Vanity, thy Name is Newbe
Honestly, I had every intention of fixing the scripts within my steam rocket ship last night, but somehow I got sidetracked. I am not quite sure what caused the sitetrackedness, but it certainly had nothing to do with the inordinate desire to look dead sexy. No, really.
I strolled over to SteamSkyCity to see the vessel currently mounted upon the roof of my brick warehouse. I contemplated the issues that popped up as soon as I had mounted the door and decided that the best way to resolve the problem was to find new skin. Yes, doing something completely unrelated allows me to think more clearly. That or I was getting tired of looking not quite finished. Even a “Ken” doll, whatever that is, looks more human than my disproportionately developed self.
Sadly, there is precious little available for those of us in our ridiculously late 3o’s (I’m thirty twelve), and even less so for those of us who happen to be male. My intent, quite clearly, was to unload myself of those pesky $L clogging up my display. Who needs them?!?
And hair. Although I was getting accustomed to the extremely plastic, whatever that is, look of the off the shelf head cladding, I felt that I needed something a little more appropriate for a Victorian gentleman (stop snickering). Thus prim hair. And not just any prim hair, but Tradition Light Brown from Tami McCoy (thank you for the pointer, Mr Pearse). Believe you me (what an odd expression), finding hair for a male of my age is a near impossible task. Granted, although I am thirty-twelve, I still feel twenty-eleven at heart and my real hair tends toward the slightly longer side of short, business-like. Well, I had to compromise slightly.
In the end, I’ve ended up with a look that is approaching a vague semblance of my real self. Ok, my AV is closer to the “after the diet” me than my current “in the middle of my diet” me, but the face is mostly me. I couldn’t find light enough facial hair as I’m light brown and the selection tends to be limited to next-to-black and blond-as-blond-can-be, but the skin from Gentlemen is the closest approximation I have found.
And although I cannot ever be considered dead sexy, at least I feel like I look vaguely reminiscent of a human. Vaguely. More importantly, I look like something that somewhat hints of what I really do look like, rather than like something the cat dragged in.
Oh, and check out the beautiful artwork by the talented Miss Lapin Paris behind me!
Interestingly enough, whilst out testing my new skin in public, I stumbled across, not literally of course, Miss Tombola who was gracious enough to listen to my programming dilemma. She helped me to work through the thoughts buried deep within my ample cranium such that I feel I can resolve the rocket issue. See, new skin helps one think.