So I'm cruising around the site, right? And it suddenly dawns on me that I have a) no job, b) a degree in Graphic Design, and c) that SG employs people to photoshop shit for 'em. So I think to myself, "Wow! What a great job that would be! I'm stoked by the very idea!"
And then I allowed my husband to take nude pictures of me. And then I set to photoshopping them so that they'd be viewable. Nothing major. It's not like I have to smooth out huge patches of zits or rearrange my facial features or anything. I don't have yards of bright white stretch marks and cellulite on my forehead. It should be a snap, right?
Not so much.
First of all, I maaaaay have exaggerated a bit in my last blog when I said that there were only about ten useable pictures that my husband took of me. So I have a bunch of pics in which I look pretty good, I think, and so I sit down to go to town on the resizing and stuff.
And then I realize that just to resize these things is BOOOOOO-riiiiiiing. Like, mind-crushingly, stultifyingly boring. "Open..with...Photoshop, Image Size...inches to percent...16.7%...wait...I can just change the pixels to 545 width...constrain proportions checked...yup..awwwrighty. Adjust the lighting, adjust the levels, adjust...WTF!?!! Color. Gotta adjust the color...this ain't Star Trek and I am SO not William Shatner's green squeeze for the episode....save...quality..."
Was that boring to read? Good. Now imagine that being done like, fifty times in a row.
This might take a while. But because I don't want to be branded a tease, I will eventually deliver unto thee pictures of my bosom. And perhaps my butt. Let's just hope I don't get tired of looking at my own face.
So endeth my five-minute desire to ask SG if I can photoshop for them. Nobody's face, ass, crotch or any other part of them can be so fascinating that I am willing to sit there for hours on end Heal-brushing the imperfections off of them.
And P.S. I have the hiccups.
And then I allowed my husband to take nude pictures of me. And then I set to photoshopping them so that they'd be viewable. Nothing major. It's not like I have to smooth out huge patches of zits or rearrange my facial features or anything. I don't have yards of bright white stretch marks and cellulite on my forehead. It should be a snap, right?
Not so much.
First of all, I maaaaay have exaggerated a bit in my last blog when I said that there were only about ten useable pictures that my husband took of me. So I have a bunch of pics in which I look pretty good, I think, and so I sit down to go to town on the resizing and stuff.
And then I realize that just to resize these things is BOOOOOO-riiiiiiing. Like, mind-crushingly, stultifyingly boring. "Open..with...Photoshop, Image Size...inches to percent...16.7%...wait...I can just change the pixels to 545 width...constrain proportions checked...yup..awwwrighty. Adjust the lighting, adjust the levels, adjust...WTF!?!! Color. Gotta adjust the color...this ain't Star Trek and I am SO not William Shatner's green squeeze for the episode....save...quality..."
Was that boring to read? Good. Now imagine that being done like, fifty times in a row.
This might take a while. But because I don't want to be branded a tease, I will eventually deliver unto thee pictures of my bosom. And perhaps my butt. Let's just hope I don't get tired of looking at my own face.
So endeth my five-minute desire to ask SG if I can photoshop for them. Nobody's face, ass, crotch or any other part of them can be so fascinating that I am willing to sit there for hours on end Heal-brushing the imperfections off of them.
And P.S. I have the hiccups.
Would like to see those pictures, for "professional critiquing" purposes only, of course.