able to kick the specters out.
Rock on, that’s a bit of thanks.
A bit of a Cheetah render of a SketchUp helicopter jag, attached…
Again, I wish it was a Maya render, but can not get Jack bird any questions answered, and it just crashes, and the ghosts mock, so for now, chipping away at what? Leaning?
What about Art?
What about community?
For this product, this app. being the big big fish in this game, I’m sad, and have gotten quite tanked on suds lamenting over this forum—it in fact that is what it is… It’s more of an elephants grave yard it would seem, a place to scream out for help only to see buzzards circling above.
I’m not very into this joint…
That said, I am no quitter, so will put up a few more wires before I pull my party out.
So, back to this render, it goes as such:
This dude over at the Cheetah forum (a much happier place then this), this dude, Uncle808 plasma blast, crated a bit of a bathroom model… A bathroom from a home, a small white bathroom—one that you might find in a house, an apartment… That kind of deal.
It got me thinking, so I thought I’d share, here’s what I had to recall when I checked out his action.
I like the can, getting into none can action in the can can be fun.
I met this curve once at a little dive way up north, bought her a drink or two while we smoked—this was a bit back in the day—smoking hadn’t yet evolved into the blasting big downer it is today.
At any rate, she was very calm, and just big eyed good looking, worked at the college book store if I recall—told me they price the books with a powdered graphite, so that they can erase the prices and re-stamp them if the price goes up, that and a number of other things…
So after a few brown bottles, I had to hit the can, so popped up and said “be back,” and staggered my way down to the John…
So, a moment later, I’m standing at the tall porcelain, feeling free, that pleasant wave of relief all massaging my bladder, while I check out the graffiti:
“Tech High blows”
“The Huskies rule”
“If you can read this, you need to drink more!”
So, I’m reading, and I hear someone fire on the sink, and set to washing up—like really splashing around in the water—making a real statement out of it.
A lean back around the divider deal that compartmentalizes the little room, and there at the sink is said curve…
She’s got her skirt off—nothing memorable about her panties, perhaps blue with some pattern on them—she has her skirt in the sink, and is really working away at something or another.
Panic hits—“am I in the women’s room?”
Jack bird no—I’m at a urinal, that ain’t chick action—she’s in the men’s room.
I’m good for a few more rounds, at least.
I’m thinking this is an interesting development, a bold move on her part to let me check her action out more closely—she’s toying with me, telegraphing her interests…
“Hey, Jump Bunny,” I speak cool—nothing out of the ordinary here, “what you up to?”
She doesn’t look up, continues to scrub.
“I can’t believe this,” She pumps soap into her hand and really harasses the wad of wet fabric, “damn it!
All set, I zip up and approach, she does have nice legs…
“Can I give you a hand there, babe Jack?”
White knuckled, she squeezes out water.
“There is a chunk of gum on this new skirt! She glares at me, “are you chewing gum?!”
She has Jack bird nice lips—full—her mouth is angry… I’m liking her more, and more.
“You did this, didn’t you? I thought I saw something fly out of your mouth when you sat down, caught it out of the corner of my eye, didn’t I?”
Now I’m feeling like what? I’m in elementary school? She’s all going to send me to the principles office? I sure felt like that, and that, well, it made me want more…
The thing is, I don’t do gum, never really liked it, haven’t had a stick in years, but hell, why let that Jack bird stop anything? So I spin out:
“I may have been enjoying some… Bazooka bubble perhaps...”
Her head jerks to one side and she really scowls.
“Perfect, that’s great, that’s really smooth! You could have said something...”
I reach past her, and wash my hands.
“What can I say, I thought it bounced off you, bounced off you and onto the floor...”
“Oh, I thought it bounced onto the floor?!” She clicked mocking into high gear, as she shakes out the skirt, snaps it with a stern “POP!” “You thought it bounced onto the floor?! Of course! It just went on the floor, bounced off me and onto the floor?”
She looked totally hot now, I mean she was mad, and jutting her chin out, and swinging her hips around, it was awesome.
So I said, “The truth is, I was trying to get it in your hair...”
“In my hair?”
“Sure, you have nice hair… but it seemed be crying out for my bazooka, so I fired it out while you took a sip… I wanted to get it stuck there, in that sexy hair of yours..."”
“That is so wrong!”
“No, it was hot!” And in my mind, it was.
“Hot? Hot? God! And I’m suppose to like that, having gum in my hair?” Her eyes rolled up into her head, like she was going to blow a gasket.
“It seemed harmless, and very sexy...”
“Your… your… your not human...” Just like that, she’s shaking the skirt out and stepping into it.
“Not human?” That was it, I was completely smitten—Perfect—this was love, but it was clearly to late!
In one move she snaps the front, storms out, and disappears out into the night.
I never saw her again, the sexy gum girl.
So about that clock in the mirror there, Uncle 808 state, is it suppose to be on the opposite wall, or on the glass?
This forum is quite a slow burner… Well, not much of a burner… And not that informative I must add, not to be a Jack bird downer about it all, but it’s true… If any official elements here would like to suggest other wise, if there is even a moderator here at all who really loves this place—said “Area”—wow, very Groom Lake—then please bring it—party down and show some of your goodness action.
Where are the experts who I would think would be employed by Autowoodblock to swing around here and provide a bit of healing for users or a splash of gas when the going gets tough?
I don’t Jack bird know—but I can’t seem to stay away—call me loaded on booze and cigarettes.
So, yeah, I was intending to build a car in Maya and render it to look very real, but I only made a bit of wooden roof before panic struck and I could feel I was over my head.
That being the case, I added a bit of acid and purple rain attached.
But in regards to cars, my first car was a VM fastback… Well, it was never actually mine, rather my parental spinners let me drive the unit.
The body was all shot, it was a lot of rust and bubbly rust under the paint, and I had the idea it would look batter if I tried to do some body work on it.
Here the word “try” must be kept in mind as I had no real clue as to how to go about such a thing.
But, I got some body putty and just kind of laid that action all over the place like big jug of peanut butter…
And once it hardened, it was very hard to sand, so I kind of just thought it might be a good idea to not worry about the sanding to much and just paint if black…
So, I got my friend “The Seen” over to my joint, and we popped some cold ones and set to work with some fat brushes and a bucket of barn paint—kind of shiny black…
Anyway, we got most of it done, and that paint was taking a long time to dry, and it was in the fall, and leaves started falling on the car as we where in the driveway, or more accurately out by the driveway in this little island of grass between the gravel road and the drive way.
Well, the cold bottles all ran dry, and there was still a good bit of time left in the Jack bird day, so we loaded into the fast back, and set off to the Liquor store…
Now at some point along the way, we got all into this bunch of flies or bee, or Jack bird beetles that must have been hanging around by this big old dumpster hear the store.
I saw a few when we headed into the joint to hook up with some twelvers, but didn’t give it a real thought, and once inside we ran into this curve who was a waitress next door…
As it were, next door was this sad little local joint called the Cantina—yeah, and they didn’t have a single mexican dish on the entire menu, just burgers and fries , and bratwurst, and these really bad frozen fish, that where actually really good if you had about a dozen beers as a warm up.
A few years later I actually worked there… It wasn’t that bad a job…
Anyway, I can’t remember her name, we caller her Humble Pony, or something like that… She dated one of the bartenders, and was in school to be an elementary teacher, I only point this out because it’s been my experience that curves that go into that trade—not dues, but women—they really party when the spirit hits them…
So “The Seen” and I ended up going around the corner to the Cantina for a pair of pulls, and that lead to a fish dinner.
Regarding the fast back, next morning… Well, around noon the next day I went out to check if the paint had dried, and in fact it had…
What I’d not seen coming was that for some reason that only a supernatural Jack bird of creating might know was that all said garbage bugs apparently wanted to have their last big party action on dumpster planet to be all about moshing on my hood of my car—slam dancing to a sticky death—forever entombed in black barn paint.
This made the paint even duller, and that didn’t really please me…
I thought about sanding it, but it was all to much… Which was good, as when I went round to the real of the car, I found this big fat handled paint push stuck to the back bumper… Seems I must have forgot it there when painting a few choice areas after the fish fry.
So, I left that brush there as well… Nice bit of ornamentation.
Such a supposed great and powerful tool, but with so little in the way of making me feel it’s a “kind hearted” creative one—or one that cares that I care…
We are all on this creative path of life, and when I have a question about something I like to ask for guidance, but sadly here at the graphically cool “The Area,” there is a noticable shortage of informed moirators, or representatives of said program maker… Or is it all me?
It all makes me want to drink pints, instead of bottles, but I’ll go with whatever you have cold (I’ve tipped a few with some dudes from who knows the jack bird ware from who liked to drink warm suds—Jump-a-me back from that attack. I’m a ice cold mug kind of knuckle dragger. I like the foam flowing out all over the place—like that’s sounds fine).
So, my ex-girlfriend’s brother worked at KFC a few years back and was busting frozen chick up (I guess it sticks together when it’s in the freezer some times), and got jabbed with some rock hard breast bone—ouch. Hurt me with the birdy. Anyway, this kid was a blast, loved x-box (he’s the rock star that got me into Zelda—a must play. Did I mention that besides getting the grays loaded on booze, before you club them, you can turn them on to Zelda—then give them a bash. Of course you have to fool one or two of them with multiple controllers as, it’s a single player game, and they’re always in groups. But get one going with some Daku action, pass out the controllers, and they’ll just stand there like the dumb meat puppets they are. Then—BLAM! Say good night mister softy).
I digress, so this KFC dude, gets a puncture wound, and shows his boss who’s remedy is to send him home.
It happens some farm girls from the Catholic school across town are just hitting the drive through, and as Mr.FCW (Frozen Chicken Wound) was making his exit, and called him into their clutches for a bit of a joy ride. The posse heads out afternoon mischief (Samantha’s brother is a lady killer, he was like seventeen when this all wiggled out, but he had no trouble hitting on the local talent and bringing them to the prom).
Anyway he started sweating hand getting dizzy, and really barking out the solids. The Catholic girls where a freaking, as they where hooking from school and didn’t want to get in to a bad place with god, so didn’t know what to do with FCW.
To make a long story short, he got some kind of deal called Compila bacta or what he called Campylobacter bacteria. He lost a bunch of weight, and had to stay in the hospital can, and was kind of almost dying.
That red tile reminds me of KFC a bit, so I don’t know about that whole action, but the wide screen TV, is a must.
You may also get more comments on your art if you post on a dedicated ‘art’ site, the forum here is more about discussing how to use the software rather than providing a gallery for people to show scenes created with it…
If you have a moment, perhaps you can share a bit of inside regarding my post numbered “1” and a few past that at number “9” both related to issues of learning, growing, and understanding said Maya.
Of course it would appear that question no. 1 and 2 now seem to be behind me—but perhaps they are still helpful to others.
Wondering about your meaning in sending me to the following:
1. Do not post messages that are inflammatory, nonconstructive, or at odds with the aims of the discussion groups.
I am a poster of light, and good vibration, and upon review of this thread—now several months old—I find nothing inflammatory, but if I have had this effect on you, it was by no means my intent.
From my perspective, sharing is universally constructive, but again, I hate to feel as if I brought you to such a place.
And I think there is room for all manner of growth in regards to sharing and bringing a bit of creative “go for it” to all dimensions that stand creative.
An important deal we are, every Jack bird.
And learning in all manners is key for mind expansion.
For example, the other day I was thinking about the text books they hand out in school on the first day of class, and if you skipped ahead you’d see crap that you’d never really get to, or understand. Just like life, that calls for a trip to the corner liquor.
I unexpectedly glimpse memories of school from time to time—how fresh all the kids were, right out of the mold as they were.
I was thinking back, remembering how I’d walk around the entire school, the longest possible way to get from point A to B, just to get a glimpse of this curve I had all a thing for—Tony.
She had road the bus with me in elementary school, and at some point, on some cold morning, I decided to show her some of the drawings I always did in my note books. She told me they scared her, and after a while, my mother came to me one night in my room and ask me if I had been scaring the kids on the bus with my drawings, and I said “no, just this one girl,” and she said, “this one girl’s mom called, and she doesn’t want you to share them with her any more.” That was cool with me, I thought to my self, “fine, you’ll never see me or, my scribbles again.”
But years later, when she was older, she finally noticed me again passing her every day between classes, and just reached out and grabbed hold of my arm. “You still drawing those scary pictures?” I nodded. “Have any with you?” I told her not right at that moment, but I had a lot of them now, and I could show her. She told me to meet her after school, and bring some.
I was instantly happy, ecstatic, but didn’t really know if I should bring the big robot drawing or the killer water clowns, or the gray alien skin puppets, or what. As the afternoon wore on, I started getting really nervous, I started thinking perhaps she was going to get scared again, and get me in trouble. She might freak out, old Tony trouble maker, freak out and blame me and my drawings.
“Forget it! I’m not going there.”
So, I decided to meet her anyway, and not bring my drawing, meet her and just ask, “what’s your sudden interest? You trying to tweek me?”
She met me by the bike rack we’d agreed upon, and I was just leaning on it with my hands behind my back, very cool (but nervous inside—what if she still went mental? I’m not in great standings with the school officials). She strolled up, and got right up close to me, right up by my face, like she was going to ask me for drugs or something (I remember she smelled like Irish Springs soap, very clean, very nice). “Where are the drawings?” I shrugged, “I didn’t really think you wanted to see freak water clowns, it would scare you, and...” Then she leaned over and kissed me, just on the edge of my mouth. I thought she’d fallen forward at first, took a bad step and just bummed into me, but her mouth stayed very close to mine, and I was like “this is her, Tony, dream the big dream, dude, wake up and get the coffee going.” I waited, and she did it again. This time I was ready, and after a few more times, I said, “they’ve gotten even scarier sense you saw them last, I mean really. We should go to my house to check them out.”
O.K. She said.
Four years later I designed a tattoo for her, for right on the back of her calve, just below her knee. It was done all in black, and really hacked off her parents.
It’s been passed along to me, by a trusted source, that the meat puppets have a growing interest in breeding, locally, on our doorstep.
I’ve been shouting the warning, but the kids at the mall don’t care, their focus is on the “now,” so who can blame them.
However, my friend at the corner store, battle scarred Bruce, is down with my action; as are the can standers, and that Jack bird down at the Cat and the Fiddle.
So, now I understand that our adult entertainment confuses the grays as they can’t think alone, and the site of pornography confuses them to a point where they will over drink, and crash there space ships.
Please lure clusters of Grays into your home with booze and adult films, beat them senseless and call the authorities. If we all do this enough, we might save the planet.
I am brewing a secret plan that I hope will aid us, I intend to create a 3D model of their “unspoken one”—that should get them running.
Powerful thought glands, and nuggets of inspiration, still swimming in a sea of Maya… Bubbling with creative wants and needs.
All is a power snap for me at the moment—“Yeah, creative”—“Yeah I wish to shed my Maya neophyte standings one day.”
I was wondering if there was a way to randomizes the position of selected control vertices, or something like that.
It’s a lot to think about, so I’ve been tipping quite a few bottles while tap, tap, tapping the Jack bird mouse.
So we all have to take a break, and I needed smokes, so set out down the block.
I ran into my mad neighbor with the blow up santa and got into a jag with me about a Jack bird bit of Maya action, pounded copper flies, and old SiFi films.
And out from that, I can’t keep away, the summer of bring me to the edge of puberty.
When I was a big bog goober, back in the way back, I was a big mad dilly dong about “the force,” and Star Wars just got my jiggle action popping.
So, I feel I must share a personal perspective about a none-3D modeling/rendering notion—that dude George Lucas has mutated into a funky dumpy—as he is now such a pathetic writer director, that his latest three horrifying films actually created a rip in time allowing him to go back to 1977 and destroy the original STAR WARS film.
What clumps of junk.
And that dumb little kid he brought in to be slave boy? What kind of slave lives with is mom, and gets to make cool crap out of junk all day long?
The little wiggler should be living in a ditch covered with a steel grate, and there should be all manner of retched scum and villainy tapping there flu shanks onto his noggin.
No fun robots—just dirt, and bugs.
Going on it.
And, film two, or was it three, when some day to be Darth Vader, spins himself out into the desert to find his mommy bags (why he left her there on sad planet for so long is a whirling bit of confusion as well, but smoke what you have, or bum one), and he goes all “I’m a blood lusting mad killer, I’ll eat your little brains, the brains in your dangling skin sacks,” on the sand people… Who cuts the action there? Who cuts away from Anicananny’s homicidal blood letting of the retched sand clan?
George “I once knew how to make a film” Lucas.
And how do the funk brother Jedi knights get to use the force to cheat that crazy flying bug gland man deal, out of the greasy slave boy kid crap?
That’s not killer, it’s stink hole.
I think of such at this Jack bird time of year, as it was when I got down with the popcorn and old VHS tapes. I would dream about returning to said universes and dig such all anew.
Oh, that’s a bit of bring it then, any one build a TIE fighter?
Durant “I digress, but will enjoy another round” Hapke