I've been reading a not particularly good biography of the Marx Brothers, as well as watching several of the old movies. So I got it into my head to try to come up with some names for Groucho's character that sound plausible. These are those. Let me know what you think:
CHESTER H. HARTSOCK
AVERY FENDERWAX
T. SHYSTER TURNCOAT
MONTGOMERY ALLEN STONEPOLE
LAMBERT Q. LAMBERT
G. CRAYFISH MOUNTEBANK
KLAXTON VERNON SHOEHEEL
Of course Chico and Harpo would need names as well ('Monkey Business' notwithstanding), not to mention Margaret Dumont.
For Zeppo I'll just stick with Jamison.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Monday, July 13, 2009
DAVE MERRICK AND 'INDIGO'
My friend Dave Merrick's most famous piece to date is probably his wolf portrait, 'Indigo'. If you are not familiar with it, turn around. It is hanging on the wall behind you.
Bob Hope, Weird Al Yankovic and Tom Selleck are a few of the known owners of this print.
Its presence is truly ubiquitous. You cannot go to a gallery without having it gaze down upon you. Once Dave was traveling across the country and found himself in an airport gallery looking at his own creation hanging prominently for all to see. The gallery owner, noting the direction of his gaze, sidled up to him and said, "Isn't it a beautiful piece". Dave, not wanting to be too brazen, said, "I know the fellow who painted the original". The gallery owner, unbelieving and unimpressed, walked away without saying another word.
Some time later, Dave was driving through town when his eye was captured by an unexpected sight. There, along the roadside, was another version of Indigo, fashioned as a blanket. It would be worth mentioning at this point that Dave had never given permission for the use of the artwork as a blanket. So Dave, doing what we all wish we would do, brought his friend the detective to the roadside emporium to make a polite inquiry as to the supplier of the contraband wares. His detective friend put it simply, "I want to know who's making these things."
Phone calls were made.
The end of the story is that the distributors were actually quite happy to be contacted and to negotiate a proper contract. Royalties are now being paid to the artist, the creator - Dave Merrick.
Bob Hope, Weird Al Yankovic and Tom Selleck are a few of the known owners of this print.
Its presence is truly ubiquitous. You cannot go to a gallery without having it gaze down upon you. Once Dave was traveling across the country and found himself in an airport gallery looking at his own creation hanging prominently for all to see. The gallery owner, noting the direction of his gaze, sidled up to him and said, "Isn't it a beautiful piece". Dave, not wanting to be too brazen, said, "I know the fellow who painted the original". The gallery owner, unbelieving and unimpressed, walked away without saying another word.
Some time later, Dave was driving through town when his eye was captured by an unexpected sight. There, along the roadside, was another version of Indigo, fashioned as a blanket. It would be worth mentioning at this point that Dave had never given permission for the use of the artwork as a blanket. So Dave, doing what we all wish we would do, brought his friend the detective to the roadside emporium to make a polite inquiry as to the supplier of the contraband wares. His detective friend put it simply, "I want to know who's making these things."
Phone calls were made.
The end of the story is that the distributors were actually quite happy to be contacted and to negotiate a proper contract. Royalties are now being paid to the artist, the creator - Dave Merrick.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
FAME TAG
The concept of celebrity has undergone a strange transmutation, especially since the advent of so-called 'reality TV'. I'm not talking about the kind that looks for persons with talent, but the kind that follows the exploits of people who, as far as I can tell, were smacked smartly upside the head with a ball-peen hammer just before the cameras were turned on.
I have a proposal.
How about something called 'Fame Tag'? I haven't got the details worked out, but whoever is "it" is famous. They are followed by the paparazzi, reported on ad nauseam, appear on talk shows, lied about in the tabloids, flattered to the point where they lose contact with reality, and generally lavished with unwarranted praise and criticism about the minutiae of their lives until... TAG!, somebody else is it.
I have a proposal.
How about something called 'Fame Tag'? I haven't got the details worked out, but whoever is "it" is famous. They are followed by the paparazzi, reported on ad nauseam, appear on talk shows, lied about in the tabloids, flattered to the point where they lose contact with reality, and generally lavished with unwarranted praise and criticism about the minutiae of their lives until... TAG!, somebody else is it.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
BLACKOUT
There was a loud "pop".
The screen went dark and I was suddenly disconnected from the world, expelled from the grid. The lights were out, too. No way to work in paint or pixels.
I keep one of those flashlights that charges in a wall socket, then flashes on when the power goes out. It was the only light in the studio. Made me feel smart to be even so minimally prepared. I grabbed it and went upstairs to check on Mary, then outdoors to make sure that it wasn't just our house. No, the neighborhood was dark, though the houses and streetlights only a block north were glowing normally. I talked to the neighbors who were also assessing the situation. We were all using flashlights. Since we didn't point them in each other's faces, it was like talking to invisible people, but, unlike most times, they talked back. Somebody had called the utilities company and had been told that it would be two to three hours before power would be restored.
Mary had lit some candles. She went to bed, but it was too early for me. I took the candles downstairs and began to write this little piece for the blog.
Are the crickets always this loud?
I am not a back-to-nature kind of guy. I like my modern conveniences. My faith in the power company is such that I do not contemplate buying a generator or stocking up on supplies or investing in weapons. I do not yearn for this adjournment from electricity to become a lifestyle. I am content to be dependent on those whose skills and knowledge will get the juice flowing again. But I do hope that some of them have invested in some form of my artwork, even just a puzzle or collector plate, to help complete the circle of life.
The screen went dark and I was suddenly disconnected from the world, expelled from the grid. The lights were out, too. No way to work in paint or pixels.
I keep one of those flashlights that charges in a wall socket, then flashes on when the power goes out. It was the only light in the studio. Made me feel smart to be even so minimally prepared. I grabbed it and went upstairs to check on Mary, then outdoors to make sure that it wasn't just our house. No, the neighborhood was dark, though the houses and streetlights only a block north were glowing normally. I talked to the neighbors who were also assessing the situation. We were all using flashlights. Since we didn't point them in each other's faces, it was like talking to invisible people, but, unlike most times, they talked back. Somebody had called the utilities company and had been told that it would be two to three hours before power would be restored.
Mary had lit some candles. She went to bed, but it was too early for me. I took the candles downstairs and began to write this little piece for the blog.
Are the crickets always this loud?
I am not a back-to-nature kind of guy. I like my modern conveniences. My faith in the power company is such that I do not contemplate buying a generator or stocking up on supplies or investing in weapons. I do not yearn for this adjournment from electricity to become a lifestyle. I am content to be dependent on those whose skills and knowledge will get the juice flowing again. But I do hope that some of them have invested in some form of my artwork, even just a puzzle or collector plate, to help complete the circle of life.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
UPDATES
It has been fun coming up with new status updates for Facebook. Of course, they disappear after a while, so I thought I might add them to this blog. That plus it makes for a very easy entry:
Myles Pinkney isn't sure that that these extraterrestrials are ever going to understand the concept of a 'coupon'.
Myles Pinkney likes the word 'anthropomorphic'. It likes him too.
Myles Pinkney is telekinetically restoring balance to certain portions of the Milky Way galaxy. Do not startle him.
Whenever I'm feeling down I just think to myself, "Myles, repair the pillow or get a new one".
Myles Pinkney is transmuting matter into energy. Though digestion is a less efficient process than nuclear fission, it is also less dangerous.
Myles Pinkney thinks "asparagus" might be a palindrome.
Let's see.............................. Nope.
A word to the wise: Never glue your pets together.
After examining the facts, applying scientific method and objectively looking at all the evidence, I have come to the conclusion that my uninformed opinion was much more interesting.
Myles Pinkney has just discovered how much more exciting life is with exclamation points!!!!!!!!
Whenever I'm blue I just take a deep breath, but I don't hold it for as long as I did the first one.
I often hear discussions of topics where the opposing points of view are explained, followed by the phrase, "the truth lies somewhere in between". This idea makes no sense to me. I don't think the truth lies at all.
Myles Pinkney feels that the demands of his vocation are occasionally overwhelming. He wonders if he would qualify to go into the government's Witless Profession Program.
Comparing art to religion, that's a science. Comparing religion to science, that's an art. But comparing science to art, now that's
a religion.
I used to think that one of my legs was shorter than the other, but I just checked and they are both equally short. The disturbing thing is, now neither of my feet touch the ground.
Myles Pinkney isn't sure that that these extraterrestrials are ever going to understand the concept of a 'coupon'.
Myles Pinkney likes the word 'anthropomorphic'. It likes him too.
Myles Pinkney is telekinetically restoring balance to certain portions of the Milky Way galaxy. Do not startle him.
Whenever I'm feeling down I just think to myself, "Myles, repair the pillow or get a new one".
Myles Pinkney is transmuting matter into energy. Though digestion is a less efficient process than nuclear fission, it is also less dangerous.
Myles Pinkney thinks "asparagus" might be a palindrome.
Let's see.............................. Nope.
A word to the wise: Never glue your pets together.
After examining the facts, applying scientific method and objectively looking at all the evidence, I have come to the conclusion that my uninformed opinion was much more interesting.
Myles Pinkney has just discovered how much more exciting life is with exclamation points!!!!!!!!
Whenever I'm blue I just take a deep breath, but I don't hold it for as long as I did the first one.
I often hear discussions of topics where the opposing points of view are explained, followed by the phrase, "the truth lies somewhere in between". This idea makes no sense to me. I don't think the truth lies at all.
Myles Pinkney feels that the demands of his vocation are occasionally overwhelming. He wonders if he would qualify to go into the government's Witless Profession Program.
Comparing art to religion, that's a science. Comparing religion to science, that's an art. But comparing science to art, now that's
a religion.
I used to think that one of my legs was shorter than the other, but I just checked and they are both equally short. The disturbing thing is, now neither of my feet touch the ground.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
CREIGHTON PETERMANS
Somewhere near the outer edge of one of those three syllable states that are so hard to locate on a map unless your own state actually borders it, one whose name features the vowels I and O, but very little else (not the potato one or the corn one), lives Creighton Petermans. Creighton Petermans is not, of course, his real name. His real name is Clayton Peterson, hereinafter referred to as "Bob".
I first met Clayton, "Bob", when we were both about... I am going to say 10. Why 10? Because that was the year that Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band came out and the incident that I am about to mostly invent will probably have something to do with that. Clayton lived in a town not far from my own and was friends with a friend of mine who was my friend because our parents were friends. At that time he looked like a prepubescent blond Beatle, with a radical hairstyle that included bangs and hair that actually overlapped his ears. He rode a bike with ape hanger handle bars, a banana seat and a four foot sissy bar on the back. As I saw it, he was practically a Hell's Angel. I don't remember what we talked about, most likely the recent release of the album Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band. (See?)
Skipping ahead somewhat less than a decade, and just after High School, Clayton and I became reacquainted in college. We were both Theater Majors at a small arts college in Denver. He no longer had the Beatles hairstyle, but something more akin to that worn by an unkempt jungle cat. Those whose acquaintance with Clayton ("Bob") is more recent might be surprised at his coiffuric history, since these days he sports a style one might charitably refer to as 'minimalist'. But in those days he had a wild look that set him apart from the crowd. I'm not sure which crowd he was set apart from, but I guarantee they kept their distance.
While I had delusions of being the next Olivier (seriously), Clayton (I'm going to forget all about that "Bob" thing) was focussed on stagecraft. At this he excelled, as he does to this day. It would be pleasant for him, no doubt, if I were to spend some words at this point praising his skills. I know he was very good, but frankly, I wasn't paying that much attention. No, what I remember is that we decided that we were going to climb to the roof of every building on the college grounds, which we did with very little regard to our personal safety. The theater building was easy, there being a hatch above the flies. Others varied in their degree of difficulty, but the prize was the main building's bell tower. It had been sealed off for years because pigeons from several continents had made it their favorite toilet. We had to climb out of a top floor window and crab walk backward up the steep roof to gain our destination. In any movie about such antics, there would be a comical chase, shattered trophy cases, mascots falling into aquariums and sundry frenetic scenes involving "nerds" and "jocks", maybe even somebody in a toga.
We waved at some friends and climbed back down. We didn't even get threatened by the dean. I'm honestly not sure if we had a dean.
End Part I
Clayton's Web Site: http://www.claytongpeterson.com
I first met Clayton, "Bob", when we were both about... I am going to say 10. Why 10? Because that was the year that Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band came out and the incident that I am about to mostly invent will probably have something to do with that. Clayton lived in a town not far from my own and was friends with a friend of mine who was my friend because our parents were friends. At that time he looked like a prepubescent blond Beatle, with a radical hairstyle that included bangs and hair that actually overlapped his ears. He rode a bike with ape hanger handle bars, a banana seat and a four foot sissy bar on the back. As I saw it, he was practically a Hell's Angel. I don't remember what we talked about, most likely the recent release of the album Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band. (See?)
Skipping ahead somewhat less than a decade, and just after High School, Clayton and I became reacquainted in college. We were both Theater Majors at a small arts college in Denver. He no longer had the Beatles hairstyle, but something more akin to that worn by an unkempt jungle cat. Those whose acquaintance with Clayton ("Bob") is more recent might be surprised at his coiffuric history, since these days he sports a style one might charitably refer to as 'minimalist'. But in those days he had a wild look that set him apart from the crowd. I'm not sure which crowd he was set apart from, but I guarantee they kept their distance.
While I had delusions of being the next Olivier (seriously), Clayton (I'm going to forget all about that "Bob" thing) was focussed on stagecraft. At this he excelled, as he does to this day. It would be pleasant for him, no doubt, if I were to spend some words at this point praising his skills. I know he was very good, but frankly, I wasn't paying that much attention. No, what I remember is that we decided that we were going to climb to the roof of every building on the college grounds, which we did with very little regard to our personal safety. The theater building was easy, there being a hatch above the flies. Others varied in their degree of difficulty, but the prize was the main building's bell tower. It had been sealed off for years because pigeons from several continents had made it their favorite toilet. We had to climb out of a top floor window and crab walk backward up the steep roof to gain our destination. In any movie about such antics, there would be a comical chase, shattered trophy cases, mascots falling into aquariums and sundry frenetic scenes involving "nerds" and "jocks", maybe even somebody in a toga.
We waved at some friends and climbed back down. We didn't even get threatened by the dean. I'm honestly not sure if we had a dean.
End Part I
Clayton's Web Site: http://www.claytongpeterson.com
Monday, June 8, 2009
My life's philosophy tends to run from the skeptical to the cynical, so it is with some surprise that, when I review my list of Facebook friends, I find myself impressed with this small sampling of humanity.
We live in a world where celebrity is granted to the most useless and vile specimens of our race. We are encouraged to slow our progress and gawk at them like the carnage of a roadside accident. News programs present their antics with the same gravity they allow to the rise and fall of nations. The subtext behind their soulless, powdered façades, though, is the excitement of children watching a burning anthill.
"Look, look! The freak show parade!"
"Which one has a baby from every continent?"
"Which has the oddest artificial anatomical anomaly?"
"I think I saw that one yelling at that other one!"
"Get me their colonoscopies!"
But my little group of Facebook friends is composed of creative and intelligent folks in whose company I take pride. Among them are singers, actors, comedians, artists, musicians and writers, all with honest talent. In a true meritocracy their prominence would far exceed the greater part of today's crop of 'celebrities' (I think this word is rapidly acquiring a mocking and pejorative connotation anyway).
I hope to highlight some of them in future posts. Assuming that I actually follow through with this plan, they will undoubtedly be fictionalized to a very great degree, especially since the truth requires much more research than I am willing to do. And also because I like making stuff up.
We live in a world where celebrity is granted to the most useless and vile specimens of our race. We are encouraged to slow our progress and gawk at them like the carnage of a roadside accident. News programs present their antics with the same gravity they allow to the rise and fall of nations. The subtext behind their soulless, powdered façades, though, is the excitement of children watching a burning anthill.
"Look, look! The freak show parade!"
"Which one has a baby from every continent?"
"Which has the oddest artificial anatomical anomaly?"
"I think I saw that one yelling at that other one!"
"Get me their colonoscopies!"
But my little group of Facebook friends is composed of creative and intelligent folks in whose company I take pride. Among them are singers, actors, comedians, artists, musicians and writers, all with honest talent. In a true meritocracy their prominence would far exceed the greater part of today's crop of 'celebrities' (I think this word is rapidly acquiring a mocking and pejorative connotation anyway).
I hope to highlight some of them in future posts. Assuming that I actually follow through with this plan, they will undoubtedly be fictionalized to a very great degree, especially since the truth requires much more research than I am willing to do. And also because I like making stuff up.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
CREATION
People always ask: "Where do you get your ideas?" and "How long does it take to do a painting?" Nobody ever asks, "How do you get wizards, dragons and faeries to pose for you?"
This tells me a lot about people's assumptions.
This tells me a lot about people's assumptions.
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