Beating the Blues

Last weekend My Sweet and I celebrated our anniversary by trekking out to our fine capitol city in order to check out BMG. No, not the music company, which sends you a new CD every month even if you send back their stupid card saying you don't desire and defiantly don't want to spend hard earned cash on the American Idol Runners-up Compilation. We went to see the percussionist commentators on society - the Blue Man Group. Take a look at these forearms of titanium steel.




I loved the not so subtle jibes, especially ones not pertaining to me, that comprise the rules of becoming a megastar. One that made me laugh Pepsi out my nose was that a megastar needs to have choreographed moves. The audience will be distracted and thus won't notice the lack of musical talent. Humm, I can not think of a single substanceless singer who mostly is known for looking good in videos and appealing to preteens who haven’t developed a sense of depth in the music they listen to. Sorry, I mean I don't know any young pop megastars who uses this method. This includes pop megastars with hair issues and getting too old to appeal to preteenies and haven't had a big hit in a very long time and thus have to find extreme ways to stay in the news despite the danger or neglect to their infant children, not to mention embarrassment these children may feel when they grow up and have to be reminded by their classmates that their mother, or father, did something that was so horribly revealing. Ok, that was snarky and grammatically convoluted on my part.

And while the BMG was mock-mimicking conformity in work and personal life, they were also commenting on how something like a concert is a communal event where we, at least for a wile, watch, say and experience the same thing. This is noted in the following rule of the Blue Man Megastar Manual.

Concert Movement #237 Taking the audience on a Jungian journey into the collective unconscious by using the shadow as a metaphor for the primal self that gets repressed by the modern persona and also by using an underground setting and labyrinth office design to represent both the depths of the psyche and the dungeon-like isolation of our increasingly mechanistic society which prevents people from finding satisfying work or meaningful connections with others.

In this society of instant messaging, headphones and buying on line, it is kind of nice to be reminded to have some communal experiences every once in a while. It does something for the soul.

And by the way, I just spent the last quarter of an hour playing with Concert Movement # 37 Floppie the Banjo Clown.

Joie de Vivre ~ A Hearty Joy of Living!

１８２5 Days

The time right now is 6:00 pm. It was 157680000 seconds, or 2628000 minutes, or 43800 hours, or 1825 days, or 5 years ago from this moment that my friends doodah and Fellow Fanilow were doing up my hair and fixing boutonniere bungles.

While I could sit at the feet of those who have stayed with each other for decades, there are a few things I have learned.

1. I totally understand why honeymoons are ideally a couple of weeks long; it takes a good two weeks to be able to sleep the night through. No, not because of that. Every time he rolled over or got restless legs I'd wake up. If I had to get up early in the morning I'd have been a grouchy Grendel, which I was.

2. Love is not red roses. I can buy my own flowers. Instead My Sweet is the one who will go out in the rain to get the car from the parking lot. He is the one who, even though he isn't going to sleep for several hours, would come snuggle with me until I fell asleep.

3. There is something more effective in winning an argument then well timed tears, willingness to give up, temporarily, and the control of the remote.

4. When we were dating, My Sweet often asked me my opinion about things. Now I can say something and he acts as if I am a talking rag doll. The same words come out of my brother in law, neighbor, mechanic or recycling collector are not only pearls of wisdom, but down right diamond encrusted crown jewels. So get your recycling collector to tell your spouse what you want them to do.

5. If the crying/remote thing doesn't work twist something they say so you can reply, "So, are you saying you think I am fat?" They have nowhere to stand after that.

6. (I was going for one point per year, but I plan to be married for year six.) PMS and stress at work are no reason to snap at each other. Him eating the last of the good chocolate or putting his Netflix movie above mine - that is when becoming a snapping turtle with lockjaw is constitutional.

So, for people married less than me here are some words of advice (just pretend your recycle guy told you). And for people married more than half a decade, please feel free to leave any gold encrusted pearl of wisdom.


Joie de Vivre ~ A Hearty Joy of Living!