Archive for the Art Category


Posted in And now the snorting starts, Art, dada on November 20, 2013 by paulboylan

swedish costume 2

No.  There is absolutely no evidence that Hitler was Swedish, or that he had any Swedish ancestry whatsoever.  No one has even posed the question.  It is not part of any conspiracy theory. No one believes it or has so much as suggested it.







funny adolf hitler woman picture image pic photo


Hitler braids copy






Posted in amusant, And now the snorting starts, Art, Avatar, buffo, Film, gülen yüz, greannmhar, Humor, Internet Fun!, kluchtig, lächerlich, neşeli, скарлетт йоханссон, Parody, Photography, Pop Culture, snaaks, Television, The Great State of Montana!, The Wilhelm Scream, Weird Stuff, سكارليت جوهانسون on August 10, 2013 by paulboylan

unhappy cat

“This is bullshit.”


So I’m at Cafe Bernardo in Davis eating breakfast with Steve and Cindy – friends visiting from Kansas City – when, as a joke (perhaps a bad joke) I suggest an idea for a parody of the musical film Fiddler on the Roof.



My parody was entitled Hitler on the Roof.  

Years ago, I had a similar idea for a gay version of the Oklahoma! that I decided to memorialize using photoshop:


oklahomo .

That night I devoted significant time with photoshop to creating this:


Hitler 15.1


I was quite please with my efforts.  But the next morning I began to wonder if anyone thought of it before I did.


Someone did.  A Google Image search found this, posted in 2007:




I dug a bit deeper and found that I wasn’t just late, I was way, way behind in marrying Hitler to Hollywood:



. close . AdolfHitlersDayOff . AnimalHaus . Teutonic . GestaposComingToDinner . Aryans-1 . BackToTheFuhrer .


. FuhrerEyesOnly . HeilYouWereSleeping . DoTheReichThing . TheMuppetsTakeMunchen . TheGreenHeil . Hitlergeist . RaisingHitler . SingleWhiteFuhrer . TopHun . AdolfScissorhands . LostInInvasion . TheNakedHun . KnockedUpByHitler .   . . . . . .FailureToLaunch . TheWeddingFuhrer . TradingRaces .

And for the kids – DeutschlandBeforeTime .


Posted in amusant, And now the snorting starts, Art, buffo, greannmhar, IN MEMORIAM, 재미, αστείος, kluchtig, lächerlich, neşeli, скарлетт йоханссон, Paying Attention, Post Modern Knock-Knock Jokes, snaaks, مصارعه, مضحکہ خیز, خنده on May 19, 2012 by paulboylan


Those knuckle-heads are beginning to scuffle.

They push, and they shove, doing the Curly Shuffle…




Posted in 3D, amusant, And now the snorting starts, Art, おかしなふるまいの, अजीब, dada, Droit de Suite, Droit Moral, Fair Use, greannmhar, Is that really Ellie Goulding?, 재미, αστείος, kluchtig, lächerlich, Monsters, neşeli, скарлетт йоханссон, snaaks, مضحك, مضحکہ خیز, 滑稽, מצחיק, بشار الاسد, خنده, خنده دار, سكارليت جوهانسون on May 3, 2012 by paulboylan

I often ask the question “what is art?”  A day doesn’t go by that I don’t ask myself that question over and over again.  

I suffer from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) and have a large list of questions I ask my self over and over again, primarily because I can’t help myself: that is the nature of OCD – those with the disorder cannot help doing things over and over and over again.  For example, in addition to asking myself “what is art?” I also habitually ask myself “why is a second as long as it  is?”  Seriously. Why?  Why is a second as long as it is?  Who decided?

But I digress. In the same manner that I am fascinated with the history of seemingly arbitrary units of measurement, I am also fascinated by the question of what makes art different from stuff that isn’t art.

After long and obsessive (if not compulsive) pondering, I have concluded that art communicates.  Art has something to say. If it doesn’t have anything to say, then it isn’t art.

Art is a conversation that is multidimensional.  It is a conversation between the artist and viewer.  The conversation can be intellectual.


It can be emotional.



And the art people choose to put up in their homes communicates volumes about the person who acquired that art.



Allow me to attempt to illustrate my thesis with an example drawn from my own life.  Below is a painting my wife purchased for our home.



Beautiful, isn’t it? This painting is an extremely good example of my wife’s personality.  When I see it on the wall I smile and think of her.

Below is a painting that I recently purchased because it spoke to me. When I a saw it I knew I had to have it.  I wanted to look up and see it in my home.  And, I suspect that my decision to purchase this painting says a great deal about me.





I can imagine your reaction. You think I’m kidding.  You’ve read my blog and think this is some kind of joke.  It isn’t a joke.  I bought that painting.  Here it it up on my family room wall:



I just love it. When I look at it I smile because of the multidimensional message it communicates.

The most amazing thing, however, about my new painting is that my wife agreed to let me put it up at all.  I think she did it because the pleasure it provides me is greater than the deep revulsion she feels when she looks at it.

I’ve decided to push my luck.  I’ve found a new painting that I simply must have. I must own it and must place it on a wall within my home.  I love it because it speaks directly to my appreciation for those intrepid 19th Century artists who left civilization to travel through the America West to chronicle the Native American, or “the Noble Savage” as those artists called them.

I found a painting of a Noble Savage – sitting proud and noble – on his trusty Uniclown.



I simply must own it.


NEW FEATURE – “OMFG” (this week: Battlestar Galactica – Blood and Chrome)

Posted in Art, Battlestar Galactica, Brave New World, Cinema, Cowboys and Aliens, Film, Mad Men, Missile Defense, Movies, music, photograph, Photography, Television, TV, USA! USA! USA! on March 22, 2012 by paulboylan

Every now and then something comes along that makes you stop and say OMFG.

This is one of those times.

















A GRIM FAIRY TALE – Free Among the Monkeys And Elephants

Posted in And now the snorting starts, Art, Cowboys and Aliens, Grim Fairy Tales, Hubris, 재미, αστείος, скарлетт йоханссон, Our animal friends, Pop Culture, The Great State of Montana!, The River of Time, the snows of yesteryear, The Wilhelm Scream, مقاطع‏ ‏سكس‏ ‏مصارعه, مضحك on March 6, 2012 by paulboylan


“Hello, children. Would you like to hear a story?”


I just saw a ten minute preview of the new movie John Carter, and it got me thinking.

I’ve met a lot of professional writers, many of which I admire as artists who have skills I cannot and could not possibly match.  But not all the writers I’ve encountered in my life fit that description. The simple fact is that being a good writer and being a successful writer are often different things and depend on factors that have nothing to do with skill.

So I see the John Carter preview and it looks great. And I am reminded of the book and the author that inspired it back in 1912 – exactly a century ago. And I realize, again, that no one can say what is good or predict with any accuracy what will last.

What follows isn’t exactly a grim fairy tale, but it’s close enough to fit in that category.

So, without further faffing, I give you…


On night in late October, 1913, in Dover, England, in a pub at the bottom of a hill, in the shadow of Dover Castle – walking distance to the beach where Matthew Arnold heard ignorant armies clashing by night – George Bernard Shaw was working hard to persuade Lydia, an aspiring American actress, to have sex with him.           

“Should we be going?” Lydia asked.  The piercing cry of gliding seagulls sounded loudly throughout the thick seaside darkness. “The train back to London leaves in ten minutes.”

 “We can catch the next one,” Shaw responded. 

 “Do you really think you can get me a reading for Liza?”

 “I am the playwright.  Of course I can.”

 “But I don’t know how to do a cockney accent.”

 “That’s won’t be a problem,” Shaw said.  “I can teach you.  Look, since we’re waiting for the next train, why don’t we take a walk down to the beach?  Matthew Arnold wrote his famous love poem there.”

  “Who? Lydia asked.

 “Never mind,” Shaw said, taking her hand and guiding her out of the pub.  They passed where James Joyce sat with his traveling companion and lover, Nora.  Joyce listened to Nora and watched her face as she drank pint after pint of bitter, dark, thick beer.   He listened as she talked about her sex life prior to meeting him.

“I think he made them a bit firmer sucking on them so long,” she slurred, nourishing her thick Irish working-class accent each time she lifted her glass and gulped beer. 

Joyce and Nora were on their way to Paris from Dublin by way of London.  Joyce was struggling to find a publisher for two books – a collection of short stories and a short semi-autobiographical novel.  At that moment, in the middle of her beer-sodden reminiscence, Nora could not have cared less.

 “He made me spend the second time tickling my behind with his finger,” Nora laughed, red eyed.

Joyce smiled and nodded, encouraging her to continue. 

 “I tried it with the banana,” she confessed. “But I was afraid it might break and get lost up in me somewhere.”  Joyce looked concerned, but wasn’t.  He listened carefully, trying with all his might to memorize every single word.

In the same pub, Edgar Rice Burrows sat with his friend and fellow writer, William Seabrook.  Burrows eagerly described a novel he was writing.

 “Thuvia is this voluptuous Martian princess,” he began

 “Are there any other kind?” Seabrook asked.  He genuinely liked Edgar, and admired his success as a popular writer, but nevertheless believed that Burrows was an idiot.

“She is in love with the son of John Carter, the Warlord of Mars -” Burrows explained.

“The Martian princess?”

 “Yeah.  So she’s in love with this big warrior type who can jump really far and high because his father is from the Earth.”

 “He can jump high because his father is from Earth?”


 “Sort of like a handsome, muscular grass hopper.”

 “Look, do you want to hear about this or not?”

“Yes, I’m sorry. Please go on.”

“So Carthoris – that’s the guy – he has the hots for Thuvia -“

 “Carthoris and Thuvia?”


 “Sounds like a bad Shakespearian play.”

 “So she’s got the hots for him, too, but bad guys kidnap her and make it look like Carthoris did it.”

 “So he sallies forth to rescue her.”

 “Yeah. What do you think?”

“Charming.  But tell me about that ape-man novel you are writing.”

“Sure.  It’s based on the short story I published.  Did you read it?”

 “No, but I’m still interested. It is about a man who is half man, half ape, if I remember correctly.”

“Not half-man half-ape.  He is an ape-man named Tarzan.”

“Whatever.  You say that your publisher is willing to pay you in advance to write it?”


 “Well then, why waste your time with your Martian Romeo and Juliet until you’ve finished the Tarzan novel?  What are you going to call it?”


 “I should have guessed.  Sort of a foreign adventure piece I take it?”

“On, yeah. Lots of adventure.  Tarzan is a guy who was raised in the African jungle by apes.”

“It sounds ghastly.  Are you sure they’re going to pay you for this?”

“You bet.”

“I wonder what the appeal is?” Seabrook pondered.

“Every guy wants to be Tarzan,” Burrows explained.  “Tarzan has everything a man could want.”


“Tarzan doesn’t have fleas,” Burrows said, irritably.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not going to give him any,” Burrows said. “I’m giving him a great life.  He’s king of the beasts, lord of the apes.  He can talk to elephants.” 


“He can call elephants if he needs them.”

“Why would he need elephants.”

“If he needs a ride, or if he needs help.”

“How helpful can an elephant be?” 

“Lets say he’s surrounded by bad guys, and there’s no way out.  Well, he calls to the elephants and they come and trample the bad guys.”

Deus Ex Elephant?” Seabrook asked.


  “Never mind.”

  “The point is that Tarzan does what he wants.  He is totally free from the pressures of the modern world.  He could have been anyone, any one of us.  And that’s my point.  I want the reader to think, ‘Hey, if I had been dropped into a jungle, I could have been Tarzan.  Tarzan and me are the same guy, we were only brought up different.”

 “You see this Tarzan as leading some kind of idyllic life?”

 “Not idyllic – ideal.  Idyllic lives are boring lives.  Tarzan faces plenty of danger to keep things interesting.  And there are things missing that he really needs.”

“Soap and water?”

“No.  Women.  There aren’t any women around.”

“What about native women?”

“Oh, yeah, plenty of those.  But there are no white women anywhere.  So he meets this beautiful explorer, and she shows him the ropes -“

Seabrook smiled at the reference.

” – and brings him back to London.  Good stuff.  But the biggest reason why my readers are going to admire Tarzan is his total freedom, so it won’t surprise anyone when Tarzan would rather be in the jungle instead of in civilization.”

“Free among the monkeys and elephants?”



Elmo Lincoln, in the first Tarzan film (1918)


William Seabrook


Nora Barnacle


James Joyce


George Bernard Shaw


Lydia Atherton


Edgar Rice Burroughs



Cathorsis (the one doing the stabbing)



Posted in Art, космическая девушка, gülen yüz, ανόητο άτομα on January 19, 2012 by paulboylan


For everyone who’s been bullied in school.




Mummy they called me names

They wouldn’t let me play

I’d run home, sit and cry almost everyday

“Hey Jessica, you look like an alien

With green skin you don’t fit in this playpen”

Oh they pulled my hair

They took away my chair

I’d keep it in and pretend that I didn’t care

“Hey Jessica, you’re so funny

You’ve got teeth just like Bugs Bunny”

Oh, so you think you know me now

Have you forgotten how

You would make me feel

When you dragged my spirit down?

But thank you for the pain

It made me raise my game

And I’m still rising, I’m still rising!



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