Bravo

After the Great Wetback Episode Of 1986, one of the biggest changes in societal customs I had to face was this business of “eating on the run”, or indeed even “eating quickly”.  This made about as much sense as “traveling tastily” or “delicious walking”:  the melding of two disparate activities actually made me angry.

Where I came from it was understood that when you eat, you sit down down to do so, in a place which caters [sic]  to eating and not in a car (exceptions made for a drive-in place like Sonic).  Even when traveling, when it came time to eat, it would involve pulling off to the side of the road — preferably at a rest area, but otherwise well off the road to avoid a collision, and then eating your (prepackaged meal brought from home), preferably outside the car at a table (rest area) or right there (tailgating).

Don’t even get me started about the custom of “brown bagging” whereby one eats at one’s work desk.  Ugh.

After a while, though, I got sick of ranting about it, and just went along with the strange foreign practice, although in the three or so decades since, I can probably count on one hand the number of times I’ve actually eaten a meal in the car when it was in motion.

At college, I was astounded at the number of kids who would bring their Big Macs and what have you right into the classroom, and gobble it down while waiting for the lecturer to show up, or sometimes even during the class (if the professor didn’t care).

Nothing is more disgusting than being subjected to the smell of someone else’s food in a place that isn’t a restaurant.

So when I read this story, I gave the man a (virtual) standing ovation:

A young London woman travelling alone at night was told she wasn’t allowed on a bus – because her fried chicken wings would ‘stink’ it out.

Predictably, all the usual moans about safety and such were trotted out — but to no avail, because:

Stagecoach’s website states: ‘You can’t eat or drink anything that will cause offence or upset other passengers.’

Of course, the driver was found to be in the wrong and no doubt Head Office whacked his pee-pee.  But get this:  this stupid tart hadn’t come off the night shift, she’d been visiting a friend’s house.  Why the hell couldn’t she have eaten there instead of taking her stinky chicken dinner onto the bus?  Of course:

‘I have always eaten on buses, on the way home from school. There weren’t that many people on the bus anyway. Some people were just shouting at him to just drive the bus. I felt really embarrassed. People were looking at me eating and I felt so fat. I felt a bit depressed by it. I went and sat upstairs right at the front for extra safety.’

Oh boo fucking hoo.  You act like a mannerless lout, and then get upset about being made to feel ashamed?  (And by the way:  you are fat.)

It’s the fact that people have somehow become accepting of boorish behavior that nonsense like this is tolerated.

I should point out that I called out one oaf in a lecture room, and told him to go and eat outside.  “Why?” was the hurt question.  “Because I’m not interested in smelling your rancid food,” was my response.  He didn’t move, whereupon I said, “Do you want me to come over and take your food and toss it?”

He gave me an angry look and went out.  A couple of the kids looked at me like I was the bad guy, but one girl said, “Thank you for that.  He’s always doing it, and it makes me feel sick.”

He never did it again.

The structure of manners is society’s lubricant in that it allows us to get along each day without killing each other, and I am not going to be cast as the bad guy simply because I try to remove the irritant.

The Usual Grump

…about clothing, and the appropriate wearing thereof.  First, the plaudits.

I have always had an old-man crush on Anya Taylor-Joy, the chick from that chess movie, and her latest appearance did nothing to end that for me:

 

Best legs I’ve seen in quite a while, so why shouldn’t she show them off?

Her boyfriend, despite looking a little like a taller Frodo Baggins, was at least appropriately attired:

The same stylish and appropriate attire did not extend to some of the rest of the male(?) attendees.  The Skarsgård boy (Anya’s co-star in the movie) wore a tee shirt:

…while the editor of British Vogue  looked like a morning Tube commuter:

…and the whole thing went rapidly downhill from there:

 

This post has been brewing for a while, because a couple weeks ago at some other movie premiere / red carpet thing, we were treated to this horrifying nonsense:

 

Seriously?  At a formal evening event?

Compare the above with the 1940 Academy Awards banquet:

‘Nuff said.

Past Tense

Here’s a woman after my own heart:

A real estate agent has revealed how she’s amassed a $10,000 vintage clothes collection – because she’s obsessed with living like she’s in the 1940s.  Gwendolyn Erin Patterson, 25, from Dallas, Texas, says she’s so fixated with wearing wartime fashion that she now refuses to leave her house unless she’s sporting glamorous attire from the Second World War era.  The 25-year-old even wed her beau, Sam, also a huge 1940s fan, in a Second World War-style wedding two years ago – but admits that sometimes people assume she’s wearing fancy dress.  The vintage fashion fan admits that her unique style has garnered some strange looks on occasion but says that her glamorous head-to-toe wartime look also gets lots of compliments.

Here she is:

I think she looks gorgeous.

Worse Than That

At the ever-current Daily Mail, Sarah Vine asks the question:

Why are this season’s shoes hideously ugly and expensive?  If I didn’t know better, I’d say it’s like the designers are laughing at us. 

You don’t know better, and they are laughing at you.

I have long held the opinion that most fashion designers, being homosexualists, really hate and despise women.  So they design ugly clothing and shoes, and over-charge for these foul things in the certain knowledge that brainless wealthy women and celebrities will buy them just to have the over-hyped brand name on their bodies.

So much do I despise this whole business that I can safely say this:  if I arrived to pick up a date and she was wearing any — and I mean any — of the shoes pictured in the article, I’d ask her to go back and change into something prettier and more flattering;  because if I know anything at all, it’s that there is no woman alive whose feet and legs would be flattered by wearing these excrescences.

And Mrs. Vine knows this, as her final words reveal:

But really, the truth is it’s laziness, greed and a lack of imagination. These kinds of styles are cheap and easy to mass-produce.
They require zero skill or craftsmanship.
And they appeal to the only people who seem to matter to designers these days — that is to say celebrities, influencers and pop stars who don’t care what they wear, so long as it gets them noticed.

Quite right.  Here are some classics:

 

 

   

Nothing to be ashamed of, in any of them.

Caution — Pineapples

Over the weekend, I learned something new.

Apparently, wearing a pineapple sign on your person may indicate to others that you’re an adherent of “The Lifestyle” — i.e. a swinger.  Thus, innocently wearing either of the shirts below could get you all sorts of unwelcome invitations.

 

or welcome invitations, perhaps.

Just be warned, it can get kinda busy in there:

 

Never done it myself, nor wanted to, really.  But some folks dig it, despite the obvious dangers.

Maybe just wear an unobtrusive little badge, if you’re that way inclined…?