Madelaine McMasters

I'm saddened to hear of your losses, Sephina. If there is a bright side to your situation, it's that you've been presented a revelation. We don't always get a peek behind the curtain, nor do we often wish for one. What you do with it is, of course, up to you. Hugs, Maddy

TDD123 wrote: Not from a friend : You wasted my time, but that's ok. I'm sorry for your loss in life. TDD123, the only person capable of wasting my time is me. Strive for that exclusivity, then avoid using it.

Dillon Levenque wrote: Madelaine McMasters wrote: Elegance in bib overalls is quite an accomplishment. Thank you. The hardest part was learning to spit quietly ;-). I'm not sure I'll ever appreciate quiet quite as much again.

Dillon Levenque wrote: Melita Magic wrote: You could get a megaprim and hollow it out, and texture it, to make a very low prim 10 by 10 meter house. You could cut a doorway into one side, or else leave it solid and just 'sit in' to the house if you know how. Without a door and with a flat roof on top that's only 2 prims. To put your own pictures on the walls, you'd upload each image (10 L each) and put it on one side of a flat prim. Drop by any NCI hub and someone can talk you through it. Well, if he were to stick with the intended 10x10, he wouldn't even need a megaprim. Reminds me of my first oh-so-low prim skybox: two hollowed out 10x10x6 blocks (I didn't know there were megaprims in those days) mated end-to-end and two end pieces. I did make one end invisible from inside so I could look out at the stars while patting myself on the back for being so creative. Elegance.:smileyvery-happy: You can go up to 64x64x64 now, although you can't link things further apart than 54m. Elegance in bib overalls is quite an accomplishment.

Coby Foden wrote: Madelaine McMasters wrote: While winter is hardly the season for wearing a bikini on my Lake Michigan beach (though tomorrow is forecast to be 54 and tempting), you can wear high heels on the frozen sand. :matte-motes-big-grin: :smileywink:

Hi Laxmadur (Andri ;-), The easiest way to do what you wish will be to rent a small parcel of land, or some space in the sky. Although you are actually renting server space, it will be described in terms of square meters and "prim" allowances. 10x10 meters is pretty cozy, you'll probably want to go a bit larger to display your paintings, which shouldn't be an issue on most rental parcels. Renting, as one might expect, will require the expenditure of some money. Over the years, I've rented small spaces for as little as L$75/week (about USD$0.30/week) that had a 25 prim allowance. That would be just enough space to create a simple cube home and hang a few paintings on the walls. You can also rent an apartment or house with a modest prim allowance to save yourself the effort (and prims) of building your own home. To display your paintings, you'll need to create an object onto which you can load your JPEG files. A simple cube, stretched into the proportions of a typical painting, would be a good starting point. That cube would count as one prim against your allotment. You'd use the same technique to texture the walls of your cube house. There are a great many textures already available in the free SL library (in your inventory window) that you can use to build your home. There's some learning involved here, and you can practice your techniques at a public sandbox. Search for "sandbox" to get a list of potential building places where you can learn. You will not be able to leave your creations there, but you can take them back into your inventory when you're done making them. I suggest you look around for building classes and make friends who can teach you how to work SL. There are quite a few helpful folks here in the forum that can answer your questions as you go. There's a lot to learn Andri, get ready to climb the learning curve and good luck! Maddy

Hippie Bowman wrote: valerie Inshan wrote: Awww Hippie! Sends huge hugs to you my dear friend! Awwww! Thank you Val! Peace! Val, I think we see germ-ed folks a bit differently... Get well, Hippie!

Czari Zenovka wrote: Not sure why anyone would want to, but ok. I often do things just to be contrary, or absurd. ;-) ETA: As for heel clicks on sand, the movie/TV industry has been squealing car tires on gravel roads for decades.

Czari Zenovka wrote: Coby Foden wrote: What I find a bit odd is that now and then one can see some women happily wearing a bikini and terribly high heels on SL's sandy beaches. (I have a feeling that they do that in an effort to hide the default avatar feet.) What used to make me laugh (or drive me nuts, depending on the day...what? I'm a redhead ) - was when the high heel "click-click" sound was popular. I observed quite a few female avatars clicking their way across a sandy beach. :matte-motes-agape: From the "You Know You've Been in SL Too Long" files - Around this time I went shopping RL; was heading across the parking lot to the stores and heard that high heel click behind me. My first thought was, "Gah! I wish women would turn that stupid sound off of their shoes; it is so annoying." We both reached the sidewalk at approximately the same time, which is when I took a sideways glance at her and then.....it hit me....of *course* the heels are clicking - this is RL and she's walking on pavement. :matte-motes-bashful: While winter is hardly the season for wearing a bikini on my Lake Michigan beach (though tomorrow is forecast to be 54 and tempting), you can wear high heels on the frozen sand.

I believe I'm doing well, which is half the battle! I'm glad to hear you are as well.

On those rare occasions I fancy myself an all powerful totem, I go barefoot. Otherwise, I wear prim-feet heels. I've never tried fake bare feet. I fear they would deplete my aura.

Screaming is not the same as mooing, but I guess I like it just the same.

valerie Inshan wrote: OMG Hippie, sorry I'm so late today! Been struggling all day creating a mailing list in Outlook with lots of borked email addresses. Pffff, this sucks! Had to check them one by one. :smileymad: But anyway, I wanted to thank you for Saturday's awesome party and for being here yesterday for breakfast. My cow is still mooing after Maddy's treat! If only I had that effect on people. ;-)

1-21-2014 NRA President David Keene accidentally shoots 51 association members at a meeting in Rhinelander, WI. Keene was demonstrating his assault rifle large magazine loading skills when the cap from his bottle of Leinenkugel's Snowdrift Vanilla Porter fell from his mouth (Keene is known for opening beer bottles with his teeth), jamming the trigger. Shortly after the incident, the NRA issued a press release calling for regulations requiring that safety chains be added to beer bottle caps and can pop tabs.

Rolig Loon wrote: Um... Check the date. The OP posted the question in early spring LAST year. He's probably built a dozen tanks himself by now. :smileylol: Rolig, I can't resist... I see you're having the same difficulty I encounter every year. It's 2013 now, so the OP was TWO years ago! Meanwhile, you and I will probably both be dating checks "2012" until mid year. How ya been, anyway?

16 wrote: Dillon Levenque wrote: Czari Zenovka wrote: Qie Niangao wrote: <snip> Who's ox is gored? The only person I've ever heard using this expression (prior to today, of course) was my high school history teacher. He used it regularly as in "It depends whose ox is being gored." *Looks at you a bit more closely* I noticed that as well. My father frequently used that expression. I'm not at all sure, but I believe it can be found at least once in the King James version. i can help myself so i just had to look it up (: + King James Bible: Exodus 21 28 If an ox gore a man or a woman, that they die: then the ox shall be surely stoned, and his flesh shall not be eaten; but the owner of the ox shall be quit. 29 But if the ox were wont to push with his horn in time past, and it hath been testified to his owner, and he hath not kept him in, but that he hath killed a man or a woman; the ox shall be stoned, and his owner also shall be put to death. 30 If there be laid on him a sum of money, then he shall give for the ransom of his life whatsoever is laid upon him. 31 Whether he have gored a son, or have gored a daughter, according to this judgment shall it be done unto him. 32 If the ox shall push a manservant or a maidservant; he shall give unto their master thirty shekels of silver, and the ox shall be stoned. 33 And if a man shall open a pit, or if a man shall dig a pit, and not cover it, and an ox or an ass fall therein; 34 The owner of the pit shall make it good, and give money unto the owner of them; and the dead beast shall be his. 35 And if one man's ox hurt another's, that he die; then they shall sell the live ox, and divide the money of it; and the dead ox also they shall divide. 36 Or if it be known that the ox hath used to push in time past, and his owner hath not kept him in; he shall surely pay ox for ox; and the dead shall be his own. + so seems is not really good to be a goring ox I read this as rewarding killer beasts of burden with recreational marijuana, while punishing their owners. This sounds like something Babe might have written in a fit of pique while Paul was away.

Hippie Bowman wrote: Parhelion Palou wrote: valerie Inshan wrote: Well Lia, I am afraid I will have to wait to come home after Xmas.... The land shows 0 prims available (when I should have over 400), I'm not even mentioned as the owner. Although my tier is paid for another month.... A bad internet connection can cause these bugs. I can"t even TP or send IMs, pfffft! So, I'll be spending Xmas either homeless, or freezing my butt in the snow! Did you put your house back since this post? I just checked it out and here's what I saw: The parcel properties say you own the land and there are 99 prims free. Oh my! Now I am going to have to come out and look! (May raid Vals fridge too) If this is the case Val has some serious internet problems! Peace! ... fires up Val's stove while Hippie raids her fridge.

12-18-2012 Around the nation, students on Christmas break borrow their parent's cars and rush to go necking at Fiscal Cliff before it disappears. 12-18-3212 Nearly 1200 years after the great Mayan apocalypse of 2012, archeologists surveying abandoned mines near what was once Deadwood, South Dakota, USA, discover the mummified remains of 41 people huddled under an immense pile of "Hostess Twinkies". Although the remains of the victims were barely identifiable, researchers described the Twinkies as "delicious".

Melita Magic wrote: It hasn't even been a week, and people are using it for political gain. I wish they would just let the nation (and world) mourn. This isn't the time for debates on any of it. There is no magical solution as people wish. I posted the video without comment for a reason. This is a time for reflection, and people are doing it. There will always be people using tragedy for political gain, but sometimes people use it to move forward. I hope this is that time.

Let's hope that this tragedy crystalizes our resolve to do something about it.

I adore David's impression of Billy Holiday.

I don't want to bring anyone down here, but I think it's important to know that only one of Sam and Olivia Clemens' four children lived long enough to produce grandchildren. His son Langdon died at age two, Jean died at age 19 on Christmas Eve and Suzy, thought to be his favorite, and the one to whom he wrote that letter, died at the age of 23. Clara is the only Clemens child to survive her parents. They say that humor is borne of tragedy. Sam Clemens exemplifies this. Here's a Christmas story he penned for "The Californian" on December 23, 1865. You all enjoy it while I run off to help myself to some jam. The Christmas Fireside For Good Little Boys and Girls By Grandfather Twain The Story of the Bad Little Boy That Bore a Charmed Life Once there was a bad little boy whose name was Jim — though, if you will notice, you will find that bad little boys are nearly always called James in your Sunday-school books. It was strange, but still it was true that this one was called Jim. He didn’t have any sick mother either — a sick mother who was pious and had the consumption, and would be glad to lie down in the grave and be at rest but for the strong love she bore her boy, and the anxiety she felt that the world might be harsh and cold towards him when she was gone. Most bad boys in the Sunday-books are named James, and have sick mothers, who teach them to say, “Now, I lay me down,” etc., and sing them to sleep with sweet, plaintive voices, and then kiss them good-night, and kneel down by the bedside and weep. But it was different with this fellow. He was named Jim, and there wasn’t anything the matter with his mother — no consumption, nor anything of that kind. She was rather stout than otherwise, and she was not pious; moreover, she was not anxious on Jim’s account. She said if he were to break his neck it wouldn’t be much loss. She always spanked Jim to sleep, and she never kissed him good-night; on the contrary, she boxed his ears when she was ready to leave him. Once this little bad boy stole the key of the pantry, and slipped in there and helped himself to some jam, and filled up the vessel with tar so that his mother would never know the difference; but all at once a terrible feeling didn’t come over him, and something didn’t seem to whisper to him, “Is it right to disobey my mother? Isn’t in sinful to do this? Where do bad little boys go who gobble up their good kind mother’s jam?” and then he didn’t kneel down all alone and promise never to be wicked any more, and rise up with a light, happy heart, and go and tell his mother all about it and beg her forgiveness, and be blessed by her with tears of pride and thankfulness in her eyes. No; that is the way with all other bad boys in the books; but it happened otherwise with this Jim, strangely enough. He ate that jam, and said it was bully, in his sinful, vulgar way; and he put in the tar, and said that was bully also, and laughed, and observed “that the old woman would get up and snort” when she found it out; and when she did find it out, he denied knowing anything about it, and she whipped him severely, and he did the crying himself. Everything about this boy was curious — everything turned out differently with him from the way it does to the bad Jameses in the books. Once he climbed up in Farmer Acorn’s apple-tree to steal apples, and the limb didn’t break, and he didn’t fall and break his arm, and get torn by the farmer’s great dog, and then languish on a sick bed for weeks, and repent and become good. Oh! no; he stole as many apples as he wanted and came down all right; and he was all ready for the dog too, and knocked him endways with a brick when he came to tear him. It was very strange — nothing like it ever happened in those mild little books with marbled backs, and with pictures in them of men with swallow-tailed coats and bell-crowned hats, and pantaloons that are short in the legs, and women with the waists of their dresses under their arms, and no hoops on. Nothing like it in any of the Sunday-school books. Once he stole the teacher’s pen-knife, and, when he was afraid it would be found out and he would get whipped, he slipped it into George Wilson’s cap — poor Widow Wilson’s son, the moral boy, the good little boy of the village, who always obeyed his mother, and never told an untruth, and was fond of his lessons, and infatuated with Sunday-school. And when the knife dropped from the cap, and poor George hung his head and blushed, as if in conscious guilt, and the grieved teacher charged the theft upon him, and was just in the very act of bringing the switch down upon his trembling shoulders, a white-haired, improbable justice of the peace did not suddenly appear in their midst, and strike an attitude and say, “Spare this noble boy — there stands the cowering culprit! I was passing the school-door at recess, and unseen myself, I saw the theft committed!” And then Jim didn’t get whaled, and the venerable justice didn’t read the tearful school a homily, and take George by the hand and say such a boy deserved to be exalted, and then tell him to come and make his home with him, and sweep out the office, and make fires, and run errands, and chop wood, and study law, and help his wife do household labors, and have all the balance of the time to play, and get forty cents a month, and be happy. No; it would have happened that way in the books, but it didn’t happen that way to Jim. No meddling old clam of a justice dropped in to make trouble, and so the model boy George got thrashed, and Jim was glad of it. Because, you know, Jim hated moral boys. Jim said he was “down on them milksops.” Such was the coarse language of this bad, neglected boy. But the strangest thing that ever happened to Jim was the time he went boating on Sunday, and didn’t get drowned, and that other time that he got caught out in the storm when he was fishing on Sunday, and didn’t get struck by lightning. Why, you might look, and look, and look, all through the Sunday-school books from now till next Christmas, and you would never come across anything like this. Oh no; you would find that all the bad boys who go boating on Sunday invariably get drowned, and all the bad boys who get caught out in storms, when they are fishing on Sunday, infallibly get struck by lightning. Boats with bad boys in them are always upset on Sunday, and it always storms when bad boys go fishing on the Sabbath. How this Jim ever escaped is a mystery to me. This Jim bore a charmed life — that must have been the way of it. Nothing could hurt him. He even gave the elephant in the menagerie a plug of tobacco, and the elephant didn’t knock the top of his head off with his trunk. He browsed around the cupboard after essence of peppermint, and didn’t make a mistake and drink aqua fortis. He stole his father’s gun and went hunting on the Sabbath, and didn’t shoot three or four of his fingers off. He struck his little sister on the temple with his fist when he was angry, and she didn’t linger in pain through long summer days, and die with sweet words of forgiveness upon her lips that redoubled the anguish of his breaking heart. No; she got over it. He ran off and went to sea at last, and didn’t come back and find himself sad and alone in the world, his loved ones sleeping in the quiet church-yard, and the vine-embowered home of his boyhood tumbled down and gone to decay. Ah! no; he came home as drunk as a piper, and got into the station-house the first thing. And he grew up, and married, and raised a large family, and brained them all with an axe one night, and got wealthy by all manner of cheating and rascality; and now he is the infernalest wickedest scoundrel in his native village, and is universally respected, and belongs to the Legislature. So you see there never was a bad James in the Sunday-school books that had such a streak of luck as this sinful Jim with the charmed life.

Dillon Levenque wrote: Tex Nasworthy wrote: On a slightly related topic, I have been on Earth for over 55 years now. The Earth and myself have survived multiple "end of the world" scenarios and predictions. Assuming that I make it past Dec. 21st, I'm starting to think that I have survived "the end of the world" enough times now that I just might be immortal. Wow, I think you might be onto something there! I kinda like that idea. The Immortal Dillon. Has a nice ring to it.:smileyvery-happy: Grabs a crowbar and a pair of nylons and starts prying on that "t".

16 wrote: i agree with all Dillon said + like you say history shows we getting better Agreed and if that doesn't convince you... Might this?