Art Time

Sotheby’s had an auction a while back, and these particular pieces caught my eye:

First, from my favorite modern Impressionist, Leonid Afremov:

Then, two pieces from my favorite Academy artist, Eugenio (Eugene) De Blaas:

I like this one, simply because I love rainy Paris street scenes:

And this, from a painter whom I don’t know (but intend to rectify the situation):

Finally, another artist unknown to me, on another favorite topic (gloomy 19th century street scenes):

My only regret is that I don’t have enough walls to hang all the art I’d love to own.

Gastro-what?

I think the decline of Western civilization can said to have started in earnest when the word “gastropub” became an actual thing instead of a nonsensical word made up from the last tiles in a Scrabble game.

Now they’re even being ranked.  Fach.

Here’s what I want to see on a pub menu, in no specific order:

  • fish & chips
  • steak (+mushroom, +onion or +kidney, by choice) or chicken pies
  • toasted (“grilled”, in Murkin) cheese, chicken, bacon or steak sandwiches
  • chips / “fries” (in a basket)
  • eggs to order
  • mixed grill* (for the super-hungry)
  • cheese, chicken, steak, beef, bacon etc. on a fresh roll with condiments to taste
  • simple salad (for homosexualists, veganists and women — some overlap)
  • …can’t think of much else, really.

If you aren’t satisfied with anything from the above, you have no business being out of the house.

Best of all, this simple and honest menu is going to be cheap, instead of noisettes d’agneau au poivre  costing fifty bucks a portion.  Savings can thus be applied to the real business of a pub:  booze.

And if the pub’s “chef” (a contradiction in terms, surely?) gets oh-so bored preparing the same basic stuff every day and feels “unfulfilled”, he needs to quit, open up a “fine dining experience” in his own restaurant and go out of business in six months like all those other trendy establishments.

Just stay out of my damn pub.


*

What He Said

on the topic of manners.

What do bad manners have to do with the end of imperialism, you might well ask: in a nutshell, nothing and everything. Moral authority disappeared with the empire, just as its successor, socialism, undermined the authority of the family and the pursuit of excellence. The media suddenly presented itself as a tribune of the people, sympathetic to the sensitivities of the masses, with the rich always ruthless and the poor always perfect, the children always innocent and trusting, unless they were white, then they were crazed and feral.

All good stuff, and more besides.

Old News

Here’s a lovely one from Woke Disney:

Disney began an extensive review of its film library as it prepared to introduce the streaming service in 2019, according to a New York Times report. As part of the initiative, called Stories Matter, Disney added disclaimers to classic movies for containing “negative depictions or mistreatment of people or cultures.”

The Stories Matter team privately flagged certain characters as potentially problematic, with the findings distributed to senior Disney leaders, two current Disney executive told the Times.

One of them was Tinker Bell, who raised concern because she is “body conscious” and jealous of Peter Pan’s attention, according to the executives.  Captain Hook was another potential liability because he could expose Disney to accusations of discrimination or prejudice against individuals with disabilities because he is a villain.

Disney also flagged Ursula the Sea Witch from The Little Mermaid, saying her dark complexion could be construed as racist and her flamboyant mannerisms could come across as “queer coded,” or homophobic.

Fucking hell.  There is just no end to this bullshit.

Anyway, I don’t know about Hook and Ursula, but Tink has always been problematic for Disney, especially at the hands of the brilliant satiric (satyric?) artist Julius Zimmerman (warning:  link is so NSFW you could face termination of the extreme kind, let alone just the loss of your job or your eyesight).

Disney is whizzing beyond comedy into self-parody faster than the speed of a single cartoon cel through a projector.

And Disney?  Your stories don’t matter as much as you think they do.