There was an art auction this morning in California of sketches and animation cels from a lot of cartoon greats. So we’ve missed it. Sorry. BUT the catalogue is online and if you like that sort of thing, it’s just the sort of thing you’ll like.
I like that sort of thing very much, so let me direct your attention to some specifics.
■Page 4. My hero, Winsor McKay, and a frame from his 1914 cartoon Gertie the Dinosaur. Expected to fetch $3,000-5,000.
■Beginning page 5. Betty Boop sketches in pencil ($400-$600) and other Fleischer Studios.
■Popeye, beginning page 8.
■Beginning page 9, ladies and gentlemen, the Sixties: Mister Magoo, Beany and Cecil, Chilly Willy, Tom Slick, Super Chicken, Pink Panther. A cel from Yellow Submarine and one from Fritz the Cat.
■Beginning page 17: Peanuts. (Not a fan, me).
■Warner Brothers, Loony Tunes, starting page 22.
■Page 37. Production stills from The Grinch ($1,000-$1,500).
■Hanna-Barbera’s crap starts page 40.
■Page 95 is interesting. Artist Bill Mack bought the “Hollywood” sign in 2007 (the original was taken down and put into storage in 1978) and did paint upon it a very good homage to Steamboat Willy, Disney’s landmark Mickey Mouse cartoon. He managed to keep much of the grunge from the original weathered sign material. $20,000 – $40,000.
And from there on, it’s Disney, in more or less chronological order, to the end (total of over 250 pages and almost a thousand objects). The drawing at the top of the post (p. 136 $400-$600) was by Disney’s best caricature artist (no points for guessing the subject). His name was Thornton Hee, so of course he signed himself T. Hee.
Of course he did.
July 31, 2013 — 10:31 pm
Now, I know I keep telling you people that I will never, ever tire of dick jokes, but I honestly do not know what to say about Anthony Weiner. All the good puns are taken. All the bad puns are taken, too. It’s not that I’m not enjoying the whole scandal, it’s just so much of it doesn’t add up. So, no comments. Questions:
What the hell is it with Huma Abedin? Why do people treat her like a superstar? (Slate’s Dave Weigel doesn’t get it, either). Okay, okay…slender, big dark eyes. But also: horseface.
Michele Bachmann wasn’t crazy — Huma has all kinds of Islamic-supremacist cred. So how did she get a top State Department clearance? And why did John McCain go nuts on Bachmann for being concerned? (And, just generally, what the hell is it with our ruling classes loving on the Muslim Brotherhood?).
And how did she end up marrying a liberal leftist Jew? I mean, even as a cynical careerist ploy, it doesn’t make complete sense.
And why speak out on his behalf now? After the first betrayal…okay, I guess. Maybe. But knowing he continued to send snapshots of his pee pee to strange women, even after it lost him his Congressional gig? Shoot, he won’t even say if he’s still doing it. Now is the time to step forward and vouch for him?
By the way, if his chubby temptress is to be believed, dude has a seriously dedicated masturbation regime.
If the Clintons are worried about Huma, why not pick up a phone? Why play this out in the news media for us all to enjoy? Especially if the Clintons are mad that they’re being compared to the Weiners.
That’s the best bit, isn’t it? That Hillary’s second try for the presidency is being splattered by a cheesy, ugly, low-rent cheatin’ husband, stand-by-your man, trailer park dick scandal.
No, wait — the best bit is, I didn’t Photoshop that picture at all.
July 30, 2013 — 8:18 pm
Chris Christie, ladies and gentlemen. Because he’s really, really fat. I know, I know…I’m geeenius.
Seriously, this guy pissed me off with his wanton libertarian bashing. It’s not because there’s tension enough with the libertarians in the GOP (though there is). And it’s not because I’m closer to the libertarian view than any other (though I am). It pisses me of because it was so dumb.
To win the White House, you need all your own party behind you, and about four percent more of those confused voters milling about in the middle than the other guy. Starting out a candidacy by deliberately insulting a big part of your own base is self-destructively stupid.
It also signals he’s hoping to be this election’s “fuck you, wingnuts” candidate. You know, the one who sucks up to the big donors, alienates the base, wins the nomination ugly and then tries to turn us all out on election day by a combination of fear mongering and ridicule.
Oh, I am so very tired of that strategy. It’s been the default GOP game plan since ’92. Can we play another game now?
July 29, 2013 — 10:21 pm
Weaselwannabe takes a second dick with Helen Thomas. And not a single fuck was given that day. Those kinds of Dead Pools are the best.
Okay, ready? Here we go:
0. Rule Zero (AKA Steve’s Rule): your pick has to be living when picked. Also, nobody whose execution date is circled on the calendar. Also, please don’t kill anybody.
1. Pick a celebrity. Any celebrity — though I reserve the right to nix picks I never heard of (I don’t generally follow the Dead Pool threads carefully, so if you’re unsure of your pick, call it to my attention).
2. We start from scratch every time. No matter who you had last time, or who you may have called between rounds, you have to turn up on this very thread and stake your claim.
3. Poaching and other dirty tricks positively encouraged.
4. Your first choice sticks. Don’t just blurt something out, m’kay?
5. It’s up to you to search the thread and make sure your choice is unique. I’m waayyyy too lazy to catch the dupes. Popular picks go fast.
6. The pool stays open until somebody on the list dies. Feel free to jump in any time. Noobs, strangers, drive-bys and one-comment-wonders — all are welcome.
7. If you want your fabulous prize, you have to entrust me with a mailing address. If you’ve won before, send me your address again. I don’t keep good records.
8. The new DeadPool will begin 6pm WBT (Weasel’s Blog Time) the Friday after the last round is concluded.
The winner, if the winner chooses to entrust me with a mailing address, will receive an Official Certificate of Dick Winning and a small original drawing by my own fair hand. And not just any old drawing, but a drawing on super special elephant poo paper.
July 26, 2013 — 6:00 pm
Poor Maggie. The chikkens got a scare on Tuesday while we were out. Presumably a fox. They were safely locked in, but feathers everywhere. Everything that could be kicked over was kicked over and there was flapping and also beGAKKing.
The little girls, in their separate enclosure, both had bloody noses from flying into the walls in a panic. Unfortunately, Maggie has also mysteriously lost the use of her
Her legs don’t seem dislocated. She can move them a little. Her toes are warm. Her wings work okay. She’s alert and her appetite is good.
I have consulted the International Sisterhood of Chicken Ladies and it could be anything from a deadly disease to something she’ll shake off and get over in a few days. As long as she keeps eating, I’ll keep feeding her and hope for the best. It’s a little like having a Furby.
Please, nobody take my nice little chicken in the Dead Pool!!! Round 52. Tomorrow. Six sharp, Weasel Blog Time. Be here.
July 25, 2013 — 9:26 pm
That’s not my picture. I Google searched “sick badger” and that cropped up. It belongs to the good people of the Northampton Reptile Centre — because it’s okay to steal stuff if you say something nice and give a link. That’s how you internet, right?
Uncle B has come down with a nasty virus. Fever, sweats, outrageous vertigo. Probably something inner ear. So we’re all out of sorts and off schedule here today.
It’s been 24 hours and he’s certainly turned the corner, but I’d best wave and flounce off back to the sick room. Florence Nightingale was always one of my favorite cosplays. (Just kidding. I can barely dress like a non-threatening sane middle aged woman without designer assistance).
I’ll give him your best wishes.
July 24, 2013 — 11:23 pm
I don’t like drawing on pure white paper, but I don’t really like the really dark ridged paper intended for pastels and chalk, either. My favorite papers, hippie nonsense aside, are many of the unbleached 100% recycled papers, because they’re usually slightly off white and have these delightfully random speckles in. I’ve been looking for a good source of supply by the sheets.
These people. These people rule. They make recycled paper out of 100% post-consumer waste collected from schools and offices, and then they put stuff in it.
Elephant shit. Rhino shit. Reindeer shit. Herbivores only. They wash it down to the roughage. Also, grass, straw, banana peel, old blue jeans and chewed up twenty-pound banknotes. Sawdust from particular building projects.
Also, flower petals and viable seeds. So you can write your friend a note and say, “bury this note in the garden and lavender will grow out of it.” And a lavender will grow out of it. I’m sorry, hippie bullshit or not, that is so cool.
I exchanged emails with someone there about the archival properties. He reassured me about the manufacturing process. They can’t call it archival because of the inclusions — which will likely change color with age — but the end product is neutral to slightly alkaline and likely to last an acceptably long time for an art paper.
So I bought a bunch of it. As papers go (particularly recycled ones) it isn’t terribly expensive. A sampler at first so I could pick out my favorite. Definitely elliepoo. Dark and warm, with little flecks of….well, you know.
So there it is: Elliepoo. The new official dick paper of the Dead Pool.
I was born to type that sentence.
July 23, 2013 — 11:00 pm
What’s that you say? Royal behbeh? No, no, no…much more important: today is the 169th birthday of the man who gave a name to getting your murds wixed.
Reverend William Archibald Spooner was born in London in 1844. He was an albino. That doesn’t have anything to do with anything, but I bet you’re thinking, “holy shit — Reverend Spooner was an albino!” So I led with that. I aim to please.
Spooner was an Anglican priest and a lecturer at Oxford for 60 years. So, a clever man. Which is probably why when he misspoke he didn’t speak gibberish, like you and me. He made a horrible, twisted kind of sense. Like, “it is kisstomary to cuss the bride”. Although the Oxford Dictionary of Quotations contends there is only one confirmed Spoonerism and the rest were made up by his students.
Stupid Oxford Dictionaries. Forever shitting in my oatmeal. Screw ’em, here’s some of my favorites (whoever really said them):
■ A toast to “our queer old dean” instead of “our dear old Queen”
■ He also supposedly informed her majesty that he had in his bosom a “half-warmed fish” for which he meant “half-formed wish”
■ Calling farmers “ye noble tons of soil”
■ “A well-boiled icicle” for “well-oiled bicycle”
■ “Blushing crow” for “crushing blow”
■ And then there’s this: “Mardon me padom, you are occupewing my pie. May I sew you to another sheet?”
Oh, and the title graphic? Our Lord is a loving shepherd.
Also, you can talk about that other obscure British birthday if you want.
July 22, 2013 — 9:50 pm
You know what THAT means.
6 sharp WBT.
Round 52 of the Dead Pool!
July 20, 2013 — 3:26 pm
I suppose you’ve all read about Britain’s killer heat wave, the one with a body count of over 700? Look up. That’s it. That’s the real thing. That’s our actual weather forecast for the week.
Last week, it was in the mid-70s and sunny every day, clear and in the mid-50s at night. Or, as we used to call that in Tennessee, “April.”
To be fair, it’s been hotter in other parts of the country that are even less used to it than we are (it is *always* snowing somewhere in Scotland), but I don’t think it’s broken 90 anywhere. Most of the fatalities are swimming related.
So, as we slide into the weekend, what’s the hottest you’ve endured? We used to visit my grandmother every August. She lived in the bayou, on the banks of the Amite River in Baton Rouge. Stepping out of the air conditioning was like being sucked violently into Satan’s armpit.
p.s. What, you thought I was going to go with Barack Obama in a hoodie? Noo thenk yew. I’ve already disrespected an iconic African saint this week.
July 19, 2013 — 10:44 pm