Now your getting on to one of my favourite subjects.
Beachballs.
Ok. I get one (The kraken, which was more just topical than actually a reference. But what was the other?)
And no, that wasn't a personal one. but I did serve my time in a kitchen and you really don't wan't to know what really whent into some of the food.
-edit- Dunno. What can I be reminded of . . . . That Crashlanding on Callisto when all I had was a readers Digest from 2308 and half a packet of digestives or that time when I crashed the System Net trying to get my Navi comp to work. Or how about the time I ended up inthe Hareem of Sultan Achtachbadeer, or something. Or my winning of the Titan race trophy.
I dunno.
Last edited by Funnybear, .
Just had to move a car in the car park. The lovely Doctor Procter came in for a chat. Lovely girl, very qieut but very nice. And Brainy. Like silly brainy. Like PHD silly brainy. Thinks she likes me. But I gotta kid and shes too shy to do anything. She is lovely though.
Still not rained again. Although it is slightly damp from the last time.
Still not rained again. Although it is slightly damp from the last time.
Do you watch many races?
Grass is not easy to drive on. Not when you have 300-400bhp trying to get out the rear wheels.
Grass, as with ice and water is only any good if your exit is directly in front of you and you don't have to steer. Unless you are at a slow enough speed that gravity can ensure grip then grass is gunna slip you just like everything else . . .
Grass is not easy to drive on. Not when you have 300-400bhp trying to get out the rear wheels.
Grass, as with ice and water is only any good if your exit is directly in front of you and you don't have to steer. Unless you are at a slow enough speed that gravity can ensure grip then grass is gunna slip you just like everything else . . .
What what.
Poop Poop.
Oh jolly good show what.
Make everyone a boundary sir!
Yea but with Rally cross (Or any dirt arena) you would change the very surface your driving on every time you pass it. LFS would have to compute degredation of a pristine track into the ones you use as an example every time a trye passed over any particular spot. I don't think there are many programs or even computers out there that could model particle physics to that degree on the fly.
I don't know if LFS has the spare capacity to put in more surface undulations as would reflect RL in a more convincing manner but I'm fairly sure it wouldn't give you surface degredation. Although I could bve completly wrong. I usually am.
I don't know if LFS has the spare capacity to put in more surface undulations as would reflect RL in a more convincing manner but I'm fairly sure it wouldn't give you surface degredation. Although I could bve completly wrong. I usually am.
Time and money. It always comes down to that don't it.
I'm supposed to be recording atm but neither me nor my studio partner can find the time. And it's something I really want to do.
Hold on. Stop press. Text just in. we're good to go on friday. Whooo. Friday recording session. How's that for synchronicity.
I'm supposed to be recording atm but neither me nor my studio partner can find the time. And it's something I really want to do.
Hold on. Stop press. Text just in. we're good to go on friday. Whooo. Friday recording session. How's that for synchronicity.
Ok. Take care. Laters. Oh and can you get a 2 pint milka please. I can't have my cornflakes beacuse We run out . . . .
And it's really, relly pissing it down now.
And it's really, relly pissing it down now.
Nooooo. Gentle foot. save yourself. It's too late for some of us. We have been too long in the Dark side. But not you.
It is not too late.
Turn back. Go away. Find some better way, something else to play.
-My day update-
Had a ciggy. It's started raining. Filled out my timesheet. Had a cheese twist. Had a think. Had a shit. Going to have another ciggy and a cuppa. Will think some more.
It is not too late.
Turn back. Go away. Find some better way, something else to play.
-My day update-
Had a ciggy. It's started raining. Filled out my timesheet. Had a cheese twist. Had a think. Had a shit. Going to have another ciggy and a cuppa. Will think some more.
Ah yes. Where was I. My nickname. You see,alot of my friends now me as 'Naked'. It's one of those earned nicknames, which are always the best. An earned nickname, whether you like it or not, can say alot about you and what you have done. Like my friend, 'drunken Bob' Wilmot. Who is the best frieght tug pilot you've ever seen so long as he is drunk. Sober him up and he can't fly for toffee. Or 'Stinky' Harris, who's personel hygene leaves alot to be desired. Some are more ephemeral. One of my mates is called 'clive'. his real name is Simon and nobody can remember why we call him Clive. But thats what he is and that's what we call him.
I started working entertainments on one of the Earth based Cruise ship firms. These where your typical tourist junkets. It didnt' really matter where you where going so long as you had a bloody good time getting there. in fact this was to be my first time working in space. Of course I'd done the whole school trip exchange program to the lunar bases and done some touristy things with mum and dad when I was a kid going out to Mars on the obligitory 'Red Sand Safari' but this was the first time alone. I was a young, foodhardy teenager. Spotty, oiky and very very cocky. I had that kinda cockyness that you can get away with in school and with your friends who think your just funny and amusing but a cockyness that fellow workmates and boss's find annoying, rude and alot of the time, dangerous. I was entrusted to Bosun 'Smee' I can't remember his real name and I'm not sure that he actually ever told me. Everyone called him Smee, even the Captain. He was a broad, stout fellow who could hol his liquer and spoke his mind. He never took any nonsense and every one younger than him where 'boy'!
"Come here boy!"
"Boy! Move your Arse!"
"Boy! If I can't see my face in that floor in five minutes I'm going to be 'avin you polishing the entire ballroom on your hands and knees with a toothbrush. Boy!"
He was harsh, but fair. If you did what you where told and did it will then he let you alone. But if you messed him around then he rode your arse like a gay man on heat. And I fell into the latter catagory. I messed him around good and proper. 'Your problem Boy.' He used to say. 'Is your too clever by half. You think you've got it all figured out and that you got people pegged. But let me tell you boy, people are never what they seem. If you want my advice on how to get on in the 'verse then you keep your head down and do the best you can with what ever you are doing. So get your 'ed down and mop that floor.'
"But I already dun it once'.
"then you do it again. And again. And again again unitll I tell you to do something else. If you don't I'll have you stripped stark bloody naked and have you up on the prom deck doing a titanic for a week. You hear me boy?"
And there it was. The threat. An often heard but never seen demonstration of chastizment. Naked on the Prom deck. The Prom Deck was a large observation deck that plexiglass bubble could be adjusted to various opacities so the promanaders below could gaze out and contemplate the infinite universe. It was a popular deck and always had fun seekers cruising around seeing and being seen. And the titanic refered to an old disk film from the 20th. It meant you had to stand arms outstretched balanced onthe ornamental railings that surrounded on the Prom deck. Normally Smee's temperament was enough to get anyone moving in the right direction but he wa right when it came to me. I thought I had him pegged. I thought he was all bluster and no substance. Oh if only i knew then what I know now. But then if he hadn't been the man he was and if he hadn't done to me what he did then I wouldn't know what I know now and I wouldn't have the nickname I do.
Mine and Smee's relationship was strained from the start but it was steadily and surely reaching boiling point. many superiors, colleagues and friends warned me to take it easy. To let up and just get on with my work. But I was strong minded and independant. I hated taking orders from anyone (Still do), I hated authority (still do) and I hated having to do work that I felt was beneath me (Thats something I did learn. No work is below anyone. Work is work. Someone needs to do sometime). Mine and Smee's realtionship was steadily and irreversable reaching the point of no return.
I'd heard he was looking for me. And I knew why. I'd been stupid. Really stupid. I though I was being clever, I was showing off but I was stupid. And I knew it. There is a point in every ship where the gravity generators sit. The positioning of them is vital because directly above and below them their field isnt' strong enough to keep gravity. On a cruise ship these areas are usually reserved for recreation decks above the generators and heavy plant workshops and storage below. But there are also sweetspots. Areas doted around the ship that for some reason the gravity field just can't reach. They change as well in relation to whatever large body the ship is near or whereabout to the sun the ship is. You can watch a sweetspot move, by placing a coin or a your watch in it for example, as the ship moves around a planet, or rotates to keep direction with the sun. You watch, coin, girlfriend, whatever will drift across the room before being impeded by a wall will be uncerimonially dumped onto the floor as the sweetspot moves on. If you have enough patience and observation you can chart the progress of these Sweetspots and use them to your advantage. I had been following one particular spot that regularily came through the galley. It was particularily strong on this leg of our trip in relation to our position to Venus. It would drift in through the Prep Kitchen and follow a path that took it past the Hot Pass and over the heads of the servers congrating at the service hatch. At which point it would pass though the bulkhead and up into the next deck. I noticed that you could carry something in the spot untill it reached the bulkhead and fell onto the service pass.
So I picked my moment. Busy saterday night. Full restourant. The plates would be moving around so quick that nobody would notice a little extra something. I was on shift rotation on prep so I was in an ideal position. I got my little pot of super strength chilly powder. Emptied a load into my hand and reached up at just the righ moment. I felt the spot slowly pass and released my pressious load. I watched as it made it's sedate passage across the kitchen. This little red cloud eerily floating over the heads of the busy chefs and waitresses untill it hit the bulkhead. The Sweetspot moved on through the wall and as it did so the chilly powder fell into a handily placed bowl of soup.
Now. In my defence. How was I to know that that particular bowl of soup was destined for the captains table. And how was I to know that that bowl of soup was going to placed in front of the opera Diva Madam Clouvierre who, as it happened, was due to perform to an elite selection of the cruise ships passengers, includeing the captain and the Marsian Amabassador who had joined the ship for a week's break. And how was I to know that Chilly powder plays havoc with the vocal chords and that would prevent a proffesional singer from performing quite a few nights. How was I to any of that. I watched the soup leave the pass. I couldn't see the floor from the Prep room but I could certainly hear the results. The scream must have been heard through out the entire ship and the power. Madam Clouvierre was not a small woman. There was a lot of her to rise to the occasion but my god, once she got going there was no stopping her. She rose from her seat (So I've heard) like a kraken from the deep ocean. Her scream started low but built to a tumeltuous peak seemingly mangaging to cover every note in her range, which was consicderable, at once. The very foundations of the ship shook. Glasses smashed, ear drums pierced, chandaliers shattered. I gave more trade to the infirmary that night than they had received the entire voyage. I didnt' realise the full extent of my practical joke untill the red faced and very, very, very angry captain stormed in. At this point many of the floor staff had come running back to the kitchen and rushed explanations and descriptions of the carnage where hurtling around the kitchen. The Chefs had a look of murder on their faces and tha I didn't hang around to find out what the Captain had too say about the whole thing.
I ran. I ran like a silly child. I was kecking myself. I was going to put off on a life boat and left to drift untill a freighter deemed it nessesary to stop and pick me up. I was going to be fired. Fried, fricassied and served to the lions. I was a dead man. Everyone in the kitchen that night was accounted for except me. If I had stayed and bluffed it out I might have got away with it. I was a prep boy, backroom and wouldn't have need to go near the hot plates. I good have braved it and let someone else cop the rap. But no. I ran like a lilly livered coward and that made me suspect number one.
They sent him to look for me. I could hear him, stalking the corridors.
"BOY!"
"I'm going to find you BOY!"
"You can't run forever BOY! By god I shall have your hide for this BOY!"
It was only a matter of time. And I did the only thing I could do. I was damned if anyone was going to punish me so I beat them to it.
There is a picture of me, or rather my lilly white arse on the pass door in the kitchen. It's framed with a caption 'This could be you'. My arms outstretched, balanced on the rail. Stark. Bollock. Naked. I was up there for eight hours before Smee came and fetched me down.
"Boy". He said. "Figured it out yet?"
"Yes Boss."
"What yer figured boy?"
"That nobody will ever do anything that worse than whatI can do to myself. Right Boss?"
"That'll do boy. That'll do."
He still made me walk all the way back to my bunk with nothing more than my fair hands to cover my dignity. He bought me a drink in the bar that night as I sat silently and sulkily in a dark corner nursing a beer. "Boy." He said. "That probable saved your job. You've put back any chance of promotion back a few years but you still got your job." Smee started griining. The first time he'd ever done that in front of me "The Captain said he was glad to see the back of you. And even Madam Cluvierre has decided to turn the other cheek."
"Ok. Thanks Sir."
"So lets just put this all behind us".
"yes. thankyou Sir."
Smee called over to the bar keep and brought me another beer.
"Bottoms up" Called the Bar keep.
"Is this going to stop?" I asked Smee.
"Nope. You've made yourself a name now Boy. And well earned too. Gotta have a story boy. We all gotta have a story. Oh and a certain Mz Grant of room 452, deck eight said to pop around any time you like. As did a Miss Ellis and Mr's Wallis and a very pleasant young gentleman going by the name of Mr Pink. Nice chap. I think he took rather a shine to you. Or at least to some parts of you."
"Yes. Thankyou Sir."
So there you go. How I got my nickname. Smee was right. Everyone needs a story or two.
I started working entertainments on one of the Earth based Cruise ship firms. These where your typical tourist junkets. It didnt' really matter where you where going so long as you had a bloody good time getting there. in fact this was to be my first time working in space. Of course I'd done the whole school trip exchange program to the lunar bases and done some touristy things with mum and dad when I was a kid going out to Mars on the obligitory 'Red Sand Safari' but this was the first time alone. I was a young, foodhardy teenager. Spotty, oiky and very very cocky. I had that kinda cockyness that you can get away with in school and with your friends who think your just funny and amusing but a cockyness that fellow workmates and boss's find annoying, rude and alot of the time, dangerous. I was entrusted to Bosun 'Smee' I can't remember his real name and I'm not sure that he actually ever told me. Everyone called him Smee, even the Captain. He was a broad, stout fellow who could hol his liquer and spoke his mind. He never took any nonsense and every one younger than him where 'boy'!
"Come here boy!"
"Boy! Move your Arse!"
"Boy! If I can't see my face in that floor in five minutes I'm going to be 'avin you polishing the entire ballroom on your hands and knees with a toothbrush. Boy!"
He was harsh, but fair. If you did what you where told and did it will then he let you alone. But if you messed him around then he rode your arse like a gay man on heat. And I fell into the latter catagory. I messed him around good and proper. 'Your problem Boy.' He used to say. 'Is your too clever by half. You think you've got it all figured out and that you got people pegged. But let me tell you boy, people are never what they seem. If you want my advice on how to get on in the 'verse then you keep your head down and do the best you can with what ever you are doing. So get your 'ed down and mop that floor.'
"But I already dun it once'.
"then you do it again. And again. And again again unitll I tell you to do something else. If you don't I'll have you stripped stark bloody naked and have you up on the prom deck doing a titanic for a week. You hear me boy?"
And there it was. The threat. An often heard but never seen demonstration of chastizment. Naked on the Prom deck. The Prom Deck was a large observation deck that plexiglass bubble could be adjusted to various opacities so the promanaders below could gaze out and contemplate the infinite universe. It was a popular deck and always had fun seekers cruising around seeing and being seen. And the titanic refered to an old disk film from the 20th. It meant you had to stand arms outstretched balanced onthe ornamental railings that surrounded on the Prom deck. Normally Smee's temperament was enough to get anyone moving in the right direction but he wa right when it came to me. I thought I had him pegged. I thought he was all bluster and no substance. Oh if only i knew then what I know now. But then if he hadn't been the man he was and if he hadn't done to me what he did then I wouldn't know what I know now and I wouldn't have the nickname I do.
Mine and Smee's relationship was strained from the start but it was steadily and surely reaching boiling point. many superiors, colleagues and friends warned me to take it easy. To let up and just get on with my work. But I was strong minded and independant. I hated taking orders from anyone (Still do), I hated authority (still do) and I hated having to do work that I felt was beneath me (Thats something I did learn. No work is below anyone. Work is work. Someone needs to do sometime). Mine and Smee's realtionship was steadily and irreversable reaching the point of no return.
I'd heard he was looking for me. And I knew why. I'd been stupid. Really stupid. I though I was being clever, I was showing off but I was stupid. And I knew it. There is a point in every ship where the gravity generators sit. The positioning of them is vital because directly above and below them their field isnt' strong enough to keep gravity. On a cruise ship these areas are usually reserved for recreation decks above the generators and heavy plant workshops and storage below. But there are also sweetspots. Areas doted around the ship that for some reason the gravity field just can't reach. They change as well in relation to whatever large body the ship is near or whereabout to the sun the ship is. You can watch a sweetspot move, by placing a coin or a your watch in it for example, as the ship moves around a planet, or rotates to keep direction with the sun. You watch, coin, girlfriend, whatever will drift across the room before being impeded by a wall will be uncerimonially dumped onto the floor as the sweetspot moves on. If you have enough patience and observation you can chart the progress of these Sweetspots and use them to your advantage. I had been following one particular spot that regularily came through the galley. It was particularily strong on this leg of our trip in relation to our position to Venus. It would drift in through the Prep Kitchen and follow a path that took it past the Hot Pass and over the heads of the servers congrating at the service hatch. At which point it would pass though the bulkhead and up into the next deck. I noticed that you could carry something in the spot untill it reached the bulkhead and fell onto the service pass.
So I picked my moment. Busy saterday night. Full restourant. The plates would be moving around so quick that nobody would notice a little extra something. I was on shift rotation on prep so I was in an ideal position. I got my little pot of super strength chilly powder. Emptied a load into my hand and reached up at just the righ moment. I felt the spot slowly pass and released my pressious load. I watched as it made it's sedate passage across the kitchen. This little red cloud eerily floating over the heads of the busy chefs and waitresses untill it hit the bulkhead. The Sweetspot moved on through the wall and as it did so the chilly powder fell into a handily placed bowl of soup.
Now. In my defence. How was I to know that that particular bowl of soup was destined for the captains table. And how was I to know that that bowl of soup was going to placed in front of the opera Diva Madam Clouvierre who, as it happened, was due to perform to an elite selection of the cruise ships passengers, includeing the captain and the Marsian Amabassador who had joined the ship for a week's break. And how was I to know that Chilly powder plays havoc with the vocal chords and that would prevent a proffesional singer from performing quite a few nights. How was I to any of that. I watched the soup leave the pass. I couldn't see the floor from the Prep room but I could certainly hear the results. The scream must have been heard through out the entire ship and the power. Madam Clouvierre was not a small woman. There was a lot of her to rise to the occasion but my god, once she got going there was no stopping her. She rose from her seat (So I've heard) like a kraken from the deep ocean. Her scream started low but built to a tumeltuous peak seemingly mangaging to cover every note in her range, which was consicderable, at once. The very foundations of the ship shook. Glasses smashed, ear drums pierced, chandaliers shattered. I gave more trade to the infirmary that night than they had received the entire voyage. I didnt' realise the full extent of my practical joke untill the red faced and very, very, very angry captain stormed in. At this point many of the floor staff had come running back to the kitchen and rushed explanations and descriptions of the carnage where hurtling around the kitchen. The Chefs had a look of murder on their faces and tha I didn't hang around to find out what the Captain had too say about the whole thing.
I ran. I ran like a silly child. I was kecking myself. I was going to put off on a life boat and left to drift untill a freighter deemed it nessesary to stop and pick me up. I was going to be fired. Fried, fricassied and served to the lions. I was a dead man. Everyone in the kitchen that night was accounted for except me. If I had stayed and bluffed it out I might have got away with it. I was a prep boy, backroom and wouldn't have need to go near the hot plates. I good have braved it and let someone else cop the rap. But no. I ran like a lilly livered coward and that made me suspect number one.
They sent him to look for me. I could hear him, stalking the corridors.
"BOY!"
"I'm going to find you BOY!"
"You can't run forever BOY! By god I shall have your hide for this BOY!"
It was only a matter of time. And I did the only thing I could do. I was damned if anyone was going to punish me so I beat them to it.
There is a picture of me, or rather my lilly white arse on the pass door in the kitchen. It's framed with a caption 'This could be you'. My arms outstretched, balanced on the rail. Stark. Bollock. Naked. I was up there for eight hours before Smee came and fetched me down.
"Boy". He said. "Figured it out yet?"
"Yes Boss."
"What yer figured boy?"
"That nobody will ever do anything that worse than whatI can do to myself. Right Boss?"
"That'll do boy. That'll do."
He still made me walk all the way back to my bunk with nothing more than my fair hands to cover my dignity. He bought me a drink in the bar that night as I sat silently and sulkily in a dark corner nursing a beer. "Boy." He said. "That probable saved your job. You've put back any chance of promotion back a few years but you still got your job." Smee started griining. The first time he'd ever done that in front of me "The Captain said he was glad to see the back of you. And even Madam Cluvierre has decided to turn the other cheek."
"Ok. Thanks Sir."
"So lets just put this all behind us".
"yes. thankyou Sir."
Smee called over to the bar keep and brought me another beer.
"Bottoms up" Called the Bar keep.
"Is this going to stop?" I asked Smee.
"Nope. You've made yourself a name now Boy. And well earned too. Gotta have a story boy. We all gotta have a story. Oh and a certain Mz Grant of room 452, deck eight said to pop around any time you like. As did a Miss Ellis and Mr's Wallis and a very pleasant young gentleman going by the name of Mr Pink. Nice chap. I think he took rather a shine to you. Or at least to some parts of you."
"Yes. Thankyou Sir."
So there you go. How I got my nickname. Smee was right. Everyone needs a story or two.
Last edited by Funnybear, .
You know what. Having been considering it for some time now I think I shall investigate in a bit of blogging.
I'm not all that internet savvy as it doesn't come easy for me to just start these things. I'm always a bit shy of pushing forward my stuff. In that I am not a 'proper' writer. I like doing it and I guess if poeple like reading it then I'm having my cake and eating it. And who knows what the future could bring.
I am thinking of moving Europa-1 from Europa and onto Ganymede though. You see Europa is only 600,000Km or there abouts from Jupiter. Thats very close and Jupiter has a very strong magnetic field. It's Van Hallen belt is enough to kill a man if not protected. Whilst Ganymede lies around 1,000,000KM's out. Whilst still very close is would be slightly more realistic to put a colony on there. But then would the Ice of Europa be thick enough to give decent protection and plus you have the oceans. Which could support life. If thats the case then you could have a fully sustainable Colony that could grow and develope into a producer. But Europa isn't actually all that big, about the same dimensions as our very own moon. Wheras Ganymede is similar to Mercury (Which still isn't huge.)
Hmmm. Need to do some thinking. But. I have a story line for the next installment. Let's see if it's workable. . . .
I'm not all that internet savvy as it doesn't come easy for me to just start these things. I'm always a bit shy of pushing forward my stuff. In that I am not a 'proper' writer. I like doing it and I guess if poeple like reading it then I'm having my cake and eating it. And who knows what the future could bring.
I am thinking of moving Europa-1 from Europa and onto Ganymede though. You see Europa is only 600,000Km or there abouts from Jupiter. Thats very close and Jupiter has a very strong magnetic field. It's Van Hallen belt is enough to kill a man if not protected. Whilst Ganymede lies around 1,000,000KM's out. Whilst still very close is would be slightly more realistic to put a colony on there. But then would the Ice of Europa be thick enough to give decent protection and plus you have the oceans. Which could support life. If thats the case then you could have a fully sustainable Colony that could grow and develope into a producer. But Europa isn't actually all that big, about the same dimensions as our very own moon. Wheras Ganymede is similar to Mercury (Which still isn't huge.)
Hmmm. Need to do some thinking. But. I have a story line for the next installment. Let's see if it's workable. . . .
Well. Prehaps we should all share our days with him.
Mine is failry boring. I've had a cup of tea and two cups of coffee. Read a bit of my book on the bus into work. Chatted to the really attractive Bar girl and some of the box office girlies. Chatted to a colleague about the hire bike he's got whilst his ZZR is in for a service. Listeneing to radio 4 and contemplating my next story line in the Pluto thread.
Later on I shall go and have a few pints in my local. hopefully chat to some more girlies (One of my hobbies). Catch the bus home, watch some crap telly and probable plague the LFS forum again untill I feel tired at which point I shall go to bed.
Will probable squeeze a shower in at some point too.
So how is everyone elses day going?
Mine is failry boring. I've had a cup of tea and two cups of coffee. Read a bit of my book on the bus into work. Chatted to the really attractive Bar girl and some of the box office girlies. Chatted to a colleague about the hire bike he's got whilst his ZZR is in for a service. Listeneing to radio 4 and contemplating my next story line in the Pluto thread.
Later on I shall go and have a few pints in my local. hopefully chat to some more girlies (One of my hobbies). Catch the bus home, watch some crap telly and probable plague the LFS forum again untill I feel tired at which point I shall go to bed.
Will probable squeeze a shower in at some point too.
So how is everyone elses day going?
Everyone can withstand very high G's. What you can't cope with is extended periods of G exposure. Our bodies are designed to cope with 1G vertical loading with our head uppermost. Place our head down for an extended period of time and you will feel the effects of G-force. You will be given huge G forces on a rollacoaster, but because it is not for exteneded periods of time in any one given direction you can cope. Pressure suits and 'tensing' techniques enable fighter pilots and stunt pilots to pull excessive G's for beyond the normal biological limit but even then extended exposure will result in blackouts.
The switchback nature of alot of racing circuits mean that extended exposure to lateral G in a racing car is minimal. You might have noticed that the long corners of Instanbul are stepped or have mulitple apexes. This not only doubles as a chanllenge for the driver but also fluctuates the G exposure. Also the very basic premise of mechanical grip, even with huge amounts of downforce, will also limit the cars with the amount of G they can pull.
What drag racers suffer from predominatly is sight loss more than an actual blackout. Blood gets forced to the back of the head where it will beak the cappilaries and pool in the cranial cavity. All the forces applyied rearwards plays havoc with the optic nerve and the eye structure itself. It can really mess them up to such an extent that they have to restrict themselves in the amount of runs they do.
I am sure this is not as scientific as some of you guys can come up with. In fact I would value some true science rather than my fudging . . .
The switchback nature of alot of racing circuits mean that extended exposure to lateral G in a racing car is minimal. You might have noticed that the long corners of Instanbul are stepped or have mulitple apexes. This not only doubles as a chanllenge for the driver but also fluctuates the G exposure. Also the very basic premise of mechanical grip, even with huge amounts of downforce, will also limit the cars with the amount of G they can pull.
What drag racers suffer from predominatly is sight loss more than an actual blackout. Blood gets forced to the back of the head where it will beak the cappilaries and pool in the cranial cavity. All the forces applyied rearwards plays havoc with the optic nerve and the eye structure itself. It can really mess them up to such an extent that they have to restrict themselves in the amount of runs they do.
I am sure this is not as scientific as some of you guys can come up with. In fact I would value some true science rather than my fudging . . .
Right thats it . . I'm changing my flag. I am not welsh. Damn country. Didn't give me a job, did give me an ex, debt, a baby and sucked two years of my life away.
I am ENGLISH!!!
No idea why that flag is in my thingy so I'm going to find a way of changing it . . . . . . .
-edit- well that didn't work. Lets try again.
-edit- damnit. I dunno how to do it. But from now on please replace the welsh flag for the ENGLISH one. Ta.
Last edited by Funnybear, .
This hankering for real cars . . . . The more I play LFS the more I come to realise that we don't need 'real' cars. To some degree we have real cars already in LFS. (Other than the BF1 and the other thing) It's more down to the car platform than an actual car. If the physics engine is as competant as I know it is then what ever platform you give it to work with it will give you an accurate rendition of a 'real' life counterpart. And what with the massive amount of setup options you can give yourself different cars just by changing the suspension settings.
Within LFS a RWD, front engined low powered car handles how a front engined RWD car handles. Would it make any difference whether it is clad in a Toyota's MR2 body shell or a . . . nother car that is front engined RWD.
You are never going to know if the next mid engined car LFS releases handles like a Ferrari or a lambourghini. Because you have never driven one. But what you can be garanteeud of is that 'that' Mid engined sports car will handle like its got a powerful engine, driven rear wheels and the engine mounted between the axles.
So, no. We don't need 'real' cars in LFS as the cars are real enough already.
Within LFS a RWD, front engined low powered car handles how a front engined RWD car handles. Would it make any difference whether it is clad in a Toyota's MR2 body shell or a . . . nother car that is front engined RWD.
You are never going to know if the next mid engined car LFS releases handles like a Ferrari or a lambourghini. Because you have never driven one. But what you can be garanteeud of is that 'that' Mid engined sports car will handle like its got a powerful engine, driven rear wheels and the engine mounted between the axles.
So, no. We don't need 'real' cars in LFS as the cars are real enough already.
Need more time. had one two many hairs of the dog . . .
Any one got a paracetamol and a handsaw?
Any one got a paracetamol and a handsaw?
The thing about accoustic buidling is the sound is sooooo dependant on your sound box shape and structure. Get it wrong and you completly change the sound your going for. I'm sure there is a lot of science that goes into making good boxes. And seeing as how I'm sat on my derriere today not being able top leave my little box of depression that is called stage door I might just learn something about it.
Good 'ol T'internet.
Good 'ol T'internet.
I F**'ing think you should be able to f**king swear where ever the bl**dy h*ll you F***king want to. Freedom of F***ing speech I say. No more F***king censorship, B*ll*cks to all s**ding that I say. Sc*ew the T**sing fat W**kers who dictate to me what I can and can't B**ody well say. D**n them all. D**n all them fat T***pots, the C***s, the G***s, the W****ry, T*t F***ing, A*** probing, G**, S*** headed A***holes!!!
(I once repeated that speech in church. Needless to say I was asked not to come back and could I please leave the collection plate behind. Do you know how hard it is to talk in stars. I don't think my sense of humour has a sense of preservation. And if you had any sense I wouldn't try and make any sense from the little speech obove. It's nonesensecal.)
(I once repeated that speech in church. Needless to say I was asked not to come back and could I please leave the collection plate behind. Do you know how hard it is to talk in stars. I don't think my sense of humour has a sense of preservation. And if you had any sense I wouldn't try and make any sense from the little speech obove. It's nonesensecal.)
If there is a big sign at the server entry that ses. 'NO SWEARING!!' then fine, cool and dandy. I've been told so it's up to me. What I hate is the imediate kicks from foul language when you didn't happen to read the small print. I'm quite happy to be told and I can adjust my behaviour from then on. But it really gets my goat when I'm dumped out on my arse for using the 'ing word.
Used to really annoy me on BF2. A game about killing people in lots of imaginative ways and you can't swear on half the servers. You then get a perma ban because you said a naughty word. But you could still cheat and your still KILLING people. Couldn't understand that.
And in a way it's the same with LFS. Sure run a no swear server. It's your server so long as I'm told I'll obey or go somewhere else.
But I'm sure you hear real drivers swear in real life. Particularily if they are heading for a crash. This is a sim after all.
Plus as an englishman I know so many swear words that arnt' on half the swear filters out there. I love my language.
Used to really annoy me on BF2. A game about killing people in lots of imaginative ways and you can't swear on half the servers. You then get a perma ban because you said a naughty word. But you could still cheat and your still KILLING people. Couldn't understand that.
And in a way it's the same with LFS. Sure run a no swear server. It's your server so long as I'm told I'll obey or go somewhere else.
But I'm sure you hear real drivers swear in real life. Particularily if they are heading for a crash. This is a sim after all.
Plus as an englishman I know so many swear words that arnt' on half the swear filters out there. I love my language.
There will be an SPR folder in your LFS folder. Drop it in there and start LFS. It should come up as a replay option.
I think.
I think.
They are synched. But one is race total. I.E. 'Race'. From when the lights turn green . The start of the race.
And one is your lap time. I.E. Your lap. The point from when you cross the line at the start of the lap to when you cross the line at the end of the lap.
So there is no 'bad' netcode. Just a misinterpretation of the data. In fact LFS is being extremly accurate.
And one is your lap time. I.E. Your lap. The point from when you cross the line at the start of the lap to when you cross the line at the end of the lap.
So there is no 'bad' netcode. Just a misinterpretation of the data. In fact LFS is being extremly accurate.
FGED GREDG RDFGDR GSFDG