Archives for posts with tag: Casey Mullins

(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?

(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?***

(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.

(new here? read this first.)

Casey’s turn.

I didn’t think much past the fact that she had hired me to take pictures of them. They were mother and daughter, made even more apparent by their amazing red hair. I clicked away, capturing giggles, hugs, smiles and two sets of beautiful blue green eyes.

We made small talk about food, weather and Elmo. All the while I was hoping and praying that at least one of these pictures would turn out and that she’d be happy that she chose me to take them.

When I went through them the next day I breathed a huge sigh of relief. There were several I knew she’d be pleased with.

The last one I shot was the epitome of a two year old. Head buried in mom’s legs unwilling to take one more command or go one step further.

I remember those days. Well.

It wasn’t anything fantastic, the shadows were harsh due to the high sun and you can’t see anyones face.

But I included it anyway.

I found out afterwards that she is a widow. And that her daughter looks just like her late husband.

I was honored she trusted me take their pictures. But what struck me the most? The picture I added in as an afterthought? She emailed me back with this…

“BTW, I just looked at the shot of us in front of the 2 with my arms outstretched and the shadow is perfect because Jim’s there even if he’s not, you know?”

I was photographing angels and I didn’t even know it.

Hi. This is Daniel. And this is a great shot.

It was hard to ignore the repetition of two’s. The Robert Indiana Number 2, two arms, two arm shadows, two humans, and two fuzzy bushes. 2x2x2x2x2x2. I thought about 2’s, for the next couple of days. Get it?

I love repetition, symmetry and natural patterns. It made me think of other two’s out there.

Deuce Bigalow & US soccer player Clint Dempsey (Deuce), as well as all the other uses of the #2 or deuce, in tennis, in baseball (the curveball), cards, toilet humor and more. ‘nuff said.

First, there was The Godfather. Then came The Godfather II. Is there a better movie sequel out there? I really think not. Brilliance.

There’s that 1889 Eiffel Tower in Paris, France. There’s also the one in Vegas, 1999. I’ll leave it to you to pick your favorite. Simulacrum.

Staying with the Paris theme. There’s the Louvre in Paris (remember the Da Vinci Code?) and coming soon, the Louvre Abu Dhabi. And Guggenheim for that matter. They should do a Sex in the City movie there too. Sarcasm.

Nothing says pairs like Noah’s Ark.

Geek time. iPhone first release. iPhone 3G. It’s what I roll with.  Version 2. But I want 4. 2×2.

In nuclear physics, 2 is a magic number. Not sure what that means either.

Beck released his 1st album for David Geffen Records – Mellow Gold, and followed that up with the superb second, Odelay. Sissyneck!

We were brought the Jersey Shore. And then MTV signed them for a second season. Thanks.

A peace sign uses two fingers. Flip it around, and it means something very different.  Especially in England.

A-Team the TV show – it played a big role in my upbringing. A-Team the movie. Fool.

And it does takes two to tango. Alliteration.

I haven’t really mentioned companionship or the role of student and mentor. Or the obvious, parent and child. When it gets down to it, this picture reminds me that we’re all in this together.  Sometimes we help others. Sometimes we’re helped. But no matter what, we’re always connected to someone.

And sometimes, it helps to just bury your face in someone and giggle.

BTW, this is our second post.

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