Old Holiday, New Video

Will She Be Home for Christmas?

That is, of course, the question burning in everyone's mind throughout the year. Well, let's be honest, I could simply let you know whether or not she will be, but then I would deprive you of the mysterious mystery and anticipatory anticipation of finding out for yourself; let's not even mention the joy and happiness you'll get from watching the video all the way to the end. Yes, here it is, this year's Christmas production, courtesy of Jae and yours truly. This year we present that old jazzy classic...
 

I'll Be Home for Christmas

As every year we had the very best of intentions to start planning the video sometime in September, shoot in October, edit in November, and publish in December. And, as every year, none of this happened according to plan. December 22nd comes around, and we look at each other, yelling in unison, "Oh, Snap! What about this year's Christmas video?"

So, after firing up the old synapses, trying to come up with a couple of ideas before the day is done, shooting it while dinner is simmering on the stove, and making the old computer do somersaults trying to render this stuff lickety-split (and if you know anything about computers, you know that "lickety-split" is NEVER how things work), I'm glad to report that the video made it out into the world, and, if you hurry, you could be among the very first to lay eyes on it. As usual we added a bit of our own brand of quirky silliness to the mix. Just wait until you see the stylish choreography I came up with - It's a doozy!

Hopefully you'll enjoy watching it as much as we enjoyed making it.

Merry Christmas, everyone... And a joyous and successful New Year!

T & Jae

A Story About Penguins

It's been a loooong time coming. My beloved Jae, aka Nanny BluJae, and I, have finally finished the children's book we've had in the works for over a year. Jae wrote the story and yours truly provided the illustrations. Between all the things life has thrown at us over this past year (courtesy of Murphy), it was a stop and go process; emphasizing the STOP part far too many times. Yet, it's finally here, and we are more than proud to present to you...
 

Five Little Penguins
~At the North Pole~

If you have little ones, you know how important (and how much fun) it is to spend quality time with them. And what could provide better quality than reading to them and with them. This cute story teaches them some basic counting skills, about keeping warm in the winter, and the value of friendship. And to top it all off, it contains a link to Nanny BluJae's latest hit single The Penguin Shake. Trust me, the little ones love to shake along to this fun tune... The book is currently available in paperback and eBook formats on Amazon as well as through CasualCreates.art, and will soon be available in hardcover as well.

And with that I bid 2021 adieu, and hope that all of you good people out there stay safe, stay healthy, and most of all find happiness and joy in this life... Because if YOU don't, ain't nobody gonna find it for ya!!

- T

From One Father to All Others

 

Other than Christmas and the birthdays of a few select family members and close friends, I'm quite oblivious to holidays and festivities of all kinds, be they national, international, or all across the galaxy. Furthermore it seems that pretty much every group of people, or animals, or things, or activities, has some sort of "Day" these days. I think we pretty much jumped the shark as a species when the UN instituted WORLD TOILET DAY (it's on November 19th. Check it out, if you don't believe me). And just as an aside, why in the blazes is International Men's Day on the same date as World Toilet Day... Coincidence?? But let's move on.

So it should come as no big surprise that Father's Day usually comes as a big surprise to me. Which is exactly what happened again this year. The main indicator that something was afoot was that I received an early morning email with the subject line "Lack These Two Minerals And Risk A Permanent Limp Penis." Yup, definitely Father's Day. After ordering a month's supply of these "crucial penis minerals," I said to myself that something needs to be done about all of this, and grabbed my pen (a modern day metaphor for keyboard) and a freshly squeezed piece of paper (a modern day metaphor for computer screen) and got to work. The fruit of this labor you, dearest reader, are about to enjoy. Which I sincerely hope you will.

Once Per Annum

(A Father's Day Poem)

Composed by a father to honor fathers who are fathers, fathers who were, fathers who were fathers, and fathers who are, as of yet, to be fathers, and even fathers to be, as well as father’s fathers, fathers of fathers to be, and fathers of fathers who may not yet know that they are, will be, or may, perhaps, get a shot at being fathers. And now, before this goes any father, and without father ado, please sit back and enjoy (whether you’re a father or not).

Father! Father! Father!

We don't want to be a bother

We come with gifts

And presents, too

Some socks, a tie

And one brown shoe

The other one we sadly lost

But, nonetheless, we love you most

Because you're cool, and strong, and wise

And that should come as no surprise

So, on this day of fatherhood

We hope you're feeling extra good

Please know that we all do love you

Even with just one brown shoe

Written by Casual-T on the 20th day of the sixth month in the year 2021, according to the Gregorian calendar, somewhere in the middle of Indiana. How he got there, we may never know. Even he is not too sure on the specifics!

When in Doubt - Be Merry

This year has been quite a doozy, and I would be lying if I told you 2020 was all I had hoped for when it all started, these 12 long months ago. Well, I'm sure we all could go on and on, but I figured it would be best to simply charge forward and try and make the best of it.

With that being said, there is, of course, one major ingredient still missing to ensure everyone's merriment and full-on holiday cheer on this beautiful Christmas eve... Uhm... December 26th. Yes, yes, here it is, the thing you've all been patiently waiting for; it's T & Jae's annual Christmas presentation.

As every year, we put together a little something which we hope will brighten your day, make you smile and giggle, and, perhaps, make you say "Oh my, what a talented bunch these guys are." Jae is doing the singing, young Casual is looking cute, and I'm responsible for the music, the video, and the on-set catering (I make a mean taco salad... Just sayin'!). So without any further ado, here is our quirky rendition of...

Little Drummer Boy

As so often, things didn't quite go according to plan, and video production was running way behind schedule. Although, nothing a couple of all-nighters couldn't fix. And fix it they did. We do hope this little ditty brings you a bit of joy, even if just a little. We had plenty of fun recording it, so it is your patriotic duty, in the spirit of teamwork, to have a blast watching it. Merriment shall now commence!!

Have a wonderful, magical, and joyful Christmas. Hug those you like, kiss those you love, and most importantly, stay strong and live life to the fullest!

Merry Christmas good people of the world...

T & Jae

Christmas!

It's the most wonderful peaceful sexy stressful time of the year. Christmas means so many different things to so many different people, but some things we all can count on when it comes to the season of forgiveness, holly jolly sugar overload, eggnog induced tummy aches, and maxing out your credit cards. Here's a short and not very comprehensive list:

1. The anxiety you feel when there's another little off-pink sticker on the front door, saying that you've yet again missed the mailman.
2. The stress of trying to finish Christmas shopping in time to miss the mailman, who is just now leaving another little sticker on your front door.
3. Running to the store on December 24th, because the package you've been waiting for, wasn't redelievered by the mailman, who just left a sticker on the front door while you were out trying to finish Christmas shopping in time to miss the mailman, who left a sticker... You see where this is going!
4. A Christmas video featuring Mrs. Casual, aka Jae Parris on those sultry vocals, yours truly, Casual-T, on most everything else, with a special guest appearance by Butterfingers Slim on the slide whistle (we flew him in from Lapland, particularly for this incredible performance. Not a cheap endeavor, but well worth it, I'm sure you'll agree).

I'll leave it up to you to decide which of these is your favorite.

This year we present a fancy version of that old Bobby Helms Christmas classic "Jingle Bell Rock." Let the sultry vocals of that gorgeous lass, Jae Parris, and the productions and recording skills of that man, that myth, that pastry chef, Casual-T, rock your jingle bells like they've never been rocked (or jingled) before. Featuring a special guest performance by Butterfingers Slim on the slide whistle. We flew him in all the way from Lapland, for this particular performance. Not a cheap venture, but well worth it. His performance, I'm sure you'll agree, is nothing short of pretty good.

Click right > here < for some super sexy Christmas awesomeness.

And with that I'm wishing every single one of you a very merry Christmas, and a happy and successful new year. And to top it all off, here's a very special Christmas photo with yours truly moonlighting as Santa at the local mall. Gotta pay the bills somehow!!

Ho! Ho! Ho!

The Thanksgiving Tiger

And a very merry (albeit belated) gobble-gobble to one and all. Thanksgiving is one of those holidays I harbor somewhat conflicted emotions about, mainly because I never much cared for the dry and generally flavorless experience of eating turkey. Throughout the years, the thought of ingesting a bowl of freshly harvested bellybutton lint seemed more appealing to me, in terms of providing a rich array of intriguingly complex tastes and beguiling textures.

And so it was until, at last year's Thanksgiving shindig, Mrs. Casual decided to try something new and put that overgrown chicken in an oven bag. Lo and behold, Thanksgiving hasn't been the same tasteless, dry, and rather depressing affair, since that fateful decision was made. Flavor explosion is a phrase I never would have dared put in proximity to the word turkey. But here we are... Just another curve-ball the multiverse decided to throw my way.

So, to keep things in accordance with the occasion, I would like to mention that I am quite thankful for a number of things in my life, not least of which are oven bags. Anything which makes my life juicer, gets a thumbs-up from me.

And since we're on the topic of thumbs, I am also quite thankful for this blog, and for being able to share some of my ramblings with this small but ever so delectable community of readers (yes, that means you over there!). Many thanks to all involved—as well as oven bags. (How this relates to thumbs, I will leave for you to figure out. Please report back, should you find the answer.)

Now, you may be sitting there twiddling your thumbs (Aha!!), wondering what in the blazes the above picture of a tiger could possibly have to do with Thanksgiving. Well, here are a few ideas. Maybe the tiger identifies as a turkey. After all, it is the current year, and from what I’ve been witnessing as of late, nowadays one can claim to be whatever one wants to be. As long as you want it, it must be so... Or must it? (But I digress.)

On the other hand, the tiger’s connection to Thanksgiving may simply be that he just ate a turkey. Do tigers eat turkeys? I assume they do, simply because they can. If you were a tiger, wouldn't you?

Or, perhaps, the tiger is from Turkey… You see where I’m going with this.

But here's the simple truth of the matter. Mrs. Casual and I have a little Thanksgiving tradition, which is that, on Black Friday, when stores are overrun with deal-seekers, consume addicts, and those adventurous (or silly) enough to participate in the customary sales-bin stampede at the local mega-store (risking life and limb in the process), we grab the opportunity to take a leisurely walk in the other direction. We like to spend the day after Thanksgiving at the Bronx Zoo.

This year I figured it’d be a great opportunity to take the new camera for a spin. So, there I was, happily clicking away, minding my own business, capturing colorful images of tropical birds, perched on crooked branches looking like a witches index finger directing Hänsel and Gretel toward the oven; shy desert mice enjoying a nibble of fresh fruit, while hiding behind a rock looking like... a rock; when, suddenly, this fine fellow placed himself squarely in front of the lens, barely two feet away from where I stood.

The crazed look in his eyes belied his calm demeanor. I could tell he was hungry. Panic started setting in (me, not him!). Would I be able to get the shot before the monster decided to charge and rip my clothes off, so as to get to the succulent meat within? (My body has been seasoned with all manner of exotic spices and fermented marinades since before oven bags were a thing. I’m sure it would make for an exhilarating culinary experience for any tiger of class and distinction.)

Hungry tiger or not, a photographer is as a photographer does. And what a photographer does is press the shutter button. My trigger finger spasmed. The shutter crackled like a baby elephant stomping across a field of Rice Krispies. My focal point fixated on the eye of the tiger (it’s the thrill of the fight); cold nervousness running down my back. Seconds turned into lifetimes; lifetimes turned into eternities; eternities turned into whatever is longer than eternities.

Did he move? I thought I saw his shoulder jerk ever so slightly. Ready to pounce? The flame of my life mere seconds away from being extinguished. Alas, I knew he wouldn't dare kill me just yet. I hadn’t gotten that shot yet.

And then it happened. The moment in which all the pain and joy of my life, the successes and failures, doubts and convictions, tasty food and olives, culminated into one ultimate climax. "YES!" I shouted, triumphantly. “Yes, indeed!” The elephant took one more, heavy step, as I toppled backward, crumbling into a trembling heap of cold sweat and hot nerves. The perfect picture was mine. Finally.

As I lay there, I looked upon the majestic beast. His eyes became mine, and for the first time in my life I observed the world without fear. Come and feast upon my flesh, king of the jungle. I got the picture. You can kill me, but you cannot hurt me. The purpose of my existence is fulfilled. I am ready now!

I waited.

Eternities became seconds.

Without another word the tiger shrugged his shoulders, and leisurely walked away.

Confused but somewhat relieved about not having been enjoyed for lunch, I pulled myself up. Wobbly-kneed I realized that all this time there had been a 2-inch thick pane of glass separating myself from the tiger. This, I suspect, had been the main reason this Bengal royal hadn’t proposed to tear me to shreds.

And thus the story ends.

You're still sitting there? Still twiddling your thumbs? Ah… You’re probably still wondering what any of this has to do with Thanksgiving. Well, let me come straight to the point (after having spent about a thousand words of circumventing it). All this was simply to say that in addition to oven bags—which keep turkeys juicy and flavorful, and thusly a joy to eat—I'm also very thankful for glass panes of multi-inch thickness— which keep me uneaten (yet juicy and flavorful!).

Happy One-Year-Closer-to-Death Day

Every year around this time, when the days grow shorter, the nights grow colder, and the lush green ocean of leaves swaying in the summer breeze, turns into a succulent kaleidoscope of color, exploding into reds, oranges, yellows, and browns—and it’s once again time for me to get the winter tires ready for the coming traffic mess—Mrs. Casual makes it a point to remind me (repeatedly) that it's not only her birthDAY coming up at the end of the month, but rather that it is her birthMONTH, ALL month, and she intends to celebrate it that way. Yes, you read that right, four weeks of cakes with candles, presents with bows, and all manner of goodies in honor of having made it one year closer to death.

Now some of you may find the mention of the word death a bit surprising, jarring, or, perhaps, even scary; particularly when discussing the happy occasion of a loved one's birthday. And you would be well within your right to feel that way. Birthdays are, more often than not, associated with, well…birth; which, by definition, is the opposite of death. But then again, let not the fact that I have lived in New York City for an undisclosed number of decades, obfuscate the simple truth that I was born and raised in the city of Vienna—a place in the heart of Europe, known for its chocolaty treats, 150 varieties of coffee, and an age-old morbid fascination with anything having to do with death. As any good Viennese citizen knows from very early on in life, birth is merely the beginning of the end. 

This is why, in the old country, we have found a number of ways to put a less threatening spin on this whole death & dying thing. This, of course, doesn’t change the reality of death, its terminal pain and sadness, its finality and unpleasantly bitter aftertaste (for the living; the dead, on average, don’t care too much about it, one way or another)—but it puts a nice coat of sugar on top. And if there’s one thing the Viennese like, it’s to sugarcoat just about anything that isn’t already pure confectionery. 

Keeping in that spirit—of adding a sweet glaze to anything bitter and sad—there are a number of phrases used in the beautiful city of Vienna, which describe the act of handing over one's membership card in the club of the living and calling it a day for the rest of eternity, but somehow make it seem like it's just another day of you and your sweetheart floating along the gently swaying Danube in a rose-colored rowboat on a sunny summer’s day, sipping fragrant wine and munching on freshly baked Topfengolatschen (a traditional pastry and personal favorite of mine). Here are but a few translations of some of these verbal sugar coatings:  

• To stretch your slippers
• To give up the spoon
• To put on a wooden pajama
• To look at the potatoes from underneath
• To check if the cover fits (That's the coffin cover we're talking about)
• To take a ride on the 71 (The 71 is the tram that leads to one of Vienna's major cemeteries. This is the Viennese version of crossing the river Styx.)  

As I'm sure you can tell, Viennese is a wonderfully inventive language, and the creative ways the Viennese have come up with, to describing the last moments in a person’s life, without actually describing the last moments in a person’s life, are to be commended. Nonetheless, it is still death we're talking about. I therefore restate my point that every birthday we celebrate, is, in actuality, just another One-Year-Closer-to-Death day. 

Coming back to Mrs. Casual and yours truly, it is one of our annual traditions on this particular day, for me to grab my camera and a couple of snazzy lenses, for her to make sure her hair is the right color and her lips are just the right shade of red—which usually ends up with her insisting she needs to run to Sephora to grab three lipsticks, 2 different mascaras, a color-neutral foundation, and a new bottle of perfume (although I suspect the perfume has not much to do with the photo-shoot!)—and for us to venture into the wild, colorful world that is Autumn in Upstate New York.

So said, so done...And, dare I say it, the pictures seem to be getting better year by year. Could there be a correlation between getting closer to death and looking better against a backdrop of blurry blobs of colorful leaves? I'll leave it to more learned folks to figure this one out. All I can say is, the pictures came out beautifully, and I'm glad to report that neither the missus nor I are, as of yet, passengers on the 71.

Happy One-Year-Closer-to-Death Day, Babe! Hope you like the pictures…

Pets, Plants, Views... Oh My!

As fate—that fickle old rascal—might have it, a few weeks back, when summer was in full swing, and those silly little battery-powered fans you can clip onto your baseball cap, didn’t seem like such a silly idea after all, myself, the missus, and the little squirt, ended up going on vacation. Well, it was more of a glorified weekend trip to PA, but for a family of New Yorkers that most certainly qualifies as a prim and proper vacation with all the trimmings.

According to the tenets of New York City life, any activity which includes pets, greenery, and a decent view, can be considered a vacation, because daily life in the apple that never sleeps includes none of the above. Pets are not allowed in our (expensive, but too small) Bronx apartment, and plants of all religions and denominations worldwide consider me their mortal enemy (having not two, not three, but TEN brown thumbs), and the view from our apartment is exactly what one might expect from a place named after a man who unironically sported the last name of Bronck.

Thus it is with great pleasure I present to you, dearest reader, Gracie—the closest thing I'll ever have to a pet.

Gracie lives a quiet, equestrian life on a small farm in rural PA. Our eyes met the moment the blond-headed Amish boy led our small tour group into the whitewashed stable, filled to the brim with the unmistakable aroma of reality. There she stood with a yearning look and a mouthful of hay. Within a mere moment the air was abuzz with the sizzle of magic and romance (It may have been horseflies, though. I'm not 100% sure).

I said: "Why, hello Beautiful." She playfully nuzzled my forehead. I laughed gaily and pulled an extra-absorbent napkin from my pocket. I then offered her a big lump of sugar, of which I always carry a few (you never know who you might meet!). She excitedly stepped forward, graciously accepted the sweet treat, and returned the favor by giving me a massive lump on the shin. Stars filled the room, ecstasy overcame me, and twenty-two simple words imprinted themselves upon my heart: Sometimes love, true love, pure love, the kind of love that makes you go "Mhm, mhm, mhm," is so real, it hurts.

"But, Casual-T," I hear you say, "what about Mrs. Casual?" Yes, of course, you are right. I am a married man, and I love my wife dearly. I would never leave her (for a horse). But I simply can't bring myself to forget those tender, honest, and ever so bittersweet moments I shared with Gracie on that hot summer's day in Pennsylvania. I will remember her for as long as I limp. (Have you ever seen a shin the color, shape, and consistency of an eggplant? It's quite a sight to behold.)

When It Rains...

It's a rainy day, here in NYC; glum and damp, and quiet. Quite lovely, actually. The perfect opportunity to grab a good book (Wyrd Sisters won!!), maybe pull a glass of my finest cranberry juice from the rack in the cellar of my imagination (the 2011 is just delightful; nutty, yet smooth, with the tiniest twang of a tingling after-bite), and crawl into a warm corner, right next to the fireplace.

Well, so one might think. Problem is, the landlord of my over-priced NYC apartment hasn't turned on the heat yet (and probably won't until icicles make it a sporting event to dangle from my nostrils, seeing which one can hold on the longest). And a fireplace (with actual logs crackling and sparking!), let's face it, is something I only know via fairy tale descriptions by the Brothers Grimm. And just to make the experience perfect, I've existed on bread, water, and Alka-Seltzer for the last couple of days. Yes, the sickness of doom (as my family calls it), once again, has me tight between its clutches. As every year around this time of changing weather, I welcomed it like an old buddy returning from his yearly summer vacation in the southern hemisphere. "Good to see ya again, old chum. BRCHL!!" I coughed gleefully.

Sick or not; rain or shine; daily duties won't accept rain-checks from anybody, least not me. So out we go, into the wet, cold, gray, grim, fall weather (but with golden,warm sunshine, and rainbow farting unicorns in my heart!), waiting to see who's going to win this time around. "Bring it, Fall. Lemme see watcha got!" I croak, with a reverberating cough and jolly sniffle every once in a while. Then I take another dizzy step, supported by the ropes of the boxing rink of life, just to let good, old Boreas know that I may be down, but I'm not yet out.

Perhaps I'll rewatch Rocky I tonight, just to get pumped up about drinking raw egg yolk with Tabasco Sauce, and running through the rain at 4 in the morn. I'll have to pass on the one-handed push-ups, though. Every time I try, I end up with a bloody nose... So maybe just another episode of Star Trek will suffice. They just poke a phallic looking utensil with an orange light-beam shooting out of it, up your nose - Problem solved. No push-ups, running, or egg yolks required. Now where's that remote?