Painting background noise...

When I was painting my Sisters of Battle years ago, background noise was easy. Insert Aliens DVD, hit play, repeat, and think about killing tyranid while I happily paint away. Since then, I've found it harder to have my "background" inspiration while painting.
I won't even talk about the Black Templars. Gregorian Chorale works well. So does Stabbing Westward. Not that I've gotten many of them painted.
I started painting my elves with LotR on in the background. That didn't work so well, as I kept getting distracted and found myself watching the movie more than painting. Music seems to work better for me.

Music I like to have on while painting (albums, unless otherwise specified):

Orff - Carmina Burana
Basil Poledouris - Conan the Barbarian soundtrack (original)
Depeche Mode - Playing the Angel
She Wants Revenge - This is Forever/Valleyheart
Clan of Xymox - Creatures/Medusa
Erasure - Pop!
Frou Frou - Details
Garbage - Garbage
Led Zeppelin - Led Zeppelin III
Leonard Cohen - (all of it)
Oingo Boingo - (all of it)
Pink Floyd - (all of it)
Primus - (all of it)

I'm sure there's more... I have over a week's worth of music on my computer.

Slowly progressing...

Forward is a good direction to move!
Over a year after starting my collection, I'm digging out my WFB high elves. My last progress was back around New Year's, when I finished assembling my meager collection of dragon princes. The prince on griffon (from the Island of Blood set) is about 95% painted, just need to put some finishing touches on the beak and prince.
In the last week, I've assembled Caradryan (finally!), assembled Alarielle the Radiant, and have now base coated all 6 of my lords and heroes plus the dragon princes.

Painting to do (in some sort of order):

• Allarielle the Radiant (need to figure out some sort of display, as she's my entry into a local painting showcase/competition)
• Mage (started, need to finish)
• Noble (battle standard bearer)
• Dragon princes
• Phoenix guard
• Lion chariot x2 (still need to basecoat)
• Bolt thrower x2 (still need to basecoat, plus I'm considering mounting them on a stand of sorts)
• Everything else (spearmen, archers, swordmasters, reavers)




Where I was Sept 2012



Nov 20, 2013
Lords and Heroes assembled, ready to prime (or finish)



Close-up of my prince, Nov 20, 2013



Dragon princes primed, Nov 21, 2013



Lords and heroes, primed Nov 21, 2013

When I'm not busy shooting them one way....

I shoot them another!

Airsoft vs Paintball

Despite the title, this isn't a real "versus" type of post. This is more of a comparative summary. Granted, I've not gone out paintballing, but I've been around enough to get a rough idea...enough to point out the key differences.

First off, you have two totally different types of equipment. Paintball markers generally look like sci-fi ray guns. They have a CO2 cannister, and a hopper unit for the paintballs. Paintballs themselves are generally .68" in diameter, though the sizes vary. They're filled with paint, and explode on impact.

Airsoft guns, on the other hand, look like real guns (granted, some are clear plastic...some just look like plastic, but some are full metal). They are all powered by some sort of spring mechanism pushing air to propel the BB, but they can be straight spring powered, CO2 powered, green gas (propane) powered, or battery powered. The BBs are solid plastic 6mm balls, with the most common weight being .20gm (though, I play with .23 and know people who use .43 in spring snipers). Generally, the more FPS (feet per second) your gun fires, the more weight you want to keep them from going completely out of control.

Paintball is pretty easy to tell when you're out: you have paint on you! Sure, there are "wipers" who will wipe that shit off and cheat...but there's also refs on the field!
Airsoft is a game of honor: you call yourself out when you get hit. Sure, you can be a "rhinohide" and not call yourself out, but guess what happens when you're not calling yourself out? You keep getting lit up. Getting hit a few times by a .20gm plastic ball flying at 375 FPS sucks. Considering that some of the airsoft guns are firing 20-30 RPS (rounds per second), a quick 2 second pull on the trigger can send quite a volley downrange. Don't think "Oh, I'll get hit once and call hit and that's that!" Plan on "I'll get hit by a volley and yell out hit hit hit while raising my red rag and hope that they stop after a few seconds."

Does paintball hurt? No idea. Never been hit by one. I've heard of players freezing their paintballs to make them hurt...but, I've never been hit by one.
Does airsoft hurt? Well, sure. It can be a bee sting. It can also hit the tip of your nose or finger and you'll be swearing a blue storm. I've had friends get teeth shot out. I've seen them (firsthand) embedded in people. I've (personally) broken skin, both by getting shot and by shooting others. It depends on where you get shot, how far away, and what protective clothing you have. Once, as the "on-field medic" I cleaned and dressed about 20 hits clustered in an area that looked like a swarm of hornets went to town on the guy. I've also had hits that I actually stopped and said "Uhhh, did I just get hit?" as I was raising my red rag to call myself out.
When in doubt, call yourself out.

Safety gear is the same for both: full seal eye protection, gloves, face protection (to reduce chances of teeth getting shot out).

My political rant

When Senator Ted Cruz (R-Texas) chose to read “Green Eggs and Ham” as part of his filibuster to stop the Affordable Care Act, it raises a question in my mind. For those unfamiliar with the work, the protagonist is constantly hounded to try green eggs and ham, to which he firmly and repeatedly replies “NO!” At the conclusion, he finally caves and finds that he does, in fact, enjoy said dish.

The irony of the situation is that he used a story about being open to trying new things as you might like them in an attempt to stop something new that, according to recent polls, the people are willing to try and would like to see go into effect.

That being said, was the reading of the book merely part of Senator Cruz’s attempt to kill time, or was it a veiled message that he does, in fact, like the Affordable Care Act but is putting up a token protest because that’s what is expected of him as a representative of the Republicans?

Following this demonstration of reading comprehension, House Speaker John Boehner (R-Ohio) claimed that ‘government shutdown is not some damn game.’ However, it would appear that it is story time.

 

The Dream Merchant

          Every day, there was the same man always sitting on the same bench next to the fountain in the park. The pigeons would flock to him, feeding on the seemingly endless supply of crumbs scattered on the ground in front of him. The rain would pour on him, the sun would shine on him, yet he never noticed either.

          People walking past or bicycling in the park noticed him as much as he noticed the weather. The children playing in the nearby playground would always wave, as did the ones playing hopscotch on the crudely drawn chalk outline just past the pigeons. He smiled to all the children, but never with evil in his heart or mind.

          Dogs being walked past him would always look and wag their tails regardless of whether or not their masters noticed this man, which they rarely did. That was the most remarkable thing about this most unremarkable man. No one noticed him.

          Rather, no one recalled noticing him.

          Everyone saw him, but if one was to ask about him no one would be able to share the same experience. While one person would see him as a young man wearing faded blue jeans and work shirt with a beaten cowboy hat pulled low on his face, the next person questioned would describe an older gentleman in a crisp suit and fedora. The only two things in common between descriptions would be the fact that he wore a hat and the shimmer.

          The shimmer is what actually caught the eye of passers-by, but even that changed to each observer. Some saw it as a faint fog, others saw a halo of pale light, while others still would say it was like heat pouring off the blacktop on a summer day.

          While people could see him, they never saw those who sat with him. He always had a visitor; he never sat alone. Musicians, poets, writers, painters, young girls looking for their great love, old men mourning theirs. His visitors would talk and he would listen, his pale lue eyes shifting to fierce green, changing to grey, brown, black. He listened as they talked, and when they were done talking the faint traces of a smile would creep up on the corners of his lips.

          With the emergence of the beginning of this smile, his visitors would stand and shake his hand, and then walk away. Every single one of them would go home, or to a restaurant, or a coffee house nearby. All of them would get a drink and place the small pearl he slipped them in that handshake into the drink, but none would ever recall doing so.

          The people who visited him came for inspiration. Their dreams would be vivid, near tangible. The next morning they would notice what they hadn’t noticed before. Songs nearly played themselves, words flowed freely across the page, smiles and winks found open hearts to receive them.

          One cool spring morning things were different. An early morning fog hugged the ground, decorating the grass with small diamonds of moisture, birds chirped in the trees, and a young lady stood before him. The pigeons stared at her, ceasing their constant feast on the crumbs.

          He stared at her, waiting for her to sit. They locked eyes for seconds. The seconds turned to minutes, the minutes stretching to hours. The morning fog burned away with the warmth of the day and then coiled around the trunks of the trees with the cool night. The fountain reflected the moon back to the sky in a rippled reflection. No one saw either of them, no one else joined him on the bench, and neither moved.

          The black night sky shifted to grey, followed by a dusty rose, warm pink, and finally shifting to pale blue as the next day approached. Still they watched each other.

          He was the first to move. Slowly his smooth hand emerged from the pocket of his coat and patted the bench next to him once, and then twice more. She seemed to glide across the concrete to the bench, sitting silently next to him, their eyes remaining locked together. She leaned towards him, finally pulling her eyes from his, resting her head on his shoulders, sliding closer to him.

          “Samiel, my love. I long for you each day. Thoughts of you fill my mind. I smell your presence with every breath. When, Samiel? When will you come back to me?”

          He stares into space in silent response, his eyes shifting to a pale grey. For the first time the corners of his mouth shift downward. He turns his head to gaze at her and she brings her head up, returning the tender gaze he favors her with.

          They kiss, tenderly, eyes closed. From behind closed lids tears slip down both their cheeks, falling through the morning air, landing in her hand where they catch the rising sun and solidify, perfect iridescent pearls.

          Their kiss ends, they pull away. She hands him the pearls and he returns his hands to his pockets, the faint trace of a smile returning to his face.

Something different - a disclaimer.

So, I have a little story that I wrote a few years back. I dug it out of the dark recesses of the trunk of doom, where I thought I would leave it to rot. Out of sight, out of mind type thing. It surfaced again. I'm still unsure if I care to post it up here or not...it's fairly graphic, and shows a darker side of my imagination. I'm not really sure where I was mentally when I wrote it. Honestly, not really sure I want to know where I was mentally when I wrote it. Dark side. Imagination. That's my disclaimer, in case I post it up.