(In the event you’ve been wondering what Brian Beatty‘s been up to lately.)
each and every morning.
I did not paint the skeleton, by the way. Nor the lobster.
I’d recognize the back of Mike Dresser‘s head anywhere.
OH in Red Hook: “My landlord refused to leave. As he was throwing down sandbags, he was like, ‘I love this shit. It reminds me of Nam.’”
— Mike Dresser (@mdresser) November 10, 2012
Say, here’s an idea. What say we establish a bizarro clusterflock for hackers, extremists, and miscellaneous goofbuckets? SHOUTING! And the SWORD!
We could even make it user-friendly by modeling it on bilingual sites. You know, sites that offer you the GERMAN or the ENGLISH version.
Visitors to the bizarro clusterflock could opt, say, for the MY WAY OR THE HIGHWAY-KRAZEE-CHRISTIAN version or the MY WAY OR THE HIGHWAY-KRAZEE-MUSLIM version.
There are infinite variations.
I was too busy posting pictures of my family at the beach on twitter to bother with the razor.
Ce qui est terrible sur cette terre, c’est que tout le monde a ses raisons. The awful thing about life is this: everyone has their reasons.
An oft-quoted line from Jean Renoir’s great film La règle du jeu (The Rules of the Game).
A line that has been interpreted both as caustic and as one of the saddest, wisest, truest observations in all cinema. I’m inclined toward both interpretations.
“Everyone has their reasons” came to mind this morning in light of the weekend’s public airing of a sad personal rift between people who have been central to clusterflock.
Although I have come to know these dear folks outside of the site’s confines, I’ve not sought to learn what led to the breach. Like Casey, “I figure my knowing about the personal conflict isn’t going to do anyone much good.”
The awful thing about life is this: everyone has their reasons.
in the manner of William Eggleston’s Stranded in Canton.
UPDATE: The link right above will take you to an hour-plus edit of “Stranded in Canton.” An Eggleston voice-over accompanies.
The Art of Urban Sketching is both a comprehensive guide and a showcase of location drawings by artists around the world who draw the cities where they live and travel. This beautiful volume explains urban sketching within the context of a long historical tradition and how it is practiced today.
Among the artists featured: Wil Freeborn.
Update: See also the Urban Sketchers blog. Really good stuff.
About a year ago this post went up without much explanation:
Joel and Deron* have put on something over their jockstraps.
*The one he wears like a mask*.
*To block the image of Michael nesting in Troy Polamalu’s hair*.
*A frequent dream of Deron’s that leaves him feeling oddly aroused.
Originally created by Michael on September 9, 2010 and scheduled to publish the morning following the Super Bowl the post looked like this:
The NFL season has ended
And was changed by Deron on September 12:
I have the strength to say it. Deron, you are the handsomest man I know.
Going down the rabbit-hole of Cece’s post. Great rememberies here, following “flockers.”
She was skinny, quick-witted, disarmingly unprofessional, alternating between stand-up patter, bardic intonations, and the hypnotic emotional sway of a chanteuse, and she was sexy in an androgynous way I hadn’t encountered before. The elements cohered convincingly; she seemed both entirely new and somehow long-anticipated. For me at nineteen, the show was an epiphany.
Springtime 1976, I was living in the cinderblock building on the glorified median strip there where they split Highway 13, and one day I went over to this one girl’s apartment, she lived right by the guy who dealt me speed, and she said, “Hey, you know who you remind me of? You remind me of Patti Smith!”
Gave her a possum grin I’m still grinning.
and one reason only, that I put this photo here on clusterflock.
Joel, I love you, man, but that photo out of context was beginning to make my tummy sad every time I stopped by.
Besides, I know you love Culver’s.
Forgive me for touting my own.
Merry Christmas, er, Happy Holidays, whatever floats the boat.
because to now I have posted 1964 posts. So this will be 1965. And that was a beautiful year. I was just old enough to know that I wanted to be a grown-up woman. In 1965.
At least one of those grown-up women in the movies. Or to have a hit record.
April 27, 2007: Manah Manah.
(Move along. Nothing to see.)
Pythons are known for their enormous appetites. In a single meal they can devour animals at least as big as they are — deer, alligators, pigs, household pets.
I’m meeting Sarah in Chicago for dinner Wednesday evening.
Last year, when I happened upon this post in Google Reader I felt like the internet was playing a trick on me. Some sort of digital Oroborus. Something I shared in Google Reader made its way out and in to one of my favorite blogs? How did this happen? OH RIGHT. The internet is made of people. Awesome people, as I soon discovered when I started
stalking following some of my favorite bloggers like Andrew and Tim on Twitter. They followed me back for some reason and now we’re internet friends because that’s a thing. And that’s evolved into having fun playing Minecraft with Andrew & Dave. So I’m very happy to be joining Clusterflock because I was running out of stalking outlets online gathering places.
SO: Formal hello! My name is Sarah Pavis. I’m an engineer & writer living in Chicago who went to school in Massachusetts and grew up in Connecticut. If you think this means I’m a smart, well-off liberal who pines for rolling hills and foliage then you are correct because all stereotypes are not-so-secretly true.
Most of my interneting the past few years has been on Google Reader. This URL isn’t worth much now but if you’d like I can hook you up with a JSON file that you can peruse over a cup of coffee & a SQL database if you want to become better acquainted. Or you can check out my Twitter where I complain about Google Reader, my cat, Google Reader, television, and Google Reader. If you’re on the newest, biggest, boringest social network might I also trick you into following me like I evidently did +4000 other people.
If you Google my name most of the results are me except for that one girl who rides a motorcycle and lives in Florida. She doesn’t know it but she’s my internet nemesis. Her and whoever owns email@example.com and won’t sell it to me. In your Googling you might stumble across one of any of a dozen blogs I’ve started that now lie in various states of abandonment. I’ve made sincere promises to all of them that I’ll come back, treat em’ right, clean the cobwebs out of their CSS, stuff ‘em full of content, and pound them with so much traffic it’ll make their site counters spin. Though, for now, they remain fallow. But I’d never do that to you Clusterflock. I love you, baby.
I’ve been dipping my feet in the Flock waters for the last week, but the time is nigh to introduce myself. I’ve been a somewhat peripheral participant in Clusterflock for some time now, most notably my inadvertent naming of our esteemed anonymous account.
To keep it brief, I was raised on a sheep farm in Maryland, lived briefly in Ohio and have been spending my most recent years in Washington, D.C. I’m a designer and software engineer by day and spend my free time drawing on windows, illustrating, taking pictures, and spending far, far too much time on the internet.
My tastes are frighteningly in line with those of our own Andrew Simone. Hopefully the foot-stepping is minimal as I enter the Clusterflocking fray whole-heartedly.
Darkside of the Rainbow, Barry Stone’s first solo show at Art Palace, takes its title from the common practice of playing the 1939 film The Wizard of Oz and Pink Floyd’s Darkside of the Moon (1973) album synchronously. Just as the superimposition of film and album suggests new associations emerging from the juxtaposition of seemingly incongruous elements, so too do Stone’s groupings of photographs, drawings, collage and paintings.
Very impressive, Mr. Stone.
Or, what I planned to say when I officiated my little sister’s wedding on Saturday. There was a technical issue (broken Kindle which contained these words) and the inevitable mispoken phrase, but more or less, here it is:
Now, with my obligatory Princess Bride reference out of the way…
Welcome to the Tour de Wilson.
Cait and Brad have invited you all here today to witness their official union as a married couple and, because I’m an expert in both marriage and cycling, I’ve been asked, and granted the power to officiate the ceremony. On their behalf, I apologize.
One day, about 10 years ago, I needed someone’s help moving furniture for my mom. I don’t really remember much of the story, but I vaguely remember driving to Alameda from Sacramento with a lifeguard I worked with at Sac State.
is becoming Mrs. Lucy today. On Thursday, I helped her get her hen on, in a swanky hotel bar.
I’m immensely honored to be attending her and Ross’s wedding, and the succeeding reception-crawl. I will bring a real camera to that.
Our very own Phil Bebbington’s brilliant video creation for “Kentucky Avenue” has made its way onto the official Tom Waits website. Woo!