Category: Culture

Art, music, literature and thespianism

Depends On Your Definition

Culture, Travels

Oh look!  another one of those “foreign country” lists, only this time it’s all about “friendliness” towards newcomers — specifically expatriates — to the country.  (I’ll talk about that definition further down the page.)

Here’s the list in its entirety.

Let’s just talk about that “friendliness” thing.  The article states:

The result comes from a survey by InterNations, an expat guide, which asked foreign residents in 53 countries around the globe to rate their new home. 
Expats were asked about their social life, whether they felt at home, how easy it was to get used to the culture and the friendliness of the local population.

Right away, I’m going to disqualify from the list any Muslim country — e.g. Turkey and Kuwait — because if you ain’t Muslim yourself (and follow their specific brand of Islam withal) — your treatment by the locals is not going to be that friendly.  That Qatar (22), for example, ranks far ahead of the United States (38) makes the whole list suspect.

Other than religion, which is an obvious speedbump, let’s see how friendly the locals are when you don’t speak — or don’t attempt to speak — their language.  At best you’ll get a shrug;  at worst, you’ll encounter withering xenophobia.  This is especially true of nations for whom English is not the de facto  language of government, or where English is hardly spoken outside a few places in the cities.

I’m not going to re-rank the listings because it’s a big job, and I haven’t been to most of the countries on the list anyway.  But from what I’ve seen…

The only countries I’d even consider moving to — becoming an expat — on the basis of the likely friendliness of the locals, anyway, are the following (in no specific order):

Chile — been there, loved the place, loved the locals that I met when I was there, and I’d make it my first order of business to become fluent in Spanish within a few months, by crash courses, immersion, whatever.  I’m pretty sure I could fit into the culture without much difficulty and I’m pretty sure I could make a go of living there for the rest of my life.  And I love Chilean food, all of it.

Czechia — never been there myself, but everyone I’ve spoken to who has been there for longer than a year has had nothing but good things to say about living there, and that’s good enough for me.  I’d need a lot longer to learn the language because it’s not Anglo-Romantic or Germanic but Western Slavic, although written in Latin script and not Cyrillic.  (This latter factor would disqualify several of the other countries, such as Greece, because I’m not interested in learning how to read as well as to speak.)  I don’t think that immersion would work because there are no points of linguistic similarity between the European languages I do speak and Czech.  So:  a struggle, but probably worth it.  As for Czech food:  like German, it’s apparently heavily weighted towards pork, which does get a little tiring after a while.  That said, I want to try their pork knuckle (koleno)  because apparently it’s incredible.  And there’s always goulash, which I could live on quite easily, and schnitzel, although I prefer the Austrian veal dish to pork.

Poland — same as Czechia.  I have never met a native Pole (and there have been quite a few) whom I’ve not liked immediately, but I realize that learning the language would be hellish difficult (it’s close to Czech, actually).  But I’d be willing to give it a shot.  The only (minor) problem might be the Polish cuisine;  I’ve eaten more than a few Polish dishes in and around Chicago and Milwaukee in places where I was the only customer not speaking Polish, and on the whole I found the food to be bland and kinda tasteless.  And I don’t care much for pirogi…

Netherlands — I’ve been there a couple of times, and I’m pretty sure I could fit in there.  I found the Dutch to be warm and friendly people — in the cities, anyway — and while parts of their culture jar me a bit, they are cosmopolitan enough to where I could adapt quite easily.  The cuisine is likewise quite cosmopolitan and if I wanted, I could always get something familiar — possibly the only advantage to having grown up Afrikaans is the Dutch-like food I had as a kid.  (Pannekoek, yum frigging yum.)

Belgium — just not in Brussels, which I hated.  I could handle Flemish without too much problem — it’s reasonably close to Afrikaans, actually — and the food is lovely.  I know someone who moved from South Africa to Antwerp, and she and her husband fitted in without any trouble whatsoever.

In passing:  one thing I have learned is that Chile, Czechia, Belgium and Poland all have pretty reasonable attitudes towards personal gun ownership;  the Dutch rather less so.

Missing from the above list is Argentina, perhaps because not that many people have moved there and the sample was too thin, but I might be persuaded to look at Buenos Aires.  At least they and the Uruguayans have the right attitude towards beef… and I’ve been ordered to put Buenos on Ye Olde Bucquette Lyste by someone who said she’d move there tomorrow if she could.

In a lot of these countries, I’d never even try to move there because one of my absolute must-haves is the ability to drink water from a tap without suffering any short- or long-term physical illness.  (Bye bye, India.)

As for pretty much all the rest:  pass*.

*Some people might be wondering why I no longer wish to live in Britishland, but the reason is simple:  the cities and larger towns are too crime-ridden, and in the country a newcomer mostly faces at best indifference and often withering xenophobia.  Maybe I might be persuaded to try a few places in the UK, but overall the quality of life Over There is no longer as attractive as it once was, despite sausage rolls and Wadworth 6X.  Of course, I have several friends in England, which might make it easier to settle in;  but all in all, that’s not enough to sway the argument.  (Sorry, Sorensons and The Englishman.)  I should also point out that I have somewhat fewer friends in Britishland than I once did, because quite a number have moved abroad and have no intention of ever coming back.  In fact, there is a far greater chance of several more coming Over Here to live with me… because they absolutely hate what Britain has become (neo-fascist).  And I’m pretty sure that my ummm speech would not be to the liking of the fuzz.

*Also, France.  There are parts where I could settle in quite easily from a cultural perspective, but let me tell you, the Frogs are not that friendly towards strangers.  Some expats have lucked out in this regard, but it’s not the way to bet — hell, I’d be speaking French fluently within a month or so, and still I’d struggle.  And like with the Brits, French TV really sucks.  And Man shall not live by French bread and cheese alone, although I’d give it a college try.

And you all know how I feel about Strylia.

And About Damn Time

Language

I’ve gone on and on about this topic so many times I’m starting to bore myself, but this is indeed a welcome development:

You might have thought the United States had an official language, considering it was founded by British colonizers who were looking for religious freedom and wanted to distance themselves from the overbearing English monarchy. Virtually all official documents in our republic have been penned in the English language, from the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution on down, but for some reason, it has never been designated as our official national tongue.

That all changed on Saturday, as President Donald Trump signed an Executive Order mandating that we now have one unifying language tying us all together.

Nothing repeat nothing has the power to divide a society when we aren’t able to communicate with each other.  I speak here after having grown up in an officially bilingual country and seeing for myself how bitterly divisive that can be.

And I absolutely do not care if newcomers to this country are unable to understand what’s going on because they don’t understand English.  The English expression for that is “tough shit”, and that might as well be the first expression — and concept — that should be learnt when the huddled masses arrive here.

I’m not going to hold up other nations as examples — although try conducting any kind of official business in France without understanding French — and considering that our republic’s foundation was laid upon the English language, we have been foolish in not establishing that principle from the outset.

And frankly, Margaret, I don’t actually care if that seems cruel or uncaring to the newly-arrived.  If we choose to accommodate foreigners by posting signs that read “Itt magyarul beszélnek“  or whatever, it is purely an accommodation and not an obligation.

To quote POTUS:

From the founding of our Republic, English has been used as our national language.  Our Nation’s historic governing documents, including the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution, have all been written in English.  It is therefore long past time that English is declared as the official language of the United States.  A nationally designated language is at the core of a unified and cohesive society, and the United States is strengthened by a citizenry that can freely exchange ideas in one shared language…

Accordingly, this order designates English as the official language of the United States.

Enough With The Bananas

Fine Art, Resistance, Two-Minute Hate

Over at Intellectual Takeout, John Horvat talks about bananas on walls:

My reasoning centers on a recent event in New York City in which the renowned Sotheby’s auction house sold a 2019 art piece dubbed “Comedian” by Maurizio Cattelan. The work consisted of a fresh banana duct-taped to the wall.

The bidding started at $800,000, and within five minutes, the item sold for $5.2 million plus auction house fees, which came to a total of $6.2 million. The new owner is Chinese-born crypto-businessman Justin Sun.

The actual banana cost thirty-five cents when bought in the morning at an Upper East Side fruit stand. The new owner will get a certificate of authenticity and installation instructions should he want to replace the banana before it rots. Mr. Sun has already announced that he will eat the original banana “as part of this unique artistic experience, honoring its place in both art history and popular culture.”

Commenting after the sale, Billy Cox, a Miami art dealer with his own copy of “Comedian,” says the work is something of historical importance that comes only “once or twice a century.”

Uh huh.  Like the paint-splattered “art” of Jackson Pollock, to describe this as “art” at all, let alone something of “historical importance”, is to underline the folly of the so-called cultural elites and their absurd mania for post-modernist deconstructivism.

We are living in a society where certain liberal sectors inhabit an alternative reality where thirty-five-cent bananas are handled as multimillion-dollar works of art. The problem is that they want to force everyone else in society to believe their madness.

“Pull the other one” would be the obvious rejoinder.  But Horvat takes it further:

The first are those who do not want to see the absurdity of the banana on the wall and dogmatize that it is art. They create their own reality and impose it on the nation.

The second group consists of those tired of being told a banana taped to the wall is art. They long to live in a world where art is art and bananas are bananas.

In the [2024] election, some of the latter group said, “Enough is enough.”

This reaction was not against a single banana on one wall.

You see, there is [also] the banana that claims a man is a woman and a woman is a man. Other bananas claim that people can choose their pronouns, pornography in libraries is literature, or that it is just fine for men to compete with women in sports. We are told drag queen story hours are suitable for children, after-school Satan Clubs are educational and it is not a human baby but a clump of cells.

It is all part of a vast banana extravaganza that we are asked to admire and make believe is the blueprint for a dream society.

Quite right.  There’s only one thing to do when faced with these bananas:

yup.  Dip them in boiling oil.

Renaissance Man

Architecture, Beauty, Classic Beauty, Culture, Fine Art

What do you call a man who was a professor of Architecture at Turin University, photographer, writer, skier, inventor of engines and designer of race cars, acrobatic pilot and mountaineer?  Carlo Mollino.

I have to say that I’m not enamored of his exterior architecture designs — there’s way too much Gropius and not enough Athens, never mind art nouveau;

…although not all the time:

His interiors are a little too Scandi and not enough Edwardian:

…although his Teatro Regio in Turin is incredible:


…from the inside;  the outside?

…and of his furniture we will not speak.


(Follow the link above for a full exposition of all these, and more.)

But how can you not enjoy his design of something as mundane as a bus?

And then there was his Basiluro race car, which at Le Mans 1955 (yes, that Le Mans race) managed to reach 135mph with a 750cc engine (!) until it was forced off the track into a ditch by a Jaguar:

However, it was Mollino’s photography which first caught my attention (guess why):

And my favorite:

His ultimate expression was this statement:

“Humans matter only insomuch as they contribute to a historic process; outside of history, humans are nothing.”

And Carlo Mollino sure left his mark on the historical process, in so many fields.  Che uomo!

That 50s Thing

Culture, Lifestyle

It is no secret among my Readers (especially those of long standing) that when it comes to decades. I have a soft spot for the 1950s.

It happens to be the decade of my birth (1954), and of course my memories of that time are scattered and few, but there’s a feeling about that era that has resonated with me pretty much all my life.

Now I understand that most people have a hankering for earlier times — “I wish I’d lived in the [x] period!” — and it’s brilliantly satirized by Woody Allen in his Midnight In Paris movie, where a modern-day young writer is transported back to what many consider one of the golden ages and places of writing and the arts:  Paris of the 1930s, where Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald and others of that ilk are the celebrities du jour, and the many soirees at Gertrude Stein’s apartment host them plus other luminaries such as Salvador Dali, Pablo Picasso and Luis Buñel.  Of course, to our young protagonist, this seems to be the best time to be alive and writing, or being creative in any field.  Then he meets a young woman — a struggling fashion designer — and when the two of them are magically transported back to fin-de-siècle Paris, she astonishes him by saying that she, a creature of the 1930s, would want to live in that time and not the 1930s, because she would perhaps be more successfu lback then rather than in the age of Coco Chanel.

So I’m aware of that longing, and I understand its pitfalls when it comes to talking about the 1950s as my beau ideal.  Indeed, several Readers have taken me to task, outlining the many evils and perils of the 1950s — the relatively poor medicines available  (compared to our modern ones), endemic racism, Puritanical social mores and so on.

And yes, I know that the technology, such as it was, was certainly inferior to ours today, whether it be telephones, cars, medicine or whatever. Nobody would want to go back to that, for sure.

But that’s not the root of my nostalgia.

Let’s just look at a few images of 50s-as-golden-age art to illustrate my point:

Note the simplicity of life thus portrayed:  a family hunting outing, a picnic for two, and a family picnic.

I’ve written about the 1950s over the years, and here are a couple examples thereof:

I have no idea, for example, how to lower the cost of living to, say, 1950s-era levels where a family of four can live in a reasonably-modest dwelling, own one or two inexpensive cars, have enough to eat, and afford to give the kids a decent education — all on one salary, at a stable place of employment. In order to get there, we’d have to make drastic changes to our national way of life, changes that I’m pretty sure that nobody would want to make.

As a comment to Cappy’s excellent take on returning to the 1950s:

Don’t expect the world to revert to the 1950s ethos. In fact, as Cappy points out, modern society is being taught that the 1950s were a bad time because racism / McCarthyism / Cold War nuclear holocaust / oppressed women etc. What’s being omitted from the indoctrination is its purpose, which is to undermine what made the 1950s great:  patriotism, a sense of honor, hard work, deferred gratification, strong family ties, Judeo-Christian morality, modest living and so on.

And:

I’m often teased by my friends (and on occasion by my Readers) for being so unashamedly old-fashioned about life, and the things and people with which we associate ourselves. To this teasing I am entirely inured, and about my attitude I am utterly unrepentant. I am a conservative man, and that’s because I believe that in our own past, and in the history of civilization, there is much worth conserving. Certainly, that is true of our recent history (the 1950s), as much or more as it is true of earlier decades and even centuries.

So yes:  go ahead and laugh at my nostalgia, mock my preference for times gone by, and point out all the things that were wrong with the 1950s.

With all that said, though, I still insist that there was a whole about the 1950s that wasn’t shit:  the culture, the fact that the lines between right and wrong were a lot less blurred, and the roles of the man and woman a lot better defined — and we were all the better for it.

I won’t even talk about the cars…

Not much wrong there, either.