Friday, August 15, 2008

so I'm glad I got burned, think of all the things we learned

Friends and neighbors, I believe I have finally seen them...the fugliest pants ever seen on the grid, to descend to the vernacular.

Think I'm kidding?


Meet Alfredo Zapatero! Mr. Zapatero is an Italian gentlemen--seen with his lovely girlfriend/sister/diversion of the moment, she of the suntanned-to-burnt skin tone and the open-fly jeans--I don't know who she was, all I know is that she and Zapatero had matching shoulder iguanas--and really, the concept of matching shoulder iguanas, it's just so baffling... he is. In cow pants. In baggy cow pants. In baggy puffy cow pants with the HUGE belt buckle that blings and says PLAYA and truly--do I need to go on at this point?

Terrifying. Truly terrifying.

You can see me lurking in the background of this shot, actually, captured as I was running for the door. I'm the green wench, obviously. I don't truly fit in on the mainland, anymore...not that I ever really did.

Anyway, onward.

I blame Edward for this one, too.


(The main plaza. It's

Welcome to Stella. Or at least her island.

For some reason, I never heard of this paragon of crystalline femininity before tonight, but Edward, dear, marvelous friend Edward, potentially soon to be kicked Edward...pointed me towards the island in terms I could not refuse.


(Miss Neome came armed, but not even her most impervious armament survived unshaded by the gentle rose glow over all surfaces.)

[21:42] Edward Pearse:
[21:42] Edward Pearse: Scary place for you to visit
[21:42] Emilly Orr: Oh?
[21:42] Edward Pearse: Actually this is the landing spot
[21:42] Edward Pearse:
[21:43] Edward Pearse: Just west of Caledon Sound
[21:43] Edward Pearse: Barbie's Victorian sim or something


(The very large yacht berthed beside the island.)

This was...stunning. In that sense of, impending-damage-to-my-frontal-lobes, stunning. Everything was pink. Or nearly. There were brief glimpses of other colors, but mostly, everything on that island is pink, seashell blush, strawberry-cream, coral, deep burgundy, magenta, faded get the idea.


(Outside the Romeo and Juliet Restaurant on the ship.)

There's more clarity on what the sign actually says in the larger version, but what really confused us was--for all that it was a lovely little romantic dining nook, none of the chairs were scripted, and second--and this was key--their wine selection? Okay, I give them points for having Benden red wine, but their wine rack was broken. They even listed a decent mead in there, but nada!


(An enormous sculpted sculpture of a (fuschia-pink) seashell, complete with pearl, and eternally-pouring iridescent water in streams over the shell's edge.)

I will say this. In spite of all the florid florals, the motes of cherry-blossom snow on the air, the gleaming faery-lights on the trees--the waterworks were phenomenal. The water in spots was actually bright teal, and the fountains either spouted mist and silver glitter, or opalescent streams of fluid, butterflies hovering nearby.

Overdone? Indubitably. But pretty? Yes. I can't deny that.


(Riding the butterfly.)

I made the mistake of taking Stella's "music video tour". Apparently, it's designed to take you through each of the "music video" sets--that explained why the insanely pink two-story Victorian was completely phantom--because I flew right through it--and then the bug kept rising, afterwards.


(Stella's "virtual stage" for performances. Apparently it was used, at least once, back in May of 2008...I don't know if it's been used since then.)

I'm trying to imagine any band I know performing on this stage. Admittedly, the Spice Girls come to mind...but that's truly about it. Though, at least on the grid, if Stella wanted a back-up band of pixies with fluttery wings...she could get it.


(The end of the butterfly tour, high up in the castle beyond the clouds, wherein is related--yet again--that Stella was discovered by Kitaro, and that she sang on one of his albums, before releasing her own album of music on Domo Records. In 2007.)

Apparently her to-date-only album sold fairly well, because she had enough set aside, or acquired from profits, to fund an just seems oddly empty. I have no idea when or if she plans to visit SL again, and no idea when or if the chairs in the restaurant, for instance, are going to be fixed.

But then, as I'm not her target audience, per se--my tastes run more to heavy metal and Celtic folk than New Age shimmer--I doubt she'll be concerned if I never come back.

She has a MySpace page wherein you can hear her sing in all her overdubbed, ethereal, glimmering majesty.

Or you could just go to the island. I can't tell you if you can hear her there, though, because...we had the music stream off.


And the Amenouzume in the claw game stymied me all day, until half an hour ago, when Miss Neome won it for me. Huzzah, you have been BEATEN, claw game of evil!

...Now I just have to finish getting the other 16 pieces of the 24-piece Manekata avatar....ARGH...


Rhianon Jameson said...

He's a PLAYA, Miss Orr, and that makes anything he wears de facto stylish.

Call me old-fashioned, but I thought "Playa" meant, among at least one socio-economic group, a gentleman who chose to not "go steady" with a young lady, but to, oh, what's the phrase? play the field. Why a young gentleman would advertise this fact is beyond me; even more puzzling is why the young lady would choose to consort with him, knowing his faithlessness - those horrible pants aside. Perhaps this gives credence to your suggestion that she is his sister, and thus is willing to be seen in his proximity thanks to a familial duty.

You do show us the most, ah, interesting places, though!

Alexandra Rucker said...

I think the only way any of us fit on the mainland is if we own enough space to block off the eyesores... :)

Christine McAllister Pearse said...

Oh. My. Dear. Heaven.

Emilly Orr said...

Miss Jameson: well, I do try. Wait until the Jetstream Uni-Ball pen comes into play. :)

Miss Rucker: Very true. When's that going to happen? :p

And Lady Argylle: I am so sorry. Warn your brother, he would curl up in a small screaming ball. It's *terrifying* there.

Alexandra Rucker said...

Miss Rucker: Very true. When's that going to happen? :p

Perhaps if enough people bug Hank enough that he breaks down and buys an island? :) Hard part is finding one under the old tier rate, or convincing him (through the stressball madness) that the extra $100/month is a good idea. *le sigh*

Emilly Orr said...

Well, it's nothing we need to worry about *now*. All things in time.

But yeah, I have been looking for grandfathered sims, and they just don't seem to go up for sale.