Tag Archives | painting

The Zombie Attack on Dr. Nicolaes Tulp

Dr. Tulp tries to dissect a zombie

Many art historians believe this painting is called The Anatomy Lesson of Dr. Nicolaes Tulp, but they are sadly mistaken. What Rembrandt has portrayed, quite brilliantly, I believe, is the moments before the attack of the first ever zombie.

Dr. Nicholaes Tulp was regarded as a highly moral doctor and surgeon, and he taught anatomy. However, he was getting frustrated with the limitations of only being allowed to dissect the corpses of criminals, which were only usable until they started to rot. He experimented with several “reanimation” processes so his students could see muscles in action, as well as extending the “life” of the corpses they were examining. Up until the time of this painting, he had been unsuccessful, but during the middle of this particular examination, the corpse, a recently executed Aris Kindt woke up.

The first to die was Kris Vandenclod, who was about to graduate from the college, and who is pictured, his head pushed forward over the corpse to get a closer look at the arm muscles. His throat was fully exposed, and quite easy to rip out, even for a newly re-animated zombie.

Art historians have noted “the whole scene is bathed in a dramatic light, imbuing the composition with a sense of action and suspense” [source]. This drama makes SO much more sense when you consider that Rembrandt painted this to celebrate the Dutch victory over the zombies.

Dr. Tulp, surprisingly, avoided becoming a zombie himself by reverse engineering his “animation” matrix, and played a prominent role in the Dutch victory.

Later, he invented the tulip, which he named after himself.

Feel free to check out Wikipedia’s entry on this painting, but they have most of this wrong.

Alltop doesn’t believe that tulips exist.

Professor Quippy: Writers beware, those rejection notes have a cost

Professor Quippy.New research at the University of California, Los Angeles, shows that social rejection may increase your risk of developing arthritis.

This explains all the unpublished (or barely published) writers hobbling around with bad knees, out-of-work actors with permanent back-aches, and painters with gnarled knuckles. The cost of all those rejections has caused arthritis. (And a certain amount of existential crisis.)

Actually, I’m just inferring this — the study only looked at social rejection in the context of in-person rejection. (Which would STILL apply to the actors.) According to the New Scientist:

Psychologist George Slavich and colleagues asked 124 volunteers to give speeches and perform mental arithmetic in front of a panel of dismissive observers. Saliva analysis showed they exhibited elevated levels of two inflammation markers. … Functional MRI scans showed this triggered increased activity in two brain regions associated with rejection. Participants with the highest inflammatory responses showed the greatest increases in brain activity.

The research hopes to help understand the brain’s role in conditions related to inflammation (including asthma, arthritis, cardiovascular disease and depression).

Also, it is actively trying to discourage people from going into the arts, because apparently, low pay, parental ridicule and extensive existential crisis aren’t enough.

Alltop thinks you should get a real job. New Scientist: Harsh words may hurt your knees.

Van Gogh’s Close Encounters with the Slorg-Men of Auculus VI

Close Encounters with the Slorg-Men of Auculus VI

Kidding! It’s Van Gogh’s Starry Night, painted while staying at an Asylum in Saint-Remy (1889).

I know, now you’re itching to hear the theme song, right?

YouTube Preview Image
Close Encounters of the Third Kind duet scene.

Alltop does a great humor impression. Meme begun by Archer and Lawyerworldland. Read the comments to see the explanation of what the hell is going on by Asbestos Dust.

Thag not talk much!

Mammoth by ThagThag’s year with the Drunka Grunka was drawing to a close, and he was almost ready to head back to his own tribe, the Thunka Grunkas.

His relationship with the slender and beautiful Twigla was blossoming, and his artwork was a major triumph, despite the many critics within the Elder’s council of the Drunka Grunkas. They even liked the cow, though they were most excited about Thag’s surrealistic depiction of a mammoth stomping a shaman to death. At first, the Drunka Grunka shaman, Cave-Bear-Bite-Leg-Brother, had objected to the depiction, but then Thag explained:

“Him not good shaman. Him shaman of Thunka Grunkas, Weasel-Scratch-Face-Brother.”

“Why don’t you like your shaman, Thag?”

“Him seduce Thag’s mate. Him demote Thag from leading hunters. Many hunters die without Thag lead them,” Thag amplified. “Him big phallus with ears.”

“Ah,” Cave-Bear-Bite-Leg-Brother said. “I grok.”

When the mural was finished, the Drunka Grunkas planned a festival to celebrate the artwork. A special brewing of the Drunka Grunka specialty, a delectable potage they called ‘beer’.

Thag had noticed that many of the Drunka Grunkas got quite chatty once they’d had a few bowls of their “beer”; in his experience, Thag was used to men not talking much, while the women of the tribe did most of the gossiping, gabbing, and generally keeping the lines of communication open within the tribe.

Because they had beer to supply calories, the Drunka Grunka men didn’t need to spend quite as much time hunting; in fact, they seemed to spend as much time hanging out talking as the women did.

On the other hand, the people of the Drunka Grunkas had noticed that Thag was laconic at best, and positively taciturn at worst. The Elders sent the shaman to find out why.

“You don’t talk much, do you Thag? But from your artwork, it’s clear you have a rich inner life. Why don’t you share it more?”

“Thag say something once, why say again?”

“But it would be nice if you could explain your artwork to some of the Grunkas that don’t get your art.”

Thag shrugged. “They not grok, Thag not make them grok.”

“But it would be –”

“Thag let art speak for itself,” Thag interrupted. “Besides, Thag go back Thunka Grunkas soon. He not be here to explain.”

“Fair enough Thag. When do you think you’ll be leaving?”

“Ah, soon. But now, Thag have something he do want talk about.”

“Oh, really?”

“Twigla,” Thag said, raising his eyebrows. “Her come with Thag?”

“Does she want to?”

“Yes. Her grok Thag.”

“Well, that will get tongues wagging around here; even more than usual,” said Cave-Bear-Bite-Leg-Brother. “Let’s have a beer and we can discuss it with the other Elders.”

“Thag talk on this. Yes!”

New Scientist story: Men talk just as freely as women. Mammoth pic by The Bucky Hermit. Other talkers and jabberers. Originally published 2007.

Thag not grok big bottoms!

Grok big bottomed goddess?The trip back to the Drunka Grunka’s lands would be a long one — of all the Grunka tribes, the Drunkas lived the farthest away from the place of the Great Gathering.

But Thag was happy. For at least one season he would be free of his mate’s incessant nagging, not to mention her infidelities. And he wasn’t only leaving the frustrations of Onga behind — for many turnings of the moon, Thag would be free of the annoying shaman, Weasel-Scratch-Face-Brother.

He was traveling back to the Drunka Grunka homelands to learn the art of making the delectable new beverage, beer. In exchange, Thag was going to paint a magnificent cave mural for them. So while he might be leaving his own tribe, the Thunka Grunkas behind, he was starting to see that there would be no shortage of behinds.

For some reason, the Drunka Grunka women were blessed with an overabundance of fundament — they looked like a herd of mammoth from the back — and it wasn’t until their second week on the trail that he learned why.

Twigla was a beautiful young Drunka Grunka woman, who was without a mate, and one evening as the Drunkas bedded down in their sleeping furs — most of them were paired off — Thag noticed that Twigla was unmated, and sad. In fact, she sat on a boulder at the edge of their campsite, watching the moon rise, a few tears glistening in the silvery light.

“Why Twigla sad?” he asked her as he joined her on the boulder.

“Twigla not have mate. Twigla lonely.”

Thag was intrigued, especially to hear that she had the same command of the Grunka tongue as he did.

“Why Twigla not have mate?” he asked. “Twigla beauty.”

“Thag nice caveman. But not true. Twigla have small bottom.”

“But shapely,” Thag observed, hoping he did not overstep his place as a guest of the Drunka Grunkas.

“Thag think so?”

“Shapely!” he grunted.

“But much junk admired by Drunka Grunkas. Big butts men get!” she wailed.

“Not grok,” Thag grunted. “Twigla beauty.”

She stopped sniffling and wrapped her arm around his. “Me glad Thag learn make beer,” she sighed.

The sabbatical was looking better and better.

Based on New Scientist Story: Stone Age junk. Humor-blogs.com and Alltop have junk too. Originally published in 2006.