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Are those free programs? I think it'd be fun to play around with this stuff.I'm using Fireworks.What do y'all use to do this stuff? Photoshop?I tried to put him in the famous car pic, but he didn't fit.SaveFerrisB said:That's awesome. jamny added some headgear to the Ferris headshot, but that museum one will be my personal photo for a while.
Gimp is the OpenSource (freeware) equivalent to Photoshop that a lot of people use, b/c Photoshop is so expensive.Are those free programs? I think it'd be fun to play around with this stuff.I'm using Fireworks.What do y'all use to do this stuff? Photoshop?I tried to put him in the famous car pic, but he didn't fit.SaveFerrisB said:
This is such a great tribute. I'm sitting here a little misty eyed.if anyone needs help SP'ing their AV, shoot me a PM
Thanks to all who are providing avatar help. 
Yes it does.MT, you are by no means alone. Hang in there GB.
just threw a quick one together...check your email, good sir
How do you know his e-mail address?
doesn't everybody?!?!?How do you know his e-mail address?
Thank you sir!
Perfect. Thank you Nathan!
Chapter 1In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since.“Whenever you feel like criticizing any one,” he told me, “just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.”He didn’t say any more, but we’ve always been unusually communicative in a reserved way, and I understood that he meant a great deal more than that. In consequence, I’m inclined to reserve all judgments, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores. The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men. Most of the confidences were unsought—frequently I have feigned sleep, preoccupation, or a hostile levity when I realized by some unmistakable sign that an intimate revelation was quivering on the horizon; for the intimate revelations of young men, or at least the terms in which they express them, are usually plagiaristic and marred by obvious suppressions. Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope. I am still a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my father snobbishly suggested, and I snobbishly repeat, a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth.And, after boasting this way of my tolerance, I come to the admission that it has a limit. Conduct may be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes, but after a certain point I don’t care what it’s founded on. When I came back from the East last autumn I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever; I wanted no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart. Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from my reaction—Gatsby, who represented everything for which I have an unaffected scorn. If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten thousand miles away. This responsiveness had nothing to do with that flabby impressionability which is dignified under the name of the “creative temperament.”—it was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such as I have never found in any other person and which it is not likely I shall ever find again. No—Gatsby turned out all right at the end; it is what preyed on Gatsby, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily closed out my interest in the abortive sorrows and short-winded elations of men.My family have been prominent, well-to-do people in this Middle Western city for three generations. The Carraways are something of a clan, and we have a tradition that we’re descended from the Dukes of Buccleuch, but the actual founder of my line was my grandfather’s brother, who came here in fifty-one, sent a substitute to the Civil War, and started the wholesale hardware business that my father carries on to-day.I never saw this great-uncle, but I’m supposed to look like him—with special reference to the rather hard-boiled painting that hangs in father’s office I graduated from New Haven in 1915, just a quarter of a century after my father, and a little later I participated in that delayed Teutonic migration known as the Great War. I enjoyed the counter-raid so thoroughly that I came back restless. Instead of being the warm centre of the world, the Middle West now seemed like the ragged edge of the universe—so I decided to go East and learn the bond business. Everybody I knew was in the bond business, so I supposed it could support one more single man. All my aunts and uncles talked it over as if they were choosing a prep school for me, and finally said, “Why—ye—es,” with very grave, hesitant faces. Father agreed to finance me for a year, and after various delays I came East, permanently, I thought, in the spring of twenty-two.The practical thing was to find rooms in the city, but it was a warm season, and I had just left a country of wide lawns and friendly trees, so when a young man at the office suggested that we take a house together in a commuting town, it sounded like a great idea. He found the house, a weather-beaten cardboard bungalow at eighty a month, but at the last minute the firm ordered him to Washington, and I went out to the country alone. I had a dog—at least I had him for a few days until he ran away—and an old Dodge and a Finnish woman, who made my bed and cooked breakfast and muttered Finnish wisdom to herself over the electric stove.It was lonely for a day or so until one morning some man, more recently arrived than I, stopped me on the road.“How do you get to West Egg village?” he asked helplessly.I told him. And as I walked on I was lonely no longer. I was a guide, a pathfinder, an original settler. He had casually conferred on me the freedom of the neighborhood.And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer...Bobby Sac doesn't like beautiful babies?Bob Sacamano said:How do you know his e-mail address?Nathan R. Jessep said:
Chapter 1In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since.“Whenever you feel like criticizing any one,” he told me, “just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.”He didn’t say any more, but we’ve always been unusually communicative in a reserved way, and I understood that he meant a great deal more than that. In consequence, I’m inclined to reserve all judgments, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores. The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men. Most of the confidences were unsought—frequently I have feigned sleep, preoccupation, or a hostile levity when I realized by some unmistakable sign that an intimate revelation was quivering on the horizon; for the intimate revelations of young men, or at least the terms in which they express them, are usually plagiaristic and marred by obvious suppressions. Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope. I am still a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my father snobbishly suggested, and I snobbishly repeat, a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth.And, after boasting this way of my tolerance, I come to the admission that it has a limit. Conduct may be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes, but after a certain point I don’t care what it’s founded on. When I came back from the East last autumn I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever; I wanted no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart. Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from my reaction—Gatsby, who represented everything for which I have an unaffected scorn. If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten thousand miles away. This responsiveness had nothing to do with that flabby impressionability which is dignified under the name of the “creative temperament.”—it was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such as I have never found in any other person and which it is not likely I shall ever find again. No—Gatsby turned out all right at the end; it is what preyed on Gatsby, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily closed out my interest in the abortive sorrows and short-winded elations of men.My family have been prominent, well-to-do people in this Middle Western city for three generations. The Carraways are something of a clan, and we have a tradition that we’re descended from the Dukes of Buccleuch, but the actual founder of my line was my grandfather’s brother, who came here in fifty-one, sent a substitute to the Civil War, and started the wholesale hardware business that my father carries on to-day.I never saw this great-uncle, but I’m supposed to look like him—with special reference to the rather hard-boiled painting that hangs in father’s office I graduated from New Haven in 1915, just a quarter of a century after my father, and a little later I participated in that delayed Teutonic migration known as the Great War. I enjoyed the counter-raid so thoroughly that I came back restless. Instead of being the warm centre of the world, the Middle West now seemed like the ragged edge of the universe—so I decided to go East and learn the bond business. Everybody I knew was in the bond business, so I supposed it could support one more single man. All my aunts and uncles talked it over as if they were choosing a prep school for me, and finally said, “Why—ye—es,” with very grave, hesitant faces. Father agreed to finance me for a year, and after various delays I came East, permanently, I thought, in the spring of twenty-two.The practical thing was to find rooms in the city, but it was a warm season, and I had just left a country of wide lawns and friendly trees, so when a young man at the office suggested that we take a house together in a commuting town, it sounded like a great idea. He found the house, a weather-beaten cardboard bungalow at eighty a month, but at the last minute the firm ordered him to Washington, and I went out to the country alone. I had a dog—at least I had him for a few days until he ran away—and an old Dodge and a Finnish woman, who made my bed and cooked breakfast and muttered Finnish wisdom to herself over the electric stove.It was lonely for a day or so until one morning some man, more recently arrived than I, stopped me on the road.“How do you get to West Egg village?” he asked helplessly.I told him. And as I walked on I was lonely no longer. I was a guide, a pathfinder, an original settler. He had casually conferred on me the freedom of the neighborhood.And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer...Bobby Sac doesn't like beautiful babies?Bob Sacamano said:How do you know his e-mail address?Nathan R. Jessep said:
Hemingway rules.
Holy ####. Worm, that is outstanding.<Shiney: hey.
will give it a shot
Holy ####. Worm, that is outstanding.<Shiney: hey.
Not updating for me.
I was thinking the same thing. Do we FBGs have it in us to create an internet 'meme' (yes. I used the word meme. Still don't care for it.)
awesome!<Shiney: hey.
try CTRL+R?Holy ####. Worm, that is outstanding.<Shiney: hey.
Not updating for me.
Could you text me one of Tinky in a bikini?
:(<Shiney: hey.
It is great. I struggled through MS Paint as well.Does mine work? Seeing some of the awesome commemorative avatars here, I have a little Shiny envy.Worm's and Maurile's are my two favorites so far. This really is a great community.
:(Yours looks great.It is great. I struggled through MS Paint as well.Does mine work? Seeing some of the awesome commemorative avatars here, I have a little Shiny envy.Worm's and Maurile's are my two favorites so far. This really is a great community.Is mine updating yet?I guess so. MS Paint skills are a little lacking, but it'll do.
I hadn't noticed yours yet. Awesome!:(Yours looks great.It is great. I struggled through MS Paint as well.Does mine work? Seeing some of the awesome commemorative avatars here, I have a little Shiny envy.Worm's and Maurile's are my two favorites so far. This really is a great community.Is mine updating yet?I guess so. MS Paint skills are a little lacking, but it'll do.
:applause:<Shiney: hey.
It is great. I struggled through MS Paint as well.Does mine work? Seeing some of the awesome commemorative avatars here, I have a little Shiny envy.Worm's and Maurile's are my two favorites so far. This really is a great community.Is mine updating yet?I guess so. MS Paint skills are a little lacking, but it'll do.
Yours looks great.
Holy Crap.
:( Woah, been out of the office the past few days and just seeing this now. Awful news. Was a good dude.
