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purple balloons.

By casey mullins
March 15, 2011 //
9

(new here? read this first.)

Casey here, and I’d like to think I know a thing or two about sadness.

There’s the sadness that comes from losing something you love, losing someone you love or watching someone you love lose something or someone they love. There’s the sadness that can come from chronic or temporary physical pain and the sadness that can come from a broken mind playing horrible tricks on your existence. Sadness can happen when you watch your favorite sports team lose or when you watch a friend win something you’ve wanted for so long.

On the surface it’s a crummy thing to be an expert on, who really wants to be familiar with all the facets of sadness? It’s like being an expert on all the dodgy and dangerous streets in a dodgy and dangerous city. However, the wonderful thing that comes from being familiar with sadness, just as the wonderful thing that comes from being familiar with dodgy streets, is that you can find your way back out that much quicker. Even better is that you are able to help others navigate the streets.

There is a visceral reaction in my heart whenever someone says they’re sad.

It doesn’t matter over what.

Sadness isn’t just something that can be told to feel better or turned towards the bright side. It cannot simply be taken away or glossed over. Sadness must be picked up and cradled, much like a mother scoops up a child who just turfed it for the first time on cement. It needs to be held close, until it is ready to leave. It cannot be forced to leave. It cannot be reasoned with. But it can be fed, hugged, supported, written about and talked about until the sadness is ready to become strength. And from that strength grown out of sadness comes empathy. And from empathy comes the ability to get love others around us more deeply, be they strangers or friends.

And when we love each other more deeply the world becomes a much less scary place and sadness holds a far less icy grip around our weary souls.

Balloon Parade

I’m Daniel and that’s me on the far left. No not really, but let’s pretend it is.

I crashed this wedding. But I at least brought all these balloons. I introduced myself as Marty Biesler, owner of Biesler Balloons. I said I was the second cousin of the bride. No one questioned it. Plus I had all these balloons. Purple one’s. The color of royalty.

I navigated through the reception handing them out. I had so many of them, that it looked like I had a float following me. People were in awe and took them as if they were gifts. The reception was a sea of purple. The sun sent it’s ray’s through the balloons giving everyone a royal glow. Magic.

I/Marty watched this magical moment of laughter, dancing, toasting as balloons floated, wandered, be-bopped through the night. The night was unforgettable. Love, memories, champagne, jazz, dancing and Biesler Balloons.

Slowly, balloons drifted up into the sky. One by one they left the reception. Every now and then, guests would catch a balloon crossing the view of the moon. A little balloon with string drifting across the moonlight like E.T., phone home.

Then I/Marty Biesler climbed back in a 1927 Model J Duesenberg and drove home.

The End.

I like to make up names. I have my favorite DJ names picked out. And I have these alter ego names selected. Marty Biesler has been around for almost a decade. In my mind, he doesn’t look like he does in this photo. But he is the type of guy that would bring a thousand balloons to a wedding, uninvited. And then stand off to the side, enjoying the spectacle. He and I are similar.

Kurt Vonnegut has this great quote: We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful what we pretend to be.

I pretend to be a lot of things. I am a lot of things. Sometimes I’m not sure which is which. I’m me, I’m Marty Biesler, I’m DJ Inspecta Collecta, I’m a husband, a father, a friend. Sometimes I’m great and sometimes I’m just not. What a struggle.

But one day, I’ll bring a sea of balloons to a wedding. Marty would want me to.

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Categories casey started it.

30 d. of t. – something we hate about ourselves.

By casey mullins
November 30, 2010 //
2

(new to this blog? start here. new to the 30 d. of t.? start here.)

Hey, I’m Casey, and I’m supposed to tell you something I hate about myself.

But see, here’s where I tell you that I don’t even let the word hate into my vocabulary. Okay, so that’s totally a lie. I use the word hate, BUT I’M NOT HAPPY ABOUT IT. And I don’t use it around my daughter. Okay. So I try really hard not to use it around my daughter. If I had to narrow a situation down to the word hate? It would be stepping in water in clean dry socks. I hate doing that.

As far as hating things about myself? That’s not going to get me anywhere good. Not to mention I did it for over a dozen years and it landed me nowhere that could be considered awesome. Those nowheres including, but not limited to, the hospital, therapy and in really dysfunctional relationships. So for the sake of this post and for anyone who is already emotionally fragile I am not going to say I hate anything about myself. Things I’d like to change? Sure. Things I need to do a better job of accepting? Absolutely. Hate? Nope.

However, in the spirit of this whole project I will tell you that I’m a little disappointed in my complete and utter inability to participate in hypotheticals. I am thoroughly convinced that I would never make it through law school because it consists of really stupid hypotheticals that I’d be paying a whole boatload of money to think about.

Paying money to decide the outcome of a completely false situation. I read those “choose your fate” books in fifth grade. I was always the kid that read the last page so I’d know exactly which story lines to choose. This little inability to play along with hypotheticals drives my lawyer husband UP. THE. DAMN. WALL.

Today he asked me which of the destinations I would choose to visit that have been featured thus far on this season of the Amazing Race. My response? None of them. They were all either cold, ugly, smelly or waaaay too busy. Call me when those racers end up on a beach in Tahiti. I mean, okay. If someone else is paying…no. Nope. Not going to work. I don’t know too many people who would get geeked out of their mind to go to St. Petersburg. So maybe Daniel would. In fact I know he would. I would give my trip to him and his wife. They deserve a trip, even if it is to Russia.

My inability to stick within the parameters of a Cody given hypothetical leads him to massive eye rolling and frustration. Why would I pretend to choose between eating cereal or eating spaghetti for the rest of my life when it is NEVER GOING TO COME TO THAT? Besides, why cereal or spaghetti? Why not sushi or pancakes?

So there. I wish I could do hypotheticals better. But to be honest, I am the best weasel outer of hypotheticals ever. I dare say there isn’t a single one you could get me to agree to right out of the gate. Unless it was something stupid like “Eat ice cream forever or lose a leg?”

********************************

I’m Daniel and I will write this entry. I will finish it.

I’ve procrastinated for weeks on this post. I’ve started it countless times and written lots of drivel. It’s either been way too personal or severely lacking in any personality. This is my final attempt. I will write something.

What do you hate about yourself? It’s a simple question, but so tough to answer.

I thought about sidestepping this one with some humor and wit. But I won’t. So here goes.

I’m incredibly hard on myself and I hate that. It creates personal feelings of inferiority, unrealistic expectations and easily misinterpreted social situations. Aside from the general feelings of negativity, it’s enough to drive me crazy.

This way of living has resulted in some amazing accomplishments and experiences in life. I can only say that because I’m going through this writing exercise. I never take time to reflect on the positives of things. It’s not healthy. It’s insane. It’s not reality.

I’m capable of easily outlining the critical aspects of what I do or who I am. We could be here for days. I could easily point out the horrible things I’ve done, mistakes I’ve made, or opportunities I missed and so on. Easily. I actually do that very well.

But there’s no balance. I can gloss over the positive things I’ve accomplished or initiated. I can justify why they occurred – it was luck, it was others, it was too easy and so on. But I’m incapable of finding the healthy balance in processing this. One accomplishment is quickly erased in pursuit of the next.

I hate this because it’s had a big impact on my life. I’m not fully aware of how lucky I am in all areas – my wife and son, a home, family, friends, colleagues, projects, creative outlets, opportunities, you name it. There’s something to be said about stopping to smell the roses. I hate that I don’t. I hate that I don’t give myself a chance. I hate that my actions are shaped by this way of thinking.

All is not lost. I’ve given this part of me a lot of thought the past few months. I’m aware and taking time to soak it all in.

And today, I’m telling you.

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Categories casey started it., thirty days of truth.

thirty Days of Truth. the complete list, and an introduction.

By casey mullins
November 16, 2010 //
5

Casey here, Daniel and I are going to throw a little something different into the mix. There’s this thirty days of truth meme floating ’round the Internet and I figured Daniel and I could do it in a way no one else could. Daniel wasn’t totally stoked on the idea, but I know he’ll surprise himself. We’re certainly not doing thirty consecutive days, we have lives you know.  We may even change a couple of the topics. That’s what makes this so fun. Enjoy.

Day 01 → Something you hate about yourself.
Day 02 → Something you love about yourself.
Day 03 → Something you have to forgive yourself for.
Day 04 → Something you have to forgive someone for.
Day 05 → Something you hope to do in your life.
Day 06 → Something you hope you never have to do.
Day 07 → Someone who has made your life worth living for.
Day 08 → Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit.
Day 09 → Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted.
Day 10 → Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know.
Day 11 → Something people seem to compliment you the most on.
Day 12 → Something you never get compliments on.
Day 13 → A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.)
Day 14 → A hero that has let you down. (letter)
Day 15 → Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it.
Day 16 → Someone or something you definitely could live without.
Day 17 → A book you’ve read that changed your views on something.
Day 18 → Your views on gay marriage.
Day 19 → What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics?
Day 20 → Your views on drugs and alcohol.
Day 21 → (scenario) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do?
Day 22 → Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life.
Day 23 → Something you wish you had done in your life.
Day 24 → Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter)
Day 25 → The reason you believe you’re still alive today.
Day 26 → Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why?
Day 27 → What’s the best thing going for you right now?
Day 28 → What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do?
Day 29 → Something you hope to change about yourself. And why.
Day 30 → A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself

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if there’s a mic in your face…

By casey mullins
October 25, 2010 //
2

(new here? read this first.)

Hi, it’s Casey, and never in my life have I been afraid to perform in front of a crowd.

I started in drama and theater when I was in fifth grade, our group performed for my elementary school. I was cast as Captain Hook in Peter Pan. A singing Captain Hook. I remember an especially rude sixth grade boy coming up to me in the library and saying “you didn’t actually pay money to do that crap did you?” Well the truth was my mom paid and I would have her pay again, because I liked doing it and I didn’t see his rear end up there doing anything theatrical.

My love of drama and performing continued through Jr. High and High School. I played Scout in To Kill a Mockingbird I performed in a very watered down performance of McCavity from “Cats” (which is where I met my first real boyfriend) and in high school I ended up in Arsenic and Old Lace and Much Ado About Nothing. I played a role originally written for a man in both plays. (I was Dogberry in Much Ado About Nothing. Shakespeare holds my heart, it’s one thing to learn Shakespeare with the knowledge of iambic pentameter, it’s entirely different thing to memorize a the lines of a chronically drunk Shakespearean character.)

A partner and I even made it to the Utah State Drama Competition my Junior year with a scene from Baby with the Bathwater, the only problem was that by then I really was a bit of a drunken Shakespearean character in real life and instead of heading South to where the competition was being held, we drove North…to Idaho. Sure we missed the competition and our chance at fame, but we had some excellent pancakes in Lava Hot Springs.

I miss performing, I have taken to karaoke since it’s really the only chance I have to use all those skills I spent so much time learning in my younger years. I have on my life list to perform on stage again. And it will happen. And you’re all invited.

what would you say?

I am Daniel Incandela.

Talk about a frightening image. This conjures up a lot of anxiety. Public speaking.

Here’s my take on public speaking. I hate it, but I rarely turn down an opportunity. It’s painful, stressful and scary – but I’ve always managed to make it.

Those of you that know me would probably say I’m quiet. That’s mostly true. I like efficient communication. To-the-point. Blunt, even.  It doesn’t mean I don’t have a lot to say.

I’m also okay with silence. It drives people nuts so I try to be aware of that. I also like awkward, so there are some opposing issues here. I’m far from perfect.

And standing in front of others at a microphone is a challenge.

About a year ago I delivered a keynote presentation on Museums and Technology in Wellington, New Zealand. I was honored to be asked but scared to death. I had done lots of other conference presentations but never as ‘the’ presenter. I couldn’t turn down a trip to Kiwi land, but…

I knew this might be my only opportunity to deliver a keynote so I wanted to go big – either with a major meltdown or a major victory. Honestly, as i walked to the podium i didn’t know which it would be. That was a scary walk.

I’m most happy during major challenges. I enjoy testing myself, growing, learning and achieving.

I researched the sh*t out of this presentation. I researched what other museums were doing. I researched NewZealand. I researched popular culture. I researched presentations. I wanted go big.

I wrote in Indianapolis. I took my son on walks and practiced my presentation. I wrote on the long flight. I wrote on the beach. I practiced in my hotel rooms. I arranged and rearranged.  I wrote and rewrote. I PowerPointed (do I hear gasps?) – but I hate PowerPoint, so they were more like graphic elements. I didn’t fly 7000 miles to read stats, bullets or quotes. They would have to hear me talk.

And talk I did. Probably for 65-70 minutes. It felt like 5. It was a leap of faith.

My presentation in Wellington ranks as one of my proudest moments. On the topic of museums and technology, I managed to work in a personal video introduction from Kiwi IndyCar driver Scott Dixon, several Flight of the Conchords references, a nude body paint video and a lot of quiet sense of humor. Everything just clicked.

As I walked to the podium I told myself this was it – a moment to rise, an opportunity to be proud, an experience to remember. I left to the applause of 300+, a polite grin and memories that will last forever.

Here’s to more microphones in life.

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Categories casey started it.

cowboy up.

By casey mullins
September 24, 2010 //
6

(new here? read this first.)

Hi. It’s Casey.

I took this picture with my point and shoot while lying on the ground at my friend Emily’s house. The way the sun was streaming in making such long shadows on the wood floor out of the Little People strewn about was poetic. All Emily saw was a mess, but really? It was lovely. Imagine what I could have done with my 50mm set to 1.4, or even a sweet f/22 shot.

But I didn’t have my DSLR. I had my point and shoot. So I took the picture to prove a point, that it didn’t matter what kind of camera you have as long as you take the picture. I’ve taught this is more than three classes about this very topic, the whole “The best camera is the one you have with you.”

Well I’m here to call my own BS.

My best camera is my DLSR and frankly I get a little cranky sometimes when my point and shoot won’t do what my DSLR can do.

My brain thinks in aperture, in shutter speed and focal lengths. Not in preset settings where all you have to do is point and well, shoot.

When I picked this photo two weeks ago (oh, about that? Daniel was in Japan, I’m in North Carolina, I got pregnant, Daniel had sushi, football season started…we were very busy.) I had intentions of writing about toys and simple little things that can easily be looked at as beautiful things, like the shadows of strewn about toys.

However, aside from my issues with not having the camera I wanted to take this picture, I can’t stop looking at the crumb. I’m so sorry Emily. I can tell you now Internet that Emily is a very good housekeeper and the stray crumb comes at the expense of having four children in your house for a long time (one of them being mine.)

But the CRUMB. What is it? Cracker? Cake? Yellow Froot Loop?

I DON’T KNOW. But it’s all I can look at.

I could have photoshopped it out, and you never would have even known it was there.

But given that the whole picture makes me grumpy in the first place with it’s whole auto f-stop setting of 3.5 I wasn’t about to bother with photoshop for a crumb.

I guess the good news is at the moment it happened, the moment the sun was setting, I was able to admire the shadows and the light. It wasn’t until after the fact I noticed crumbzilla.

Maybe it’s like a really good wedding, everything is lovely and beautiful and it isn’t until the pictures come back that you notice a sauced Uncle Carl photobombing the bride and groom…

showdown at the ee corral.

I’m Daniel. It’s nice to meet you.

A few things I want to say about this image. I’ve noticed that Casey shoots a lot of things vertically. I’m not sure I would have ever noticed that if we weren’t collaborators. I’m going to ask her about that. Actually, I’m asking her through this blog post. It’s official.

This is a very vertical image. It starts with the cowboy – who’s standing there with a purpose, like a tall drink of water. His shadow adds a lot of length too. The hardwood flooring brings the eye in. It’s a silent scene, but I feel like it had been chaotic moments earlier. His horse ran off. This picture had to be vertical, it had to be long. It’s consumed with empty space in the lower 2/3′s creating a slight uneasiness. It’s not a traditional composition and I love that. This cowboy was up to something.

I’m a big fan of flare in photos. I might have read somewhere once that it’s considered a bad thing. I don’t really care. I like what sunlight does when it peaks over something. And I like to capture that too. In this scene, the sun saw everything.

I also hold shadows in high regard. They’re not quite at the cloud status of coolness, but I do enjoy a nice, long shadow. I feel like cowboy here agrees. The shadow adds a little mystery. And that shadow ain’t saying a word.

The scarf on this cowboy isn’t lost on me either. The cowboy stands confidently in a deserted living room as the sun sets. His nemesis is lying behind him. A tumbleweed passes in front. And his scarf sits contently on his broad, cowboy-like shoulders. This cowboy is the real deal.

So that’s my assessment of the scene. What’s yours?

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Categories casey started it.

seeds.

By casey mullins
August 26, 2010 //
2

(new here? read this first.)

Hi, I’m Casey and I once had this dream that half of my face was ripped off and underneath my skin were thousands of tiny slimy black seeds, most of them gathered under my eye right up against my nose. In my dream I looked at my face in the mirror disgusted with what was there. I remember thinking that these things must be under all of my skin and I had to find away to get them out.

I was probably only seven or eight when I had the dream.

To this day I can’t see anything clustery, seedy or bubbly without thinking of that dream. *shiver*

I still remember waking up and feeling my face. I felt a bump on my right cheekbone, I ran out and told my mom. She felt it and said “it’s probably just a blackhead.”

“A BLACKHEAD!? YOU SAY THAT AS IF IT’S NORMAL TO HAVE HEADS THAT ARE BLACK LURKING UNDER YOUR SKIN.”

She didn’t know about my dream. I went to the mirror and attempted to extract the offending blackhead.

Now, I’ll spare you the details about what happened next, but needless to say I have always given my skin a sideways stink eye, never quite sure what was lurking under the surface. I remember a Seinfeld episode where in his opening stand up routine he was talking about hair and how people touch it and style it and play with it and treasure it when it’s on someone’s head. But as soon as one ends up in your sandwich? It’s the most vile substance in the world.

Weird right?

How many cheeks do we kiss knowing what lies under the surface of our own skin? Or maybe it’s just that dream that’s haunted me for over 20 years. How many hands do we shake without knowing where those hands could have been? And let’s not even get started on how gross kissing is if you actually sat and thought about it.

But I don’t think about. I run around in blissful oblivion to the disgusting things lurking under the surface. If I didn’t I’d go crazy. (and I totally understand why some people do go crazy,) I was my face, I wash my hands, I brush my teeth.

I’d kiss me, I’d shake my hand, I’d even pick one of my own hairs out of a sandwich and keep eating.

That’s a pretty good sign right?

buds

Please to meet you. I’m Daniel.

I don’t know what these things are. Casey always seems to pick difficult subject matter for me. Remember this post? Maybe these are Smurfberries. That would be cool.

Since I don’t know what these are, I looked at this image in a different way. I focused on the shapes and forms for a bit. But I was immediately struck by the colors.

They reminded me of a Claude Monet painting. You know, Water Lilies and all that.

It’s amazing when you look at an image and just consider the colors – not the content, or form. Just colors. Like what Ice-T said.

My favorite color is blue. What’s yours?

I love a good blue sky. Frank Sinatra had blue eyes. Everyone should own a good pair of navy pants with a thin stripe.I loved the blue sky Salvador Dali used in his paintings. Surreal-ly magical. And of course, Smurfs are blue.

This is a photograph posing as a painting. For me, that shows the talent within the photographer. Casey always adds a layer of depth in her imagery.

I would love to see a Claude Monet painting of this photo-painting. Then, I would love to see Salvador Dali interpret Monet’s painting into a new version. Stuff would be melting. There might be a crutch involved. It would take us all into dreamland. Then, maybe Ice-T could write a song about it.

It would be called Smurf berries.

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Categories casey started it.

done right.

By casey mullins
August 4, 2010 //
3

(new here? read this first.)

Hey, this is Casey and you know what kind of stunk?

My wedding.

Well, not so much the ending up married to one handsome hunk of a man, but the whole party wedding extravaganza thing.

Needless to say I’m going to need to renew my vows and I’m going to need a pretty swanky party to go along with it.

About the only cool thing about my actual wedding is that my flowers were flown in from Holland that morning. They were a little late, but I made my peace with them before the ceremony began.

Needless to say I spent a lot of time planning my wedding, however the biggest problem was no one was willing to spend a lot of money on it. (I was engaged after two weeks and married six months later at the tender age of 19. I don’t really blame anyone for not wanting to waste a bunch of money on what was sure to be a failure…but HA HA HA! Nine years later and we’re still going strong.)

So secretly, in the back of my mind, I have been planning this party. This “Casey gets her wedding done right” party. There will be sparkling drinks in pretty colors. Hopefully there with be fireflies and dozens of tiny little lights suspended above a dance floor. There will be a photographer, an amazing one. I will have my hair up and we will get dressed up. All my favorite friends and family will be there.

It will be lovely.

Want to come?

Kaleidoscope at Hallmark

Daniel here.

My initial reaction to this image made me think of the perfect night. Then I started thinking about the music that might be playing, and I thought of “Flashing Lights” by Kanye West. And then I considered the lyrics of this song and realized they’re not that good. So, naturally, I began thinking about rappers I respect for their use of language. That’s where this story begins.

Hip hop or rap has been a big part of my life since the late 1980′s. That’s when I discovered De La Soul and the style and delivery of Kelvin Mercer, aka Plug One (there are 3 in De La), Posdnuos. To this day, he remains my favorite with his references to social issues, humor and clever writing always striking a chord with me. The entire group remains remarkably under-appreciated. I also remembering buying Big Daddy Kane records, listening in amazement to EPMD, and being completely blown away by Eric B. and Rakim. It’s still with me. I even listened to JJ Fad. Ha ha.

It’s no coincidence that later in life I learned to love jazz, studied the Harlem Renaissance and fell in love with the poetry of Langston Hughes. If you love hip hop it’s hard not to look back in history. That happens with a lot of things. Interconnectedness. Relationships. Networks. Call and response. You get the idea.

More recently, I revisited Gang Starr and began yet another obsession in my life. I mean, it doesn’t get much better than “Words I Manifest.” Incredible lyrics, good loops, and scratchin’! One song hit me instantly – “Jazz Thing”, essentially the history of Jazz in rap form. It’s poetic, revealing and pulled together a lot of things for me – the rap tradition, Jazz as a surrealist art form, and the role that African American culture has played in the country. MC Guru knew how say it.

When Guru died earlier this year, it took me by surprise, made me sad, and brought back a lot of memories. I’ve been listening to hip hop for over 20 years. I feel old. I feel lucky I started listening to “Potholes in my Lawn”. He was an artist.

When my son was still in my wife’s belly, he listened to a lot of rap too. I read him Langston Hughes poems. He also listened to a lot of Miles Davis.

I hope he was dreaming about bright lights, the Harlem Renaissance and hip hop poetry.

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Categories casey started it.

melons and pomegranates.

By casey mullins
July 16, 2010 //
7

(new here? read this first.)

This is Casey and you know what I like?

Boobs.

I like having them. I like looking at them and I like talking about them.

I also love the double standard when it comes to boobs.

Room full of girls talking about boobs? Just another Tuesday.

Room full of dudes talking about boobs? Dirty.

Room full of dudes talking to girls about boobs? Sexual harassment.

Did you ever see that PETA commercial that was deemed too dirty for the Superbowl? I’ve always been a secret fan of it.

There was a comedian on television last night that was disappointed with the negative connotation of that came from a name like BOObies.

He proposed a name change to YAYbies! Or HURRAYbies! (the latter is a little too close to rabies for my personal taste.)

I hated my yaybies in eight grade. Out of nowhere…BOOM! C cups. Then I learned how to use them for good. Recently I learned that a good set of yaybies can make a cute dress cuter and can balance out substantial hips with style. Sure I complain about them, but if I didn’t have them? You betcha I would have looked into buying some by now.

Is it right that there’s a double standard? Probably not. But every time my husband wonders how I get anything done with a good set of yaybies to play with? I may act disgusted but I’m gloating inside.

I’m well aware of how fantastic they are. Those of us who have them? We all know how fantastic they are, we just let you believe otherwise.

Leucadia Farmer's Market Pomegranates

DANIEL:

This was the first image where I was tempted to take a look of Casey’s written interpretation (don’t worry, I didn’t). I have no idea what these things are. But whatever, right?

It got me thinking about Sandra Lee from the Food Network. She often uses a ziploc bag to dispense whipped cream or other things. She cuts the corner of the bag so she can frost a cake or add a dollop of cream to a cupcake. It’s pretty cool. I’m impressed.

These vegetables/fruits made me think of stuff like that for some reason. Simple solutions. There are lots of them out there.

I strongly believe I invented the move where you add dressing to a salad and then shake it in its container. It works every time.

I hang my shirt up in the bathroom when I shower. I didn’t invent that, but in my younger years, I was convinced it de-wrinkled it for me. Ha ha ha. There’s now way it ever did.

I definitely invented the move where you have the barista add sugar into the drink while making it. There’s something special about adding raw sugar into a hot drink as it’s being constructed. And it saves those awkward encounters where people are adding milk/sugar to their drinks at the little bar area.

I’m one of the fastest people through airline security. I invented a series of moves. Place everything in the bag – belt, wallet, watch, phone, bling, you name it. Only carry your ticket and ID. Untie your shoes. Take your laptop out while you wait in line. Attack the conveyor belt like it’s a challenge and with confidence. I invented this technique and I should teach people.

I like to over-tip for average or above average service. I certainly didn’t invent that, but it’s a mantra in my life. You should adopt it too.

I love riding my bicycle and I always bring a plastic bag to cover the seat in case it rains. That’s another invention of mine. There’s nothing worse than sitting on a wet seat. If I have an extra one, I’ll put it on someone else’s bike.

There are simple things we do on a daily basis that are taken for granted. But when you really think about them, it’s clear what a big role they play. They simplify yes. They may make you laugh. They may make you sound outrageous. Either way, it’s how we’re getting through life.

How are you getting through life?

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Categories casey started it.

cherry means perfect.

By casey mullins
July 9, 2010 //
7

(new here? read this first.)

¡Hola! Mi llamo es Casey and I take very good care of my nails. All twenty of them. Even the goofy little toes that I thought turned inward as a result of a lifetime of ballet, but guess what? My kid has the same toes. And they’re trouble. Genetic trouble. Sorry grandkids!

Lest you think I’m looking at your nails and silently judging your nail care routine, I assure you I am not. Well. Unless I’m having a really bad day. Then I may sneak a peek and take comfort in the fact that even though my entire life is falling down around me? At least my nails still look good. Or at least better than that guy’s over there.

A lot has gone wrong with my body. A lot has broken over the last few years. But one thing that stays pretty consistent, not to mention one of the few things I have control over? My nails. Twenty little perfectly polished and shaped beacons of hope. I will never grow stray hairs from my nails. I will never get zits on my nails the day before a big event. My nails will never gain or lose 20 pounds and have the stretch marks to prove it. My nails don’t bloat. (And if they ever do any of these? Heaven help us all.)

Aside from the occasional hangnail and car door (yeah. that one hurt.) my nails are my constant.

Thanks guys. 20 times over.

cherry cherry.

Yo, what’s up? This is Daniel.

I’ve never had a manicure or pedicure. People have been getting them for centuries. And I’ve never done it. I’m tempted. Maybe one day. It might be a man thing. It might be about intimidation. Not sure.

In terms of grooming, I keep clean, I’m looking forward to turning gray and I kind of hate shaving. If I had it my way, I would shave once or twice a week.

I visited an uncle in Palermo, Sicily in the 1990′s. I arrived after weeks of backpacking through Europe, drinking lots of wine, eating cheese, reading and not shaving. There was a definite language barrier, but that didn’t stop us from immediately driving to a barber shop where I was given a straight razor shave. I was partly terrified and partly intrigued. I left clean shaven with cuts. I smelled magnificent. My Uncle looked at me in a new light.

Since then, I always try to get a wet shave every few years. I spent 20 Euros on the island of Capri (I got ripped off). I’ve had one in downtown Indianapolis the morning of a dear friend’s wedding. I even walked into a barber shop in Kusadasi, Turkey and pointed at stubble. Again, I left with cuts, but I smelled like a man. Man, alive.

It’s now become a rite of passage for me. And I’m plotting the next experience. I’ll pass this onto my son. And I hope one day he’ll walk into a barber shop somewhere out there and ask for a shave. Or a manicure.

***Hi! this is Casey…I just have to say that this was completely coincidence that we both chose to write about fingernails. Neither of us peeked or discussed our views on this photo before we hit publish. Cool, right?***

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sandwiched.

By casey mullins
July 2, 2010 //
4

(new here? read this first.)

casey’s first.

There was a time that I didn’t know what death looked like first hand, I didn’t have to worry about another’s ulterior motives and I didn’t have to think about a single food I put into my mouth (aside from kiwis and avocados…I’ve always known they make my mouth itchy but never really cared.) There was a time I looked forward to every day.

There was a time when a picture was just a snapshot I took of my best friend eating a sandwich in the Neiman Marcus cafe in Union Square at the beginning of our first ever weekend weekend away together. Now it’s a memory of a better time. A time when both of us didn’t know about death first hand. A time when neither of us knew about the awful in the world. A moment where our friendship, and we individually, were invincible.

And oddly enough, both able to eat gluten.

Daniel’s take

What’s the deal with focaccia bread?

It’s fancy. It’s different. It’s hard to spell.

You get it at foux foux cafes. I like it. Not sure I trust it.

It adds at least $4 to a sandwich.

It leaves a slight oily residue on your fingers.

Sometimes, it crumbles in your lap and leaves a stuff on your pants.

That’s what focaccia is capable of doing.

It’s great in a food fight, though.

A baguette is solid. A roll will suffice. Giant pretzels, rye loaves, bread sticks, slices and a boule aren’t bad. But they’re no focaccia.

Focaccia flies through the air with grace, with sophistication and panache. It allows for precision.

It may lack the impact of a hardened baguette, but it makes up for it with the penetration of olive oil or rosemary residue.  And you get to yell, “You got focaccia-d”.

The next time you’re at a fancy café, family reunion, boring lunch or job interview, order the focaccia and see what happens. You’ll earn instant respect.

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