Known for their wild theatrics, party atmosphere and comical music concerts, the Blue Man Group offers a truly unique form of entertainment. You may find yourself wondering what it takes to act like a Blue Man. Now you too can explore the possibilities and find the Blue Man inside you, an enigmatic character with the desire to take a chance.
More articles......
Step1
Exercise. Blue Men have a physically demanding career so Blue Man Group members are of athletic build. Performances often include improvisational dance, so consider a dance class.
Step2
Practice your drumming skills. Blue Man Group performances employ a wide array of percussion styles, so strong drumming skills are key to acting like a Blue Man.
Step3
Use gestures to communicate non-verbally. Blue Men convey emotion honestly and dramatically without speaking, so explore your own unique way of non-verbal communication and free your inner Blue Man.
Step4
Dress the part, now that you are practiced and ready. Find yourself an all black outfit and paint every square inch of exposed skin with blue body paint.
Step5
Let go of your ego, embrace your charismatic qualities, have fun and find the Blue Man inside of you.
Find and buy tickets by places
2008-08-14
2008-08-12
Love is boring
Yes, blink a few more times. Accidentally spit out your coffee. Wipe the sleep out of your eyes. You read it right:
Love is boring!
Whenever I've asked single people to define "true love," many have shot out some pretty twisted, outrageous ideas. They talk about "seeing the world together." They describe holing up in seductive hotel rooms with chilled champagne, silk teddies and maybe even a few naughty movies or sex toys. They wax poetic about spending days with their person snuggled under the covers talking about their childhoods. They speak of dancing in chic nightclubs interspersed with cold martini breaks in the cigar room. And it's always going to be this way, forever and ever, amen.
Whoa. There are gonna be a lot of disappointed couples out there if this shit keeps perpetuating itself. Because brethren and sisteren (is that even a word?), you haven't described "love," you've described a terminal state of extreme infatuation. A state that is impossible to sustain for its duration, unless you're a couple in a soap opera or a Harlequin Romance novel. Okay, so maybe you're still in high school. I'll cut you some slack if you are.
When I think of "love" in the truest sense, the words that come to mind: peace, serenity, quiet, predictability, stability ... yes, even boredom, although I suppose that's too harsh of a word. What I'm trying to say is that deep, abiding love has nothing to do with the scintillating scenarios described above. Those are flash-in-the-pan experiences, and while they're all great fun, they're just the mimosa that gets you drunk really quick first thing in the morning. They're not the meat and potatoes that you're going to need to exist for a lifetime.
I think of the most profound ways that I've shown my love. It's never been in grandiose gestures; it's always been in small, quiet ways. His favorite shirt has a stain, so I hunt down the best spot remover in the store and go to work on getting the stain out. I do his laundry along with mine and feel good, knowing that he's got clean clothes to wear. I run his errands if I have the time. I write the checks for the bills and get them sent out. I stitch up buttons and remember to buy his favorite bath soap at the store. I clean the bathroom. The really nasty bathroom, pee splatter, beard hair in the sink. I might complain about it to my gal pals, but in the end I don't mind that much. If I did, I wouldn't be doing it in the first place.
Sometimes a man will wistfully recall that his mother made fabulous chicken and dumplings -- his favorite meal. So I'll surprise him that night with his favorite dish (of course, after asking whether the dumplings Mom made were fluffy or more of the "flat" variety). Whenever he's sick with the 'flu, you better believe I'll come home from work at lunch to check on him, armed with Nyquil, Gatorade and Campbell's chicken soup, as well as an armful of video rentals. I might even take a sick day myself.
That's my way to love. Is it yours?
Let's take it a deeper. Do you care enough about your person to see that he or she is on a health insurance plan? That the taxes are filed on time? That the two of you have a pension saved up on which to retire? Do you love them enough to sit down with them and discuss what will happen if they or you get put on life support, and do you trust them enough to make the decision that *you* would want made? Do they know your preferred funeral plans? Someone who shares those things with you loves you. Truly, madly, deeply. And they cannot do without you, not on a bet.
Couples who are extremely infatuated talk about having children, yes. They pick out names and they discuss whether they want a girl or a boy, who their children will look like. This is just darling, isn't it? Sort of like the kind of conversation one might have with a middle school crush. But two people who love each other discuss what happens if they don't get the perfect child. How will they handle a child with Down's Syndrome? Or a behavioral problem? Is your person prepared, emotionally and financially, for all of this? And what about education -- private, public, or home school? How much will it cost for little Joe or Sally, Jr. to go to college? If you love each other, your language will be pragmatic and focused on problem-solving. Not envisioning the mini-us created "out of our love together."
People who are infatuated gift differently -- and more selfishly -- than those who love. When Part Une and I married, he spent a embarrassing amount of money carting us around the country for two months. I took an unpaid leave, and he hadn't found a job yet. When we got home, I found out that was all the money we had. Not only that, but the pretty chunk of change he'd spent hadn't been taxed by the IRS. This threw us is a hole from which we didn't recover for years. Yes, we had a romantic time. But blowing our cash didn't show me he loved me; it showed that he had to have the external stimuli in order to feel "in love." See, I didn't need a helicopter ride over the Grand Canyon or a misty walk on the San Francisco piers. We could have stayed home, watched movies, and snuggled on the couch, and I would have been happy.
Scarily, so many couples adhere to the serial monogamy principle (see C.C.'S blog and all the comments that one garnered). Once the bloom goes off of the rose, they're convinced that it's gone to shit. These are some of the most unhappy people I've ever met, because they keep throwing one good thing away after the other, always thinking that the next person is going to be "the one" to sustain their excitement. This never happens, of course. Someone wakes up and notices that after three months of eating nothing but chocolate cake and caviar, the kitchen needs cleaning, so they get out the Brillo pad. About this time, the other realizes there's no more money left to zip off to the Caymans. They've gazed into each other's eyes night after night and told each other every childhood story there is to tell and revealed every secret. Now that they've expended the pillow talk, they argue over why they're not having a blast 24/7 and who's fault is THAT? Or maybe one party brings up a topic of a serious nature, like I mentioned above. Uh-oh! This isn't fun anymore ... um .... NEXT?
Both retreat to their respective corners and confab with their friends and family members. The relationship is dead in the water. Magic is gone. Sex is predictable. Boring! No, no, it isn't, friends. What you have now is ... love. Pure love. You've moved into the best and richest part of your lives together -- the forever part. The I-can-trust-you part. The you-can-become-my-most-trusted-friend part. This love is quieter, a slow, steady flame that can warm you gently. If you just let it. If you're prepared to be occasionally ... bored.
In my last blog, Just Jeff asked me basically, "Why monogamy?" Because one day I want to look into aged eyes who've seen my body change with time, who knows my history as well as he does his own. This will be the only person who ultimately matters: the last person. And I want that person, see. I know the value of that person. Most of my relatives are older. Most of them have lost mates. I pay close attention to what they say they miss about their person. And it's always the small things. He misses the way the house smelled when he got home at night, of warm pot roast, that meat and potatoes he thought would always be on the table. She misses having someone to go to church with, starching his work shirts when she does the wash. My mom misses hearing the sound of the lawnmower outside on Saturday mornings, when my dad used to cut the grass. But most of all, they miss, desperately miss, having someone to cover their backs when times get really tough. When they get lonely and just want to know that there's someone who loves them in the next room rattling the paper.
I don't know this for sure, but true love must be horrible. Terrible. The worst thing to ever endure. To see the person you love grow frail and forgetful. To see them lose the ability to walk on their own, perhaps in a wheelchair; oh, how that must hurt. To be the last face your beloved sees, or for theirs to be yours. And to know this will happen one day. There will be no memories of hot tussles under the sheets with people who don't matter anymore. Just the memory of one quiet day when you noticed the curve of their handsome, familiar face highlighted in a shaft of sunlight. The sum of all their smiles.
I look forward to the quiet, predictable phase of my next relationship or marriage. The thought of going through all of the high drama of courtship is just exhausting at this point, and not to say that it has its own perks, but I know it's only going to be temporary. I certainly don't plan on culling my most important memories from that "in lust" time. I would love more than anything to meet the man who, after a couple of exciting nights out, says, "Why don't you come over and read on the couch while I do some work in my office. I'd just like to know that you're in the next room, if I need you."
I'm looking forward to true love ...
___________________________________
In what small ways do you show your love for your current or past person? Did they appreciate those small things? Does true love ever get boring for you?
Find and buy tickets by category
Love is boring!
Whenever I've asked single people to define "true love," many have shot out some pretty twisted, outrageous ideas. They talk about "seeing the world together." They describe holing up in seductive hotel rooms with chilled champagne, silk teddies and maybe even a few naughty movies or sex toys. They wax poetic about spending days with their person snuggled under the covers talking about their childhoods. They speak of dancing in chic nightclubs interspersed with cold martini breaks in the cigar room. And it's always going to be this way, forever and ever, amen.
Whoa. There are gonna be a lot of disappointed couples out there if this shit keeps perpetuating itself. Because brethren and sisteren (is that even a word?), you haven't described "love," you've described a terminal state of extreme infatuation. A state that is impossible to sustain for its duration, unless you're a couple in a soap opera or a Harlequin Romance novel. Okay, so maybe you're still in high school. I'll cut you some slack if you are.
When I think of "love" in the truest sense, the words that come to mind: peace, serenity, quiet, predictability, stability ... yes, even boredom, although I suppose that's too harsh of a word. What I'm trying to say is that deep, abiding love has nothing to do with the scintillating scenarios described above. Those are flash-in-the-pan experiences, and while they're all great fun, they're just the mimosa that gets you drunk really quick first thing in the morning. They're not the meat and potatoes that you're going to need to exist for a lifetime.
I think of the most profound ways that I've shown my love. It's never been in grandiose gestures; it's always been in small, quiet ways. His favorite shirt has a stain, so I hunt down the best spot remover in the store and go to work on getting the stain out. I do his laundry along with mine and feel good, knowing that he's got clean clothes to wear. I run his errands if I have the time. I write the checks for the bills and get them sent out. I stitch up buttons and remember to buy his favorite bath soap at the store. I clean the bathroom. The really nasty bathroom, pee splatter, beard hair in the sink. I might complain about it to my gal pals, but in the end I don't mind that much. If I did, I wouldn't be doing it in the first place.
Sometimes a man will wistfully recall that his mother made fabulous chicken and dumplings -- his favorite meal. So I'll surprise him that night with his favorite dish (of course, after asking whether the dumplings Mom made were fluffy or more of the "flat" variety). Whenever he's sick with the 'flu, you better believe I'll come home from work at lunch to check on him, armed with Nyquil, Gatorade and Campbell's chicken soup, as well as an armful of video rentals. I might even take a sick day myself.
That's my way to love. Is it yours?
Let's take it a deeper. Do you care enough about your person to see that he or she is on a health insurance plan? That the taxes are filed on time? That the two of you have a pension saved up on which to retire? Do you love them enough to sit down with them and discuss what will happen if they or you get put on life support, and do you trust them enough to make the decision that *you* would want made? Do they know your preferred funeral plans? Someone who shares those things with you loves you. Truly, madly, deeply. And they cannot do without you, not on a bet.
Couples who are extremely infatuated talk about having children, yes. They pick out names and they discuss whether they want a girl or a boy, who their children will look like. This is just darling, isn't it? Sort of like the kind of conversation one might have with a middle school crush. But two people who love each other discuss what happens if they don't get the perfect child. How will they handle a child with Down's Syndrome? Or a behavioral problem? Is your person prepared, emotionally and financially, for all of this? And what about education -- private, public, or home school? How much will it cost for little Joe or Sally, Jr. to go to college? If you love each other, your language will be pragmatic and focused on problem-solving. Not envisioning the mini-us created "out of our love together."
People who are infatuated gift differently -- and more selfishly -- than those who love. When Part Une and I married, he spent a embarrassing amount of money carting us around the country for two months. I took an unpaid leave, and he hadn't found a job yet. When we got home, I found out that was all the money we had. Not only that, but the pretty chunk of change he'd spent hadn't been taxed by the IRS. This threw us is a hole from which we didn't recover for years. Yes, we had a romantic time. But blowing our cash didn't show me he loved me; it showed that he had to have the external stimuli in order to feel "in love." See, I didn't need a helicopter ride over the Grand Canyon or a misty walk on the San Francisco piers. We could have stayed home, watched movies, and snuggled on the couch, and I would have been happy.
Scarily, so many couples adhere to the serial monogamy principle (see C.C.'S blog and all the comments that one garnered). Once the bloom goes off of the rose, they're convinced that it's gone to shit. These are some of the most unhappy people I've ever met, because they keep throwing one good thing away after the other, always thinking that the next person is going to be "the one" to sustain their excitement. This never happens, of course. Someone wakes up and notices that after three months of eating nothing but chocolate cake and caviar, the kitchen needs cleaning, so they get out the Brillo pad. About this time, the other realizes there's no more money left to zip off to the Caymans. They've gazed into each other's eyes night after night and told each other every childhood story there is to tell and revealed every secret. Now that they've expended the pillow talk, they argue over why they're not having a blast 24/7 and who's fault is THAT? Or maybe one party brings up a topic of a serious nature, like I mentioned above. Uh-oh! This isn't fun anymore ... um .... NEXT?
Both retreat to their respective corners and confab with their friends and family members. The relationship is dead in the water. Magic is gone. Sex is predictable. Boring! No, no, it isn't, friends. What you have now is ... love. Pure love. You've moved into the best and richest part of your lives together -- the forever part. The I-can-trust-you part. The you-can-become-my-most-trusted-friend part. This love is quieter, a slow, steady flame that can warm you gently. If you just let it. If you're prepared to be occasionally ... bored.
In my last blog, Just Jeff asked me basically, "Why monogamy?" Because one day I want to look into aged eyes who've seen my body change with time, who knows my history as well as he does his own. This will be the only person who ultimately matters: the last person. And I want that person, see. I know the value of that person. Most of my relatives are older. Most of them have lost mates. I pay close attention to what they say they miss about their person. And it's always the small things. He misses the way the house smelled when he got home at night, of warm pot roast, that meat and potatoes he thought would always be on the table. She misses having someone to go to church with, starching his work shirts when she does the wash. My mom misses hearing the sound of the lawnmower outside on Saturday mornings, when my dad used to cut the grass. But most of all, they miss, desperately miss, having someone to cover their backs when times get really tough. When they get lonely and just want to know that there's someone who loves them in the next room rattling the paper.
I don't know this for sure, but true love must be horrible. Terrible. The worst thing to ever endure. To see the person you love grow frail and forgetful. To see them lose the ability to walk on their own, perhaps in a wheelchair; oh, how that must hurt. To be the last face your beloved sees, or for theirs to be yours. And to know this will happen one day. There will be no memories of hot tussles under the sheets with people who don't matter anymore. Just the memory of one quiet day when you noticed the curve of their handsome, familiar face highlighted in a shaft of sunlight. The sum of all their smiles.
I look forward to the quiet, predictable phase of my next relationship or marriage. The thought of going through all of the high drama of courtship is just exhausting at this point, and not to say that it has its own perks, but I know it's only going to be temporary. I certainly don't plan on culling my most important memories from that "in lust" time. I would love more than anything to meet the man who, after a couple of exciting nights out, says, "Why don't you come over and read on the couch while I do some work in my office. I'd just like to know that you're in the next room, if I need you."
I'm looking forward to true love ...
___________________________________
In what small ways do you show your love for your current or past person? Did they appreciate those small things? Does true love ever get boring for you?
Find and buy tickets by category
2008-08-11
How to Act Like a Supporting Character in a Mob Film
Everyone wants to be a gangster (if not a gangsta), so why not emulate one of those bizarrely memorable weirdos that populate mob films. Here are tips on how to do it.
Step1
Look the part. Slick that hair and get the threads befitting a man of your credentials. You'll need that style to blend in during those critical backroom card games.
Step2
Get a nickname. It can refer to some inexplicable verbal tic (see Jimmy Two-Times from "Goodfellas") or to a physical characteristic. Often nicknames are purposefully inappropriate, as in pretty much any mobster named "Big" or "Little" something. Sometimes these names do not make any sense.
Step3
Hang out and do mobster stuff, before inevitably getting whacked two-thirds of the way into the film because some job went terribly wrong.
http://www.freewebtown.com/howtodothing/arts-entertainment/5.htm#1
Step1
Look the part. Slick that hair and get the threads befitting a man of your credentials. You'll need that style to blend in during those critical backroom card games.
Step2
Get a nickname. It can refer to some inexplicable verbal tic (see Jimmy Two-Times from "Goodfellas") or to a physical characteristic. Often nicknames are purposefully inappropriate, as in pretty much any mobster named "Big" or "Little" something. Sometimes these names do not make any sense.
Step3
Hang out and do mobster stuff, before inevitably getting whacked two-thirds of the way into the film because some job went terribly wrong.
http://www.freewebtown.com/howtodothing/arts-entertainment/5.htm#1
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