Recently discovered, fully by accident, that the trick to feeling like you have more time in the day is to actually do shit with the time that's there, which seems fake and wrong and it's frankly infuriating that it works >:|
This is picking up a bit so I thought I'd mention that, while this trick does work, it is regrettably the hardest fucking thing in the world to do :T
when i say my gender changes to the tune of the bit i mean a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do and if he can’t then god forbid women do anything
jokerkind specibus ass
ALTBut you still recognized that as a Homestuck reference.
What were YOU doing at the devil's sacrament?
i googled the words & got results from the homestuck wiki. that’s not attending the devil’s sacrament that’s investigating suspicious noises in the woods by lanternlight
So, I saw this image on Facebook, and it was supposedly showing what Queen Nefertiti would have looked like in real life:
Now, I thought this AI generated garbage was just truly terrible on a number of levels; first off, she looks wayyyyyy too modern - her makeup is very “Hollywood glamour”, she looks airbrushed and de-aged, and as far as I’m aware, Ancient Egyptians didn’t have mascara, glitter-based eyeshadows and lip gloss. Secondly, her features are exceptionally whitewashed in every sense - this is pretty standard for AI as racial bias is prevalent in feeding AI algorithms, but I genuinely thought a depiction of such a known individual would not exhibit such euro-centric features. Thirdly, the outfit was massively desaturated and didn’t take pigment loss into consideration, and while I *do* like the look of the neck attire, it's not at all accurate (plus, again, AI confusion on the detailing is evident).
So, this inspired me to alter the image on the left to be more accurate based off the sculpture’s features. I looked into Ancient Egyptian makeup and looked at references for kohl eyeliner and clay-based facial pigment (rouge was used on cheeks, charcoal-based powder/paste was used to darken and elongate eyebrows), and I looked at pre-existing images of Nefertiti, both her mummy and other reconstructions. While doing this, I found photos of a 3D scanned sculpture made by scientists at the University of Bristol and chose to collage the neck jewellery over the painting (and edited the lighting and shadows as best as I could).
Something I see a lot of in facial recreations of mummies is maintaining the elongated and skinny facial features as seen on preserved bodies - however, fat, muscle and cartilage shrink/disappear post mortem, regardless of preservation quality; Queen Nefertiti had art created of her in life, and these pieces are invaluable to developing an accurate portrayal of her, whether stylistic or realistic in nature.
And hey, while I don't think my adjustments are perfect (especially the neck area), I *do* believe it is a huge improvement to the original image I chose to work on top of.
I really liked working on this project for the last few days, and I think I may continue to work on it further to perfect it. But, until then, I hope you enjoy!
Remember, likes don't help artists but reblogs do!
I love genuinely innocent “boys will be boys.” Just saw a guy come out of a frat house to poke a pair of jeans they’d left outside - they were frozen solid, and as soon as he confirmed that, like twenty more boys came rushing out of the house going “YOOOOOOOOOO”
I heard grunting outside my window the other night and there were four boys struggling to push this giant snowball (like 7 foot diameter) down the sidewalk.
I once lost my keys at a frat house.
My drunk ass had actually walked home without them, pounded on my apartment door, gotten let in by my rightfully-disgruntled roommate, and proceeded to pass out on the couch. Apparently I puked in the toilet before passing out. I do not remember this part.
The next morning, I schlepped back to the frat house. I stood there, right in front of the front door. This was a novel experience for me. I’d never been at a frat house in broad daylight before.
A boy, presumably of the house, asked me what I was doing.
“I lost my keys in here last night,” I called back. “I was seeing if I could go in and look for them?”
He opened the door and gestured for me to come in.
“Go wherever you want.”
I’d never seen a frat house post-party before. Wandering up the stairs and through the halls, I was surrounded by hungover and still-drunk frat boys stumbling around in their socks and sandals and gym shorts, seeking out food and showers like moths to a porch light. A few of them threw puzzled glances my way. I’m sure they thought I was some post-bacchanalia hallucination.
I entered one room where a boy was drunkenly watching some Old Yeller-esque movie on a tiny TV in the corner of his room from his bed.
“Do you like dog movies?” he asked, voice all mumbly from grogginess and also from the fact that his face was squished against his pillow and half-buried by his blanket.
I told him I did.
He mumbled again, pleased, and asked what I was doing. I told him I was looking for my keys.
“Sorry, I haven’t seen any keys around here.”
I didn’t doubt him.
Twenty minutes had passed. I’d searched just about every bedroom and nuclear-waste-dump-site of a bathroom in that house. I’d given up on ever finding my keys and was prepared to beg my roommates’ forgiveness and get a new set copied.
As I stood there in the hallway, silently bewailing my predicament, a particularly-burly frat boy approached me.
“You need help with something?”
“I lost my keys here last night and I can’t find them, I’ve looked everywhere.”
“What do they look like? I’ll put it into the group chat.” He was already pulling out his phone.
No one ever checks a group chat, I thought, but what the hell. It was worth a shot. “Um, it’s just a ring of keys. The keychain is a pink plastic cat, though, like yea big. Like bright pink, you can’t miss it.”
He nodded, presumably typing this description faithfully into the group chat.
“Alright, I sent the message out. Good luck.”
And with that, he turned and left.
A few moments later, I heard a distant thundering. It was coming from upstairs, and it was getting louder and louder. One assumes that how I felt in that moment was how Simba felt seeing the wildebeest stampede through the ravine as a horde of large young men all thundered down the stairs, making a beeling for me.
“Someone tell the girl!” One of them shouted, faceless in the mob. “Girl! Hey, GIRL!!! We found your keys, girl!!!”
They circled around me. I hadn’t felt that small since I was maybe eleven years old. One of them split himself off from the crowd.
“Are these -” he pulled out a ring of keys from his pocket, “your keys?”
And lo, there was the distinctive bright millennial pink cat keychain dangling off the ring.
“Yes,” I whispered. “Oh my god, yes.”
The cheer went up.
Turns out he found them in the bathroom upstairs. I thanked them again profusely. There was a scattered round of “no problems” and then, just as suddenly as they descended, they all dispersed, like ships in the night.
tomboyism is so funny to me. gender non-conformity for girls is acceptable for like two minutes between the ages of 8 and 10. beyond that it’s appalling and you’re a freak but for those two years…… they could’ve had it all
walked into a burger place to pick up my order and the girl behind the counter looked at my shirt funny so I look down and the shirt is a picture of a girl excited about eating a hamburger and fries. i'm such a fucking cartoon character right now. this is the shirt
sorry im not done gatsbyposting. the nyc celebrations for its 100th anniversary are so uniquely deranged. like here you have a book that absolutely scathes new york parties & dress-up & entertainment & alcohol & careless wealthy east coast elites. and the way the city is celebrating the 100th anniversary of one of the most beautifully written & personally devastating literary tragedies this country has ever produced is by. offering 10% off gatsby-themed cocktails at luxury bars. hosting pay-to-attend 1920s themed costume balls in the wealthiest areas of midtown. setting up penthouse hotel suites to ostensibly resemble locations from the book. a few hours ago at an exclusive private event they had the cast of the glamorous broadway musical, all in designer clothes, light up the empire state building green to advertise their show where tickets cost up to $670. one of them said the green light ‘represents the beauty of the american dream.’ i think you could power all manhattan with energy generated from the rotational torque of f scott fitzgerald spinning wildly in his grave
anyhow i celebrated this international holiday by leaving work early & dressing up & driving north five and a half miserable hours to see the empire state lit up green because this was a true once in a lifetime event & this book changed my life & i wanted to celebrate a character i loved and mourned & see a glittering green light shining on the water & reach for it like dreamers do. but even though all the websites and blogs i could find told me it would be green on the 11th—that it would blaze green all night on the 11th, and i triple checked each one—by the time i got there at 8:15 pm they’d turned it off. and the parties had happened thursday night, not friday. so i ended up alone & exhausted & rain-drenched & freezing & quite frankly absolutely crying my eyes out on the shore across from the city, just fucking stupidly sobbing above the water, wishing i could go back just a little way into the past. and THATS how you do gatsby. ill kill you all
if you don’t reblog this post im gonna explode
"You don't know me. I'm not the same person anymore."
"That's okay. I'll get to know you again."
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