burn, baby, burn, when you gonna learn, it's time to put out the fire?

Do not go here.

Oh, you want a reason? Well, then.

First, I've been standing in place, not moving, for twenty minutes; the sim is still not done rezzing in. Partially, perhaps even mostly, this is because the rocks, the trees, the very soil of the sim itself--are all SCULPTS!

ARE THEY INSANE?!?! They have to be. They have to be taking serious Second-Life-altering drugs.

It's not even worth waiting for the art to rez in, either, for all it's very impressive--



Because it's one hundred and eight prim!! I mean yes, it's beautiful, and yes, it does make quite the visual impact. But really--ONE HUNDRED! AND EIGHT! PRIMS!

And also it's behind a wall:



So really. Honestly. Don't come here.

Want more reasons why not to come here? I was standing, in the last picture, next to a butterfly-spouting pink tulip, and could barely move. So I turned, to face a barely animated glade, and my frames per second surged to the blinding forward speed of...*breathless pause*...1.3 fps! Astounding!



Yes, I'm being sarcastic.

That's just slightly over one frame per second, for those not keeping score at home. If you need a local reference for such numbers, dear friends, let me put it this way--were you to find a two-hour motion picture moving at this speed, you'd need a goodly supply of food and tea, and perhaps a very comfortable chair, and certainly a blanket, because you'd need a little less than sixty hours, I believe, to watch the film.

A hand-crank operated Nickolodeon machine is faster than the frame rate I have now. Phaugh.

(Though I do heartily recommend reading the artist's profile, the one who created the one-hundred-plus prim Icarus? Because there are moments of sheer joy to be found, reading the words of Nomasha Syaka.)



After yesterday's Wake-that-Wasn't, some few of us gathered at a seaside pub named the Salty Mermaid. I didn't catch where it was; I was in something of an odd mood, not bad, necessarily, just wondering about the oddity of the wake and the survival propensity of certain Expedition members.

[Insert from the Editrix: it turns out this is an establishment in Kittiwickshire, owned by the reknowned Professor Oolon Sputnik. Lovely little place.]



I think I was fine until I asked for a drink. And mine was...glowing green, and reminded me oddly of apples and citrus in taste, but...looked like cavorite blended with ice. It started to levitate, and I grew worried, and Miss Neome said, oh, that sounds like fun...

So I gave mine to her.



I'm not sure that was any better. Because she couldn't get close enough to *catch* it so it would *stop* floating!

Odd drinks in the Salty Mermaid. But a very clean, efficient space, and close enough to the docks to retain that lovely crisp salted-air smell. I'll have to go back when they're not stocked with odd floating fruit drinks...