Meet the Flockers: Casey Cichowicz
Hello, everyone! I’m very pleased to be here. Long time lurker, then Walken impersonator. A few things about me:
I live in the DC area (Alexandria, actually), and grew up in south central Pennsylvania (I always get funny looks when I say that, but it just means not Philadelphia or Pittsburgh, and you probably wouldn’t know it anyway). When I was in gradeschool we lived in Heidelberg Germany for four years. At this point I only speak a little German, but I still remember how to eat a schnitzel!
I’m a web developer/project manager type, but was a music major and failed rock star. I still try now and then. Trying to get something going again. I’m also trying a little painting — well, it’s really just layering and then sanding down acrylic paint. So I’m not sure it’s art. Actually, I’m very interested in the question of “what is art”, even though from time to time I think it’s a pretty silly question.
I’m a fairly avid mountain biker, but of the weekend warrior variety. I enjoy backpacking. I don’t do nearly enough of either, but I have been on some pretty great trips (Whistler last fall, Patagonia two years ago).
I’m a music fan — I go to a lot of shows and have a large MP3 collection. After reluctantly switching to iTunes, I am still trying to figure out the best way to listen to my music. And by this, I mean, I want to listen to full albums in more-or-less random order, but according to least recently played album and without hearing the same artist within 1 month. If you’ve figured out a good way to manage that, please let me know. These are the kinds of problems I have, or at least, the kinds that I am willing to reveal at the moment.
Anyway, hello and thanks!
dear clusterflock
The last I checked, Amanda’s Kickstarter project had 19 20 21 22 backers.
Goreyesque, or
dream name
Austin Derwatt.
looks like there’s a sale at Wire & Twine
And if you are in Cincinnati tomorrow.
Meet the Flockers : Flannery Scroggins
Greetings, flock. Thanks for welcoming me into the fold. I’ve met several of you — and was raised by a couple of you — so it’s about damn time.
All these years as a Copywriter and I’ve never been any good at writing about myself. Let’s see how this goes.
I was a Creative Director for a while — yes, like Don Draper, but with less Herman Miller and fewer hookers. I left the Advertising industry for ethical reasons, but I still enjoy a drink at 11am now and again.
These days, I’m an independent brand consultant and brand manager; I also take photographs (of lots of things, but people mostly pay me to photograph dogs).
I’m a Scorpio born under the year of the Rooster (uh, Cock). I turned 29 last year and will continue to do so for a few more years, I think.
I’m married to a Visual Effects Supervisor, so all of our home movies have green-screened light saber battles and Michael Bay-esque explosions in them. If y’all ever need anything exploded or set on fire, I know just the guy for the job.
I love tiny container gardens, Anthropologie, the color of sea glass, the word “cohesive,” Juergen Teller, South Austin, green zinnias, and the way light falls on the floor through the sheer curtains in my living room.
I also have a bunch of tattoos, am a pretty funny drunk, and I’m pretty sure my lens is bigger than yours.
this picture of Faulkner always cracks me up
The cfsiii Fight Card
in conjunction with
SMITH AND SMITH PUGILISTIC ENTERTAINMENT
are proud to present the
BIGGEST SUPERCARD SINCE SLICED BREAD!
(which is a very long time)
Come one come all to
CLUSTERSTOCK
heavyweights |
|
East Anaheim Junior High Spelling Bee Finalist Telephone, TX |
Frank Sinatra Look-Alike of the Year ’82 Hoboken, NJ |
bantamweights |
|
FBI’s 23rd most wanted El Paso, TX |
Eunuch Singer Ypsilanti, MI |
super welterweights |
|
Poops at will Kingston, RI |
Colo. Brazillian Jiu Jitsu champion Fort Collins, CO |
featherweights |
|
Little Miss Panhandle ’92 Tallahassee, FL |
Presidential Physical Fitness Award Winner Fort Wayne, IN |
cruiserweights |
|
Bareback rodeo clown Schenectady, NY |
Canadian Canada |
from the comments
If ever I meet you, I am sure that within minutes I will be laughing so hard that I will be farting up my vagina.
Clusterflockstock 3: Outside the Feed Sack
from the archives: July 20, 2007
Deron challenged us to put forth our worst. He whipped our sorry asses.
Update. Deron to Amanda Mae: Did you get my head shot?
Serendipity (For Rick)
In her response to my recent “dear clusterflock” query, Carole mentioned shaking loose the serendipity.
I’m not sure this is the kind of serendipity she meant, and I know it’s not the kind I want, but here goes, just for the hell of it.
Read more
Deadbeat Diary, 3
So, it’s September and our house is on the market. There’s no pretending when your house was built in 2007 and at the end of 2010 it’s on the market. Everyone assumes you’re a deadbeat. Everyone assumes you’re contributing to the mess. The neighbors ask because they want the gossip. You tell the people you like before the sign goes up. There’s a need to explain.
People are nice. Too nice. They ask what the house is listed at and try not to cringe. They go to the open house and make judgments about our style choices. I know. I’ve done the same thing.
Alicia is basically 9 months pregnant and we’re forced out of the house on a nightly basis. We walk to the park and, from a block and a half away, watch the Real Estate agent show people in and try to imagine them living in our space.
I can’t decide if the fact that we picked out the tile, carpet, cabinets, banister, fixtures, etc. makes it worse. “I’m going to miss that kitchen,” I say. The things we hate about the house never come up. Like the fact that we have to go outside to get to our attached garage.
We also don’t talk about the couch we bought to fit along that wall. Or the table for that oddly shaped dining area. I try not to think about the hours I’ve spent running drip irrigation into the back yard. And we definitely don’t talk about the fact this is the house we first brought our daughter home too.
“It’s just a place,” I say, beginning to detach before we even have to pack a box.
Then we get an offer. It’s not long after the house was listed and we’re optimistic about what it means.
We cringe.
It’s hard not to feel like someone’s offered us less than nothing for the last 3 years of our lives.
from the archives: January 8, 2007
I just watched the amazing and captivating Le Mans, featuring Steve McQueen and tons of racing. Someone needs to convince me not to purchase this jacket.
What do these people have in common?
(Aside from being mental as anything.)
I just learned via Roger Ebert that I share a birthday with David Foster Wallace.
I already knew about my natal link with Nina Simone, W. H. Auden, Sam Peckinpah, and Anaïs Nin.
Best erotic dream ever
Encounter with Patrick McGoohan. Woke up just after we entered his hotel room, but that was all right. It was sweet enough for me.
Miss Lucy Foley, up-and-coming diva
Lucy (and Ross! and some friends of theirs) had a gig in NYC on Friday, at which they Tore. It. Up. I commemorated the occasion with a bunch of wobbly pictures. Fortunately, Lucy’s so gorgeous and has such poise that either of my cats could have taken a whole roll of good ones of her.
Once again, ladies and gents, you can hear and buy Lucy’s album, Copenhagen, at lucyfoley.com. So how about you go do that?
Listen to Our Lucy
Monday, January 17, 1:00 pm EST on WFMU. Our Lucy — Lucy Foley, together with her band, will perform live in the WFMU studio — and chat with program host Irene Trudel.
Update: You can also watch a short video (made at Wombat Recording) featuring Lucy Foley on vocals and Ross Bonadonna on guitar.
The Doll and His Toy
The little imp has arrived. Bearing a toy lion and the ghost of a sock monkey’s smile.
No name
My spaghetti western self.
not me
This is not me, but my father.
Meet the Flockers: Joel Bernstein
Fun facts about Joel Bernstein:
He’s been reading this site for about a year, commenting for about eight months, posting anonymously for about four months, and has been an official member for about two weeks.
He procrastinates everything, even fun things.
His favorite Jelly Belly flavor is coconut.
He thinks cilantro tastes like soap.
He sneezes when it’s sunny.
Levi
If any of you have been missing me here’s what I’ve been up to.
Levi was born October 31, 2010 at 2:04 PM and weighed 8 pounds, 4 ounces. He was 19 inches long.
We’re all happy and healthy.
“I fight with the handle of my little brown broom”
So Renner and I were emailing just now, and it’s not so weird what happened, as we were talking about Robert Wyatt, together with other stuff . . . . Still. There is this passage at the end of Wyatt’s “Little Red Robin Hood Hit the Road.” The second half, actually. It begins more or less at the three-minute mark. It is sung by Ivor Cutler, and some people think Cutler wrote it, but no, the words are Wyatt’s. The voice is Cutler’s.
“I fight with the handle of my little brown broom,” it begins. And at almost the same instant of our email correspondence, Renner and I quoted that very line to one another by way of reference to our own travails.
That’s what friends are for.
For Sheila
Has this ever happened to you? I’m reminded of sitting at lunch with a visual merchandising friend in a restaurant on the Plaza. One of those places, a sandwich shop or some such, where one comes in, gets in a line and travels the line with a tray to collect what one has ordered and pay at the end. My friend and I were talking about, “How do you know?” I couldn’t really answer except to say, “I don’t know, but it’s there.” (This, in the days before the word “gaydar” was on the radar. A few months before I met Danny.)
We were sitting, eating at a banquet in a row of two-tops. My back to the wall, a wall of mirror behind me. She sat facing me. I could see the entire room. She could, too, in reverse. (This wasn’t too long after I had “come out.”)
The outside door opened. I saw a beautiful couple, a man and a woman, enter. They seemed a “couple.” The man cast his eyes about the room and settled them on mine. “Here’s one.” I said.
She said, “No!” I said, “Watch.” She watched in the mirror, as I watched directly, as he looked back at me, quickly, furtively sort of, no less than four times as he was in line ordering, collecting at the end, what looked like lunch “to go.” Everytime he looked, my eyes met his.
As they headed for the door to leave, I said, “Watch, he’ll look one more time.” When they got to the door, him holding the door for her to exit first and carrying their lunches, he looked back at me. The word “sadness” comes now to me to describe the expression on his face.
