New Logo

[dannefaerd]

New logo launched today ... you can see it at the top now :) More surprises coming ...

Big thanks to Vijil (http://forums.paintball.org.nz/member.php?u=54) for the outstanding work! Anyone wants something designed I'd suggest giving him a call!

[Jawa_nz]

Hah, very nice. Now all you need to do is get vijil to do a fully customised
theme for the forum :D

[stick]

Yeah, looks sweet Vigil :)

[Vijil]

thx guys

Bit jaggedy round the edges though... didn't think that would happen. Hrmm. Might be better to choose a BG colour instead of making it transparent...

[MikeE]

Vijil, it looks like its a hi res image thats been resized smaller to cause those edges.

As said the whole site needs to be skinned really.

[Vijil]

That's true enough. A full skin is a fairly big job though - if there's some sort of an app that makes it easier I'd be keen to know.

[FireFox]

after seeing Martin's sig image on the other site I have finally got the new logo (I normally enter via paintball.org.nz not p8nt)

S

[dannefaerd]

the only reason the signature file uses p8nt-online is because paintball.org.nz is a banned URL. A pity, but there ya go.

Keep you're bookmarks on paintball.org.nz ... that is the long term URL here :)

[FireFox]

I guessed as much, I just never 'got' the NZp(BallBall)nt thing.

Has it changed? it looks a lot smoother now.

S

[Vijil]

Yeah just fixed it up a bit.

[Rosey]

I think the paintballs look like basketballs, and the black splat looks like spilt ink. Is that the idea? I don't really like it, but hey, who cares what I think.

[Vijil]

You're pretty much right on both points, I wasn't going to fix it until someone mentioned it.

[Rubberducky]

pretty cool logo

but i never got p8nt the 8 just doesnt make sense to me its like saying peightnt it sound nothing like paint

[Vijil]

Ask danners about that one :)

[dannefaerd]

P8NT is a dedication to the one and only P8NT magazine of Chris Dilts/Chris Hass fame ...

Back in the day, before glossy magazines actually catered to the paintball crowd - back when a magazine was basically just a mail order catalogue … there was p8nt.

When it started p8nt was a mag created by a bunch of twenty-something kids who published a magazine when the had some cash … the’ve featured on Jawwbraker, and pioneered paintball photography as we know it today.

They rock. But unfortunately P8NT magazine is no more.
It takes thirty-two hours, give or take, to drive from Chicago to Los Angles. Thirty-two hours with four people slowly turning a nice, borrowed SUV into a pile of crushed aluminium cans, cellophane wrappers, spilled Coke, Styrofoam coffee cups and wadded up Burger King refuse. Even in the backseat you can smell the sickly sweet aroma of Bubbaliscious as the front occupants chat and chew and try to stay awake.

We’ve been driving for about twenty hours.

The gum smell hugging my nose tight, headphones on so I can’t eavesdrop on the front action, so I can listen to songs by a band whose singer I spent six months printing photos of and, as a result, developed a strange fixation with. If was the filthy t-shirt and the dirty, matted dyed hair.

Like me, she was on tour.

All my friends are Punk Rockers or Paintball Players. We live most of the important parts of our lives as part of a public spectacle in a foreign place or in a car. We’re all on tour. Our lives revolve around saving money, working shit jobs, marking the calendars and waiting, anxiously, hopefully and expectantly. Waiting to get in the car and do the drive.

Paintball taught me how to get up at 3:00am and make a four hour drive to play a game my Punk Rock friends don’t take seriously. Punk Rock taught me that driving is better than flying, that being on tour doesn’t have to involve being in a band. It’s a state of mind.

I’ve been on tour for about three weeks now, I think. It started with a twelve hour drive to Toronto and is going to end next week with a thirty hour drive back to Indiana. In between I’ve been “home”, but not really. I avoided my apartment, ignored my answer machine, and hid from my email. I slept on my couch, because my bed felt wrong and I was frightened that the insomnia I have when not on tour would come back.

Because when you’re sleeping on a floor or a couch, even if it’s your own, then you’re not really home. You’re still on the move, you’re just waiting. Waiting for the twelve hour drive to New Orleans.

It was paintball that taught me to drive. To really drive. To be able to go days with no sleep and still find the strength to play the game and get myself home alive. I remember a NAAPSA Nationals, years ago, sick for the whole tournament, still playing every game, sleeping and vomiting between. Then driving home to St Louis, Dave sleeping in the passenger’s seat, too tired to keep me in my fever and chills and pain awake. But we got home. Because there is no other option.

In the last six months I’ve hit both coasts multiple times. I’ve driven through Nashville more times than I would like to remember and I have learnt the streets of more strange cities than I thought possible.

The only way to do a drive like this is to sleep in shifts. I’m missing out on my time to sleep while I write this. To try and take some notes from all this driving. To make the thirty odd hours that this car is my home more meaningful, or more meaningful than the other hundreds of hours in cars that I’ve lost, forgotten or purged from my memory.

This is where I grew up. My family’s idea of a vacation was a couple of tents and two weeks of criss-crossing North America. I’ve been to almost every national park. I’ve been to every Civil War battlefield. I’ve been to Four Corners. Twice. All of my early memories involve being in a car, some alien landscape rushing by. The winter of ‘84 when the heat went out in the mountains. The summer of ‘86 when the air went out in Death Valley.

States blur and recede. I can tell you that I don’t like Oklahoma because in 1996 on a drive to Las Vegas while crossing the Okie state some bright official decided to place signs along the interstate that said “Drive Friendly”. Every hundred feet. For the entire state.

I’ve been everywhere and nowhere. My impressions or most places are the quality of their truck stops and rest areas. When you do a thirty hour drive like this you don’t actually go anywhere. The space you explore is the space of your own vehicle. The sites you see are a haphazard collection of what you drive by. By our calculations we need to be in Los Angeles by 3:00 p.m. Thursday. Making stops for food, for a sit-down, Denny’s style meal is impossible. You get breaks to piss, to smoke, to pump gas.

This is the job that I do. This is the job that everyone who works for this magazine does. You pack bags of cameras and film and batteries and then study the content of energy drinks, trying to find the one that will get you from San Francisco to Seattle. You sulk and sit and are pissed when someone puts a tape in that you hate. Then sometimes you’re alone, singing along at the top of your lungs with the radio at 4:00 a.m. on a desert highway. You save money on motels by driving overnight, arriving at an event the morning of, unshaven, unslept, powered by cigarettes and coffee and the knowledge that if you fuck up it’s your own fault for not being tough enough.

[Rubberducky]

sweet that makes more sense

what happened to it?

[dannefaerd]

Ok so by now you know there is a new skin on the site ... hope ya like it because it's going to be around for a while :)

There are two versions - a fixed width (790pixels wide) and a fullscreen version (this is set to default).

You can choose which one you want in a little drop down box at the bottom left of the screen.

Enjoy :)